#id.bio

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 18 COMPANY: MSG ETC: this member is known for their involvement in musicals

IDOL IMAGE

The steadfast, reliable one.

That’s what he is, that’s what he needs to be, or so he’s told.

Not the one who ever truly stands out, only ever when he’s given the time to take center stage as a dancer, but a jack of all trades who blends smoothly into anything that’s thrown at him. Dancing is what he does best, and he clears the stage every time he’s on there, so much so that there’s articles written about how he comes alive, and there’s comment chains about his so-called duality, on stage vs off stage, the artist vs the person, as if they truly knew either at all.

Where his bandmates are electric and mysterious, where they’re magnetic and bring people in, his job is to keep them there, to be the anchor. He’s approachable, perhaps a little too much, and the company pushes his open and earnest relationship to fans, because they need it. The company tells him to be the best friend, the big brother, never the favorite but good enough to make people feel comfortable. The meek shall inherit the earth, as they say.

It’s a polished and just-flawed-enough version of who he’s always wanted to become, once, before the mirror cracked and the smoke vanished. Smile for the camera, be that boy, strong, unwavering, always there for others, sometimes not quite there himself.

He pursues musicals, gets the OK from the company after much insistence, after convincing them that it’ll allow him to show versatility, that that’s the thing they want for the group right now. Selfishly, he wants it for himself first, to show that he can take on that challenge and see it through. The company agrees, if only because they need it, a way to show and confirm, after re:group, that their idols can truly adapt and thrive no matter what’s thrown at them. It’s publicity, at least, but then it’s up to him to make it good.

There’s a sort of vindication in it, although he’s always been told to avoid being too prideful, but sometimes he can’t help it. No hurt in telling yourself you’re doing well, after all, that your best is enough for once.

IDOL HISTORY

corner of the sky.

“Special”.

“Gifted”.

“Prodigal”.

Words that mean too much, until they dont mean anything at all.

-

When Moon Jihun is seven years old, his parents sign him up for the school talent show, at his express request. He had seen this performance on TV, of an artist whose name he can’t remember and that his seven-year-old grasp on language would probably jumble anyway, but it shakes something up in him like nothing has before. It plants a seed in his young mind that’s only begging to grow, so he bats his lashes as his mother, and she writes his name down because of course, anything for her little prince. Before he knows it he gets a taste of it, the costumes and the light and the dramatics, but most importantly he hears his own voice, feels his body moving, and he loves how it makes him feel.

Passion feels like all he needs and he cultivates it, for all the years afterward, and it’s only the beginning of the road. It’s also the foundation of a home, for Jihun, and back then it’s whole and beautiful and precious, not in ruins quite yet. He’s his parents’ and grandparents’ treasure, the pride of Seogwipo, center stage in flashing light. The family’s crown jewel who can do nothing wrong in their eyes.

Jihun, you’re so much more advanced than all the other kids!

You know, our Jihun practices a lot at home.

I think it shows, he’s so talented!

He works hard at performing because he loves it,  but he can’t deny that being told he’s good, being told he’s special, is more fuel to his fire. It must mean he’s doing something right, and it must be true, they have no reason to lie to him after all, they’re only here to encourage and lift him up. Honesty is the best policy, always, that’s what he believes and what he holds on to. So whenever his father grips him by the shoulders and tells him he’s special, he believes it. Whenever his grandmother hangs another picture on the wall, he feels his heart filling with pride. Every time he sees them sitting in a row, all eyes on him, it’s only more motivation to chase this dream.

He’s special, after all.

Fresh out of middle school, he moves to the big city, Seoul, center of the known universe. And, or so he thinks, fulfills his destiny.

The performing arts school building towers over him the first day, so many promises rising up to the sky, all the hope he’d shouldered from all his years practicing finally about to fully realize themselves into something concrete, something for the future.

The future, as it turns out, is a paper plane that burns at the slightest change of direction.

Outside of his bubble, away from his family, Jihun crashes in a way he’s never experienced before. Where’s that special kid, where’s the prodigal son, in the middle of all the other students who are stronger and better in every way? Where’s the gift gone, when he’s struggling to catch up, much less keep up, when he loses his breath and comes tumbling to the floor, lungs on fire, sweat trickling down his back, the unpleasant physical manifestation of failure.

That’s a new word, failure. It stains his tongue like the bitter taste of tobacco, the cigarettes he starts sneaking in between classes, hunched over, curled up on himself against the back wall of the building, shame and disgust and failure, failure, failure.

His parents’ praise echoes in his mind and he tries to crumple it up and throw it away, because it’s not enough. It was never enough and he can’t do anything with it now, not when he feels himself falling behind, slipping away, his dreams so far out of reach he should probably just let them go.

But letting go is not an option, of course. The only thing stronger than his shame is his stubbornness. If he’s just average, the only way is up. If he only has his determination to show for himself, then at least he’s got something. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?  

Know where you stand. Stand your ground. Throw yourself into practice.

He takes everything in stride. Classes, projects, late night training, throw five or six desperate kids in a room and call it a learning experience. Sneak into the school’s studio when no one is looking, stumble upon a classmate, keep each other’s secrets and keep each other afloat. There’s more vindication in knowing he’s trying than in being told he doesn’t have to. Maybe it’s too much sometimes, but there’s this growing, urgent need in Jihun’s gut to just prove that he can, so he keeps going, cultivates his work ethic far away from false promises and little white lies.

waving through a window.

He’s eighteen, waiting at the bus stop when it happens, a man in a cheap suit handing him a business card, the three letters MSG feeling like a punch in the throat. He knows them, of course, anyone with an interest in the industry does. The fine print in is the man’s words, though.

“You’ve got a face that’ll sell.”

It’s a start, maybe. It’s ok if he can capitalize off of that, show what he truly wants to. It’s a chance he can’t afford to pass up. Even if he doesn’t like to think of it that way, everything is a means to an end.

Trainee life is, for all he’s anticipated, just a leveled-up version of school. He gets the call back a week after his audition. The almost soulless voice on the other hand claims they saw something in him, and it’s been a while since he’s heard those words so Jihun takes them with caution, files them in a corner of his mind that’s still marked with a red flag.

He still shows up on the company’s doorstep with his suitcase and his aching heart.

The cycle starts again. Push yourself to the limit, say yes, thank you, I’ll do my best, I’ll work harder, and then do just that. It’s all you’ve got a claim to, after all. In that room he’s just like he was before, keeps himself afloat among the others, and eventually, he finds his footing. He can breathe a little easier, sleep a little sounder, even if he doesn’t get to do either of those things much. Little by little, finally, he makes himself known. Remarkable if only for how diligent he is, people also commend his hunger to prove himself. The downside, that he tries not to let become his downfall, is his tendency to bite off more than he can chew, leaving projects unfinished or unpolished just because he wants to move on to the next one, to do everything at once, to show his worth. Run through a dance cover, move on to some barely formed choreography, or two, sometimes both at the same time because he needs to keep his mind occupied and alert.

His body feels like it’s being taken apart every day, from the hazy dance practices that blend into each other, always longer and more grueling and the next, but he loves it, this feeling, when the world spins and he’s taken along in the movement. It’s all he ever wants to do. It’s all he feels that he knows.

“You just don’t stand out.”

It’s that sentence, that he seems to hear over and over, that makes his blood boil and sets his heart on fire. “If they’re not looking my way, I’ll make them.”

And he does.

If he’s always heard that debuting is the hardest part, he’d wager that following up is harder. It doesn’t feel difficult or painful when he stands on that stage for the first time, finally, a day that he’d begun to think would never come. It feels freeing. It feels like the sky has opened up and all the atmospheric pressure has been lifted, and rain is clearing yesterday’s pain to make way for tomorrow’s joy.

Tomorrow’s joy, he learns the hard way, only comes to the fortunate. They’re not among them. Months pass and comebacks happen and everything remains the same, leaving sweat stains and tear tracks everywhere they go, trying to make sense of a situation that never does. It’s not hard work that makes dreams come true, it’s luck, pure dumb luck, and theirs ran out so quickly that Jihun keeps wondering if there’s something they’re doing wrong.

Still they keep on going, stuck somewhere between determination and desperation, a single red thread that threatens to snap at any moment. It’s burned into Jihun’s skin, this lifeline, the promise of a better tomorrow that never seems to come; low sales, low views, low interest, low morale, but still this hunger, unsatisfied yet, and maybe it never will be.

soul of a man.

Re:group is grueling, worse than he’d imagined, worse than he’s been through.

Against the odds, he hears those words again. One by one as the guys walk in, this one is special, this one is gifted, this one is prodigal, and yet they’re all here, but to him they don’t seem to realize the reason why.

He gets the devil’s part, grits his teeth when he watches the episodes and sees what they’ve made of him, but he makes do with it. After all, this world will only ever let you be who they’ve already decided you are, and in a situation like this one, it’s pointless to fight against it. If you know who you are then it’s enough, and Jihun does, finally. So he works, and he works, because that’s all he knows, and he refuses to let anyone hold that against him at least. If the producers decide he’s the bad guy, too relentless and demanding and straightforward, then so be it. Through it all, he fights like a lion who refuses to die in the cage.

