Little Pink Starfish

<Ruin Detector>.

That’s the name of the variety show I’m appearing on today.

It’s a pretty popular program, so I feel like I might’ve seen it before, but I don’t remember it clearly.

I only contacted them after monitoring what show would be the most suitable for me to appear on right now.

And truthfully, appearing on any variety show at the moment isn’t easy for me.

I don’t know what’s going on inside M Show, or how much CEO Chae Taeho has been working behind the scenes.

But the word must’ve gotten around by now.

That Sedalbaekil stabbed Lion in the back, and CEO Chae Taeho is grinding his teeth in anger.

Under these circumstances, there isn’t a single variety show that would cast me or Sedalbaekil.

But Ruin Detector is a little different.

Not just because it’s a YouTube variety show.

Being a YouTube show doesn’t automatically make it immune to the influence of industry insiders.

If the cast or crew are insiders themselves, they’ll inevitably care about protecting their ties to the establishment.

And Ruin Detector is an insider show.

The production team works with major broadcasting networks, and two of the three MCs are stars made famous on TV.

In other words, it’s a show where CEO Chae Taeho’s influence could absolutely reach.

So why did I still think I’d get cast…?

“Nice to meet you, Han Si-on.”

“Hello.”

“Whoa, you really came? I thought the production team was joking when they told me.”

Because the format of this show is so wild, it’s hard to get guests to appear on it.

The content is simple.

A lie detector.

But it’s not some weak setup where they just check your pulse or temperature with your hand on a panel.

They said they use equipment even more advanced than what Korean police use—same level as the FBI or CIA.

So the moment I stepped into the studio, this huge lie detector machine completely stole my attention.

Huh, it looks familiar.

I think I saw one like this when I got summoned by the FBI.

Maybe not identical, but definitely similar.

While thinking that, I greeted the MCs.

Jo Taehoon, Chae Myungho.

They used to be the kings of weekend variety shows five or six years ago when network TV was still dominant.

Jo Taehoon has since fully transitioned to YouTube and is enjoying a second golden era.

People worth getting on your good side.

Oh, and the third MC isn’t really a host—more like a technician.

He’s the one who operates the lie detector, a criminal profiling expert who occasionally appears on news or variety programs.

Apparently, he’s a retired police officer.

They call him Detective Shin.

“I’m Han Si-on from Sedalbaekil.”

“Whew, you’re good-looking. But what happened with CEO Chae Taeho? He’s an old-school guy, sure, but he’s not a bad person.”

This wasn’t even on camera.

Still, Jo Taehoon didn’t seem like he was actually expecting a real answer.

He grinned and continued.

“You know this show’s going to bombard you with questions like that, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Honestly, I don’t get it. Why did you agree to come on?”

“I’m a huge fan of Ruin Detector. I’ve always wanted to be on if I ever got the chance.”

“Uh-huh… Well, sure. Honestly, we’re thrilled. We never imagined this kind of scenario.”

Chae Myungho chimed in from the side.

“We’re not gonna bring up Lion Entertainment or TakeScene. And we’ll probably only touch lightly on Coming Up Next, too.”

“Understood.”

“Oh? Sounds like you know why.”

“Roughly, yeah.”

Given the show’s format, if Lion or TakeScene came up, I’d have no choice but to badmouth Chae Taeho.

And he’d hate that.

What Chae Taeho wants isn’t for me to take all the heat.

What he wants is for me to do whatever I want—and still not get hated for it.

That’s the worst-case scenario for an entertainer.

Because apathy is a swamp you can never recover from.

“Detective Shin’s stuck in traffic, so it’ll be about a 20-minute delay. That okay?”

“No problem.”

“We don’t have a proper waiting room… Want to go sit in the detector chair?”

“Sure.”

I knew it was a joke, but I actually went and sat in the lie detector chair.

Just in case—I wanted to do some mental prep.

Maybe because of that, the full-shot camera started filming me.

Sitting in that chair made me recall the format of Ruin Detector.

The format is extremely simple.

They ask things people are dying to know but can’t ask directly.

Then they run the lie detector.

If you lie, you have to keep answering until you tell the truth.

You only get one refusal, and when you use it becomes a huge talking point.

The show blew up because the questions pull absolutely no punches.

While monitoring past episodes after deciding to appear, even I was left speechless a few times.

Personally, the most intense episode featured “Heesoo,” a once-iconic sexy actress.

She married into a chaebol family at the peak of her fame, but recently had a bitter, public divorce.

The very first question?

“Did you marry for money?”

She said no, but the detector went wild.

Eventually, she said yes, and they moved on.

The next question was even bolder.

