Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols – Chapter 538 – Spectating (3)

Author: LyraDhani

The wait was truly long. There was so much time that I could have completed two full cycles of deep contemplation on the meaning of life. No wonder they say so many people quit being fans after attending one offline event. The difference between knowledge gained by hearsay and knowledge learned through the body was as vast as the creation of heaven and earth.

Still, it wasn’t entirely boring. I had become friends with the people standing in front of me. More precisely, I started talking to them after accepting the snacks they handed out. Since I’d kept my mouth shut and stood there quietly, I seemed to have been classified as a harmless human being.

“Who are you here to see?”

At the innocent question, the answer Spark popped out of my mouth before I could think. It was only after the people in the front row saw my small backpack—which could never fit a professional camera—that they realized I wasn’t some attention-seeking person pretending to be a male fan in order to attract the attention of male idols.

But if they misunderstood and thought I’d even gone so far as to buy the group’s matching bracelet, I might get identified on social media. Passionate fans, like those who kept pulling camera after camera out of their bags or those who brought four lightsticks at once, were often mentioned in anecdotes of meeting unusual fans.

So, I secretly took off the bracelet, put it in my pocket, and zipped it up. From infiltrating someone else’s room to nimbly hiding accessories, I was increasingly gaining nothing but strange skills.

The people in front of me also stanned a group I knew. They weren’t famous yet, but their activities had overlapped with ours before. As the people waiting for admission grew unable to bear how much time was still left, a street-corner gossip session centered around everyone’s bias—or fake bias—was formed.

“Are there a lot of male Spark fans? We barely have any.”

“I haven’t done many offline events, so I’m not really sure.”

“You’d probably get cut from music show recordings because of your height, though.”

“Did you see Lee Cheonghyeon’s photo shoot? It’s a total legend.”

“You’re a Sader fan, but you saw Spark’s photo shoot too?”

“It got so many retweets, who wouldn’t see it?”

“I think everyone except my dad saw it.”

“Can I tell you something seriously ridiculous?”

“What is it?”

“Apparently, there’s a group with fewer than ten members, but they released fifteen different versions of the album.”

“What?! Is the company out of their minds? Who is it?”

“Our agency.”

“…”

The street heated up with K-idol talk.

“Oh, right. Is Iwol really that sick?”

I almost choked while breathing at the thoughtfulness of someone worrying about a member of another group who had even suspended his activities. While my recognition rate had decreased for face-to-face encounters, Kim Iwol’s presence was still going strong. If I had known it would be like this, I should have requested an erasure instead of just a decrease in recognition. I chose the side with fewer side effects to avoid complications, but I had played it too safe.

Anyway, Iwol is healthy. He’s healthy enough to ditch the stage and stand in line for two hours…

In between answering people who asked whether this was indeed the first-come, first-served waiting line and checking the concert’s official social-media account, a considerable rapport had formed within our little street-corner gossip group.

“No, f*ck, does an outdoor evening concert in this weather even make sense?”

“The bastards who planned this should have been forced to hold their meetings outside.”

The strong bond between us could be felt in their increasingly rough language. It wasn’t common for fans of different groups to talk this much. At events like pre-recordings, fans usually lined up according to their respective fan clubs, and even when they happened to gather together, there were plenty of groups that ended up on bad terms after competing over various metrics, including rankings.

But the terrible conditions, along with the fact that the bias groups were far enough apart in terms of career seniority that they couldn’t really be considered competitors, made this grand unification possible. They say it’s easier for people to band together when they have a common enemy.

“I’m worried the floor might be slippery. Our team has a kid with bad knees.”

“Seriously, it’s so infuriating that they make the stages out of slippery material when idols are already doing increasingly intense choreography these days.”

As an idol, a mid-winter outdoor performance wouldn’t be easy. They had to travel long distances, and it was far too cold to dance and sing. As for the waiting area, all they could do was endure inside tents with a couple of heaters. As the fan said, it was an environment where it was far too easy to get injured or fall ill.

But even that hardship couldn’t compare to what the fans waiting here were going through. Most of these people couldn’t even find convenient places to park, so they had to make multiple transfers on public transportation to get here, then stand and wait in the middle of the street without even a tent, let alone a heater.

If they were going to tell people not to sit down, they should’ve figured out how to manage the lines in advance. What kind of etiquette was it to announce ‘first come, first served’, then bark at everyone because they couldn’t handle the consequences?

As someone who sat here with sophisticated thoughts and even worked in the industry, I felt ashamed that I hadn’t improved anything. But wrong was wrong. Damn it, I should’ve worked harder when I was promoting with Spark.

My heart ached thinking about the Sparklers who must be somewhere in this line. I even debated whether it would be better to just go back now. If I left, one more fan could get in.

Just as I was about to turn back, the bleached-hair member of our street-corner gossip group spoke up.

“They just posted a notice saying they aren’t taking any more people for the first-come-first-served entry.”

“Then people arriving after this can’t even stand in line?”

“Yeah. I guess they decided to cut it off because they can’t handle managing the number of people.”

