CTFI 07

Chapter 7

[RE:VIVAL – Idol War]

It was a program prepared by AMP Music under WJ ENM, already confirmed to air in the prime Friday night 9 PM slot.

“The stage of stars that lost their light!”

The slogan sounded impressive, but in reality, it was a brutal underground idol war. A cruel survival show gathering idols who had debuted but were still at the bottom of recognition—the so-called “failed idols”—and making them compete. The sweet lure of a revival round hooked desperate idols into this survival game.

Luha chose to appear on RE:VIVAL as the first step in Lumis’ project to escape the failed-idol status.

“Toybox, Spectrum, Chrome, and…”

Luha’s small lips uttered the last name.

“Starvolt.”

The air in the conference room froze. Some employees showed fleeting expressions of shock. Toybox and Spectrum were one thing, but Chrome and Starvolt?

Considering the purpose of the program, participating groups were supposed to be those in need of a comeback. But Starvolt and Chrome were actively promoting, regularly charting—not exactly the kind of “failed idols” the show was about.

“…So, it’s about securing ratings, huh.”

A small sigh spread across the room in response to Han Sujin’s muttering. Broadcasting companies aren’t volunteer organizations. A survival show with only failed idols? A chance for a comeback? Whatever the concept, ratings came first. If it wasn’t entertaining enough, viewers would switch channels. That’s why they hedged their bets—mixing in groups with some recognition.

“With such strong competition… I worry Lumis might just embarrass themselves.”

A&R team leader Seo Jiwon spoke skeptically.

“Well, you could think that way.”

Luha nodded calmly.

“I have a question. Why would Starvolt and Chrome want to appear on a show like this?”
“…”

Silence filled the room. Employees exchanged glances.

“Because it’s a hot topic…?”

Choi Eunbi raised her hand cautiously.

“Exactly.”
“Oh~”

The employees admired her and gave thumbs up.

“Are they paying attention in class? Did they present?”

Luha sighed inwardly, but continued her explanation. She stepped away from the table to the front of the conference room, in front of the whiteboard. Her small height meant she had to step on a chair to reach. The employees stared curiously, unsure of what she was doing, yet remained silent, captivated by the charisma of a five-year-old.

“The public constantly consumes ‘hot stories’.”

The whiteboard marker danced across the board, writing words.

SNS, real-time news, algorithms, communities.

“The idol market is no exception.”

Stage mishap legends, teaser scams, live performance controversies, airport fashion.

“These sensational headlines generate clicks…”

She drew an arrow across the board.

“Clicks create buzz…”

Another swift line.

“And buzz creates stars.”

Finally, she drew a star and tapped the board.

“Is it because the company is small? The concept unclear? The songs weak? Promotion lacking?”

Luha’s lips curled into a cold, cynical smile uncharacteristic of a child.

“Those are all excuses, ways to comfort oneself after failure.”

By Jin Dohyeon’s standards, Lumis might not be perfect, but objectively, they weren’t lacking. Both Lumis and Clef had sufficient talent. Yoon Taejin, a composer by training, occasionally charted even now, and the staff included veterans from major agencies. The team had at least the average capabilities of the industry.

“The idol market is already saturated. Every year countless idols debut. Why didn’t Lumis stand out?”

ISSUE

She wrote it boldly on the board.

“There wasn’t one. Not a single buzz…”

She swept the words away with her hand.

“They just passed by unnoticed.”
“Yes, buzz is important.”

Yoon Taejin still looked doubtful.

“But since this is ultimately a survival show, viewer votes are the most important. Won’t Lumis, with a relatively small fandom, be at a disadvantage? They might be eliminated before the halfway point…”

He added bitterly.

“Even before they make a buzz…”

Not wrong. Viewer votes are essentially popularity contests. Groups with established fandoms naturally have an advantage.

“Which is why we must go… Yo-oh—”

‘Frustrating, so frustrating…’

Luha’s brow furrowed.

“Okay, let me explain simply.”

She scanned the room. Her eyes met Choi Eunbi’s blank stare.

“Do you like soccer?”
“Soccer?”

Eunbi blinked.

“No, I’m not really into sports.”
“Then do you know how far our country made it in the last World Cup?”
“Ah!”

Eunbi’s face brightened.

“Round of 16! Yeah, I know that much~”

Her voice carried confidence.

