by Nara Noelle
“O-Okay,” he stammered.
“What?”
“Okay, Teacher.”
“And you know what else I want you to do? I want you to stop acting like you’re fine with making a fool of yourself. Let’s be real: you’re destined for failure, aren’t you? Until you get your God-awful verses sorted, which will probably never happen, I expect you to wear your dinky little epsilon shirt to my classes, shithead. It’s what you deserve.”
“Alright. I’ll make sure to do that.” Hamin peered at several television crew members as they left. “Can I go now, Teacher?”
“I’m not done with you.” I dragged him by the arm and shoved him against a wall. “Did you really think I’d let you get away with trying to fuck up Idol High School?”
“Teacher, I’m sorry, but there seems to be a misunderstanding. Why would I do that? All I want is to join Pluto Entertainment.”
“Bullshit.”
“No. I’m being completely honest. I’ve admired you and the other artists at Pluto for years.”
“Hamin, do I look like a total moron to you? I know you’re not like the other students. Pray tell, what are you doing here?”
“Here? In this room?” he squeaked.
“Don’t try to be clever with me. Tell me what you’re doing on Starsaw Island!”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, trembling.
“You obviously have an ulterior motive. If you were an honest, hardworking aspiring idol, you wouldn’t be quivering like I’m about to strap you to a lie detector. So what is it? What are you hiding? Are you deluded enough to believe you can rise to the top just by doing stupid, gimmicky things in front of the camera?”
“Yes.”
I took a step back in surprise. “What?”
“You’re right. I’ve been embarrassing myself and slacking off because I thought I could get away with it. That’s all there is to it.”
Although his reply was what I’d suspected, it infuriated me to hear him admit to it. I grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled him up against the wall until his face was right in front of mine.
“I’m sorry, RJ—no, Teacher.”
“Shut up, you little piece of shit. You’re not to leave this room until you’ve written a verse, filmed yourself rapping it, and received my approval, you hear me? If I don’t think your rhymes are good enough, you’ll start over. And if I don’t think the recording is good enough, you’ll practice and send me a better version.” I looked around the room; there was only one gofer—a scrawny guy around my age—here with us. “Hey, you!” I shouted out, pointing at him.
“Yes,” the gofer said as he hurried over to me.
“You’ve got your phone with you, right?” I asked.
He put his hand into his back pocket and took out his phone. “Yes, it’s here.”
“I want you to stay in this room with Hamin. Keep an eye on him, film him rapping, and send it to me. Now, hand me your phone so I can give you my number,” I ordered.
The gofer complied.
After I added my number to his contacts, I added, “Oh, and Hamin is not to sit down. I mean it. Not even for a break.”
Chapter 11
RJ
Ultimately, there’s only so much you can do to make someone’s life hell on your own, especially when you’ve got a goddamn reputation to uphold. What’s the best way to torture your enemy then? I say it’s to turn everyone against the motherfucker you just can’t hold back from hating.
Half of my work was already done for me—I could tell that the other boys at Idol High were keeping their distance from Hamin. Even epsilon students seemed embarrassed by him. However, the much more important part of the equation was to ensure my fellow band members wanted him to suffer as much as I did.
On the night after my first lesson with Hamin, I invited Sammy, Arang, and Terry over to my suite for a drink with only one goal in mind.
“God, it feels good to sit down with you guys for some scotch,” Sammy said before taking a swig from his glass.
Terry grinned, staring into his glass. “I know, right? We haven’t done this in ages. Why’s that?”
“Well, there’s the fact that this is the first drop of alcohol I’ve had all year. Can you believe it? I was completely sober for two whole months,” Arang said.
“Because of your New Year’s resolution?” Terry asked.
“Yup. And I guess it worked.” Arang patted his stomach. “I’m down to eight percent body fat.”
Terry whistled. “You’re trying to be perfect in every way, aren’t you?”
“Hmm. You’ve got to admit though, I was pretty damn close to it before I ever put in the effort,” Arang said, giving Terry a wink.
Terry slapped Arang’s arm. “You’re such a cocky jerk.”
“But look. You’re not disagreeing with me,” Arang added with a smirk.
Sammy and Terry burst out laughing. Typical Arang. Though I thought he was a pansy pretty boy when we first met, I didn’t mind it now—calling a spade a spade went both ways, after all. Honestly, it would’ve been irritatingly disingenuous for a guy with a face and fandom like his to act like he didn’t understand what everyone else saw in him.
“So why’d you invite us over today?” Sammy asked, tapping on my shin with his slipper-clad foot.
“Yeah. What’s up, RJ? In the message you sent us, you acted as if you just got your hands on classified information. So what’s going on? Did you want to tell us our futures are at stake?” Terry said playfully.
While the four of us were well aware of how the career of a public figure could change drastically within a matter of days or even a few hours, we also knew we were as unbreakable as four young men could ever hope to be. Getting this far wasn’t easy, and we were bound by some unmentionable secrets, but there was no way someone could snatch our success away from us at this point.
“You see, there’s something that’s been bothering me,” I admitted before chugging the rest of my drink and slamming it down on the coffee table.
