Becoming An Idol Wasn’T On My Plan [EN]: Chapter 304

It wasn’t until I became a college student that I realized running full-time to concerts was insane. How did I even manage to juggle college and that? It’s absurd to think I’m about to do that insane thing again, sitting in a PC bang [Korean internet cafe], logged into a reservation site.

I secured a spot at the PC bang with my friend.

Blossom has held small concerts every year as a thank-you event, but this is their first proper tour, so I want to see at least two days’ worth of shows in Seoul.

I’m usually a *makcon* [final concert] person, but if my friend succeeds in securing a spot for the first concert, I’m planning to treat her to all sorts of delicacies.

I open three tabs. Any more and I get confused.

I take out my phone and turn off Wi-Fi. May the grace of cellular data be with me.

I check in advance to make sure pop-ups are allowed, and I have a server time checker running in a small window.

“…Don’t I need to do what you’re doing?”

“Nope. You’re just here to help anyway.”

“No, I’ll do it properly too. You can help me later when Hoppin’ has a concert.”

The satisfaction of being a *deokjil* [fangirl/fanboy; someone deeply obsessed with a hobby or interest] is determined by whether you succeed or fail in ticketing.

“How many tabs are you using?”

“Five.”

“Doesn’t that mess you up?”

“That seems to be the limit.”

The habit of refreshing each tab every second is now a tradition.

Tension builds. Ten minutes before opening. I habitually bite the skin on my finger. It’s a habit that always surfaces when I’m anxious.

Okay—I can do it.

“Do you know where the nearby banks are?”

“I’ve checked.”

The two women looked as solemn as generals before going into battle.

Twenty minutes before opening, I mentally simulate the ticketing screen of I company, which I’ve already seen countless times.

“Ah, suddenly I’m getting nervous too. If we succeed, chicken’s on me.”

“If that’s all you want.”

“Of course. It’s *gukrul* [the rule; an unwritten rule] to get chicken when someone helps with ticketing.”

Ah, my friend’s face is glowing.

Our first meeting during winter vacation was strange, but we became people who understand each other’s *deokjil* [fandom].

* * *

Meanwhile, in the same PC bang.

A man who only comes to the PC bang during course registration was looking at his phone with anxious eyes, taking deep breaths.

‘Concert ticketing is a first for me.’

I came to the PC bang after working all night. It’s the *hyungdeul’s* [older brothers’; referring to older male friends or band members] first concert, and I want to go. Standing is too much, so a seat that’s moderately far away…….

“Hey, what are you doing?”

My friend said he didn’t need to come, but he must have been bored, so he came next to me and is just playing games.

“Reading ticketing tips.”

There are many *geumson* [golden hands; people who are very skilled at something] in this world, and even more people who want to share their knowledge with others.

“Want me to help?”

“…Can you quit the game in the middle?”

“That would be rude. But I think we’ll surrender in 15 minutes anyway? I’m bad at it.”

If you’re bad, why come out and play games? Just go back and work.

“Help me if you finish early.”

With those words, he reread the tips.

Several tabs, refreshing, a flood of new information, but thanks to reading it several times, he even memorized the locations of nearby ATMs.

“But didn’t you *manghaesseo* [fail] at *su-gang sincheong* [course registration] too?”

“Stop saying things that bring bad luck.”

There’s a difference in willpower.

There are courses that I applied for with the attitude of ‘whatever happens, happens’.

“Ugh, I’m really bad.”

My friend smiled bitterly as he looked at the ‘Defeat’ screen.

“Where are you seeing the tip posts, Inho?”

“Are you really going to help?”

“Yeah. Buy me food later.”

My friend, who was looking at the link sent via KakaoTalk, tilted his head, skimming through it.

“What’s the difference between course registration and this?”

“…The fact that I’ll succeed.”

*Puhat*, a short laugh burst out.

But he’s serious. Because there’s no hesitation in telling the truth.

“Hey, there’s usually beginner’s luck. It’ll probably go well this time too.”

With that, my friend skillfully opened tabs, set the server time, and disabled pop-up blocking.

“…Why are you so skilled?”

“I’m just doing what’s written.”

Then he immediately logged into the ticketing practice game site and started practicing.

