The Price of a Scripted Mistake

“Wow. Pentagram is famous for their incredible performance, but their singing skills are no joke either. Especially the vocal color of the main vocalist, Ha-un—it’s unique. I was so surprised because your voice is so different when you’re speaking versus when you’re singing.”

“I’ve heard that a lot since I was a kid. My youngest sibling is in kindergarten, and they still don’t believe I’m a singer. Even when I play our songs, they insist it’s absolutely not my voice.”

“Really? Haha, that is so cute. Come to think of it, Ha-un, didn’t you say you’re the eldest of five siblings?”

The DJ, clearly pleased by Ha-un’s quick wit, centered most of the conversation around him. Listeners tuning in to the radio sent texts in real-time as if they were in a chat room, and the monitor displaying them was dominated by reactions to how funny Ha-un was.

“Noah, your visuals are truly insane in person. It’s not my first time meeting the Pentagram members, but I found myself gasping today without even realizing it. Have you heard? They say among this generation of male idols, the title of ‘Face Genius’ has to go to Noah.”

On the screen monitoring the live broadcast, Noah stood out even without doing anything special. Even in low resolution, his sharp features and the seductive aura of his eyes made viewers marvel just by the way he blinked.

“I don’t know. It’s the first time I’m hearing it.”

That was the extent of Noah’s answer to the DJ’s question. His usual prickly personality couldn’t be entirely hidden just because they were on air.

Nevertheless, the text reactions were great. Comments like ‘He’s so cynical lol,’ ‘His face is seriously crazy,’ and ‘I thought he was an actor, not an idol’ flashed by in an instant.

The DJ’s questions then moved on to Se-han and Go-un.

Se-han, with his polished speaking skills, appropriately brought up a few behind-the-scenes episodes about the group. The DJ praised him for being very mature as a leader, and laughter broke out when his nickname “Team Leader” was mentioned.

Go-un, whose birthday was today, also received focus for a long time. Everyone sang a birthday song together, and though he was blunt, he offered a short word of thanks; viewers loved it, saying his nickname “Bear” fit him perfectly.

Since there were five members in Pentagram, it was only natural for the final topic to be Ji-ho.

“Next is Ji-ho. Oh, I was a little intimidated to be in front of the other members, but I finally feel a sense of familiarity. According to the data I researched diligently, you were once a trainee at D&T? I’m currently under D&T as well, so I feel a real connection… Oh, wait. I was going to take this chance to vent a bit about the company, but look at the time.”

Whether it was a failure in time management or something else, a comment flew in from outside the studio before the DJ could even finish reading the question card. The monitor displaying messages from the radio production staff was set up for both the DJ and the guests to see, so Ji-ho could see the words clearly.

[End Part 1 now!! – Fortunately, the remaining member is Ji-ho, so just cut it.]

“Haha, everyone’s so disappointed! But cheer up—our Pentagram will be with us for Part 2 as well! We have even more fun segments prepared for the second half, so please look forward to it. We’ll be back in a moment after listening to the song that defines Pentagram, the legend of the charts: Beyonder!”

Just like that, Ji-ho’s screen time vanished in an instant.

The break between Part 1 and Part 2 was only the length of a few commercials, so the DJ quickly excused himself to use the restroom. The crew moved busily to prepare for Part 2, and a writer stepped in to brief Se-han on the next segment.

Ha-un, who was sitting next to him, leaned toward the dazed Ji-ho. He had a wide grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself.

“Whoa, what was that total edit? Your face froze instantly, Hyung. I almost burst out laughing seeing that expression. You looked totally blank.”

In a group with many members, it was common for one person’s segment to be cut—common enough that Ha-un could treat it lightly. Pentagram was a small group, so they usually attended programs together, but it was a frequent occurrence for other groups to have only their most popular members scouted.

Especially since the company had intentionally minimized Ji-ho’s role in this album, such occurrences had become very familiar to him lately.

However, one specific word in the staff’s comment hit Ji-ho hard. More than the large letters telling the DJ to close Part 1, a single small phrase stood out vividly.

‘They said… “Fortunately.”’

What was fortunate? That the person being cut was the least popular member of the group? Was it because they judged that even if they ignored him and moved on, Pentagram’s fans wouldn’t bother to complain?

A flurry of thoughts flashed through his mind, but Ji-ho couldn’t voice a single one. All he could do was wear a forced smile and act as if nothing was wrong, just like always.

“I know, right? I was really flustered. It’s a good thing the DJ is so skilled at hosting.”

*******************************

“The segment for Part 2 is a quiz for the fans! The Pentagram fandom name is ‘Glows,’ right?”

“Yes, we call them ‘Glory’ for short.”

“I can feel the love for the fans in that name. Come to think of it, Ji-ho, aren’t you being a bit too quiet compared to the other members? You seem very calm and intellectual—shall we see how many questions you can answer for the Glories?”