“Woah. Don’t take it out on your glass,” Terry joked.
“In the grand scheme of things, it’s no big deal, but I don’t see why I should let some goddamn nobody fuck with me—and Pluto as a whole—either,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles.
“Let me guess, did one of your students piss you off today?” Arang asked with a yawn.
“That’s right. I gave someone his first taste of discipline this morning.” I chuckled, glancing at my phone on the table. “Believe it or not, he’s one of the epsilons. I thought those dorks were such a waste of time that it would be impossible for me to get worked up about any of them. Turns out, I was wrong. Anyway, lads, does Hamin Han ring a bell?”
Terry nodded. “The train wreck from the first assessment? I heard the other students refer to him as Yo-yo now.”
“Christ, I knew that kid was trouble from the day of his audition. He came in wearing hammer pants and danced to ‘Can’t Touch This.’ The other judges thought he was hilarious, but if it had been up to me, he wouldn’t have been allowed to set foot on Starsaw Island,” Sammy said.
As I filled up my glass, I peered over at Arang. His face was beet red.
“Arang, you’ve had, what, one sip of scotch? And you’re blushing like a little girl. One of the downsides of an alcohol detox, huh?” I teased.
“Me? Blushing? What the hell are you talking about?” Arang muttered, then guzzled a mouthful of his scotch on the rocks. “It’s getting hot in here, that’s all. Can we turn down the temperature?”
I picked up the remote control for the air-conditioner and tossed it onto his lap. “So do you remember who Hamin is or not? If you need help with putting a face to a name, I’ve got some videos to show you.”
“Videos? What kind of videos?” Arang asked.
“Sick, humiliating videos that reek of sweat and desperation,” I replied, taking a large swig.
“Jesus,” Arang whis
pered, covering his eyes with his palms.
“Sounds like your kind of porn, RJ,” Terry joked.
“You guys are disgusting,” Arang snapped.
Sammy sighed. “RJ, what did you do to Hamin?”
“I kept him behind after the lesson so that he could work on writing his first verse, that’s all,” I said.
Terry scratched his chin with a smile. “Ah. That must be why there were only nine students at my dance class this afternoon. What a pity. I missed out on seeing Yo-yo’s moves.”
I picked up my phone and opened my text conversation with the gofer I’d left in charge of Hamin. When I clicked play on the last video I’d gotten—the nineteenth one, to be precise—I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
“What’s so funny?” Terry asked, leaning in to take a look at my phone screen.
I turned up the volume, then tilted my phone in his direction. “Watch this.”
Hamin managed to stay standing, but just barely—his legs were trembling like mad. After the first few hours, I’d picked up on how he must’ve been allowed to sit down when he wasn’t filming his verse. Unfortunately for Hamin, it wasn’t hard to threaten the wimpy-ass gofer into making sure Hamin stayed standing at all times.
Terry was no longer smiling. “What the hell? What’s wrong with him?”
“Everything,” I said before peering at the screen again.
Although Hamin looked as if he could burst into tears any minute, he hadn’t quite broken down yet. Who would’ve known he was such a stubborn cunt? Even though he’d been sweating buckets since I forced the gofer to turn off the air-conditioner, he hadn’t taken off his fucking sweatshirt. What was he trying to do? Stage a silent protest?
Terry lowered his voice. “No, seriously, RJ. Why does he look like he’s been on his feet all day?”
“Because that’s exactly what he’s been doing,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Terry, the little shit has got to learn that this is what he gets when he behaves like an arrogant motherfucker who’s too good for the classes at Idol High. In fact, he’s still standing as we speak.”
“So you told him he has to stay standing for hours on end?”
“Yup. There’s a gofer supervising him to make sure he’s following my orders until I dismiss him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Terry yanked my phone away from me and jumped up from his seat.
“What are you doing, man? Give me my phone,” I said.
Terry darted to the other side of my living room and announced, “I’m letting Hamin go before he passes out. God, he must be exhausted.”
“Don’t fuck with me. My class, my rules,” I growled.
“Why don’t we call it a day, RJ? I’ve never heard anyone sound more like an old goat. Don’t forget, your classes aren’t the only ones Hamin will be taking this week. I don’t want him to turn up to my vocal classes and get away with mucking around because he’s lost his voice,” Arang said.
“Good point. Arang’s right,” Sammy chimed in.
“Goddammit. I hate you all,” I hissed.
Terry came back to the sofa and passed me my phone.
Me: You guys can leave now. Goodnight.
Gofer: Thank you!
“You’re such a pussy,” I barked, glaring at Terry.
Terry laughed, picking up his glass. “Shut up and drink.”
“Want me to pour you some more scotch?” Arang offered with a look of amusement.
“Why are you guys acting like Hamin’s your bitch? Is that what’s going on? Do you want him to suck your dick or something, Arang?” I growled.
Arang smashed his fist against the table. “Watch what you’re saying, bastard.”