“Favorite player?”
“I told you, I don’t really know soccer.”

Eunbi hesitated but then raised her hand excitedly.

“Kang Tae-woo! I know him!”
“How do you know?”
“He collided with that foreign player back then!”

She recounted with excitement.

“I remember how he ran so hard even bleeding! And then the comeback goal! Seriously, that was epic!”

She looked proud of her memory.

“Viewer votes are opportunities.”

Luha turned back to the whiteboard.

“Why?”

She drew a big question mark.

“Because the war begins.”
“Wa… war?”

Yoon Taejin tilted his head.

“Viewer votes mean that communities, SNS, and comment sections will become active.”

Luha drew four large circles on the board.

“A competition program isn’t just a battle on stage. Online, fans compete naturally.”

She began drawing arrows between the circles chaotically.

“‘Our kids are better!’ ‘No, they’re better!’ ‘What about attitude?’ ‘Hmm… behavior?’”

She changed her voice, imitating online reactions.

“Hehe!”
“Cute.”

The employees chuckled. Too realistic a depiction—they saw this happen online every day.

“Watching the fight is the most fun, you’ve heard that, right?”

The staff tilted their heads, confused.

“At first, it’s just fun to watch the fight. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Who are they anyway?’”

Luha added many small circles around the first ones, representing ordinary viewers.

“Gradually, they notice the group, get curious. Then, ‘Are they really that good?’ ‘Oh, not bad.’ They watch performances, look for info…”

She drew arrows from the small circles to the big ones.

*”Before they know it, they start cheering like Eunbi, feel joy, feel sadness…”
“No… way?”

Yoon Taejin finally understood and slammed the table, standing abruptly. Luha smiled, then started filling in one of the circles.

“They… become fans.”
“…!”

Realization dawned on the employees’ faces.

“The goal of appearing on this program is clear: creating buzz for Lumis and expanding their fandom.”

Bang! The marker slammed on the board.

“Ah…”

The Clef Entertainment staff opened their mouths in awe. This wasn’t just another annual competition—they had clearly identified what Lumis needed now, a strategic approach.

‘Huh.’

Yoon Taejin let out a dry chuckle. Even small, Dohyeon was still Dohyeon. It felt like a halo radiated from her tiny body.

“Maybe this time, it could be different…”

Hope filled his chest. But then his expression hardened.

“Wait! If the poster already shows the cast…”

RE:VIVAL was a competition program, not an audition show. That meant the participants had to be recruited.

“The recruitment must be done already…”

A gloomy voice came from the corner. The staff’s previously bright faces darkened again.

“Hmm…”

Luha glanced at the clock.

“It’s about time…”

Then it happened.

Rrrrr-
As if on cue, Management Team Leader Lee Jungmin’s phone vibrated. Could it be…? At this timing, surely!? Everyone’s eyes turned to Lee Jungmin.

“What are you doing? Answer it quickly!”

Yoon Taejin shouted anxiously.

“Y-Yes!”

Lee Jungmin raised the phone with trembling hands.

“Yes, Clef Entertainment… Ah, hello? Oh~ the Revival production team?”

The moment those words came, the conference room buzzed.

“Thank you. We’ll check our schedule and…”
“There’s no schedule! Do it now!”

Luha waved impatiently beside him. Lee Jungmin stammered.

“Ah, yes! Absolutely possible! No problem at all! Thank you!”

He finished the call, still bowing repeatedly, and looked up, tense.

“R-Really?”

Yoon Taejin leaned halfway over the table.

“Yes! It’s the recruitment call!”
“Wowww!”

Cheers erupted.

“Wait a minute!”

PR team leader Han Sujin raised her hand sharply, her voice cutting through the excitement.

“Luha, how do you know all this?”

The staff snapped back to reality. It was strange when you thought about it. A five-year-old doing industry analysis, strategy, and captivating speech?

‘Damn…’

Luha gritted her teeth internally. She had forgotten in her excitement. She was not genius producer Jin Dohyeon, but a five-year-old armed with cuteness. At that moment, only one thought came to mind.

“…”

She never wanted to say it aloud, but there was no other way.

“I… heard it from my dad…”

“Ah~”

The staff nodded in unison.

“The DNA is definitely unique.”
“It’s genetic!”
“Blood doesn’t lie~”
“…?”

Luha’s pupils trembled wildly.

‘Why are they agreeing?’