BLGDF 79

Chapter 79

When Kim Ryeoyu completely gave up on the stage, the trainees panicked.

But there was no time to panic. Somebody had to cover the parts Kim Ryeoyu wasn’t singing.

And in that moment, the trainees’ teamwork shone.

Just look at my light
Forget for a moment the shadows I’m trying to hide.

Without hesitation, each of them filled in the lines.

First, Seo Baekyoung,

Because you are my light.

Then, Lee Kyunga,

I’ll be your light too.

Then Yoon Cheong,

Because we passed through the same prism of summer.

Then Kim Geum, Bang Suin, Ryu Bora…

Thankfully, it didn’t get messy. They kept exchanging glances and matched up every time Ryeoyu’s part came back around.

If even one of them had overlapped awkwardly, the performance could have fallen apart.

But the trainees, relying on the chemistry they had built together, read each other’s minds.

This time you?
Next time me.

Even without knowing what was going on, they all kept smiling as they sang.

We’ll shine forever
You and I, sparkling together.

And the moment the last line ended—

Kim Ryeoyu bolted off the stage.

Only then did the trainees see the audience below.

Only then did they feel the eyes of the people on them.

And only then did they understand—

Why Ryeoyu had run away.

They didn’t know what it was, but clearly something had gone terribly wrong.

“Thank you for waiting. From now, we’ll begin the countdown. Now, Colorists, it’s your time to paint the trainees’ dreams with color. Just one minute. One minute left. Please, lend them your support one last time.”

Do Heeyoung smiled at the camera as if nothing had happened.

But the trainees on stage couldn’t keep such a poker face.

They each dealt with it differently, but their shock was written on their faces.

Ryeoyu had left the stage the moment the performance ended.

And they had heard the news.

What was happening outside this not-so-big but not-so-small studio.

“All of you—pretend you don’t know anything. Act like you have no idea about this incident. That’s the best path for everyone.”

An employee from headquarters had hurriedly explained.

We’ll handle the damage control. If you say anything, you’ll just be dragged into the mud too.

Those words left a shadow in their hearts.

They didn’t like Ryeoyu, but it wasn’t like they could feel good about this either.

Because they could tell—this wasn’t some small controversy.

So, though this was supposed to be the time to face the camera and appeal for votes…

Their hands froze. They couldn’t even promote themselves properly.

They just forced smiles and waved stiffly.

“Please send your support to these earnest dreams. Colorz is a blank canvas, waiting for your new colors. Text #16XX with the numbers of the trainees you support. You can choose up to five. Now is your time to freely color with the shades you want… and now. Ten seconds left. Ten. Nine. Eight…”

The audience screamed themselves hoarse.

“Thank you. Thanks to your passionate support, the voting for Make a New Color has officially closed with an incredible number of votes. Who will be the five new dream colors to lead the future of K-POP? We’ll take a short break to tally the votes. The results will be revealed in just one minute.”

One minute of commercials.

Meanwhile, the internet was still in chaos.

★

Wow, finally we’ll know who makes it.

No matter who it is, this survival show is gonna go down in history… absolutely insane.

Current situation of “MenuColor”:

• 1 voluntary withdrawal

• 1 “nationwide withdrawal petition”

Out of the 10 left, I’ll cheer for whoever. Honestly, I wanted to vote for all 10…

While fans, Colorz staff, and the trainees couldn’t smile—

There was one person grinning ear to ear.

Producer Oh.

“Man. Did I build some temple in my past life or what? These kids are handing me all this attention on a silver platter.”

“…”

In truth, even with all this controversy around the trainees, PD Oh lost nothing.

Colorz? They were panicking, since their precious trainee’s career was crashing.

But M10, the network?

It was jackpot.

The bigger the scandal, the higher the ratings soared.

“When I first planned this, I doubted we’d even break 1%. Right, Writer Kang? What did we get last episode?”

“…2.1%.”

“I’m telling you, this time we’ll break 2.5%.”

In an industry where idol survival shows rarely pulled high ratings—

Especially single-agency shows, which had a smaller pool of trainees—

MenuColor had defied the odds.

Colorz was a powerhouse agency with loyal fans, but nobody had expected this much drama.

Yet here it was.

Scandals erupting one after another.

Mostly thanks to Kim Ryeoyu, of course.

