Idol
I paid almost a million won to see you where ARE YOU?!?!
She’ll pocket the money. Kim was the better one anyway.
We’re still waiting!
Seong turned the speakers up, letting the playlist drown out the Pop-Feed flooding her ears. Her green room rattled with the bass as she danced along the clear parts of the floor, one hand in the air. The other raised a half-empty bottle of wine to her lips. It was better to stay in here listening to Fake It—Kim had known her so well— than go on stage.
Until she opened her eyes and saw the concert’s stage manager at the door shouting, again, that she was over an hour late. She threw the bottle at him. He slammed the door shut as it shattered against the hardwood, leaving a maroon splash and a rain of dull green shards.
Seong didn’t care if she was an hour late, or two, or ten. The two-hundred thousand person audience, and thousands more live streaming, were with her anyway, telling her all about how they miss Kim, how they want her back. Seong only felt the twist of her gut whenever she saw or heard her name. She can’t perform without her. She can’t.
Instead of a useless stage manager, She wanted Jung. Her agent. He could stop the Pop-Feed. He could cancel the show like he did three months ago when she broke down crying on stage. He could get her out of this.
But he hadn’t responded when Seong tried calling, texting, even desperately posting on her socials. All that did was open a new flood of messages from everyone but Jung. He never replied. He would help her like last time though. He had to.
So until then, she stayed in the room, letting the playlist push it all away.
Kim had made it for her years ago when they first toured and it had grown to be over seventeen hours long. Every tune Seong had gotten hooked on or that Kim had thought she would like (and she was never wrong) had been added on. None of their own music was allowed on it. Even the duet bop that had cracked international borders like an invading army.
Seong would often lose herself in the playlist when everything would get too much: in-between four interviews, a fan meet and greet, a short break from ten hours of dance choreography, and more. Even sitting in her condo, or more often a hotel somewhere around the world, she’d have it playing in the background while chatting with Kim until the night leaned towards morning and they were wrapped in the same blanket, laughing at a joke told five minutes ago and dried tears stuck in the corners of their eyes.
Listening to it now, Seong could feel each memory weaved into the playlist, feel Kim next to her, laughing or dancing to make her smile after a long day.
Then the noise of the Pop-Feed breached in like speaker feedback. Dozens of messages flying past her retina.
No Kim and no Seong? Doesn’t surprise me.
Sing Run to the Sky! Always my favorite of Kim’s!
Dress in that dark red like last night, you look fuckable in it.
A voice so slimy the phantom of his breath brushed against her shoulder. She whipped her arm around to slap his face away but only swiped across her makeup table, crashing a few million won of lipstick, mascara, and every other kind of cosmetic onto the floor.
The Pop-Feed helped the crowd feel more involved with the performance, she was told. The scattering of nodes and nano-wires across her body let the audience suggest to her directly what to sing, what to wear, and what to dance. Seong even felt it move for her since returning to the stage.
A half kick missed in a choreographed dance, an improvised shout to the audience at just the right time, or walking her out to the tip of the stage to run her hands along the fan’s writhing outstretched arms. She hadn’t thought to do any of that. But then she would reestablish the connection to herself and move on at her own pace.
But she should have been able to turn it off. When it became overwhelming, voices and words erupting over her, she should be able to switch it all off. That hadn’t worked since returning to the stage last night. She wrestled with the implants all day and night as it blared over her ears and eyes.
She looked around for another bottle of alcohol. It didn’t matter what kind. Anything to shut them up, audible and visual. But her green room was in a state of emergency. The wrecked makeup, red wine dripping down the door, and the shattered Smart-Mirror giving her a reassuring, broken smile as it waited for her to continue applying.
Her dozen outfits were scattered around. Thrown haphazardly on the small couch, chair, or just on the floor. She’d heard from thousands through the feed on what to wear. The bright yellow jumpsuit for the opening? Then another comment had screamed in her ear wanting the black leather. She ripped the jumpsuit down its seams with a crackling tear, moving onto the next.
The track switched and Avaricious & Vicious came on, Mai Trang ripping words at a pace of one hundred BPM. The song was one of Kim’s favorites. She would hear the opening notes bump against her ears and spring up, ready to dance even if she was exhausted. Seong only started to like the choice then.
They’d been happy going on stage together, despite the demands of the Pop-Feed and their relentless schedule. They would help each other sort through all of it. Who to agree with, who asked nice enough, who wanted it the most, who to blacklist. But going on stage now, Seong only felt Kim’s absence like a hole in the world. And the Pop-feed…
Did you gain weight? You looked better a few months ago.
