Grab the Manual and Debut!-Chapter 41: ✦Star-Stock [4]✦

The Nutube app was already open. The "Cloud-9" sportswear brand shoot results had been uploaded as a "Special Preview" at 4:00 AM.

Kang Joon swiped through the official gallery. The group shots were a masterclass in visual hierarchy. Min-soo sat in the center, bathed in a warm, bright filter that made his skin glow and his smile look like a summer afternoon. Around him, the other popular trainees—Jae-hyun and Gun-woo—were positioned as the energetic "best friends."

Kang Joon was relegated to the far left, partially obscured by the shadow of a prop basketball hoop. In the edited "Behind-the-Scenes" reel, they had kept a three-second clip of him adjusting his sleeve with a neutral expression. They had slowed it down, added a dark vignette, and paired it with a comment from the stylist: "Some people are just hard to work with when they aren’t the center of attention."

He didn’t need to look at the app to know what that three-second clip had done to his value. The comments under the video were already doing the math for him.

* @DailyIdol_Trade: Joon’s stock just hit $5.02. If he breathes wrong in the next hour, he’s gone.

* @MinSoo_Sunny: Look at Min-soo’s energy! He’s the real ’staryu’ center. Joon looks like he’s at a funeral. If he hates being an idol so much, he should just quit and let Han-eol have his spot.

* @JusticeForHanEol: The way Joon glares at the camera... it’s scary. I feel so bad for the other trainees who have to live with him. #KangJoonDelist

A shadow fell over his bunk. Kang Joon looked up to see Han-bin standing there. The rapper looked like he hadn’t slept at all. He held his phone out, showing a group chat that didn’t include Kang Joon.

"The other trainees... the nine who weren’t in the finale unit... they’re planning a ’mass sell’ at noon," Han-bin whispered, his voice trembling. "They think if they can push you below $5.00 before the lunch vlog, the company will have to announce your removal by the evening broadcast. They’re trying to force the ’Liquid Lineup’ to settle before the weekend."

"And the others?" Kang Joon asked, his voice raspier than usual. "Gun-woo? Jae-hyun?"

"Gun-woo is in the gym, trying to ignore the cameras. Jae-hyun is... he’s in the bathroom crying. His stock is tied to yours because of all the ’Brotherhood’ edits from the early episodes. He’s losing value every time you do."

Kang Joon sat up, the metal springs of the bunk groaning. He felt a sharp, bitter pang in his chest. It wasn’t just about him anymore. The "Star-Trade" system was a virus, and he was Patient Zero. His "Humanity Metric" flickered in his vision—52%—a number that felt like a burden. In his previous lives, he wouldn’t have cared about Jae-hyun’s tears. He would have used them as a tactical pivot. But now, the guilt was a physical weight.

The heavy door to the dorm swung open. PD Na walked in, flanked by four cameramen and two assistant directors. She didn’t look like she was there to film a casual vlog. She wore a sharp, black suit and held a tablet like a weapon.

"Gather round, all fourteen of you," PD Na commanded. Her voice was ice, cutting through the morning grogginess.

The trainees scrambled out of their bunks, lining up in a ragged semi-circle. The nine "outsiders" stood on one side, their eyes bright with anticipation. The remaining "staryu" members huddled together, looking like survivors of a shipwreck.

"The Star-Trade market is in a state of high volatility," PD Na said, her eyes scanning the line until they landed on Kang Joon. "Public sentiment is fractured. We have a ’bully’ narrative on one side and a ’talented leader’ narrative on the other. This ambiguity is bad for the brand."

She tapped her tablet, and a large monitor on the wall flickered to life. It showed a live "Sentiment Graph." Kang Joon’s line was a jagged red mountain range, plunging toward a black horizontal line labeled [DELIST ZONE].

"To resolve this, we are initiating a ’Special Image Repair Mission’," PD Na announced. "A 4-hour, unedited livestream. We’re calling it: ’The Room of Sincerity’."

A murmur went through the room. "Unedited?" someone whispered.

"Kang Joon," PD Na said, her gaze narrowing. "And Han-eol."

Han-eol flinched, his face going pale. He looked at the floor, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"The two of you will be placed in Studio C," PD Na continued. "No scripts. No staff. Just two microphones and a single camera. You will discuss the ’incident’ from the practice room. You will talk until the fans feel like they have the ’truth.’ The livestream will have a ’Live Support’ feature—fans can ’buy’ or ’sell’ your stock in real-time based on what you say."