Too often his outspokenness is mistaken for humor, and the things he says that pertain to the hardships of the industry are brushed to the side or not taken seriously. The industry is cruel, this much he knows, but even in the role he’s been given, even as the MCs and the managers try to silence him, he knows he can hold on to what he believes. Sure he has to compromise, and it eats him alive on most days, how often he’s asked or downright forced to set his conscience aside. The fans notice, a little, but it’s only small things they can get attached to. For now it’s probably enough, not that he’d be allowed anything more.

At the conclusion of it all, under stage lights and scrutiny, as he’s been doing all his life, he waits for his name to be called. But the call never comes. It’s okay. It’s enough. he  did his best, and they’ll never take that away from him.

The gate opens to a brave new world instead.

one day more.

Fortune is a funny thing, really.

One day it seems like it’s all but abandoned them, thrown them to the side of the road to fend for themselves and eventually be picked on by vultures, a disgraceful end for a disgraceful life.

The next day, like some trickster god was in a benevolent mood and spun the wheel again, they wake up in a world where people have finally taken notice, where they’re not an afterthought anymore.

The first group schedule after the show, Jihun can barely see through the crowd and the flashing lights. It’s a new feeling and he thinks he could get used to it, even if the little voice in the back of his head warns him that this too shall pass if they’re not careful.

Take the second chance and run with it, because they don’t come easy, because it could be the last. Take the love, the admiration, the trophies, cherish them, because they could slip away at any moment.. Put in your demands now, because they can’t refuse you anything anymore. Now Jihun understands what it’s like to be the breadwinner, the move maker, the one that the light is finally shining on.

In the wake of their newfound success, Jihun gets cast in his first real musical, so far from the cardboard and the watercolor of the school talent show. It’s a never-ending thrill ride, a rush of adrenaline like he’s never known before, one that he hopes he never gets used to. He’s clawed his way up here and he’ll fight to stay, even when the industry is as unforgiving as its ever been.

When the cameras are off, as always, his strong moral compass is both his lifeline and his downfall. Even when it starts working in his favor, he still disapproves of many aspects of the idol industry, silently protests against the personal restrictions, refuses to settle for “this is how it’s always been done.” His intentions to voice that dislike are often shut down by his company to maintain the image they gave him, one that is a little too off to who he truly is for him to stay quiet for long. Maybe one day the industry will change enough that it will never have to be this way again, for him or anyone who shares his way of thinking. For now, if he can keep his balance despite all of it, if he can stay true no matter what, then he’ll have already won.

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Siena CURRENT AGE: 22 DEBUT AGE: 17 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 13 COMPANY: KJH SECONDARY SKILL: Acting

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): Sina, given by her fans as a simple shortening of her stage name; Baby Giraffe, given by her family and soon spread among her members and fans, one would think it’s because she supposedly has a long neck but Minju was very tall when she was still a kid and her legs stood out, plus she was very clumsy and got hurt easily; Crying Baby, she cries easily and that’s known to the fans since the day they had their first win with La Ta Ta. INSPIRATION: As for people that she looks up to and aspires to become like them, Minju has in mind a couple of female soloists and groups, like Boa, Lee Hyori and Nixie. They were overall important figures that she had in mind before starting her training and even after when she became a trainee. SPECIAL TALENTS:

Sports: surprisingly, despite her usual clumsy behavior, Minju is very good at sports and events such as ISAC are meant to show that off. She can do archery decently and she has strong legs proper for running fast.

Ice skating: did for a very short while when she was a kid and wanted to become a figure skater. It has been years since she properly practiced but she can still pull a few decent movements.

Tongue twisters: while rapping is not her specialty (not even by far), during her training period Minju was told to practice tongue twisters to be able to improve her pronunciation and her breathing. After debuting, it became something she’d use on variety and radio shows.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Was a student at Hanlim Multi Art School from 2011 to 2014.

Has an older sister who also auditioned to Midas, but differently from Minju, her sister had success in her audition.

Started acting in the webdrama ‘Twenty Years Old’.

Despite all the lack of promotion for HER.oine, Singularity still tried to put Minju in a couple of dramas and fans complained saying she was being selfish for thinking about her career only. 

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

After almost losing this, Minju came to the realization that perhaps she’d miss this career more than she originally anticipated so, as cheesy as it may sound, she wants to make better use of the time she has in her group. Since she was highly criticized for her lack of enthusiasm in the ending years of HER.oine, she wants to prove those comments wrong by showing how invested she is in this, mainly by working in group related schedules and perfecting her performances and stage presence.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

Minju is, in some ways, pretty involved with acting and despite her bad start with it, she truly enjoys that aspect of her career and wishes to move into acting as something serious in the future if given the opportunity by KJH. But acting is not the only way she wants to use to keep herself in the industry and if she’s being true to herself, some wishful thoughts towards a solo career in music also popped up during some occasions.

IDOL IMAGE

She’s seventeen when she debuts, and she’s trilled and nervous and she feels like she’ll throw up as soon as she steps on the stage for their first performance as HER.oine.

She doesn’t and things end perfectly from her part. She’s rushing with adrenaline and pure joy and tears. She finally made it to debut despite of everything. After their debut stage, Minju became addicted to the feeling, of being up there in the spotlights with people cheering and screaming and showing their smiles and singing with them. She’d deal with everything that came with the job if that meant she’d be able to stand on the stage again.

In the beginning, the image they started selling was of a big-eyed, soft featured little sister. She’s young and innocent and that kind of image works well in contrast with her charismatic persona on stage. Singularity may not have done a good job in many things during the time Jawbreaker was still HER.oine but marketing Siena as their little girl with enchanting presence worked well during the four comebacks they had under that name.

Siena is not sweet nor has a stunningly beautiful image, she doesn’t look like a princess who came out from a fairytale and doesn’t speak sweetly or stumble over her words. She’s charming and smiles easily, she also has a funny laugh that is simply contagious. She’s not blunt. She knows her place, knows she must be perfect if she wants people to like her, but the younger child syndrome hits her from time to time and it works because people think it’s adorable. They buy this persona, the easy-going girl who looks wild when she’s performing but when she’s out of it, she’s just a regular-pretty-girl-who-smiles-at-everyone.

She has been acting for a while, but no one really notices. She acts when she’s having a bad day but must keep up with schedules and practice. She acts when she spends the day dieting and she’s starving, but she still says she’s fine. So, when she starts acting professionally, she tries to be extra careful. Siena must fit in the molds, she can’t rush herself, she must be composed and be elegant. She’s not chic, she doesn’t know how to act like that, and a silly smile will often popup in her face because being idol-Siena is much easier than being actress-Siena. That Siena is closer to whom Minju really is even though the real her lives under layers and layers of makeup and fancy-looking clothes. Her fans are happy to see her engage in new projects even if they aren’t necessarily good, some netizens just don’t buy it and say she wants to divert from her original path. The negativity didn’t stop Singularity from trying and suddenly, there she was again.

In KJH nothing much changes. She works with the carefree type of personality. Her fans like it and as far as she knows, what makes them happy, makes the company happy. Things are slightly different about her concept though, she’s nearing her 24ndbirthday in Korea and she wants to show that despite starting very young, she’s now a grown woman, and KJH seems okay to accept that because it will also help to establish a more solid image for their group. They are all grown women now and Siena wants to show them for what they are here for.

IDOL HISTORY

There is not one extraordinary plan. Minju worked with bigger events, big expectations and want to be too many things all at once. From teacher to veterinarian, a professional ice skater or even an artistic gymnast, she thought about following her mother’s career as a radio producer or become a lawyer like her father. Every other week she’d have things figured out and solved in her head, problems that would never happen under her watchful eyes, every other week she’d be something different. At the little age of thirteen she decided she wanted to be a singer and the difference that time was that the idea stuck with her for a long time.

The story of how her parents met remained a mystery in parts because it would slightly change every time any of the kids asked them how it happened. Her mother’s passion for music was evident and her father always looked at her in awe whenever she played some instrument or sang the chorus of a song she dearly appreciated. The three siblings would plan pranks and play for the whole day and in the end, the one thing that worked to sooth them to sleep were the couple of minutes of lullabies or stories told by the grownups.

She didn’t think of her life as boring but perhaps it could look like it for some people.

They grew up listening to music, given their mother’s background with the whole thing. Minju remembered how they tried to teach her music theory when she was younger and how excited she became when she got into class and realized she already knew some of that stuff. Her mother was the one teaching her guitar and sometimes, when she could, she’d sneak Minju into the studio where she worked after weeks of insistence from Minju’s side.

She honestly loved it. She loved music and loved singing and dancing with her father and despite already having a foot in the industry due to her mother’s connections, she didn’t think much about it until her sister mentioned she’d be trying to audition for Midas later that year. In the meantime, she weighted her thoughts. Be an idol was such an appealing idea, but she heard the discussions between her sister and their parents, and her mother specially, didn’t sound very pleased with the idea. Was only when she watched Boa performing on television that she made up her mind and perhaps it could be the aftereffects of the explosions and choreography, but she decided then that she’d be just like her role model. Her mother’s worries could only be normal, after all, she was their mother, so Minju decided to not worry with her worries.