But the others weren’t pushovers either, which made it fun to watch.

“If just one more trainee blows up, this’ll be gold.”

“…One more?”

Writer Kang couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Mm?”

“These kids… the oldest is barely past twenty.”

“Huh?”

PD Oh was startled. Kang had never pushed back before.

“I’m not saying Ryeoyu doesn’t deserve this. She’s reaping what she sowed. But that comment just now—what was that? Shouldn’t you hope school violence doesn’t exist at all? And instead you’re wishing for another scandal—for your promotion? Do you really see it as something that convenient?”

“Wow, Kang, you’re talking funny.”

“No, PD-nim. You’re the one talking funny. Hoping kids’ lives get ruined just to get you a step up?”

PD Oh’s eyes widened.

“Hey, did I report it? Was I the one who exposed her bullying? No, right? It was the YouTubers!”

“You’re the one who gave them the source.”

And that was true.

The person who leaked Kim Ryeoyu’s bullying history to online scandal-mongering YouTubers—was PD Oh himself.

Of course he had known from the beginning.

When the program had only twelve trainees, of course he had pulled their school records.

Kim, the director, had ordered him to bury it, so he did—temporarily.

He’d simply waited.

Should he expose it? Or not?

At first, he hadn’t planned to.

Because even if he did, Ryeoyu might still debut if Colorz fought back hard enough. Or the public might just not care.

If he miscalculated, he’d only earn Colorz’s hatred and ruin himself.

If he was going to expose it, it had to guarantee Ryeoyu’s elimination.

So he waited for someone else to make the first move.

To PD Oh, this was like a sandcastle game.

The players were Colorz, M10, and… Yoon Cheong.

A trainee as a player?

To him, Yoon Cheong was exceptional.

But either way—one of them had to collapse for ratings to explode.

Himself? Never.

If the producers rigged things, they could just as easily be destroyed.

So it had to be Yoon Cheong or Colorz.

But first, someone else had to scoop out a big chunk of sand.

And Yoon Cheong did.

A huge scoop.

Which meant—it was PD Oh’s turn.

The perfect timing to unleash the scandal and spike ratings.

PD Oh was an opportunist, but above all, a safety-first opportunist.

He would never lead the charge. He’d wait until someone else moved first, then slip in behind them.

And now that Ryeoyu’s reputation was teetering, he struck.

He leaked the source.

And it worked beautifully.

“Yeah, I leaked it. And you, Writer Kang—you looked the other way and still put her on the show.”

“…!”

“You knew people would be hurt seeing her on TV. But you ignored it anyway. Whatever your reasons, at least I achieved some justice. What did you do? Nothing but hide behind ‘neutrality.’ Isn’t that just bystanding?”

To PD Oh, he wasn’t wrong.

He admitted he was selfish.

But hey, he hadn’t fabricated anything.

A bad kid did bad things. He exposed them.

Wasn’t that what broadcasting was about?

“What’s so wrong about that? If I’d made up lies, sure, hate me all you want. But I delivered the facts, raw. That’s journalism. Don’t you agree?”

“…If it was really so noble, you should’ve aired it yourself.”

For the first time, PD Oh was speechless.

That mouth that never stopped running—clamped shut.

“If it was really righteous, you should’ve done it yourself. But no—you didn’t want your own hands dirty. Didn’t want to make an enemy of Colorz or Ryeoyu’s family. So you just leaked it. Chased after profit. That’s not broadcasting. That’s just cowardice.”

“Have you lost your mind, Kang?”

“And yeah, I’m a coward too. I’ve kept my mouth shut to keep my job. But at least—at least I can admit I’m ashamed of it. Maybe I’m a coward, but I want to be one who knows he’s a coward!”

Writer Kang stormed out, fuming.

It was nearly time for the vote results.

And he regretted his words already.

Because he wasn’t a brave man.

If he were, he’d have done something long ago.

But he had chosen silence.

And that made him all the more ashamed.

Even so, at that moment, he couldn’t hold back his anger.

Maybe because—

“Thank you for waiting. The vote count has just finished. First, the total votes: an unbelievable number. The total text votes are… 1,244,728! One million, two hundred forty-four thousand, seven hundred twenty-eight!”

Maybe because his heart had started to shift—just a little—toward those kids still standing on stage.