“If I get you a seat, will you buy me food?”

“Food won’t be enough.”

The money I earned working as an assistant at the art academy, I might end up offering it all.

“I’m fine with food. Let’s go eat *jeyuk bokkeum* [spicy pork stir-fry].”

“Stop eating so much, seriously. I only ever eat *jeyuk bokkeum* [spicy pork stir-fry] when I’m with you. Let’s go eat something more expensive.”

Of course, this is if we succeed.

“Okay? I’ll take it seriously.”

He says it jokingly, but the way he’s practicing even before saying those words is serious itself.

My friend, who looks decent but is a true anime *deokhu* [otaku; a person with obsessive interests, particularly in anime and manga].

Even though it’s 2D versus 3D, he knows what it’s like to be *deokjil* [obsessed with something], so he’s trying his best to help.

“…Don’t forget to pay by *mutongjang ibgeum* [bank transfer].”

“But why pay by *mutong* [bank transfer]?”

You shorten everything.

“I don’t know, that’s what they say.”

Following the formula of successful people is taboo in art, but it’s *jeongseok* [the standard] in ticketing.

* * *

Practice room, I wiped the sweat with a towel.

Why is it so intense?

I want to grab Chae Hamin by the collar for choreographing the unit dance like this, but the quality of the choreography is good, so I have nothing to say.

“Ah, right. The ticketing opens in about ten minutes.”

Ryoo Ideun said, and I already knew, so I didn’t say anything special.

“My friend is trying too.”

“You must be real friends.”

“…I don’t know. I think they’re just planning to tease me.”

“Should we try for just one ticket too?”

“That’s *minpe* [annoying] to the fans.”

If we reserve and then cancel, someone will inevitably be heartbroken.

“We can just go to the page where you choose your seat and not proceed to the next step.”

“So you’re just checking the seats disappearing in real-time?”

“…Are we?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t matter if you don’t click on a seat.”

When you’re trapped in the practice room, strange things appear, and today, this is it.

Anyway, we’ve already finished all the choreography that needs to be done today, and only the check-up remains.

I took out my laptop from my bag.

“But won’t you *gwangtal* [fail miserably] if you use a laptop?”

“Why?”

“It’s Wi-Fi. It can’t be compared to a LAN cable.”

“We’re just aiming to see the seat page anyway, so wouldn’t it be okay?”

Chae Hamin questioned Lee Hyunjae.

That’s right, if the goal isn’t to get a ticket but to watch them disappear, then what. We can do it like we’re registering for courses.

“Hyung [older brother] only puts in weird courses for *su-gang sincheong* [course registration].”

“It’s not weird, it’s just that I only put in the ones that had a lot left over from the ones I’ve taken, Hyunjae.”

“It’s completely different. Hyung [older brother] has a list that he can complete *su-gang sincheong* [course registration] with even if he wakes up a day later.”

“You took liberal arts classes with me too.”

“That’s why I suffered so much.”

Due to the nature of my job, I can’t take many classes, only one or two, but Lee Hyunjae sometimes resents me.

He followed me and applied, asking what this was, or how there could only be six people in a class with a capacity of 40.

Those are usually the *jinguk* [real deal] classes, but he’s only a freshman, so he probably doesn’t know yet. And there’s also the effect of fewer eyewitness accounts due to the small number of people gathering in the early morning classes.

“Anyway, let’s do it, we’ll know if we try.”

Ryoo Ideun took the laptop I took out and went to the site.

“…Whoa, hey, there are 2 minutes left.”

“We just have to refresh when it’s exactly on the hour, right?”

“I think so―.”

Lee Hyunjae watched Ryoo Ideun and the kids happily enter the ticketing site and looked like he had a lot to say.

“Why, Hyunjae.”

“I don’t know if you’ll even be able to see the seats disappearing like that.”

Even if ticketing is difficult, surely you can at least see the seat selection screen.

*Su-gang sincheong* [Course registration] is about going in to ‘apply’…, sometimes, there are problems, but usually…….

Of course, there was a time when the course registration site on my computer froze for 10 minutes (but I still completed the course registration without any problems), but the university’s server management and the server management of these commercial sites can’t be the same.

