2027 - Seoul, SK

“They’re tired.”

    Yang Hyung-suk regarded the man in front of him apathetically. It was how he always looked at his staff, but specifically Lee. In the years since the Downturn, his supposed advisor had failed to provide a single viable option to revitalize the dying idol market. Album sales and concert tickets continued to decline in a tumbling fashion. At first, the large CEOs had attributed the Downturn to stagnant groups and worn concepts. But even the big-budget attempts at climbing back--yes, that includes JYP’s huge failed twenty-nine member boygroup which proved to be a bit too out of the box--failed miserably.

    Lee’s job was to keep YG alive in the years of Downturn. His last concept, a hardcore girlgroup with punk attributes and bubbly music, barely charted with their debut single. Yang was already stressed to his limit with organizing promotions to keep his old groups around. It turned out some fans were loyal to a fault and bought just enough to keep the company in existence. But G-Dragon was already planning to retire into producing, and CL was busy in the US market these days. He needed something new, big, revolutionary, to save his company...his family.

     This was probably why when Lee entered Yang’s office that morning, the man was silent with anger.

    “They’re tired of the same old thing,” Lee repeated. His voice quivered slightly as he spoke.

    Yang rubbed his temples. “What do you mean?”

    “The idol formula,” Lee explained. He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, kept his eyes downcast. “It’s gotten old to the public. Trainees, debuts, groups and comebacks. It doesn’t seem to excite them like it once did.”

    “So what do you propose we do then?” Yang snapped. He couldn’t help but be callous. He was about to lose everything he had in the world.

    Lee cleared his throat. “In the past, forms of entertainment weren’t so...embellished.”

    Yang slammed his palm down on his desk. “Get to the point!”

    Lee still couldn’t lift his eyes. “In ancient times, you know, all they had was a coliseum. That was enough to entertain scores.”

    Yang sat back in his chair and blinked at his associate. “Excuse me?”

    “An arena. The most basic, oldest form of human entertainment. We train idols to be champions, not stars. They learn techniques in....”

    Yang raised an eyebrow. He could guess what Lee was getting at, but he didn’t dare believe it. Not for a moment.

    “Battle.”

    Yang shot to his feet. Fury burned in his chest, hotter than ever before. “I hired you for serious business inquiry and you come here to propose that I tell my children to fight people?”

    Lee sighed. “It could work.”

    “You’re fired.”

    Lee finally looked up. There was shock and fear in his eyes. Yang met his gaze with steel in his own. “Get out of my office.”

    Lee stood shakily and began to retreat. He paused in the doorway, then spoke without looking back. “I’ve been through your books. I know that you have no options left. If you don’t try something, anything, those kids you claim to care so much about will be jobless and forgotten. As will you.”

    Once Lee had gone, Yang shrunk back down into his chair. He took a lingering look at his office. Would it be his tomorrow? Probably. But next month, next year? He couldn’t be sure. He sighed and buried his face in his hands.

    He hated entertaining the idea, but surely the people of modern day Korea would never enjoy such a horrific concept. They hadn’t the bloodlust for such a thing. No one did.

    But in the years that followed, he quickly discovered just how wrong he was.