It was a trap. Kang Joon knew it the second the words left her mouth. PD Na didn’t want "sincerity." She wanted a spectacle. She wanted to see if Kang Joon would snap and confirm the villain narrative, or if he would grovel and lose his dignity. Either way, the "Star-Trade" app would explode with activity.

"You have thirty minutes to prepare," PD Na said, turning to leave. "Kang Joon, if your stock hits $5.00 during the stream, the camera cuts, and you leave the building. No goodbyes."

The Room of Sincerity

Studio C was a small, soundproofed room painted a sterile, jarring white. There were two wooden stools and a small table with two bottles of water. In the corner, a single high-definition camera sat on a tripod, its red light already glowing like a drop of blood.

Kang Joon sat on his stool, his posture straight, his eyes fixed on the lens. Across from him, Han-eol was a mess of nervous energy. He kept adjusting his shirt, looking at the ceiling, and biting his lip. He looked exactly like a victim waiting for an interrogation.

"We’re live in five, four, three..." a voice crackled over the intercom.

The monitor on the wall, invisible to the camera but visible to them, flickered to life. It showed the Nutube livestream feed.

[LIVE: 1,200,000 Viewers]

[KANG JOON STOCK: $5.04]

[HAN-EOL STOCK: $14.20]

The comment section was a vertical blur of speed.

* @Trader_01: Here we go. Watch Joon try to manipulate him.

* @HanEol_Angel: Han-eol looks so scared. Stay strong, baby!

* @Anti_Joon: Look at Joon’s face. He’s already calculating how to win this. He’s not human.

"Hello," Kang Joon said, his voice quiet but resonant. He didn’t look at the monitor. He looked at Han-eol. "Han-eol-ah. We should talk."

Han-eol looked up, his eyes watery. "Hyung... I... I didn’t want it to be like this. The edit... I didn’t know they would cut your words."

"But you didn’t tell them to fix it," Kang Joon said. It wasn’t an accusation; it was a statement of fact.

The ticker on the monitor dipped. [$5.02]

* @K-Netz: OOH! The ’Cold’ Joon is back! He’s already blaming the victim!

"I was afraid!" Han-eol suddenly blurted out, his voice cracking. "My stock was at $3.00, Hyung! I was going to be delisted! When the ’victim’ narrative started, people started buying. My parents... they’re watching. They think I’m finally making it. If I told the truth, if I said you were actually helping me... I’d be back at the bottom. I’d be invisible again."

The room went silent. On the monitor, Han-eol’s stock surged. [$15.50]. People loved the "honesty" of his desperation.

Kang Joon felt the 52% of his humanity throb painfully. In his 97th life, he would have exploited this. He would have made Han-eol look like a greedy coward. He could have dismantled the boy’s reputation in three sentences.

But he looked at the camera, then back at Han-eol. He reached out and pushed a bottle of water toward the younger boy.

"I know," Kang Joon said. "I know what it’s like to be afraid of the numbers."

The ticker stopped falling. It held at $5.02.

"The ’Star-Trade’ isn’t just a game for the fans, Han-eol-ah. It’s a cage for us," Kang Joon continued. "When I told you that you shouldn’t be on the stage if you couldn’t hit the count, I wasn’t being a leader. I was being a trainee who was terrified of failing. I saw my own fear in you, and I hated it."

* @Logic_Fan: Wait... is he apologizing?

* @StockMaster: This is a gamble. If the fans think he’s being fake, he’s dead.

"But," Kang Joon said, his gaze sharpening. "The fans aren’t here for our fear. They’re here for ’staryu.’ They’re here for the music we made. When we were in that practice room until 3:00 AM, were we thinking about our stock prices?"

Han-eol wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "No. We were just... we were trying to make the transition look cool."

"Then let’s show them that," Kang Joon said.

He stood up from his stool. The intercom crackled—PD Na’s voice sounded sharp. "Kang Joon, stay in your seat. This is a discussion segment." 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Kang Joon ignored her. He walked to the center of the small room, the space where the camera could see his whole body.

"Everyone watching," Kang Joon said, looking directly into the lens. "You’re buying shares of our lives. You’re trading our friendships for profit. If you want to know who I am, don’t look at an edited clip. Look at what I can do."

He started to hum the melody of the "Check Point" bridge—the part Han-eol had struggled with.

"Han-eol-ah. Five, six, seven, eight."

Han-eol hesitated, looking at the door, then at the monitor. He saw his own stock price starting to waver. The "victim" narrative was boring now. The audience wanted a new "Moment."