She wasn’t as well prepared as her sister, obviously. Her sister was preparing for this fated day for months while Minju made her mind about it just a couple of weeks prior to the audition. In the end her sister was more successful than her in the attempt to be scouted and Minju felt the mix of happiness but also bitterness swirling inside of her. She remined herself that she couldn’t live out of raw expectations of good and great when she did nothing to deserve it, it didn’t mean the sour feeling simply faded away.

A couple of weeks later when the auditions for Singularity opened, Minju was once again on the game, this time by herself, relatively less confident of a positive response but more well prepared for what was about to come. It happened that since she had low expectations, all the results seem to be better than the expected and when they released the results and she saw she made it in, she was so happy she cried on the spot.

For months she lived just on the adrenaline of being accepted into a company. She trained hard and did all that was asked to her. She tried her best and gave her all, then things started getting lonely and being pushed for longer hours and eating less demanded so much more effort from her, but she refused to give up even though the thought did go through her head more than once after eight months of training.

Singularity wasn’t a company that she necessarily saw herself connect with. She didn’t feel like she had freedom to work herself in the best way, but when they started wanting to push her into acting training all together with the remaining classes she had to take, she started thinking that perhaps they had great plans for her.

When she was about to complete four years in the company, the news of a new girl group under their label were released and she was so excitedly tired when she told her parents that she was one of the trainees chosen to be part of the group.

HER.oine debuted and once again Minju started living under the adrenaline of the following months. And then they went on a hiatus and she became demotivated. The following comebacks were made based in the same formula. A preparation for the next comeback and then she’d be in high spirits while they were able to perform and then she’d be back to an unmotivated state because Singularity was uncapable of promoting them right.

She loved performing and loved being on the stage and that’s probably the main reason why she kept going and endured the entire situation. Because she wanted to give her best while singing to their two songs. She expected more and better of their debut and when she thought things couldn’t turn out sourer, Singularity decided to push her into webdramas that only created conflict among HER.oine’s fans and gave Minju a spot as selfish and greedy for neglecting the girls and having a very premature debut as an actress.

She almost didn’t sign up with KJH when they came from the skies and saved HER.oine from imminent disbandment after the fall of Singularity. Her members were the ones influencing in her decision and in the end, she was won by the pure pressure and insistence of her band mates to sign with them. She almost gave up not because she didn’t like doing it even though idol life was never easy to begin with, but she was so addicted to the feeling of being able to perform and receive the love from the fans that she didn’t mind that the system was a mess and sickening.

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: n/a CURRENT AGE: 20 DEBUT AGE: 19 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 14 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: n/a

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): fans call her “our fairy eunhye” due to her soft visuals and persona. netizens have dubbed her “msg’s babydoll” due to her doll like looks, childlike persona, and concept of her group. INSPIRATION: ever since eunhye was little, she knew she was going to be a famous singer. it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted to do. SPECIAL TALENTS:

she has “eyes on the back of her head” and can guess what people are doing behind her.

she can read palms and tarot cards.

she can do an interpretive dance of a fairy she made up.

NOTABLE FACTS:

she was a diver on her school’s diving team.

she has two older siblings.

she believes in mermaids, fairies, and ghosts.

her mom runs a daycare and she helps with the kids occasionally.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

in the short term, eunhye wants to make a name for herself in the industry, even if it means repeating the same aegyo over and over.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

long term, eunhye hopes to eventually escape being the “oppayah girl” and become known for her voice and talents rather than aegyo.

IDOL IMAGE

our pretty fairy, kim eunhye.

her soft features have enraptured fans, she’s small and delicate, like a butterfly. ever since debut, eunhye has been dubbed “the cute one.” her voice is always overlooked by her persona. she’s unhappy, she’s worked so hard to get to where she is.

being the cutie of the group, eunhye was asked to do aegyo on a variety show. it went viral, causing people to fawn over her cuteness. mayday gained more recognition due to this, msg saw the chance and ran with it. a natural gift had fallen into their hands in the form of a sensitive and broken girl named kim eunhye.

she’s always smiling, acting ditzy and spaced out. she trained for years at msg, and even more at her old company, seemingly all for nothing. all for being known as the oppayah girl.

msg has her wrapped around their finger, eunhye’s willing to do anything to succeed. she’s a pushover and always does what people tell her, even if it makes her feel horrible. they try and make her feel better, she’s their babydoll. they tell her she’s doing everything right, that one day things will get better. she says okay and believes them, her rose colored view of the world consuming her outlook on the industry.

ever night she dreams of being praised for her voice. for being the inspiration for little girls and boys all over the world. for the world to show her that her hard work wasn’t all for nothing. but until then, eunhye’s the viral oppayah girl. not mayday’s talented main vocal, not msg’s babydoll, she’s the oppayah girl. and she’ll pretend to be happy, just like she does everyday.

as the country falls more deeply in love with eunhye, she falls deeper into a hole she can’t get out of. her wings are broken and won’t be healed easily.

our pretty fairy with broken wings, kim eunhye.

IDOL HISTORY

once upon a time, there was a girl named eunhye. she had big dreams and stars in her eyes.

we start her story in the city of cheongju, focusing on a beautiful couple named youngja and jinhyung, and their three children, eunjae, eunmi, and eunhye. life was simple for the family, they ran a small restaurant that was popular among the locals. each of youngja and jinhyung’s children had a special talent. eunjae had proven himself to be an incredibly good soccer player, even at a young age. eunmi’s grades were always the highest in her grade, she was a real teacher’s pet. the youngest, eunhye, took a love to preforming. eunhye’s singing and dance performances at the restaurant always cheered people up, her enthusiasm was endearing just as her voice was.

running with their natural talents, youngja and jinhyung were happy to support their children with whatever they needed. eunhye’s childhood was filled with vocal lessons and occasional dance lessons as well. out of the three children, eunhye’s talents seemed to more prominently manifest themselves. eunjae and eunmi started to notice their parent’s favoritism towards the youngest daughter. so, they worked harder. eunhye remained blissfully unaware of this resentment her siblings had towards her.

in her early teens, eunhye was street scouted by cel entertainment. lucky for them, eunhye was looking for an entertainment company to begin to train at. without knowing, cel took her in as one of their last attempts to find trainees and make a new group.

less than six months later, cel went under, leaving eunhye without a company. she continued working independently, waiting until a public audition for a company. after her fourteenth birthday, she saw a notice for msg entertainment. they were holding public auditions in her city, so she and her parents signed up as quickly as possible.

eunhye was one of few scouted at the public audition, her talent was promising and she had girl group potential. she happily began training again, losing touch with her siblings due to her crazy schedule and their dislike towards her.

her parents supported her closely, but they stopped contacting her after she turned sixteen. she confided in them to keep her secret - she didn’t like boys. she liked girls, she'd always liked girls. they didn’t support her, but they kept her secret. they still love her, after all she is, in their opinion, their most promising child.

eunhye continued to solider on, trying not to let her parents get to her. she didn’t want to make anyone else upset, so she started giving into people’s requests. they’d ask her to get water for them, and she would. they’d tell her not to dress a certain way, and she’d listen.

at nineteen, she was finally announced as a member of mayday, the newest girl group from msg. her soft looks and strong yet calming voice fit mayday’s concept perfectly. she knew she’d succeed, everything felt natural to her.

shortly after her debut, her and her groupmates were featured on a variety show where she was asked to do aegyo. eunhye, of course, did it without hesitation. she didn’t expect it to blow up. her viral aegyo consumed every fan forum or discussion about her group for months. eunhye became known as the ‘oppayah’ girl to people who didn’t know her.

she was happy at first, but when no one started commenting on her talents and msg began pushing aegyo to be her persona, she realized it wasn’t what she wanted. she wanted to be known for her voice, not her cuteness to something so simple.

she started to voice how she felt, but msg was able to shut her down with promises of good things coming from her fifteen minutes of fame.

almost a year later, eunhye’s image among fans and non-fans hasn’t changed. she feels deflated, but she won’t do anything to change how she feels.

