The Trashy PD Has To Survive as an Idol

“Pitch-perfect, every damn note... but you’ve got no emotion.”

“What’s the point of making faces? There’s no soul in your fingertips.”

“Why do you even have a head? For god’s sake, try using it once in a while!”

One practice, and I got one round of ranting.

What I had expected from Joo Woosung was the cause, the person, the trigger that had turned him into an EX-class. Anything.

‘This bastard’s useless.’

But all he ever did was stick next to me, nagging every damn day.

And telling me—who danced while calculating xyz axes—that I moved without thinking?

“Look here, clumsy.”

“......”

I wanted to argue back, but once Joo Woosung demonstrated even once, I couldn’t say a word.

‘F*cking genius bastard....’