“It’s better than making people wait all this time only to turn them away right before the entrance… but, still.”

“They should have just done pre-bookings, seriously.”

Complaints came pouring in from all around. Even if I left now, the opportunity wouldn’t be given to another fan, so I was stuck, completely trapped in the tightly packed line on both sides.

***

As the sun that had once been high overhead slowly sank toward the horizon, the line gradually began to move. With the faint sounds of rehearsal I’d been hearing for a while serving as background music, I diligently followed the line. Only after slowly shuffling along for what felt like ages did I finally manage to set foot inside the park.

The standing zone and seating areas in front of the stage were already packed with people. I’d parted ways with my little gossip group earlier, wishing them all a comfortable viewing experience.

I headed as far toward the edge as possible, avoiding the people running forward in hopes of getting even a little closer. I’d already seen all those posts saying that tall people should have the decency to stay toward the back.

After securing a cozy spot at the very rear, the view of the venue was truly a spectacle. The multi-colored lightsticks had a different charm than at a solo concert.

I had seen such sights while doing the year-end music festivals. However, there was a big difference between the view from the stage and being part of that view. This side had its own sense of unity.

While the audience continued pouring in like a tide, the giant screens lit up. Ah, how familiar. This situation… where ‘the concert starts before everyone has been let in because of poor management’. Seriously, do concert organizers not run simulations or something?

I could understand that unexpected situations could happen. The problem was, if this same unexpected situation happened every year, why didn’t they build some extra time into the schedule? Did their experience reset every year or something?

I stood there with my arms crossed like a professional grumbler, muttering complaints to myself. Even while busy being annoyed, I clapped hard whenever an MC or an idol came out. Although the figures looked like the size of a finger, the resolution of the screen was quite good, so I wasn’t disappointed. Apparently, being an audience member suited me.

‘When is Spark coming out?’

I’d refrained from looking at the leaked performance order out of professional courtesy and industry ethics, so I’d ended up becoming someone who did nothing but wait endlessly for Spark. I could excuse myself since I’d worked in the industry, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was unfair to the people who had come simply to watch the concert.

Don’t musicals and concerts tell you all the numbers and performance order beforehand? Why is it only in this field that we have to wait until the MCs happen to mention who’s coming out? Even fans watching from home could miss their idols while stepping away for a moment. I condemn this, I condemn it.

Using my anger as fuel, I waved the glow stick I had bought from a stationery store near my house. When the camera panned over the audience, apparently it looked better when the light sources filled the entire frame, even into the corners. Determined to do my part in decorating the edges of the screen, I’d even brought spare batteries.

The ‘Spirit of the People’ sticks—the symbol of Sparklers—were visible everywhere. From not far from where I stood all the way to the front, familiar orange lights burned like torches throughout the crowd. Their luminosity was still extraordinary.

Every time the electric flames entered my field of vision, I felt a mixture of emotions. No matter how heavy my heart felt, I couldn’t deny the sense of familiarity and joy at seeing them. All those emotions became tangled together, creating a strange feeling.

‘So many of them came…… even in this weather.’

Even when we’d been standing in line, the Sparklers had stood out conspicuously. The keychains hanging from their bags, their light sticks, the dolls inside their transparent pockets—I knew every single one of those things. How could I possibly fail to notice them? The person two spots away from me was even clutching a first-generation light stick tightly in their hand.

With fans like that spread widely throughout the crowd, they were even easier to spot. I could even tell who their favorite member was by looking at the parts they had put inside the lightstick’s dome. Seriously, if it weren’t for the system, I would’ve taken a ton of hot photos of Spark today for the Sparklers shivering in this cold and uploaded them to the official account.

While I was lamenting the missed opportunity, two more performances passed. Before I knew it, the sun had set and it was pitch black. It became even darker when the lights went out as another group left the stage.

Every time a chill swept in, the sound of the cutting wind seemed to howl. My ears were so cold it felt like they would fall off, and cloud-like breath escaped people’s mouths. Even a quick glance around showed that everyone’s cheeks had turned bright red. I carefully handed out the hot packs I had stockpiled to the people in front and on both sides of me, making sure not to look like a suspicious person.

Just as I was about to accept a jelly a person in front gave me in return, a heavy bass sound vibrated through the floor. The ground shook. A familiar drum beat climbed up my body, thumping from my toes.

Cheers erupted. In the area where the speakers were, the orange lightsticks—brightness turned up a notch—began to shake energetically. The audience seats sparkled as if sparks were flying and spreading.

With a clank, the sound of metal pieces fitting together like a puzzle was heard.

『What color do you see?』

Led by the owner of the part, Lee Cheonghyeon, Spark appeared on the screen.

“Fire!”

The guy swept up his bangs and pointed his microphone toward the audience, and the fans who knew the fan chant responded.

[spArk’s Eternal Soul] Lee Cheonghyeon

Lee Cheonghyeon (21 years old)

Career History

─ spArk’s 4th-year Main Rapper

The system lit up behind him like a stage effect.

『It’s the color of a flame』

It was 『Connect』.