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 22 SKILL POINTS: 17 VOCAL | 05 DANCE | 00 RAP | 08 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

hyerin is a living doll first and anything midas wants her to be second: innocent, kind, and sincere—a can do no wrong kind of puppet.

trainee days spent isolating herself as the quiet, hardworking girl is buried under rigid lessons and rules of thumb on how to construct a new layer of skin to stitch around herself. years of crying behind closed doors and missing home is replaced by a fresh-faced girl who laughs at everything, smiles at everyone, and bounces back with enthusiasm after a fall—sunshine in ecstatic motion.

from practice room to the bright stage, midas sinks their claws into a lost girl with stars in her eyes and molds her into something whimsical and ethereal. they take all the broken parts of her that seep through the cracks and tell her to bury it behind a radiant smile. creates a mask for her to wear by exploiting all the mismatched parts of her that make her who she is: the dazed look of a dreamer, the seaside accent that still roils under seoul’s modern cadence, her restless hands, the purity of her lilting voice.

they take all that and slip onto her the delicate skin of a humble fairy princess with a heart of gold and a thousand watts smile.

in the eyes of the public: she is quiet and endearingly awkward. she’s all blushing cheeks and shy smiles, unable to make eye contact for long. she’s muffled peals of laughter hidden behind small hands and eyes creasing into half moon crescents. sometimes, she’s softly uttered words of praise, advice, encouragements to her faithful fans on instagram live or a whole chorus of a newly uploaded acoustic cover sung in a voice almost too soft to hear above the strum of her guitar, gratitude embedded in three minutes of heartfelt lyrics and shining eyes. to the world, hyerin is someone fragile and in need of protection. almost too good for the world. almost too untainted and pristine. (almost too good to be true.)

from her shy, almost bumbling attempts to interact with and befriend fans and fellow idols alike to her occasional variety show appearances where she’s the perpetually reticent girl hosts have to subtly prompt and prod for answers to their questions about her trending airport fashion, her faithful fansites and fancams in 4k depicting her pristine and perfect on stage (not a hair out of place, her smile perpetually stitched on her face. never faltering. never wavering), growing up pains, childhood in busan, her lingering accent.

there’s always a bit of lasting unconventionality hidden in those moments when they ask about home, about family, about transitioning from the carefree, quiet life on busan’s sandy shores to the pulsating thrum of the big city with its too fast pace and perpetual anonymity.

how did you survive, they ask. i didn’t. hyerin wants to confess. i adapted. i changed, is what she says instead.

and it’s the truth. midas takes her hand-me-downs and thrift-shopped dresses and replaces them with sponsored one pieces with the tags still on them, shiny mary janes in place of worn converses, her sea salt-scented braid of hair is combed and styled in soft waves tumbling down her back and smells of peaches, her unruly tongue fixed under an iron fist to master the straight-laced way of seoul-speak.

she’s made to rid herself of all the things that make her her.

every night, she goes to sleep; her face scrubbed clean, the skin of her good girl persona somewhere on the floor. every morning, she wakes when the sun rises and pulls her skin back on, pats her face dry of tears, and presses two fingers to the corners of her mouth, pushing up until a small dimple forms on her cheek. there, transformation complete. operation hyerin is a go.

every day is a vicious cycle. it’s walking on eggshells and pretending someone else isn’t living beneath this suffocating skin, wallowing in years of self-deprecation and the perpetual ache of longing (for something, for someone, for the taste of home—wherever that may be).

midas thrives on how easy it is to break her and fit her into a mold of their design, how quickly she can give away her free will for a promise of an adventure (of life never being dull, of living a dream). it’s easy to take a lost little thing in need of guidance and shape her into something otherworldly, push her onto a gnarly road and tell her to simply go straight to find her way back home, to where she needs to be.

but if one were to ask where she’s needed, she thinks of her old childhood home in busan, the pale yellow paint peeling on patches on her ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark wallpaper brittle and gathering dust. thinks of being waist-deep in the sea, thinks of halmeoni in her spongebob apron and a carrot as her makeshift microphone, thinks of her father somewhere (surviving, thriving, happy—she hopes), thinks of her mother and her work-roughened hands and the small shoebox apartment tucked in the tiniest corner of a heartless city.

if one were to ask what it is han saebyul (not jung hyerin) wants in private, watch her freeze, her smile slipping just slightly off her face—like a deer caught in headlights. watch her eyes, those sad lonely eyes, well up in tears she won’t let spill. watch her closely and carefully as her body seems to curl in on herself—as if the weight of the world is suddenly looming on her shoulders. watch for the tremor when she speaks, fingers twisting at her sides, voice impossibly soft and fragile: i don’t know…no one’s ever asked me before.

and no one has. no one cares what han saebyul wants. no one cares what jung hyerin wants either. midas simply takes and so do her fans. everyone breaks off little pieces of her; pieces she willingly gives because she can’t say no—until there’s nothing left for her to give. nothing left for anyone to take.

all that remains is the hollowed out shell of a girl drifting aimlessly, her heart never here or in one place, her mind lingering on faraway places not yet traveled and the sound of ocean waves crashing on sandy shores like a neverending siren’s call.

BIOGRAPHY

hazy beginnings.

despite being born to hardworking parents living on budgets and the ticking of a clock, han saebyul grows up a free-spirited daydreamer, often associating the world and the people around her in streaks of color and a symphony of sounds. her childhood consists of sand between her toes, sea salt in her hair, ocean-soaked dresses, and the sound of tinkling laughter.

her four seasons of growing up on the sandy shores of busan goes a little like this:

spring: an almost brand new knee-length dresses made of white lace her mother buys from a thrift shop at a discounted rate, sunflowers and daisies dancing in the wind, chasing butterflies, and flower bookmarks pressed into the pages of a journal.

summer: ripe with music, her spread eagle on a blanket and sunset golds streaked across her face, the drone of cicadas, cherry popsicles, the whir of electric fans, knee-deep in the sea, her mother calling her name off in the distance.

autumn: a waterfall of warm colors, halmeoni’s cozy handmade sweaters with the sleeves hanging past her fingertips, gingham skirts and leggings, pumpkin pies, spiced lattes, a night sky filled with paper lanterns and the glimmer of stars, father’s phone ringing off the hook in the middle of the night; every night.

winter: soft pink mittens and oversized pea coats over chunky sweaters and chunkier scarves made with love, homemade hot chocolate, footprints in fresh snow, one hand clasped in mother’s hand; the other grasping air, perpetual cold; lingering emptiness.

distorted middle grounds.

she’s seven, wide-eyed and curious, watching a master chef work her magic. it’s halmeoni in a soft yellow dress and a spongebob apron around her waist singing deulgukhwa hits and humming along to joo hyunmi and patti kim. it’s little saebyul perched on the counter by the fridge singing right along in a game of monkey see, monkey do.

early evening always starts with the swell of a sobangcha song, halmeoni wielding a carrot under her chin and saebyul’s little face crinkling up in peals of laughter. in the living room, her parents smile indulgently, hands busy tucking unpaid bills under week-old newspapers and balls of colorful yarn. and ends with saebyul curled in halmeoni’s lap, both hands clutching her parents’ sleeve in her sleep.

days and nights like these are normal—until they’re not.

one cold night in december, dinner prep is a somber affair. the radio is turned off and secondhand vinyls gather dust—buried under boxes full of knick-knacks and memories. there’s no halmeoni twirling in the kitchen, no tongue-in-cheek adlib to the latest hit trot song, no laughter.

home is quiet. empty. and little saebyul aches with the feeling of missing someone no amount of singing or wishing could ever bring back.

-

thirteen: she learns to make friends with an old guitar she buys off a neighbor moving to the big city, learns to strum awkwardly, clumsily; a cacophony of sound. it takes a full four seasons for her to learn to love the vibrations of nylon strings beneath the pads of her fingers. learns to put herself back together singing acoustic covers and soft little ballads with her face turned up to the stars. puberty comes and goes with her seated on the rickety steps of her porch, strumming nostalgic chords to the ghost of her youth.

her parents say nothing as they watch her from inside the house, smiles wilted, wistful, watery.

(there’s a million and one things their daughter could be, should be, and hurting, cradling sadness and turning grief into old-timey blues shouldn’t be one of them.)

they leave her be when she starts going to the market in the sticky heat of summer, guitar strapped to her back, playing for small crowds and neighborly regulars. from dusk to dawn, saebyul fixes a soft smile on her face as she strums and strums and strums, voice light and whimsical as she sings requests as a thank you for listening.

she comes home with a straw hat full of notes and red fingers, knowing full well it’s not enough to make up for this month’s expenses. so saebyul ventures back out again, haunts local farmer’s markets and side streets, the sandy beaches during tourist season, trying to make the most of a life that seems to pass her by too quickly, too quietly.

-

sometimes, she tells herself that when she sings something inside of her heals. as if the soft blue notes become a makeshift stopgap measure filling up the gaping hole in her chest, easing the perpetual emptiness, soothing the ache—the want—for a different life.

sometimes, when she closes her eyes, saebyul pretends she doesn’t hear the sound of her parents fighting, the front door slamming, and her mother’s muffled crying.

sometimes, when she lets herself sink in between lyrics about a dreamer wandering away in search for herself—for an adventure—saebyul swears that some day it could all be possible.

interludes.

family is four. then, three. then, two.

home is no longer sand in between her toes and the ocean clinging to her skin, but the veins of seoul—harsher and all concrete jungle. it’s rough corners pulled over steel edges and soon, the dirt roads she used to bike down back home is replaced by honking taxis and the congestion of too many strangers.

home is now a shoebox; a cramped one bedroom apartment overlooking a dirty alley on the outskirts of seoul.

“i hate it.” this isn’t home.

“give it a chance.” please, i’m asking.

saebyul swallows back a sigh because her mother is trying. her mother is tired. her mother is hurting. she knows. she knows.

so she’ll try, she tells her with a barely there smile etched to the curve of her mouth. we’ll try.

(maybe if she says it often enough, it’ll make it true. make her believe it.)

