The thought of quitting first came to me in the middle of a conversation with Director Kwon.
More precisely, it came at the moment I realized that none of my opinions had any place in the plans KRM was setting up.
At first it was just an impulse, a fleeting idea, but gradually I came to understand it clearly.
Realistically, withdrawing was the only solution available to me right now.
No matter how big an issue I had become, I was still nothing more than a trainee who hadn't even debuted yet.
Which meant that someone like me—someone with no authority whatsoever—had no way of stopping what the higher-ups were doing. And I couldn't erase all the rumors already spreading everywhere as if nothing had happened.
But even someone like me had exactly one way to screw KRM over and put an end to everything in one move.
Flip the whole board over entirely.
The game KRM was playing revolved around using me as bait.
The public focused on me, consumed my past, and in that process, my existence was indispensable.
So if I disappeared, the whole board would collapse into nothing.
If I directly notified the DEAR DOLLs production team of my intention to withdraw, and also pulled out of KRM, the situation would inevitably enter a lull.
You can't push forward with a debut or anything else if the person in question is gone.
In other words, withdrawing was both my best offense and my best defense.
What solidified that conviction was a phone call I received after Baek Ihyeon's interview was released.
"I—I'm so sorry. We tried to stop it, we really did…"
The caller was an employee at the columbarium.
To my confusion, they confessed that the door to the niche holding my parents' urns had been opened.
"The urns themselves are safe. But the photos… the photos are gone."
Which columbarium I visited, where the niche was located—those details were already known.
Sensing danger, I'd asked them to move my parents' urns to a safer spot, but it was already too late.
They probably stole them the moment the photos hit the community boards.
I didn't know whether it was the person who took the first photos, or someone who saw them and rushed over.
But the moment I heard it, I felt only one thing.
Regret.
Regret that I should never have gone on DEAR DOLLs, and certainty that if this continued, I would only keep losing more.
And when I realized there was no point in agonizing any further, I called up the quest window the system had assigned me.
***
『Main Quest: The Seat Toward Debut on
You are seated in the debut-eligible chair after the 1st ranking announcement of DEAR DOLLs.
Maintain the blue chair until the 3rd ranking announcement—the gateway to the finale—and achieve a successful debut.
Success Requirement: Remain within the debut range (Top 10) until the 3rd ranking announcement.
Success Reward: Luck +50, Stat Unlock (Random)
※ However, voluntary withdrawal will incur double the penalty.
Failure Penalty: Luck –100
Current Luck: 10
※ If Luck reaches 0, "Won Yuha" will meet death.
***
When I first received this, angry didn't even begin to describe it.
I thought the system was pushing me into a slaughterhouse.
But strangely, now I felt nothing at all.
The situation had already slipped out of my hands long ago.
Whether I survive the 3rd ranking announcement… there's no way to be sure anymore.
The voting period for the upcoming 3rd announcement took place when I was being beaten down by public criticism.
My past began to unravel and the tide turned only near the end—when most voting was already over.
So even I couldn't be certain of my ranking now.
For days after the exposé, all I saw were insults directed at me.
My core fandom must have shaken too; there was no way the votes stayed the same.
I fiddled with my phone, lost in thought—about what would happen if I called the DEAR DOLLs staff right now and said I would withdraw.
The most likely outcome is…
My death.
If I voluntarily quit, I would fail the quest.
The penalty would be applied, and my remaining 10 points of Luck would drop to zero.
And the system had warned me since the very beginning: once Luck hit zero, "Won Yuha" would die.
I was someone who had already died once.
The only reason I lived now was because of the system—and even then, it kept pushing me into quests with my life as collateral.
If I rebelled against it and tried to break out of the script written by whoever sent me back in time, it would show no mercy.
Then I would die as I was originally meant to.
Or… would I regress again?
Following my innate trait, "Regression," like some game character.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
Even if I did regress again, I had no confidence that I wouldn't simply repeat all of this.
Not that there's any point worrying about that now.
Whatever penalty the system wanted to give me—I no longer cared.
There was only one thing that mattered: ending this situation somehow.
—
—The moment the public's attention hits you, privacy stops existing. Your flimsy secrets were never the kind that could stay hidden.
Everything Director Kwon had said was trash, but that one line…I couldn't refute it.
The moment you choose to be known, you forfeit privacy.
The same goes for your past.
Whether you want it or not, everything becomes a commodity, content for people to chew on.
That was the path I had chosen.
I knew that.
I did.
—Yuha, you can do it. Mom believes in you.
—If not our son, who else would become a celebrity? Yuha, there's nothing you can't do. Dad's sure of it. Our son can become an amazing singer.
…And yet, stupidly, I had wondered—just wondered—whether I could protect at least a part of myself.
There was a time I aimed to become an idol who wouldn't disgrace my parents' words.
They never could've known that becoming known would only lead to them being attacked.
They would never have imagined they wouldn't be able to rest in peace even after passing away.