I don’t care if I have to wait all night, I can’t wait to listen to you live!
Seong!
Kim!
Seong!
Kim!
She found a bottle of Japanese whiskey underneath a torn Ziggy Stardust inspired outfit. As soon as the cap spun off, she brought it to her lips and drank deeply. The text over her eyes was still visible, scrolling by in a white blur, and the voices in her ear still rambled, but the burn running down her throat scorched it all away for a moment.
A rippling boil of stomach acid, wine, and rejected whiskey rolled back up. She gagged and dropped the bottle. The glass didn’t shatter, only bounced with a hollow thud before upending, glugging thousands of won over the floor. Seong fell to her knees and choked out the vomit mix until her eyes waterfalled.
She hugged her legs without getting up, not even moving away from the bile. She tried focusing on the playlist, currently drumming through the chorus of Lion Heart, but the feed screamed above, turning it all into static.
A call cut through the noise. Jung’s picture jingled in front of the text feed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she answered before the first ring ended.
“Seong. Baby. Why isn’t my favorite singer out on stage?” His voice was cool and crisp, cutting over the harsh shouting, soothing, and excited voices.
“Turn it off.” She hugged her head, trying to squeeze out the noise. “The fucking Pop-Feed.”
“You know we can’t do that. That’s why everyone bought their tickets. Be involved in the show. Now, we need you to buckle up for this performance tonight. It’s even bigger than last night! There are over six million people who bought tickets for the live stream alone.”
“Please…” Her voice trailed off as the room twisted around her. Whether it was from the alcohol, the overwhelming noise, or her brain finally clicking off, Seong wasn’t sure. She closed her eyes, hoping for some reprieve from the dizziness and the feed.
Jung continued talking, but Seong didn’t hear him. She focused on the black inside of her eyelids, past the text feed swirling by, past the voices crawling over her. She passed out, wishing Kim was stroking her hands.
#
Someone knocked on the door. Heavy thuds pounding over the mindless clamor of the feed and the raging playlist. Some tune by Jay Grimes, Seong couldn’t remember the title.
Fuck this. Kim was the one who held it all together.
Where are you? We want to hear you!
I really want to hear Baby Bash, please sing it.
How long had it been? The knocking continued as a headache flared behind her eyes. Her throat and stomach burned a sickly grease fire.
“Fuck off!” Seong croaked from her fetal position.
“Seong, open the door!” Jung yelled over the max volume song.
Finally, here to help. She crawled off the floor and let him in.
“We need you out on stage,” Jung said, voice barely edging out the speakers. His smile was as sharp as his suit before sighting the room. The shredded outfits. The crashed makeup. The wet squelch of his designer shoes on the wine. He shut the door behind him.
“What have you been doing?” As if it wasn’t obvious with the typhoon of destruction around him.
“They keep talking about Kim and Kim and Kim.” She sat down on the couch layered with ripped outfits. “Shut it off.”
Jung walked over to the makeup table and hit pause on the smart mirror. Cutting off Shadows right as it began. Silence bloomed and Seong’s ears rang. The hum of the audience out in the stadium, and in her head, was all that remained.
“People paid to get their comments directly to the great Seong. We can’t just revoke all of it.”
“If you don’t turn this off, I will revoke all of it. The comments, the concerts, the fucking contract. All of it!”
She expected him to calm her down. To say its ok, we’ll work something out. But he only forced a smile that distorted his face.
“This is the biggest show we’ve had all year. We’re not sending everyone home. We lose the credibility and money from all of your fans.”
“Their Kim’s fans. She was the better of us. They know it.” The noise from the feed racked over her again as if it heard her plea and fought back.
She’s just delaying to build anticipation, I know it.
Fuck you bitch, I’m not waiting another minute.
She back there getting high or what? Hope she doesn’t OD like Kim.
Seong uselessly covered her ears. She wanted to flee to her condo and crawl under her bed. She wanted to talk to Kim again. To see her laugh at a crap joke or dance when one of her favorite songs came on the playlist. But that wouldn’t happen.
The last time Seong saw her was in a hotel room outside of Osaka. She stayed in her room for the night instead of going out with the party. Kim gave a sad smile, traced her warm fingers up Seong’s forearm, and said she would be fine. She just needed a break.
Then the next morning came and it was anything but fine.