-

high school is a circus and, sometimes, she finds herself center stage. an unwilling spectacle. her accent is the only thing she has left of home and her peers mock her for it. turn her into the punchline of inside jokes and over-the-shoulder remarks about a bumbling seaside girl who doesn’t belong. she’s not ashamed, but it hurts just the same.

it’s hard to make friends when people choose what they want to see, so a loner she becomes by default. by choice. keeps to herself, minds her business, and makes herself a new home on the rooftop and the empty bleachers in an emptier field. she has her guitar and her ocean of sounds. starts spending more time with her head down, hair in a loose braid, writing the world and the people she watches and meets down in the pages of secondhand leather-bound notebooks.

at home, all alone while her mother toils tirelessly away to afford sending her off to a school that suffocates more than it cultivates, saebyul locks herself in her little corner of sanctuary. imagines what it feels like to be kissed, to be fucked. thinks of calloused hands and soft curves alike. wonders if wanting to feel love so viscerally is too much of a sin when her sheets are wet and her skin is flushed a soft pink.

maybe, just maybe, she wants to know what it’s like to drown in too much love.

-

“you have a pretty voice.”

it’s rooftop prince. only this time, they meet in the middle of the soccer field. it’s saebyul with her guitar in her lap and a curious tilt of her head, one hand shielding her eyes and feeling like she’s looking at the sun. blinded, she looks away. a little embarrassed, a little flattered. it’s been a long time since someone has complimented her, after all.

“why do you sing?”

so i can heal. one day, some day.

saebyul smiles and turns her face up to the sky. “because it feels like i’m home.”

-

she’s two days shy of her sixteenth birthday when she wraps herself in a chunky sweater and a soft scarf stitched with halmeoni’s love and makes her way to a quiet corner in hongdae with her guitar strapped to her back. braves the bite of an impending winter with numbed fingers and a voice that carries.

she starts with lee moon-se, sobangcha and joo hyunmi, hesitant and almost stuttering as she tunes her guitar with nimble fingers and her heart in her throat. somewhere, somehow, she hears halmeoni telling her to be brave as she plucks strings and closes her eyes, petite body swaying to the ebb and flow of a bygone song. with halmeoni in her ear, she lets the world fade away, pays no mind to the small gathering of an audience finding their way to the nostalgic croon of an old soul.

she comes awake to the sound of applause and a case full of clinking coins and a tiny pile of notes. she thanks everyone for their time and sets off to trudge home with her earnings, the want for early christmas shopping with her mother on the tip of her tongue.

she’s pulled from her afterglow by a tap on her shoulder and whirls around to a man in a suit, all coiffed and perfect, voice velvety smooth. her early birthday gift is an invitation that’s too good to be true.

-

her mother is apprehensive. she’s heard stories about the life of an idol. doesn’t want her daughter to live life under perpetual scrutiny, robbed of her youth, and always struggling to catch up to changing times and new trends.

“you’ll have to give up everything.”

“not everything.“ not you, she means to say. never you.

“you won’t be scared?”

“i won’t.” impending goodbyes has her losing her grip on the impression of a budding city girl society has pressed upon her, slipping back into the soft drawl of dialect and settling right at home in the wake of her desire to chase after a flimsy dream. like this, she’s doe-eyed and wears the heart of a dreamer, curls around her mother like she’s five years old and afraid of the dark.

“i guess this means my baby’s all grown up now.”

am i? doesn’t feel like it. saebyul swallows back a sob and presses her face to her mother’s neck.

goodbye shouldn’t have sounded so definitive. so painful.

not-quite endings.

her coming of age gift is the day fantasy’s lineup is announced.

her mother remarries six months later. family is now: her, her mother, a stepdad, and a new baby brother the ripe age of three.

-

the day she debuts as fantasy’s hyerin is the day she stops being han saebyul.

(because han saebyul is the sunshine girl who looked at people like they hung the moon and the stars. because han saebyul is tousled hair and tinkling laughter in the middle of the sea. because han saebyul is made of old songs and picture books, flower crowns, and grass stains.

because han saebyul is the kind of girl easily broken and taken advantage of.

because han saebyul, naive and kind, has no place in a world full of backstabbing and desperate survivors trying to make it to the top.

so, she creates herself a persona—someone quiet and unassuming, who seemed unlikely to stab you in the back than she is to hold you while you cried. someone who always seemed a little dazed and absentminded; her gaze faraway, her voice a whisper.

someone like halmeoni—all soft around the edges, always so poised and graceful in her mannerisms (from her mysterious little smile, to the tilt of her head, to the way she walked and talked), her voice a balm to her soul.

she takes all the things she loves most about her and creates a persona in her grandmother’s shadow.

from han saebyul to jung hyerin, she goes from being her parents’ morning star to the bright luster of jade—timeless and nostalgic; a flawed replica created in tribute to the person who showed her how to embrace and love the world and everyone in it.

like this, hyerin is born to weather all the storms saebyul does not have the strength to handle on her own—just like halmeoni had been there, once upon a time, to hold her hand while she dusted the dirt off her knees and got right back up to face the world.

because hyerin (her name)—not saebyul—is the only thing she has left of halmeoni and she’d be damned if she lost that too.)

-

it’s the same day her father calls for the first time in years. when she picks up, all she hears is his rumbling laughter, sounding much fuller than it had in their rickety old house filled with the scent of spices and long-time struggles.

“are you happy, my star? how’s it feel to be on stage?”

like i’m flying. like i’m dying. says, “are you, daddy? are you happier now?”

“…yeah, i guess i am, byulie. i think i am.”

“that’s good. that’s all i ever wanted—for you to be happy.”

(means, i miss you so much it hurts. will you come home? will you come back? do you miss me too?)

“i’m proud of you, my star. be good. keep shining, dad will always be by your side.”

don’t lie. don’t lie. don’t lie, she thinks as she cries silent tears and thanks him for everything. for the moments of happiness when she was but a child too curious, too naive, too loving for her own good. for the lifetime of loneliness and always getting left behind when things get too hard—too tough—for people to stay.

“i’m always good.“ always. then and now.

-

two years into this dream and she realizes her voice has stopped being her own, shaped by midas and molded into the image of a good girl with a pretty voice. realizes she’s signed her youth away as dreams of singing on stage with just a microphone and her guitar are replaced by short skirts, sugary sweet lines, and a sense of something sacred being stolen from her.

she’s forbidden from ever bringing up opportunities to pen lyrics for her group. rebuffed at every effort about a possible solo debut in the future where she can sing about a girl who’s just trying to find her place in the world.

the answer is no almost every time. sometimes, if she’s good—when fantasy charts well, when she makes headlines for listing so and so as her ideal type or she’s captured collecting fan letters and humble fan gifts to and from music show recordings and at crowded airports—she gets a backhanded maybe.

most times, she’s told she needs more clout. more popularity. more traction. you’re still young, they say. you have time.

usually, it feels like a slap to the face when hyerin’s told to do as they say. no complaints. no whining. just pure obedience. know your place, hyerin-ssi. this isn’t your home. there are rules here and you are expected to follow them to the letter.

so she does. clamps her mouth shuts and sings what she’s given. dances as she’s practiced. smiles as she’s commanded.

all the while, hours spent in the dead of the night writing lyrics that read like poems, like stories of a thousand lives not yet lived in her notebooks are laid to waste, buried under rejection after rejection in the bottom of a box full of remnants of her childhood and reminders of a home away from home.

like this, she muffles the cries of a girl homesick for a place she’s never been, sings and dances like it’s the only thing that matters and pretends she’s happy.

pretends it’s all she wants.

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 15 COMPANY: Midas ETC: this member has begun to branch into acting.

IDOL IMAGE

some who know her might call her brand of confidence something like arrogance, self-righteousness, an undeserved pompous air that’s damn near suffocating in its blatancy, but she calls it self-awareness, she calls it knowing her own worth whilst being surrounded by the kind of people who bow and exalt in the presence of their higher ups, after years of being who the people around her wanted, needed her to be. nobody ever got what they wanted, what they deserved, by waiting on the sidelines for something beautiful to happen - the truly accomplished were the kind of people who took, take; the kind who suck opportunities dry and refuse “no” as an answer; the kind who don’t bother asking for what they want. (take, take, take)  it’s never a question, it’s a request.

she spends her first year as an idol getting called “fat and useless” by bitter weirdos on the internet.

what’s her purpose? she’s no vocalist, her limbs are long and awkward and her lack of rhythm hardly does her dancing any favors, she’s not even the prettiest member in mayday’s lineup - so, the public asks, where does she fit in? what she lacks in indisputable talent in singing or dancing, she makes up for presence and it’s that alone that gets her chosen for mayday’s final lineup.

when they first arrive on the scene, the higher ups take advantage of the fact that she’s still developing, with niche interests and philosophies, lost and unassuming, and they frame her as the quirky one - just a little different, a little off-kilter and peculiar. mayday’s bright little weirdo! isn’t she so admirable for making it this far in spite of it all? it’s ambition and drive and flexibility, she reminds herself, that’s gotten her where she is today, that’s keeping her there and making her something that midas wants to hold onto. it’s her talent for performing, her desire to improve that makes it easy for her to stay.

stars are born.