“You think I’m a bastard? If anyone’s a bastard, it’s Hamin. He came to class without his name badge and pretended he had a verse prepared when he’d never written one in his life. What are people going to think of me—and you, and everyone else at Pluto Entertainment—when they tune into the first episode of Idol High School and see a kid clowning around from the get-go?”
“Trust me, nobody’s going to notice Hamin. Not when there are forty-nine more talented students singing, rapping, dancing, and doing God knows what else to get people to fall in love with them,” Arang argued.
“Exactly. Besides, I doubt any of the footage with him is going to make it past the edit. Maybe the production directors will leave in his shitty freestyle rap for shits and giggles, but otherwise, there’s no way an epsilon like him is going to get much airtime. Why do you think the contestants are taking classes with others from their own tier? It’s not because a beta would struggle to keep up with a class of alphas,” Sammy said.
“Alright. But I still hate him,” I muttered.
“I don’t blame you. If he somehow manages to stay on the island after the first round of votes, he’ll be turning the show into a total joke. I wish we could rig the votes to ensure that never happens, but as you guys know, all eyes are on Starsaw Island and people are going to look into that shit if word gets out,” Arang commented.
“You guys don’t feel an ounce of pity for him?” Terry asked.
“Terry, spare your pity for someone more deserving. Hamin’s living on a tropical island, feasting on whatever he can get his chubby little hands on. If you’re so eager to be a nice guy, why don’t you donate to an orphanage in the ghetto?” I said.
“I never said I pitied him. I just wanted to get a better understanding of your thoughts,” Terry protested.
“RJ, I hate him too,” Sammy interjected.
“As always, our leader is the voice of reason,” I proclaimed.
Sammy snorted. “The kid got on my nerves from the moment I laid eyes on him at the auditions. You see, Executive Song had previously warned me about how our ‘rivals’—you know, those shitheads who have nothing on us but refuse to admit to it—might send a few contestants our way.”
“What do you mean?” Terry asked.
“Executive Song thought other agencies might try to fuck with Idol High School and his search for the next big thing by messing with what happens while we shoot the show. You guys know I’d never let Executive Song down, right? There were sirens going off in my head from the second I realized Hamin was nothing like the other auditionees,” Sammy explained.
“So you think he’s some kind of spy?” Arang said incredulously.
“No. At least not anymore,” Sammy replied.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“Guys, close your eyes and picture the boardroom of, say, Zirco Entertainment. Those motherfuckers have just discovered Executive Song’s plan to debut a new group through a talent show, and they’re green with envy at all the hype surrounding it. What do you think they’d do? If they chose to scheme against Executive Song and take all of the risks such a decision would entail, do you really think they’d sabotage themselves by getting a bumbling freak like Hamin to do the job?” Sammy chuckled. “Those fuckers are pathetic, but they can’t be that dense.”
“So you think we should coddle him?” I groaned.
“Hold up, RJ. I haven’t finished talking. Mind you, I’ve still got a bad feeling about him. I just don’t think we should be getting sidetracked. We’re here to teach.” Sammy sighed. “You said it yourself, man. In the grand scheme of things, one attention-seeking epsilon is nothing but a speck of dust.”
Chapter 12
RJ
Sure, the response I got from Sammy was not what I wanted, but I wasn’t going to give up. Goddammit. I was determined to crush Hamin, and nobody was going to stop me. The next morning, I checked the student directory to find out who Hamin’s roommate was. Apparently, Hamin was joined by a fat beta called Juno in Room E207. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, anyone? Lucky for me, I was teaching the beta students that afternoon.
“Hey, Juno! Could I talk to you for a minute?” I called out after I dismissed the class.
“Sure,” he replied, coming over to me.
“First, why don’t we get a little bit of privacy?” I said as I walked out of the recording studio.
“I-I’m sorry. Is there a problem?” he asked, fidgeting while he trailed behind me. “Was there a problem with my verse?”
Once we entered an empty dance studio down the hallway, I slammed the door shut and said, “Stop questioning me, and just answer what I ask you, okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“You’re Hamin’s roommate, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How well do you guys get along? Are the two of you close?”
“Not particularly. We talk sometimes—but only when we’re back in our room at night.”
“Because you guys are worlds apart, right? He’s an epsilon and you’re a beta.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. Ha. I guess losers like him needed to be reassured that there was somebody else beneath them.
“You see, I have a little favor to ask you,” I said.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Before I let you in on it, I’d like to remind you that if you go around sharing this with anybody—and I mean anybody—your career will be over before it takes off. I’m going to make sure you never get a chance to debut or even appear on television again. Do you hear me?” I growled.
“W-What’s going on?” he stuttered.
I pressed my finger against his lips to silence him. “Calm down. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to do something difficult. You’re here to win the show and sign with Pluto, and I don’t intend to distract you from your goal. All you have to do is keep an eye on that goddamn roommate of yours. If you spot any unusual behavior, you come straight to me. Do you understand? It doesn’t matter who I’m with or how busy I seem. Just tell me you’ve got two questions on gangster rap, and I’ll get what you’re referring to.”
Juno opened his mouth as if he had a question to ask, then promptly lowered his gaze.
“You want to know what’s in it for you, don’t you?” I muttered.