Jung shook her shoulder and held out a dress, black with gemstones lining the straps, showing just enough leg. “Put this on. We had almost seven million streamers, now we’re down to four and falling. That’s not even counting the people leaving here…”
She wrenched the dress out of his hands and threw it across the room, only going far enough to land in the puddle of vomit. “You’re supposed to help me! I’m not going out there. Not tonight. Not tomorrow.” Not without Kim.
Jung’s smile slipped only for a moment. He tapped his left temple with two fingers. “Override Seong Ji-Kyu. Full control.”
Before she could question him, her body shot with an electric pulse. It forced her into a rigid pose; arms straight at her sides, legs together like they had been tied with steel cord, even her mouth clamped shut. She slid off the couch and hit the floor hard enough to send a rivet of pain through her. The spilled whiskey soaked into her clothes.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even cry out.
Jung pulled the make-up chair up to her and sat in it, propping his feet up on the couch.
“We only installed this feature as a precaution, you know? Looking out for you really.” He picked at his fingernails as he spoke, barely even looking at her. “But it’s helped in more ways than one. You were rusty last night. I’ve always liked you more. I had thought we could avoid all of this with you, unlike Kim.”
A cold knife went through her when he said her name.
“The label gave you a nice break after her departure. Three months! That was generous, you know? Your contract didn’t have any stipulations for that. But we thought a comeback tour would look better. And now,” he gestured to the room, “you thank us by throwing a tantrum?”
She stared. A tantrum was all this was to him. A tantrum over losing Kim…He wasn’t here to help her.
He tapped his left temple again. Her jaw unclamped and Seong gasped out a breath as if she’d been choked. The rest of her body stayed frozen.
“Turn off the Pop-feed then—and, and I’ll go on stage, I’ll perform. My own songs.”
Jung turned off the chair and straddled over her, staring straight into her eyes.
“We want you to be happy, Seong. But when we’re not happy, you won’t be.” He twisted a lock of hair around one of his fingers, twirling until it was tight enough to pull her head to the side with a tug of pain. “We invested a lot of money into you, more than any others under our label. All that promotion. All those songs that needed to be put together. Make up, photo-shoots, interviews, boyfriends, concerts and all that comes with it. Do you want to make us happy?”
“Yes, but-“
“Then you understand your contract is still active for six more years. You will perform when we tell you and your fans get to tell you about everything they want when they pay for it. Then you can crash your life for some drug addict all you want.”
A heat punched her stomach. Something that Jung’s control couldn’t smother. Kim was just another used-up tool for him and the company as Seong would be, sooner or later.
Jung stood and buttoned his suit before tapping his left temple. Seong’s mouth soldered shut again before a force manipulated her body. Invisible hands rolled her to the side, then stood her up, facing Jung. She tried to resist, fighting with every muscle she could, but nothing would budge. The hands were steel.
He eyed her body up and down, as if assessing some piece of clothing to purchase, before smoothing her hair back into a tight ponytail and straightening the outfit she had on.
“We’ll get you cleaned up between songs. We need to salvage this.” He tapped his left temple before walking towards the door. Seong followed, the invisible hands pushing her legs forward, keeping her body upright. Jung grabbed the door handle but turned back to face her again. “I’m putting you on stage. You’re going to play your part, yes?”
Seong fought against her sealed lips. She wanted to shout yes, of course she’ll play her part. She’ll play her part…
He chuckled. “Good girl.”
Jung opened the door, letting the echoing noise of the stadium spill in. An army of stage handlers, technicians, and suits were lined up around the doorway. Jung yelled at them to get in position. Seong would be performing in five. They slipped away without so much of a glance at her.
Jung walked her toward the stage. She wished Kim were there with her, ready to bound out in front of the audience with an energetic smile, but she wasn’t ever going to be by her side again.
And it was the company’s fault.
Seong will go on stage, yes. She’ll play the part the company wanted her to play, but she’ll perform for Kim. She has to perform for her. And make the record breaking audience know what the label pushed her to.
They’ll all be talking about it.
Still waiting for Seong, I hope she comes out soon.
We miss Kim, but we want Seong too!
I’d love to see you live for the first time…
The opening song’s beat started to play.
The opening song’s beat started to play.
Joshua Mannix (he/him) lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. He attended Miami University (Oxford, Ohio) for Creative Writing and has been fiddling with stories ever since. His lovely wife enjoys reading all of his stories but his cat and dog only tolerate listening to him brainstorm. He has been published or is forthcoming in Phano, Bullet Points, Sci-Fi Shorts, and more. He can be found on BlueSky @joshuamannix.bsky.social.