Perhaps the DJ felt guilty for cutting off Ji-ho’s turn, or perhaps he realized late that Ji-ho might have seen the comment about him. In Part 2, the DJ gave Ji-ho a chance.

Or, perhaps since the structure required the guest to answer correctly for the listener to receive a prize, they chose the member whose fans were least likely to protest if the responsibility for the prize was dumped on their idol.

Whatever the reason, did it even matter? Ji-ho braced himself to do his best with the opportunity he was given.

“Many people said our radio quizzes were too easy, so today’s will be a bit tough. How about it—are you confident, Ji-ho?”

“Since the Glories can only get the prizes if I get them right, I’m going to do my absolute best.”

“Haha, Ji-ho’s fans must be so happy. Then, here is the first question!”

Even if they were meant to be “difficult,” radio quizzes rarely strayed far from general knowledge. There was no way Ji-ho would get a question wrong if it only required retrieving information he already knew.

“That’s already four correct answers! At this rate, every Glory who sent in a story today is going to get a prize. It’s all thanks to Ji-ho’s performance, right? I thought the brain of Pentagram was the leader, Se-han, but this is a surprise.”

Comments like ‘Didn’t Ji-ho drop out of middle school? He must study a lot,’ ‘If Se-han had answered, he would’ve shouted it faster, what a shame,’ and ‘There’s no script, right?’ followed. If it were a chat room instead of a text-in system, there might have been mood-killing comments claiming he was being fed the answers, but because the messages were filtered by the staff, no harsh expressions were visible.

However, outside the studio, it seemed they felt Ji-ho getting every answer right was getting boring. A new message appeared on the monitor:

[Ji-ho, please make sure to get the last question wrong!]

There was no need to be stubborn over a simple trivia question. Ji-ho blinked and kept the instruction in mind.

“Drumroll, please—the last listener selected is… user 0824. Wow, you sent in a very long story. Let me read it.”

Ji-ho listened to the DJ’s words, thinking he should try to get it wrong in a funny way if possible.

“’Young-D, I’m a Glory who has been watching over Ji-ho for a long time. I was sad earlier when the story about D&T was cut off. He seems quiet and introverted, but he’s always hardworking and a kind person who tries to turn the spotlight on other members. I’m sending this in because I want Ji-ho to only walk on a flowery path from now on. Ji-ho, I want you to remember that we are always watching you.’“

Ji-ho’s eyes widened at the unexpected appearance of an individual fan. He didn’t know if it would show on the camera filming them, but he could feel his own expression softening.

The negative emotions that had plagued him all morning began to wash away with that one story. He felt a bud of hope—that his efforts hadn’t been entirely buried.

‘But I have to get the question wrong….’

His self-esteem wasn’t so low that he thought he didn’t have a single fan who liked him. He also knew that even if he missed the question and they didn’t get the prize, the fan who sent the story wouldn’t be disappointed.

But strangely, he hesitated. He thought that for a fan who loved someone like him—someone often called a “pancake flipper”—he could surely ignore a staff instruction.

“If Ji-ho gets this right, the listener will receive a gift certificate worth 50,000 won. Last question! I guess this was chosen because Pentagram means a five-pointed star. What is the name of the constellation, the brightest star in the winter night sky, named after the son of Poseidon in Greek and Roman mythology? My goodness, this is too hard for me—I slept through Earth Science in school.”

As the DJ said, it was a question of slightly higher difficulty for general trivia. But Ji-ho not only remembered every myth he had ever read, but he also hadn’t forgotten a single word of the education he’d received at a celestial museum when he was a student. He couldn’t possibly not know the answer was “Orion.”

In that moment, he locked eyes with Se-han, who was sitting across from him. Se-han must have also seen the staff’s instruction to get the question wrong.

Though he was smiling gently for the live broadcast, the eyes looking at Ji-ho were as cold as they had been after the music show rehearsal. It was as if he had read Ji-ho’s hesitating heart.

Ji-ho’s mouth automatically betrayed his feelings.

“Umm, the… Taurus constellation?”

“Bzzz! Haha, Ji-ho. What kind of answer is that? You didn’t just name your own zodiac sign, did you? I even mentioned a myth as a hint, why an animal? Even I know that’s not it. What a shame for our last listener.”

The DJ laughed exaggeratedly at the clumsy answer. But everyone there knew he wasn’t laughing because it was actually funny.

A new listener text appeared on the monitor. While having any reaction was usually better than none, Ji-ho’s eyes shook violently as he spotted one specific message:

[It’s so obvious he got it wrong on purpose T_T I feel bad for Ji-ho’s fan.]

Only then did Ji-ho realize how he must look.

An idol who prioritized something else over the fans he should value most. And on top of that, he couldn’t even manufacture the kind of entertainment suitable for a broadcast.

In that moment, a thought struck him.

‘Maybe the fans demanding my withdrawal are right. Maybe it’s only natural for someone as talentless and cowardly as me to be criticized.’

Ji-ho couldn’t manage another word for the rest of the quiz or until the radio broadcast ended.