Easily the lowest ranked official in the room, the man barely avoiding his thirties stood dumbly in the corner of the room, not understanding the

suddenly strange atmosphere. His presence in the room was supposed to be as an innocent bystander. He was understandably nervous when the CEO of

Core Contents Media set his attention on the young nobody. “What’s your name, boy?” A pair of confused, nervous eyes looked to anyone and everyone,

hoping for a savior. He got none. “Park Heohyun, sir.” Nodding in acknowledgement, Kim Kwangsoo gestured for him to make himself seen at the front of the

room. ”Come here and see if you can make sense of this. A new position is about to open up, let’s see if you can fill it.”

          The rest of the employees looked on sympathetically as the young man came to stand at the front of the room in the place of his soon to be

unemployed co-worker. Once again, the room was quiet and the tension thick. Heohyun, who’d been barely listening to begin with took a moment to try and

come up with something, anything, to appease his boss. He had to sell a fantasy. Everyone said a silent prayer for his job security, including Park Heohyun,

himself. “Well, I think my colleague might have been on to something. These last couple of years, a lot of inhuman, untouchable idols have come about. And

honestly, I believe fans are becoming bored with the gimmicks. They need to be brought back to the days when idols were performers. Hardworking, flawed

human beings. Put the focus back on pulling together a group of the most talented trainees instead of flashy costumes and storylines that will only last a few

months. No Americanized thugs or extraterrestrials. Just musicians.” If ever Heohyun had a talent, it was to speak with conviction, even when he was only

bullting his way through it. Somehow that alone had gotten him past high school, he could only hope it would work now.

          But it didn’t seem to have the desired effect as he looked out at his audience and saw nothing but careful snickering and disinterest. Heohyun would

have to make a note to himself later: Trying to recycle an idea that had failed horribly minutes ago was not a good idea. Still he waited respectfully for the

only critique that actually mattered. Kim Kwangsoo sat back in his seat, unmoving besides the single finger tapping out a rhythm against the hard wood

surface. “That, was god awful.” No one bothered trying to hide their amused smiles, deciding that it was clear how this would end. “But you put up good

show, I almost believed you were on to something for a moment there.” Even the CEO’s lips were quirked up at the corners. “And since you’re so concerned

with the quality of idols today, I’m going to assign you a new task. I want you to go through the trainees and select a few hopefuls to choose from. If I don’t

like what I see, you’re fired. You have two weeks.”