if there’s one thing she’s got in spades, it’s a personality, she knows who to be and when to be it and it works in her favor, nowhere more than on television. it starts out as stints on variety shows for personal promo, where there’s room for a sharp-tongue and good timing, and evolves. the acting lessons that midas executives shove her into feel like something flat out of nowhere but she shows potential. they find her niche and pounce when she sheds her baby fat and blossoms. pretty enough, sexy enough, slim enough, finally, to send to castings, for the netizens to look at her with something other than vague acknowledgement in the shadow of the members who can do it all.

her role is bold, a horror-based webdrama, but it’s enough for them to take her seriously. she’s an actress. she earns her keep.

they take risks with her as things progress and their concept develops, take advantage of her new healthy body - cropping her tops and keeping her bottoms fitted and short when it makes sense, and implying in no shortage of words that her body, hard-earned and shapely, is a talking point and that her presence (”her work ethic!” they shout from the rooftops) is just the cherry on top. she’s the white hot shot of sex appeal that a group as tame as mayday needs all while still maintaining the cute image the team portrays, the member you can fantasize about without feeling too dirty about it afterwards. it cuts deep when haeun thinks back on the harsh words she’d heard as a trainee, encouraging her to diet harder, to shed an extra 3 kilograms before she could debut, laced with the threat that she’s replaceable. why, now, is her body something to cash in on when they’d spent so much of her trainee days shaming her for the width of her hips and the thickness of her legs?

she’s fit and desirable without being too complicated. men eat it for breakfast and it gets her noticed for all the wrong reasons. she flushes red with embarrassment the first time she stumbles across one of those gross sexy idol subreddits and sees a gif of her skirt flying up with wind at a festival as a thumbnail. she cries when her manager tells her that these things happen.

the industry makes her wicked.

she’s a company’s wet dream but she spends her days hidden away when she can, just to breathe and wonder what she’d done to deserve the kind of pressure that comes with notoriety. ever so eager to please, desperate, she hopes she doesn’t disappoint them. that fear, of being less than great, makes her break her own back, working herself into a sweat in all the time she has away from her group members, behind the scenes. sometimes she envies them, wishes she had the luxury of a fresher faced simplicity. when it really hits her, she works even harder, holes herself away in the studio, late into the night, and practices their routines, the lines of working scripts that come her way, strains her voice until she gets it. she has to get it. it’s all she’s got.

haeun, honestly, doesn’t know where she’d be right now if it weren’t for midas seeing something in her and taking her in like a fallen baby bird from a nest too far up, with wings that weren’t quite ready to fly the way they wanted to, the way they twitched and fluttered to. she feels like she owes them for their hospitality, their willingness to teach her the things she hadn’t had the chance to learn back home. thank you isn’t ever enough, is it? not for something as big and life-changing as this opportunity, so she takes whatever they throw at her in stride. if they want her to play the role of the giggling goofball with the curves and the reverse charms, she can do it, if they want sex and charisma and easy-to-consume dancing and singing and mediocre rapping, she’ll reach into the very depths of herself to make it happen even if it feels like stepping out of her own skin.

it gets better, easier, as the years pass, for her to compartmentalize and own her persona. the masses don’t want complexity, they want easy to swallow, pretty faces in pretty outfits with relatable personalities. she gives them a version of herself that isn’t altogether real and finds her peace behind closed doors, through skin-on-skin and chilled bottles of soju. she feels through shock horror and scary movies to remind herself that she can.

it’s better, she always reminds herself, than wallowing in her past failures and taking a flight back home to face her family’s disappointment should mayday be another flash in the pan of success and recognition. it’s hardly practical, she thinks sometimes, to build a career off of something so utterly insincere but, then, she doesn’t think practicality ever suited her much anyway.

IDOL HISTORY

tw mentions of alcoholism

her mother is a zainichi korean living in japan and pursuing a career in music, she wants to be a singer; her father, a hockey player who’d grown up overseas in canada. there’s no reason they should ever cross paths but: they do, and they have haeun after a brief, passionate tryst that turns into a twelve year marriage that ends when her father is caught cheating with one of the only friends her mother had made after following him to toronto. it ends with a clap and a bang, and she packs up and takes haeun with her.

her mother never fails to mention that haeun being born on valentine’s day is the cruelest irony in their love story. haeun hates birthdays.

growing up, she only ever knows change, the sole regularity in her life being new environments and homes and apartments across the expense of the small island she’d been planted in. her solace is her home-learned knowledge of japanese and her ability to adjust. she’s a chameleon in the face of adversity; she sets out to become the person she needs to be to survive and it works. it’s fake, but it never matters when it’s never a matter of if they’ll leave again but when. when: she’s fifteen years old and her mother wants to touch base with her roots, her background as a blood-born korean raised in japan is just another barrier for her to overcome in her journey to find herself or succeed, or - something. haeun never really knows what her goal is, she works odd jobs in lounges and clubs and brings home enough to keep the lights on but she never sees her mother sing unless it’s late at night over a glass of wine out of many - enough to empty half the bottle before she passes out at the dinner table.

she always wakes up to her making bacon and eggs, fish in the oven and rice in the steamer with tomoko aran playing loudly from the stereo they’d gotten secondhand. her mother always tells her that she could’ve been just like tomoko if the timing had been right. “yes, mother,” she says. haeun knows better than to question her and eats her food, watches saturday morning anime on mute while her mother has a breakdown on the phone. she tries to be empathetic but it’s moments like that where she finds herself missing her dad. she feels weak knowing that there’s not much she can do about it or the way her mother feels.

in any case, south korea is another new beginning that haeun’s become accustomed to and she spends the week before their flight over watching kdramas with subtitles on. she’s studying - the language or the mannerisms, she’s not as certain of, but she takes it in nonetheless. it’s her only hint at figuring out who she has to be to make it this time, who she needs to be to survive.

the one thing haeun and her mother have in common is performing, so it only makes sense that she follow in her mother’s footsteps once they’ve settled in.

it begins as forced mother-daughter entries into talent shows across seoul until they go their separate ways and enter as solo acts, her mother singing ballads and songs by powerful soloists while haeun leans into the softness of her voice. it becomes a competition, one that reaches a head when they both decide to take their talents to an agency.

it’s only kind of awkward when haeun’s the only one who makes it.

she’s surprised that her mother even signs the forms to set her up as a trainee but doesn’t address the elephant, neither of them do - how she’d failed again at achieving her dream, how she’s not the young girl she’d been before, how haeun’s now got the world laid at her feet standing where she’d always pictured herself.

her mother takes her out for ice cream after all is said and done. “it’s probably the last time you’ll be able to have some for a while, hm?” she says, smiles and sticks her plastic spoon into a cup of half-melted vanilla. it doesn’t reach her eyes.

it’s not until she gets scouted for mayday that haeun starts to get the feeling that her mother has begun to resent her. by then, six years have passed with little to say for it, never enough for her to serve as an actual threat to her mother’s ego. not that she ever really could’ve been, she’s a decent singer, sure, but there’s stronger singers in any subway, stronger dancers, rappers. haeun gets by on charisma. and her mother, she keeps trying to make her dream happen, too, while haeun trains to be a better version of herself. she auditions for 99, msg, even koala.t and a handful of nugu companies in a moment of sincere desperation, weakness when haeun turns eighteen and moves out on her own. she doesn’t realize how bad it’s gotten until haeun comes over, a woman with the world at her feet, to tell her the news and her mother throws a lamp at her head.

the breakdown she has is terrifying. haeun doesn’t recognize her anymore.

it’s sad, she thinks, because she doesn’t want this the same way she does. she hasn’t worked her whole life to be a singer the way she has, hasn’t spent every hour of her life wanting something with every fiber of her being the way she does. haeun wants it - of course, she does, more than anything at this point in her life. but mayday is a means to an end, a stepping stone on a pathway to wealth and notoriety, the leading way to becoming a household name. it’s not the air she breathes. she’s a performer, trained in the art of channeling and projecting her emotions and yet. she feels guilty, holds her mother while she cries herself to sleep and takes the key to the liquor cabinet with her when she has to go, the sun peaking over the horizon and through the always-drawn curtains of her apartment. it’s the first time she feels her heart ache this way but she manages to shove the feeling down just in time for mayday’s debut showcase.