He stood up. He joined Kang Joon in the center of the room.

The two of them began to perform the choreography in the cramped, white space. No music. No stage lighting. Just the squeak of their sneakers on the linoleum and the sound of their synchronized breathing.

It was raw. It was unpolished. And it was undeniably real.

[LIVE: 2,500,000 Viewers]

[KANG JOON STOCK: $5.15... $5.40... $6.00]

[HAN-EOL STOCK: $14.00]

The comments were shifting.

* @Dance_Analyst: Look at their sync. You can’t fake that kind of chemistry with someone you hate.

* @Joon_Redemption: The way he’s guiding Han-eol’s hand... he’s still teaching him. Even now.

* @Starline_Insider: PD Na is probably furious. They’re breaking the format.

The livestream went on for another hour. They didn’t talk about scandals. They talked about the songs. They talked about the 14 trainees in the dorm and how they all just wanted a chance to stand on a stage that didn’t have a scoreboard.

By the end of the four hours, Kang Joon’s stock had stabilized at $7.50. He was out of the "Delist Zone," but he was still far from the Top 5.

As the "Live" sign flickered off, the door to the studio slammed open. PD Na walked in, her face a mask of controlled rage.

"That was not the mission, Kang Joon," she hissed, leaning into his space. "You were supposed to address the hit-and-run. You were supposed to give them a ’confession’ or a ’denial.’ You just gave them a dance practice."

"I gave them the truth," Kang Joon said, his voice flat. "The truth is that we’re singers. Not stocks."

PD Na laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You think you won? Look at the Nutube channel."

She held up her tablet. The "Room of Sincerity" highlights had already been uploaded. But the thumbnail wasn’t their dance. It was a shot of Han-eol crying at the beginning, with the title: "Kang Joon Forces Trainee to Dance During ’Healing’ Session? The Gaslighting Continues."

The "Devil’s Edit" was faster than the truth.

Kang Joon felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it felt like his bones were turning to lead. No matter what he did, the machine was three steps ahead.

The Aftermath

When they returned to the dorm, the atmosphere was toxic. The nine "outsider" trainees were gathered around the monitor, watching a new "Life Vlog" segment that had been released while Kang Joon was in the studio.

It showed the trainees in the dorm talking about Kang Joon while he was gone.

"He’s just so heavy to be around," one trainee said to the camera. "Even when he’s trying to be nice, it feels like he’s playing a character. We’re all walking on eggshells."

Kang Joon walked past them toward his bunk. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t want to see which of them were lying and which of them actually believed it.

He sat on his bed and pulled out his phone. A new message from User_997.

[User_997]: "A ’dance of sincerity’? How quaint. You’re trying to use ’Heart’ in a ’Capital’ market, Kang Joon. It’s like bringing a poem to a knife fight. Your stock is back down to $6.80. The ’Gaslighting’ narrative is trending harder than your dance."

[User_997]: "By the way... the hit-and-run victim just signed an exclusive interview deal with a major broadcast network. He’s going to tell everyone about the ’hush money’ your parents paid. Sleep well, Rank 1. While you still have a bunk."

Kang Joon looked across the room. Gun-woo was standing by the lockers, his face bruised.

"What happened?" Kang Joon asked, standing up.

"One of the other trainees... he said something about your parents," Gun-woo said, his voice thick. "I told him to shut up. He didn’t. The cameras caught the whole thing."

Gun-woo held up his phone. A new "Breaking News" clip: [staryu’s Gun-woo Assaults Teammate? The Violence of the ’Finale’ Group Revealed.]

Gun-woo’s stock was crashing. [$8.00... $7.00... $6.50]

Kang Joon realized then that PD Na and User_997 weren’t just targeting him. They were picking off his supporters one by one. They were dismantling his "Constellation" until he was the only star left, flickering in the dark.

"I’m sorry, Joon," Gun-woo whispered, looking at his hands. "I tried to hold it in. I really did."

Kang Joon looked at the red light of the camera on the wall. It felt like an eye, watching him bleed. He felt the 52% humanity scream inside him, but he pushed it down. He needed the Architect now. He needed the Professor.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper—the address Ji-hye had sent him before the phones were semi-restricted.

I have to go outside, he thought. I have to end this before there’s nothing left to save.

But as he moved toward the door, the intercom boomed.

"All trainees to the lobby. The first ’Billboard Rankings’ are being revealed."