From Thug to Idol: Transmigrating to a Survival Show

Chapter 933  Weed

Chapter 933  Weed

The soft strum of the guitar filled the air as The Buskerz began to play the opening chords. The melody floated gently through the crowd, and June could see their expressions soften, anticipation hanging on every note. "It's Weed!" Haruto turned to Marcus with wide eyes. "I love this song," he exclaimed. "This is going to be iconic if he sings really well." "It's still going to be iconic if he sings bad. Honestly, that would be better! We can't have this ideal office guy even sing well." - This guy is brave. He's going to sing Weed? - It's a song by Park Hyoshu of all things? He's asking for a death wish! - Not even artists can sing this song well. - That's true. - Anyway, his talent would not be a factor to my simping. He shall still be my Korean boy of the month. June held the microphone closer to his chest. He didn't know why he had chosen "Weed" of all songs. The decision had come to him out of nowhere, like a sudden breeze stirring up old memories. But now, standing here, with so many faces looking at him, it all made sense. Or maybe it didn't make sense at all.

He couldn't explain it. He'd been having a hard time recently, and it wasn't just the public pressure or his departure from Azure. Maybe it was everything he had gone through since he began this journey of becoming an idol. He hadn't realized just how much it affected him until now, standing in front of this crowd with the guitar softly guiding him forward. He felt lost in the spotlight as if he had strayed from the path he had set out on a year ago. And so, as the intro came to an end, June closed his eyes and began to sing.

"Weed in the garden, where you don't belong,

Pulled by the hand that thinks you're wrong,

But you rise again, with roots so deep,

In the soil where others fall asleep." The lyrics flowed out of him, each word filled with a strange familiarity. With his first utterance, the people were instantly captivated. Even Haruto, who had known of June's talent since they were young, couldn't help but be amazed. "He's really born for this," he whispered with a small smile. "I've been torn, I've been thrown,

In the dust, where nothing's grown.

But even here, in a barren land,

I find the strength to stand." The people closed their eyes as they listened to him sing. As the chorus began, the members of the band turned to each other with wide eyes. This guy was good—awfully good. The drummer shook his head. He was even better than their lead vocalist!

"Storms will come, and roots will tear,

The rain won't fall, and the sky won't care.

But I find the light in empty skies,

And still, I rise, still I rise."

- Holy crap! He is OUR Korean boy of the month. How can he sing so well? - It's unfair. How can this guy sing so well, too? - He sounds like a professional singer. - Doesn't he sound familiar, though? - He sounds like June! Huhuhuhuhu. - Girl, I miss him so much that all I can hear is him, too! I'm crying because this guy sounds like my favorite idol of all time. - Respectfully, why would June be here? It's impossible. - Yeah, I'm just holding onto the thought because I miss him a lot. - It's literally been three days. "Even when beauty turns to stone,

Even when the wind cuts to the bone,

I will rise, with roots so deep,

I am the dream you couldn't keep."

As June continued to sing, he began to question his purpose. Was it because of his system? His sister? Now that his system was gone and his sister was with him, he became unsure of the answer. He also began to question why people began to love him. Was it because of his looks? Because people thought he was handsome now, and that made them like him more? The thought haunted him sometimes, creeping into his mind when he least expected it. He had always been the same person, yet everything changed once the world started noticing him.

But even as he sang, with the weight of the song wrapping around him, something else began to stir. The crowd's reaction was soft at first—an appreciative smile here, a thoughtful glance there—but as the song continued, those expressions deepened. People started to sway gently, nodding along with the rhythm, their smiles growing wider.

For just a moment, June let himself get lost in it. In the music, in the crowd. His voice, raw and emotional, carried over the park, reaching every corner, every listener. The song was about survival, about something small and insignificant that still found a way to grow, even when the world tried to tear it down.

"A weed is pulled, trampled, and forgotten, But it always returns—stronger, and ready to grow where no flower dares."

As the final chords of the song faded, June opened his eyes. The applause was immediate, but June wasn't focused on the clapping or the cheering. His eyes had caught on something else entirely.

In the distance, past the crowd, towering above the park, was a billboard. A familiar image stared back at him, torn slightly at the edges, worn from exposure to the elements. It was his group, EVE. His members smiling brightly, their faces stretched across the giant poster.

June's chest tightened. Seeing them there, so close and yet so far, reminded him why he was doing this in the first place. The crowd in front of him now, all with different stories—teachers, students, struggling parents, couples who looked like they hadn't smiled in weeks—these were the people who surrounded him. These were the people he sang for.

And his song had brought smiles to their faces. Maybe it wasn't the kind of glamorous success that some idols dreamed of, but it was real. His music gave them a momentary escape from their daily struggles, just like it had done for him all those years ago. This was his dream, after all—not the fame, not the spotlight, but the connection.

June stood there, the noise of the applause fading into the background, as he realized something profound. He had been so caught up in the whirlwind of everything that he had forgotten why he started in the first place. It wasn't just about being seen. It was about sharing something, about giving others what music had always given him.

And that was worth the fight. Always.