Chapter 7

If I can't debut, I'll get a disease that will kill me 007

The vocal advanced trainer was Mudi.

She, who had given me a generous score in my first evaluation, had also been generous with her words to other participants. As such, her training was also filled with encouraging words.

Of course, that doesn't mean she never got angry.

“Wongil, that's not it… huh.”

“……”

On the fifth day, a participant who had been making the same mistake bowed his head deeply.

He seemed to be trying to hide his frustration more than his self-blame, but it didn't really matter.

What was important was that his frequent mistakes were making even Coach Ho feel exasperated.

And there was the culprit.

“Munda, can you try this part?”

“Sure.”

When I was called by the trainer, I walked forward, and the electronic piano started playing the accompaniment.

I sang the pre-chorus part in sync with the accompaniment, as I was used to.

“I draw the future like a shooting star~”

With my clear voice and accurate rhythm, the trainer nodded, and the participant who had been struggling fidgeted anxiously.

Indeed, the problem was that I had sung this theme song so well from the beginning.

It was inevitable that there would be a difference in the starting point between those who already knew the song and those who didn't.

Especially since I had heard the finished version, not just a demo. I could have sung it just based on what I remembered.

Moreover, my voice happened to fit the song perfectly. The trainer was pleased with my timeless singing style.

Even now, some of the participants were whispering about Mudi's pleased expression.

“…He really is good.”

“Yeah, he is.”

In the advanced class, where the standards were already high, having a participant who met the expectations and was also a civilian must have been a real blow to the others.

Especially for those whose only strength was their vocals.

From the first evaluation, it was clear that there were only two participants with A-level vocals this season. Both of them had C-level or lower dance skills. Everyone was on a similar level, including me.

And the participant who was currently struggling, 'Choi Wongil,' was one of those two A-level vocalists.

Interestingly, the middle schooler who had tried to gauge my connections before the filming was this guy. He was actually a first-year high school student.

Given his age, where self-awareness often becomes inflated, it was understandable that he was frustrated after hearing such comments from the trainer for several days.

Especially when he was being compared to someone he had ignored from the start.

“Right!”

As soon as I finished the pre-chorus part, the trainer, looking relieved, tapped the keys. Choi Wongil didn't lift his head even with the cheerful sound.

“Wongil, do you know how to sing this part?”

“……”

Based on his abilities, he shouldn't have been making so many mistakes. After I cleared the song on the first day, he kept picking fights, and it seems his mental state finally broke.

If I recall, it started something like this on the first day:

- Wow, sir, it's a good thing you got praised for your singing. You should try to improve your dance skills too!

- Your singing feels a bit amateur, but it suits this song well.

He would throw in ambiguous comments that would irritate people. If the other person got angry too quickly, it would backfire and make them look foolish.

Moreover, he would say these things after turning off the microphone.

But it seems he couldn't control his frustration and eventually...

- You're really lucky. I envy you. It's the most important factor in the entertainment industry. I wish I could do dance by luck too. But keep it up!

- It seems that hard work is indeed rewarded by good luck. Most people here are desperate and putting their lives on the line. But you got such good reviews even though you just happened to participate.

It reached this level.

Now, he was openly picking fights, and it was becoming awkward to ignore him. He couldn't pretend not to know me, so it was a difficult situation.

You might not know, but this is a matter of life and death for me...

“Stay calm, don't be too nervous, and try again.”

“...Yes.”

Choi Wongil tried to start singing again, but he made another mistake.

Poor guy.

That day, I continued to receive praise from the trainer and sharp looks from Choi Wongil and other participants until the end of the vocal class.

It was tiring to experience this kind of hierarchy, but it wasn't all bad. If it were real life, there wouldn't be such scrutiny.

As the training progressed, the last day arrived, and the achievements of both classes were accumulated.

On the morning of the last day, the participants in the advanced vocal class recorded the audio.

Since it was a group performance and the names weren't specified, it didn't have much significance.

Instead, focus on the afternoon.

It was time for the long-awaited grade evaluation.

* * *

The lights in the set turned on.

“Everyone, how are you doing?”

“Ah~ It was tough!”

“I was just... really tired, so I slept a lot.”

“Working hard to guide you?”

“Yeah! I hope today is rewarding.”

The judges, sitting in their chairs, exchanged polite greetings.

They had already greeted each other in the waiting room earlier, but this was a staged conversation for the opening scene of the broadcast.

The set was designed like a one-to-many interview room.

It was a reused set from the previous season, with special effects prepared.