(she calls her everyday, just in case. promises to bring her on stage to sing with her one day. eventually, her mother stops answering and, wow, haeun thinks. this is what it feels like to be alone.)

the rise of mayday is a slow but steady ride; it burns with the same intensity as a flame. it begins as a flicker on the end of a match and sets ablaze all of its surrounding and engulfs the five of them with it. it’s not enough until they win. haeun thinks it’s pride she feels when she sees her face fill up the screen during comebacks, when she smiles and winks during music show performances and harvests cheers during group promotions. this isn’t a group, she decides after a year. it’s a collective of individuals with a drive to succeed. it gives her something to look forward to, a needle to prick her finger on in the haystack of opportunity. she feels greedy, wants it all for herself and more.

she thinks that maybe she gets it from her father, this lack of loyalty and allegiance. she thinks maybe she’s still a little bitter that he’d left her and her mother to rot, bitter that her mother had abandoned her to navigate the world all on her own under the touch-and-go care of industry executives, but then she hears fans chanting her name and she doesn’t much care.

you sacrifice the best parts of yourself for success around here. she learns it the hard way during the lull before they regroup and comeback with glass shoes. she feels pathetic, weighed down by the sinking feeling of never truly being enough. it gets dark and desperate and she can see it in the way management gets frustrated backstage. she feels it, the feeling of failure and it claws at her, tears away at her self-esteem when she watches her members excel. she’s just like her mother. she drinks, she wallows.

she looks in the mirror and watches her innocence wither day-by-day.

her image suffers during interviews that year, her growth buried under a minor attitude scandal. her new source of solace becomes senior idols, friends who know better. she learns. she adjusts. she misses her parents and resents herself for being weak and feeling too much. it feels good when they get their first win, with what is love? and the smile that stretches across her face when they hold their first trophy feels genuine.

she only feels slightly vindicated when her acting career takes off, when she starts picking up roles with names attached to them rather than monikers and wordless appearances.

their songs are still cheap and generic, cute and upbeat to the point where she yearns for something different, but it sells and it’s made apparent by the responses of their fans. they like it, like her and the persona she adopts to suit the concept, the one they built for her. she let’s them remember her as the girl she was at debut, diligent and quirky, if not a little uncouth. she’s changed. it’s what she’s good at. she learns to bite her tongue against slick digs at her company, avoid being too vocal about her opinions, keep her hands to herself lest there be any cause for controversy - she toes the line of being too much and not enough and gets called alluring. she wonders if even the people who criticize her know what they want from her.

in any case, it seems to be working in some ways more than others. midas media is a hellscape of strict management and the stifling of its idols, but she makes it her duty to ensure her group’s success in one way or another - maybe that’s part of why she lets the media have at her. what she lacks in tact, she makes up for in talent and when they criticize her dancing, she works even harder, passive aggressively posts videos of her progress on her instagram. there’s no such thing as bad press, right? she stays on the fingertips of online pseudo-journalists when they want clicks. it’s good.

regardless of her agenda, midas dangles the promise of success in acting over her head as a means to keep her in line. it’s hard not to bite the hand that feeds her, better to be predator than prey, but the new year feels like an opportunity for her to be something more.

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: CJ CURRENT AGE: 27 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 15 COMPANY: Midas ETC: uses their personal soundcloud to demonstrate their preferred musical style

IDOL IMAGE

Jaesuk is hard-shelled, emotionally withdrawn, chip on his shoulder and just looking to music as a form of escape. CJ, however, is the cool and confident main rapper of Olympus who is in charge of swag. Someone who can give off the vibe of a bad boy, but a company friendly one. Naturally it’s all under Midas’ guide; clean cut, well dressed, with a smolder that will get fans hearts racing. The catch to it is that beneath the lukewarm demeanor he’s meant to have a heart of gold and a soft spot for his fans. CJ checks a lot of the perceived boxes on what a main rapper is meant to embody and in that sense his image is nothing revolutionary. Compared to the others he carries more of a hip sense to him and often gets comments about showing swag on variety shows, especially early on. Jaesuk cringes each time. To fans, CJ is the boy they can’t bring home but want to. It also helps that he’s considered a handsome, appealing even further to the fantasy. His cool demeanor doesn’t push them away but only draws them further in and makes them go even crazier when he does shows a glimpse of softness or aegyo.

Despite Midas’ meticulous managing of his image though – and Jaesuk largely going along with it – It isn’t all smooth sailing. In reality there isn’t anything ‘bad’ about him except when it’s played up on purpose. CJ bows when necessary and keeps a clean record. But when criticism about intergroup strife begin to arise no one is going to look at the heartthrob members as a root cause, right? The result of assumptions and rumors lead to suspicions of who is in conflict and Midas isn’t the type of company to lean in and embrace an actual  troublemaker image. As a result for a while it’s like walking a tight-rope. Smile more on programs, embrace and be more playful with your members, those are the kind of mandates that come down from management. Show them that he’s still one of the guys. That isn’t the only part of his image that causes discussion either. On programs Jaesuk receives a moderate response for his rap skills. On their tracks the rap lines aren’t considered the strength of their songs. It brings up questions of his actual ability as a main rapper. Can he actually rap? Is he just a victim of Midas’ manufactured sound for Olympus? It’s the part of his image remains a heated topic among fans and non-fans. It doesn’t help that Midas’ power and privilege makes any attempt to solidify his credibility come under fire as them buying it. Jaesuk outwardly ignores it though internally it adds a chip on his shoulder.

IDOL HISTORY

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 17 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 13 COMPANY: MSG ETC: he is currently making a career in acting (in musicals and film)

IDOL IMAGE

in the beginning, jaesun fit oasis’ concept perfectly in his own way. he was youthful, boyish, bright and playful, the kind of mischievous that made you want to pinch his cheeks more than punish him for it. he was rowdy, laughed hard and overreacted on variety for that two second reaction shot, spoke up constantly during interviews and shows and carried an air of confidence that attracted rather than repelled. he was to put himself out there any way he could, lay the charm on thick, crack jokes, be refreshingly honest. and it worked well. because to the uninitiated, he was like a ray of sunshine pointing them towards the entrance to oasis, and the other two blocked the exit. 

he was the middle-man, image-wise. he wasn’t ethereal or delicate or untouchably pretty, he wasn’t silent or intellectual or your ideal boyfriend. he was the loud, tanned boy from jeju island who had nothing but hard work to get to where he was now. he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, but the fun little brother that made you want to ruffle his hair and punch him in the shoulder when he got too mouthy (but of course, not too mouthy, just the right amount, jaesun, be careful). 

all in all, it was an image that aged well enough even as their image matured and strayed from their initial noona concept. now, he’s just somehow grown even more confident, bordering on cocky, but pulled over as humorous. and instead of a little brother, he feels more like that jokingly flirty friend you roll your eyes at but love nonetheless because he’s fun company. 

he gives off a vibe like anyone could very well be his best friend, like he isn’t just putting on an act and grinning for the sake of it. 

IDOL HISTORY

may 1993. 

when he was born on a bright spring afternoon in jeju, his parents didn’t hesitate to name him jaesun. they’d chosen it carefully over months, each hanja syllable standing for something they both wished upon him: jae (才) meaning talent, sun (善) meaning virtuosity, kindness. in his mom’s version of his birth story, she’d always say she knew they named him aptly when he came out laughing instead of crying. his dad’s version was always more truthful, because he claimed he could never forget how clearly and how loudly he cried. but ultimately, he agreed they couldn’t have chosen a better name, if only for the smile jaesun put on his mother’s sweaty face when she first held him, and throughout the many years after. 

may 1998.

they lived in the city out of necessity, but he’d been out by the mountains and by the oceans more often than any buildings. song-song tours, his parents called it. a small family tour business that did just well enough to pay the bills, but did more than enough to shape jaesun’s childhood. he slept in the seats of their tour bus more than he did his own bed, bounced around in those same seats while doing homework, playing handheld video games, then eagerly jumped out as soon as it screeched to a halt in front of the blue sea or the green mountains before his mom could slap any more sunscreen on his tanned skin. if anyone asked him, the entire island was his home. he grew up on that tour bus, raised by two parents that showered him with love because they couldn’t give him much else, but that had been enough for jaesun. the older tourists that so often boarded their bus gave him everything else.  

he was five when he accidentally discovered his future love for music, mindlessly singing his own nonsensical made up lyrics to the bus’ jingle as the tourists hopped on. one grandma in particular had been charmed, going so far as to pinch his sunkissed cheeks and slide him a few pieces of candy, further sweetened with compliments. he grinned his thanks back, and another grandma cooed, prompting him to sing for nearly the rest of the ride. the attention was satisfying, the laughter even more so, the snacks and folded 1000 won bills the cherries on top. 

as he grew, so did his singing skills thanks to a few singing lessons here and there when his mom could afford it -- which, admittedly, wasn’t often, but he had a natural talent for it anyway (if anyone asked him). and it showed on his little tour bus performances. when there was down time and not much for his mom to say about the trees they were driving by, he’d take over instead with a sunny smile on his face, singing trot songs for the grandmas, getting them to sing along all while walking down the aisle with a straw hat in his hand turned backwards to accept offerings wordlessly. 

even out of the bus, he quickly learned how to work his charm in the food markets and elsewhere, netting discounts or freebies every so often. but maybe most notably, he also learned that he loved to perform. whether at small local talent shows or festivals, he basked in the attention, the adoration, the confidence it filled him with.

may 2005.

jaesun had just turned thirteen when his parents brought up the idea of him moving to busan with his uncle. in just a year or so he’d be starting high school, and they wanted more for him than jeju could ever offer. it had been a hard sell because jaesun’s entire life was jeju, but a quick family trip to haeundae and a friend he quickly made while there was all it took to convince him. one week after returning to jeju, he was all packed and ready to move.

he made friends quickly enough, because of course. he was song jaesun, chatterbox extraordinaire with a funny little accent and a deep toned hum of a laugh. and though he found ways to continue singing when he could because music was big there, he was too young for the rock music scene, and it wasn’t his genre anyway. so, while busan and the sound of crashing waves reminded him of home, it never quite became that and his grades weren’t anywhere near good enough to justify his move there for ‘better opportunities’. 

may 2006. 

one year later, better opportunities fell right into his hand in the form of an audition flyer. 

