Mino knows how the society can break you, manipulate you into thinking you are wrong and they are the greater good. He knows the words of higher-ranked citizens cannot be trusted. It's the reason he wanted to be an idol; place a treat in front of your audience and they will adhere. He is positioned in front of a hungry crowd of girls; all wanting to grab a whiff of him, and he orchestrates the mass media symphony. Sweat drips down his neck, a smirk is forced upon his lips, with his cog-like thoughts breaking and falling into the welcoming arms of his fans.

Like hungry wolves, they up every inch of him. The greedy ones want more, but no one really listens to his speech. Propaganda and subliminal perception; open your eyes, please, he raps. The revolution is coming, a pandemic of lies and nightmares. Mino tries his best, but he knows all they listen to is his musings of love and superficiality. A renowned idol, yet the price of the won weighs him down. The heaviness of corruption attacks his mind and bitters his soul. His hands are bloody with the slices of blunt rejection.

Too dark, they tell him; give the audience what they want, never what you want. Disobedience is Mino's middle name, he likes ot think, yet his knees are broken to bow down to the hierarchy. The dark and chalky clouds of expectation are placed permanently on his back. The media tries to stigmatize his life's work, with the people screaming that he has changed. A scowl is painted on his lips, this time, poisoning the sweet melody of his songs.

He started out young, and regret fills his aging features. His youth is planned by his manager, exploiting his naivety and boyish charm. As he grows older, he starts to understand the world and its mechanics. He turns up his music to distract him but the words jump out at him, screaming in his face. 

[CORRUPTION: DISHONEST OR FRAUDULENT CONDUCT BY THOSE IN POWER]

The countdown begins. He believes the press will find out what he has done in less than 24 hours; and he is right. The clicks of the camera, the flashing lights and the news announcers surround his apartment. The fans come one by one, placing flowers by his door. No one notices his ruined wrists, the offending knife clutched tightly in his palm. No one notices the honest, bare face he keeps. No one notices the pile of rejected lyrics, each page crossed out; placed neatly next to him. No one ever notices the little things, all they see is the charm. This time, however, he reveals the trickery. His eyes flutter shut, his work is done. After years of breaking his limbs to entertain, he is free.

The blood, sweat and tears amount to a final grin.