The judges, who had been instructed to show as much reaction as possible, pretended not to know and spoke naturally.

“This place is... like a really important interview.”

“It is an important interview! A grade interview!”

“Is it an interview to join the Idol Corporation?”

As soon as the judges finished speaking, the lights on the desks in front of their chairs turned on.

“Wow!”

The desks displayed the phrase 'SHINE YOUR STAR' in elegant calligraphy.

As the catchphrase of this season was revealed grandly, the judges began to clap, as they usually did in other seasons.

But surprisingly, the walls started to move.

“Eh?!”

“What's happening?!”

With the judges' skilled reactions, the walls of the interview room set lowered to the ground, revealing the entire set.

The MC's voice boomed from behind the judges, who were turning their heads in all directions.

“The newly revamped Idol Corporation's relisting! The first hurdle is... a fully open evaluation!”

“Wow!”

Behind the judges were seats like an outdoor theater, filled with participants.

The contrast between the participants' shocked faces and the professional MC was striking.

“The 77 participants who practiced the same song will evaluate each other as the audience!”

In fact, during the first evaluation, the participants could see each other's performances.

However, they didn't expect to be evaluated by their peers who had practiced the same song, so everyone's faces were stiff.

Until the previous season, participants had entered the practice room alone for individual evaluations.

“The grade evaluation, in order, but... in reverse!”

“...!”

“Please come forward, 77th place, Joo Sung-gu!”

The called participant stumbled to the stage, looking half-dead. Sympathetic glances and whispers followed, but Park Munda remained silent.

Like during Seo Ah-hyun's first ranking evaluation, he knew that sympathy could be misleading due to editing.

This was a sense he had developed from regularly searching idol communities to price filming data.

“Yes. Good job.”

“...Thank you...”

Naturally, the 77th place participant messed up most of the first verse and completely failed the evaluation.

“...”

In the cold and tense atmosphere, the next and the following participants also botched their performances.

After sending off about five or six participants like this, the judges couldn't hide their discomfort.

It was a cruel and stark order.

But the production team had nothing to lose.

‘If they can't do it, at least get some stimulating cuts to justify their appearance fees.’

They were used as discard cards.

And to highlight it even more.

Participants who could maintain their composure and perform under mental pressure, or those who showed meaningful growth in this short period.

Participants who were strikingly good-looking or had prior recognition but didn't stand out by skill were also considered irrelevant.

Interestingly, there was a participant who met both criteria.

“Lee Se-jin, you must have worked hard.”

“Great job!”

“Huh, huh, huh... Thank you.”

Lee Se-jin, a former child actor, was red-faced and breathing heavily but managed to follow the song to the end.

It was far from a polished performance and was quite awkward.

But with similar-ranked participants who messed up their performances before and after him, he looked relatively good.

Park Munda briefly wondered.

‘Is this the Lee Se-jin who will debut?’

Of course, he couldn't be sure, so he added this participant to his watch list.

‘Stay away from troublemakers.’

Then, the tedious middle-tier evaluations continued.

The participants' skills gradually improved, and occasionally, some stood out.

But listening to the same song over forty times was a tedious task.

After the initial terrifying atmosphere subsided and everyone had a good grasp of their skills, the judges regained their composure and started to feel bored.

“Hmm...”

“Not bad.”

When the boredom reached its peak, it was Park Munda's turn.

Seo Ah-hyun, with a pale face, gave Park Munda a thumbs-up. He looked determined.

He had just finished his evaluation and performed the song decently.

“F, F, Fighting.”

“...? Oh, yeah.”

Why is he suddenly being friendly?

Park Munda was puzzled but responded with a proper greeting, a victory in social awareness.

He walked up to the stage, feeling a strange sense of excitement.

“22nd place, Park Munda!”

“Sure.”

The judges were generally indifferent.

‘He sings well but can't dance.’

The choreographer, who had lost interest in Park Munda after days of repetitive training, thought somewhat rudely.

‘Getting a bit tired of this.’

“The grade evaluation begins.”

The monotonous prelude played.

Park Munda started with the first movement, a large motion of pulling his arms and turning his body.

“...?”

The choreographer was the first to feel the dissonance.

‘The lines are different?’

Until just two days ago, during the last face-to-face class, Park Munda had no sense of 'dance lines.'

The ability to connect and break points, to apply and release force.

If that was the standard for distinguishing between rhythm and dance, Park Munda's movements were rhythmic.

But now...

‘Why... is he dancing well?’