“Did you have a sexual relationship with someone else before the divorce was finalized?”

They kept repeating the question until she admitted yes—because she kept triggering the lie detector.

Then came a masterpiece of a question:

“Did you come on this show because you ran out of money?”

She coolly answered, “Yes.”

There were tons of questions after that, but those three were unforgettable.

The show throws out questions that are almost sadistic in their persistence.

There’s no way the public could resist something like this.

Even without bringing up witch-hunt culture, the public has a cruel streak.

So here’s the question:

Why would anyone agree to appear on a show like this?

Simple.

If you can win public favor on Ruin Detector, you can return to broadcast TV.

For example, there’s Ok Kangwon, a famous former baseball player.

After a stellar career as a national athlete, he became a staple in variety shows.

Then came the triple hit—drugs, illegal gambling, and a sex scandal. Straight to ruin.

But thanks to Ruin Detector, he made a comeback.

“Did you do drugs?”

“I did. But I didn’t know it was drugs. Someone spiked my drink.”

“Did you gamble illegally?”

“Yes. I played Go-Stop with 50,000 won per point. Not a small amount, but not huge compared to my income. I made about 3.8 million won that day. The person who lost reported me.”

“Do you admit to the sex scandal?”

“I’m completely innocent.”

“Did you come here because you ran out of money?”

“I came here because I’m angry. I still have plenty of money in my account.”

He answered every question truthfully, without a single hesitation, and his eyes burned with sincerity.

The public saw exactly what he did wrong—and what he didn’t.

He successfully made a comeback.

Sure, some accused the show of rigging the detector to “launder” reputations.

But Ruin Detector has too long a track record of destroying people for that to be likely.

There was even an idol who tried to avoid military service with an illegal broker, and they tried to “launder” themselves on the show—but it didn’t work.

One question was:

“Do you feel guilty toward your peers who served in the military properly?”

He said “Yes” twice, but the detector flagged it as a lie both times.

He used his one refusal card—but it was too late.

The show still aired everything leading up to that refusal, brutally.

In short, Ruin Detector isn’t about finding those heading to ruin and sending them there.

It’s the final stronghold for those already ruined.

When no one else will call you, and the public seems to have forgotten your name completely—

This is the last shot to flip the script.

Even MC Jo Taehoon had once fallen from grace due to gambling and DUI.

His comeback? This very show.

He was the guest on Episode 1.

So when the production got my call, they were stunned.

There have been cases where vaguely disliked people came on trying to act cheerful, only to be utterly destroyed.

Some could’ve made a quiet comeback after a year off—but rushed into this show and had to retire instead.

That’s how the Ruin Detector team saw me—Han Si-on from Coming Up Next—as someone with no reason to appear.

Of course, once the contract was signed, they welcomed me with open arms.

The hottest name right now, appearing on the one show no one expected—creating a never-before-seen moment.

‘For me, this was the most rational move.’

A program that can’t be influenced by Chae Taeho but still generates massive buzz just by showing up.

One where I don’t have to worry about editing ruining my image.

Perfectly fitting.

As long as I don’t fall into ruin myself.

A short while later, profiler “Detective Shin” arrived and began hooking me up to the lie detector.

“Hooking up” doesn’t really do it justice—“strapping on” might be better.

He stuck all sorts of things to my body.

Once the setup was complete, a light test began on camera.

“Is your name Han Si-on?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“What’s your current affiliation?”

“I’m currently with Sedalbaekil.”

“Try lying—say you have six fingers.”

“I have six fingers.”

“Now lie and say you’re a woman.”

“I’m a woman.”

After a few rounds of truth and lies, the profiler gave the crew an OK sign.

Then, MC Jo Taehoon opened the show.

“Today, we have a guest no one could’ve imagined. When you saw the thumbnail, I bet you questioned your eyes. From the hottest program recently, breaking 10% viewership—Coming Up Next’s Han Si-on is here!”

The staff applauded.

“Hello. I appeared on Coming Up Next and am part of the team Sedalbaekil.”

“You said ‘appeared’—so filming’s finished?”

“Yes, everything’s been shot through the final episode.”

“Alright, alright. So why are you here on this show?”

“I’m a huge fan and always wanted to appear.”

“You said that during pre-meeting too… That level of fandom is borderline crazy, no? You could end up ruined here.”

“I honestly don’t know. I feel like I haven’t really done anything wrong in life.”

I took a breath after answering.

The show doesn’t have a long intro. They throw questions out of nowhere.

I bet the subtitle will be something like “Crazy idol ㄷㄷ” and then—

Of course.

“Alright, let’s start light. How many girlfriends have you had so far?”