—Yuha, want to come with us?
The twelve-year-old kid they reached out to, the child they raised with love—
They would never have thought he would become their greatest regret like this.
—We have to take responsibility for Yuha, no matter what.
—I'm sorry, Yuha. We took you in to make you happy, and now you're suffering like this.
That's why I once wanted so desperately to become an idol.
Because I could never forget their words.
The way they always cared for me first, even in hardship.
Back then, I thought the only thing I could do for them was become an idol everyone admired.
I was young. Too young to understand how naïve that was.
And this… this was exactly the future I never wanted.
I had already failed once, and I'd fully tasted the consequences of my short-sighted thinking.
But in the end, I handed them another opening—brought this situation on myself.
It was an inexcusable mistake.
I've lived through this once already… Did I really think I could change anything this time?
A faint laugh slipped out.
The fact that—even with foreknowledge—I still couldn't escape this path somehow felt absurd.
However, thanks to all of this, I finally realized something.
I was someone who never should have dreamed of becoming an idol in the first place.
A person should know how to compromise at least a little, but if there was something I didn't want to yield on—even if it killed me—I refused to yield.
That's why I wasn't fit for this.
Because that one thing was the only thing I had left.
If I let it go, it would be the same as giving up on myself.
So I had no choice but to give up everything else.
It was just as I picked up my phone with that decision in mind.
[…♩]
"…!"
The sudden ringtone made me flinch. I looked at the screen—it was Cheon Serim calling.
I quietly waited for the phone to stop ringing.
After a long moment, it gradually fell silent, and I intended to ignore the contact entirely.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"…!"
"We know you're in there!"
"Come out!"
"Guys, keep it down a little…."
…But the loud commotion outside my door was something I couldn't ignore.
***
Cheon Serim, Aiden Lee, and Joo Danwoo had come to my house and barged into the living room as if it were theirs.
—We're coming in~!
—Excuse us~!
—Yuha, I'm sorry….
I hadn't intended to let them in—not even for a second—but the moment I cracked open the door, they shoved their feet inside and forced their way through.
I never should've given them my address.
They must've used the address I unwillingly handed over to Serim last time.
If I'd known something like this would happen, I would've kept it hidden to the end.
I sat across from the three of them.
My head was already pounding, and I didn't want to deal with anyone, so I snapped irritably:
"Just be quiet and leave. I can't deal with this right now."
"Yuha, are you going to withdraw?"
"..."
Aiden Lee asked directly, and for a moment, I couldn't find any words.
…Sharp bastard.
Of course—he was the type who could read the room only when it benefited him.
I let out a small sigh and gave a slight nod.
"Yeah. I'm going to withdraw."
"Why?"
"…Do I really need to explain that to you?"
"Yeah. We're a set."
"...."
I had no choice but to close my mouth again.
He wasn't wrong.
It was for that same reason that I'd given them a rough explanation about my past last time.
"…Everything should be settled now. There's no reason you guys will get dragged down anymore."
But that was that, and this was this.
My image had already flipped into a sympathy narrative, so none of them would be harmed anymore.
Whether I stayed or left, the three of them didn't have to worry.
"Hyung, I'm only saying this because it's just the four of us here."
As I wondered how to get them out of my house as quickly as possible without continuing this pointless conversation, Serim suddenly spoke up.
When I turned toward him, he said something unexpected.
"I'm sure these four are all going to debut."
"..."
I didn't bother arguing.
You could call it arrogant since the 3rd ranking hadn't even happened yet, but Serim had a point.
Aiden Lee, Serim, and Joo Danwoo all had solid, loyal fanbases.
Even when latecomers surged due to the show's narrative, these three never fell from the top ranks, maintaining stable recognition.
The debut lineup was practically set.
Unless the DEAR DOLLs staff suddenly decided to give the three of them malicious editing or shove cameras toward some trainee at the bottom, no major ranking upheaval would occur.
Which meant the debut probability was highest for the three of them—and, given Serim's sharp assessment of the situation, he must have already formed a rough prediction of the debut team.
That prediction apparently included the four of us in this room.
"I think this relationship chart is ideal. That's why I really want us to debut together."
"Me stepping out won't ruin your narrative or relationships."
"No, it'll break the balance. This four-person combination works because each of us has a role. If even one person leaves, the synergy drops dramatically."
His carefree, clueless words made me press my throbbing temples.
What the hell was he thinking, saying this now?
He's not someone who can't read the situation.
He should know I wasn't in the mood to entertain nonsense.
The fact that he kept going only sharpened my irritation.
Relationship chart, synergy—none of that mattered once I quit. It would all be useless.
"Cut the crap and get to the point. You three schemed together to come here for a reason."
"This is the point."
"…What?"
I finally snapped, unable to hold back and asked sharply—
"Don't withdraw, Yuha."
—and then Joo Danwoo spoke the so-called "point" they'd come to make, leaving me speechless.
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