the flyer had advertised for some unknown entertainment company looking to get started with a few trainees, but it sparked an idea in his head. it got the ball rolling, had him practicing his singing even more so than usual, had him quietly researching the large entertainment companies and their groups and members, had him looking up open audition dates and bus tickets to seoul, until he was ready and made the trip up there with a friend. 

seoul was large and bustling, but with his nerves and the way they beelined their way to msg’s building, he barely had the time or sense to notice. all he could focus on was the audition, to which he walked into head held high and grin stretched wide. he used the charm he pulled on grandmas back home, and the vocal skills he honed (to the best of his untrained ability) over years of practice, and won the judges over in no time -- at least, in his version of the story. in reality, he waited a few agonizing weeks before hearing back. but regardless, it turned out as he had hoped. they loved him: song jaesun the easily marketable bright charmer from jeju with a nice set of pipes. and his parents, supportive as ever of their boy potentially making it in a big city, signed his contract with little hesitation and helped him move into a cramped apartment with his aunt up in seoul.

may 2007. 

for someone who cruised through his younger years, regimented trainee life and having to still keep up with school work had been tough. he learned many things under msg entertainment, like how to speak without his accent, how to dance while singing, how to properly use his voice. but he also learned what exhaustion felt like, what disappointing people felt like. it’d almost been a big knock to his confidence, but he always explained everything away. it was never his fault, he just had an off day, the trainers were just too harsh, or deaf, or blind. he was by far their best vocal trainee, if anyone asked him, anyway. 

which his parents did as they called often, asked to make sure his aunt was feeding him well, told him constantly they were so proud of him and couldn’t wait to see him on tv and prove all their friends wrong. a little island boy could make it in the city. 

just wait and see, they’d tell them. 

may 2011. 

the wait took longer than jaesun had hoped for, but when oasis’ debut came colored in bright pastels, he reveled in it. their initial concept was received with some skepticism by those outside of their target audience, but he shined. appealing to older women had always been his thing since his first impromptu tour bus performance and it felt natural, easy. he knew how to grin just right, knew exactly how to croon ‘noona’ in a way that tugged at their heartstrings, knew how to work a crowd. in a small group of three where the other two had more shy, softer images to begin with, he filled the silence, projected enough confidence for the three of them combined. 

and as they grew over the years, as did his confidence (read: cockiness). he played it up, exaggerated it for variety, but he always did believe it himself. he had to. he always had to. especially as the years passed and other groups took the national spotlight he always craved, when his own group member started taking more and more of his lines, and when their youthful image wasn’t so fitting anymore, or when small rumors linking him to a few actresses changed his label from noona killer to cocky playboy. 

so, yeah. he had to wear his confidence like an armor, because that’s all he ever knew. 

may 2017. 

when their group schedules started winding down, his fans started to wonder why he hadn’t released any solos yet. he was the main vocal, after all, with more than enough stage presence to carry himself just fine. his group member rose as a soloist, so why didn’t he?

in a sort of roundabout way, he answered them by getting cast in his first film. 

it hadn’t been too surprising of a move. it’d already been revealed years prior that he had chosen to major in acting, but it was still a bit head scratching. the movie wasn’t received too well, and it was a special tv-only release, but jaesun ignored that as he always did. confident as ever and with a newfound interest in acting that no one could overshadow him in, he continued on. 

may 2019. 

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 22 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 19 COMPANY: Midas ETC: first debuted in Japan and received moderate attention.

IDOL IMAGE

maybe it’s the fire in her eyes, or the goosebumps on her skin after a performance that indicate a job well done. maybe it all comes from the nickname those at the company gave her back in the day, midas’ dalmatian, thanks to the pattern of bruises that speckled her shins and calves after her grueling amounts of dance practices she’d accumulated over the years. it’s why the company sought out a “secret weapon” persona for her for the future — because she was locked, loaded and aimed to fire hard at the hearts of many; ready to shock the company’s stans into a new trance, a new realization of what the meaning talented should be defined as. hikari has grown far more confident with herself over the years, and it’s exactly what midas was aiming for in her image: they want a girl who is invigorating, inviting, fresh: someone who exudes confidence, but in a way that is humbled from her time as a trainee — an idol that fans can watch blossom into the star she was meant to be.

hikari doesn’t know the inner workings of how aegyo or forced cuteness is really supposed to work, or how people can seriously do it without feeling dirty afterwards. some of the inner workings of being an idol to be puzzle her, such as having to act such a level of cringe-worthy cute that she’s just not capable of it at all. despite numerous people who try to show her how, it’s so off putting that hikari has become somewhat known within the company as the girl incapable of being cute on cue. her cuteness comes naturally, organically in the form of her pure joy, not something she’s able to produce on the spot for others’ entertainment. fans find her lack of forced cuteness still charming, as she makes up for it with her strong willed, professional and determined-to-succeed persona instead.

IDOL HISTORY

she is raised on her mothers mariya takeuchi vinyls and her fathers suo masayuki vcr tapes, your typical run of the mill millennial child. her eyes are wide and always curious, a girl who becomes somewhat famous within her own family for the amount of time she can stare up at all of her aunts and uncles without blinking. her brother gets jealous often when he’s given the older child treatment, and it’s safe to say that hikari grows up the favorite. kiyoshi, almost half a decade older than his sister, grows to become somewhat protective over the younger girl and grows out of his childish stage pretty quickly.

both utada siblings develop strong admirations for their parents’ favorite 80s artists they hear every afternoon on their father’s record player; kiyoshi begins to play his first instrument, the guitar, when he enters middle school and hikari, infatuated with all the trendy female pop singers of the early 2000s, adores utada hikaru and kwon boa like they’re her two older sisters who hold her hand through the rocky terrain of adolescence and teenage-hood.

boa’s popularity in japan played a major influence on hikari’s decision to try out for osaka’s own nmb48 in 2010 at only thirteen years old. love & honesty, though released in 2004, was an album hikari held close to her heart, and proving herself to be enough, was able to debut in 2011. as one of the younger members of the group, hikari never garnered too much attention, and her performance skills were far from advanced at such a young age. it had been her passion she’d witnessed from her own pop stars that fueled her drive, but in 2012, decided to graduate from nmb48 to focus on high school and her extracurriculars, rather than being a “background dancer” for girls she knew would out-success her.

the growing wave of korean music in japan, along with hikari’s adoration for boa, inspired her to begin korean lessons in high school. drawn to the language and its relatively similar grammar pattern to her native tongue, hikari began to set her sights on the prospects of international relations for college when she’d found her knack for the language. she was a jack of all trades: she loved pop culture, loved dancing and performing, but also understood the necessity for cooperation between the two nations.

open auditions for midas media in tokyo in 2016 were enough to garner then-twenty year old hikari’s attention. already a fan of the company’s debuted groups, the now matured hikari evolved from her earlier years of mediocre dancing to boa’s earlier discography to a midas mashup of their four groups. not only did had her dancing skills grown far more polished thanks to her time as her high school’s dance crew captain, her singing skills did, as well.

“you speak very good korean, hikari-ssi,” the judges nod in approval to her once her performance has concluded; hikari blushes, flustered, anxious, dazed, everything at once. she feels shy speaking a foreign language when her parents have come with her to tokyo to offer their support for her, smiling from the sidelines, but she keeps telling herself to focus — this is your moment. the judges don’t seem to notice, ironically appearing far more impressed by hikari’s facade of confidence instead. “what are your hopes for the future?”

hikari pauses to register what they’ve asked, staring momentarily to let her brain buzz before conjuring a simple answer. “my hopes,” she begins, “are to bring people together. through my performance.”

and it certainly does. the good news comes in the form of a phone call a few weeks following that leaves her stomach twisted for a good few hours following. a few of her friends offer to take her out after she texts the group chat that the company hopes for hikari to begin her contract at her earliest convenience. when she begins, hikari finds quickly how intense her training is, and wonders if it’s perhaps due to her nationality. in reality, she finds out, is being shaped to be the company’s next “secret weapon” — expected to excel in both singing and dancing — for their next future girl group. the amount of pressure put on her to work hard, not only training to be a performer, but also to improve her korean and her integration to korean life, stuns her. it’s a brutal wake up call from what she’d been expecting considering her past experience in osaka, but she loves a challenge. the days she wants to quit weigh themselves out with the days she pushes herself to work harder than any other trainee by staying longer to prove herself capable, worth it. hikari thinks with her head, a decision she makes to keep herself out of any drama or potential chances of messing things up. the stakes are higher for her now, especially being from japan — there would be nothing she regretted more in life than a plane ride home if she let herself fall mentally. walls carefully crafted and mind focused, hikari centers herself to be her absolute best, and prove to her company that the effort was worth it.

and she works hard at it, really — it’s an intense year, but in retrospect, she’s glad it was only that long (she’d met a lot of girls along the way who had been forced into limbo for much longer and just couldn’t bear it; she couldn’t blame them, she would’ve done the same). the group she had found out a little more than half a year into her training period, one she was intended as a final member for, came and went as fast as the executives in the company had mentioned it. it was disheartening to say the least and brought upon immense highs and lows that hikari wasn’t sure would in the end help her sink or swim.