“…Should I do it now?”

“Just leave them be. They look happy.”

Lee Hyunjae stepped back at my words and watched the three of them huddle together, discussing how to make ticketing effective.

“That’s right. The story of someone with a dream that shatters is beautiful, isn’t it?”

How romantic.

We went behind them and sat down to watch the three stooges put their heads together. And at the same time, we opened our mouths.

Why is there nothing? There’s no site that tells you the server time anywhere. They don’t even know they have to look at the server time.

“…Hyungs [older brothers], the server time.”

But before Lee Hyunjae could finish his words.

“Hyung [older brother], it’s exactly on the hour!”

Seokjoon shouted, looking at the laptop clock.

Ryoo Ideun’s hands moving quickly. And the queue screen that appears. The estimated waiting time had an unbelievable number written on it.

The three stooges slowly covered their mouths.

Lee Hyunjae peeked out, looked at each of their faces, and smiled contentedly.

“That’s right. The moment a dream shatters is also beautiful.”

* * *

“…Ah, *ssi* [shit].”

I’m swearing like this, something I’ve never done much in my life.

Seeing the ticketing screen that *manghaesseo* [failed] like his *su-gang sincheong* [course registration], his mouth opened naturally.

“…Ha.”

They say that if you have big dreams, the broken pieces are also big, but that must be *gaesori* [bullshit]. Only the size of the emptiness grew, and sadness washed over me. My emptiness is as big as the number of people in the queue.

He thought that he would have faced the same failure anyway, and he turned his head to the side.

“Hey, Jonghyuk, did you get it?”

“Wait a sec.”

“…What?”

Eyes staring intently at the screen and hands moving leisurely but quickly.

Could it be that he succeeded?

“Payment is *mutong* [bank transfer], right?”

“U, uh. Success, did you succeed?”

“Isn’t it only a success if you make the payment?”

Why are you so relaxed, you crazy bastard. The guy who’s done *deokjil* [fandom] before is good at it, this, this!

“No, you crazy bastard! Payment, it’s a success if the payment screen pops up!”

I forgot for a moment that the PC bang was a public place. I wanted to hug him and rejoice right away.

What, what should I buy him? Chicken, is chicken enough? I need to check my bank account.

The endorphins secreted with joy, the rough breathing proved how excited he was.

And because he couldn’t think properly when he was excited, he shook his hands wildly and went into the bank app on his phone to check the remaining money.

“…Steak?”

“I told you to buy me *jeyuk* [spicy pork stir-fry], what are you talking about.”

“No, steak!”

“Don’t shout.”

And beyond this scene full of excitement, there were two generals leisurely high-fiving.

Commemorating the victory, but not excited, the attitude of a hunter who has caught prey that they should have caught.

“Donghwa, I’m coming to see you.”

But only suppressing his joy, the owner of the ticket was writhing in joy, shaking his shoulders.

“I need to start building up my full-concert stamina from now on.”

“…I’ll endure it.”

Originally, you have to enjoy the concert until you faint and then drag your collapsing body to the second day to have a proper concert experience.

* * *

Ryoo Ideun quietly turned to look at me, having failed at ticketing.

“…We, I think we succeeded, hyung [older brother].”

“Looks like it.”

I didn’t even see it selling out in real-time before my eyes. It’s like going to a store, standing in line, not even getting to see the goods, and going home.

I also feel new, like Ryoo Ideun.

It’s a feeling of confirming the results of the time we’ve walked.

They say you don’t really know something until you experience it, so it must be true that we’ve succeeded greatly.

“It must be sold out.”

Chae Hamin also muttered, opening his mouth as if shocked.

“I guess so.”

“…This is not the time for this.”

Ryoo Ideun hurriedly got up from his seat.

“Practice, practice. Increase the quality, quickly.”

Ah, that guy, he’s showing his true colors. He designed it so that we wouldn’t get tired of the repeated practice.

As if possessed, Seokjoon and Chae Hamin nodded. Like people seeing a hallucination, or more precisely, like Ryoo Ideun had hypnotized them.

Showing the size of the concert hall, showing the ticketing screen, it was all to boost the members’ motivation.