Author: LyraDhani

It was undoubtedly a death sentence.

 

It was a treatment so cruel that I even found myself worrying about the future safety of Judge Paige, who had suggested the part swap.

 

Sure, when it came to debuted idols, there were times when parts got reassigned during recording, but that was an entirely different situation. Since that happened internally, even if their pride was hurt, it was not a major blow; plus, it was a process where professionals worked together to create the best possible product, so there was no room to voice complaints.

 

On the other hand, look at the current situation.

 

Everyone was watching. The cameras, the staff, the senior artists—every single one of them had their eyes fixed on us.

 

‘This is… way too humiliating.’

 

They were already stressed just by being ranked, and now they had to compete for parts against those with less experience. Worse, they had to do it knowing there was a high chance they would lose, and on top of that, the entire process would be broadcast for everyone to see…

 

They probably wanted to run away right then and there.

 

It was an admission that they had made the wrong choices, both as the leaders and producers of our team, and as singers performing those parts.

 

To make matters worse, one of them had been demoted to the pre-chorus. They had been reduced to a supporting role meant to highlight Jung Taehee. The other one kept a verse but had their intro and ending snatched away by me.

 

The results hadn’t even come out yet, but just reaching this point must have been unbearable for them. Sure enough, a spark of competitiveness flickered on their anxious faces.

 

But that was only for a moment. They looked desperate to prove the judges wrong, yet at the same time, they couldn’t hide the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.

 

“If you’re ready, let’s begin right away.”

 

Naturally… their anxiety would become reality.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Right after the performance started, they would realize exactly what that anxiety was. In fact, they were realizing it already.

 

You could tell by the judges’ expressions.

 

They were expressionless just a moment ago, but now it was different. Paige was nodding while writing something down, and Kim Minhyuk was grooving to the rhythm, acting as if music were the only drug he was allowed to indulge in.

 

The instant Jung Taehee’s chorus rang out, every judge nodded.

 

No. 123, Jung Tae-hee, had also been clenching his teeth. It was as if he’d had an awakening in the middle of it; even when the notes went up, he didn’t waver once. His dancing was still a little awkward, but his vocal tone was so overwhelmingly good that no one even noticed the weaker parts.

 

It was impossible to remember the Jung Taehee who used to crack notes. Even I was surprised when I heard his voice, how stunned must everyone else have been?

 

As for me, I activated the Succubus Eyes that I’d been deliberately keeping sealed away. Using them during the bridge—my original part—might have been too obvious, so I only used them during the intro and the ending. Especially during the ending, which hadn’t originally been my part, I looked directly at the judges as I performed.

 

“Haa… huff. Haa… huff.”

 

“Phew. Phew… phew…”

 

“Gasp… gasp…”

 

We stumbled over the formations a few times, and parts of the choreography were a little sloppy, but somehow we managed to finish the performance. Since the judges’ reactions looked good, I had to assume the winner was decided.

 

While we were catching our breath, Paige spoke in a low voice.

 

“I’d like to hear what you think.”

 

“…….”

 

“I’m saying this just in case there’s a misunderstanding, but I don’t think the parts I just set are the ‘correct’ answer. Everyone’s perspective is different, and there might be a better way. I think each has its pros and cons. Considering the arrangement isn’t even out yet, refining the first performance might be an option. Ultimately, the decision belongs to you trainees.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I hope you think it over carefully and decide. Like Judge Benok said, I have high expectations for this team.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“We’ll end today’s evaluation here.  Besides the dance director and vocal director, there are many people waiting to help you, so don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. You can go straight back to practice now. Good work, everyone.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Th-thank you.”

 

The second round of feedback was remarkably brief. Regardless of the good reaction to the swapped version, she was urging us to choose for ourselves…

 

From my perspective, though, she’d practically handed us the answer. The difference was clear enough to notice immediately. Anyone but an idiot could see it.

 

The Elder Duo seemed to realize it too. It felt as though they were finally accepting something they’d already known deep down but had refused to admit. Even though the second stage was messier, it blended with the song much better. They were realizing that going with the Jung Taehee-centered version was the right path.

 

‘So they aren’t complete idiots after all.’

 

Which was probably why they looked even more devastated.

 

One of them had turned bright red; the other had his fists clenched tight. They looked disappointed in themselves and, as expected, their pride was wounded. I wondered what kind of comfort to offer… or if I should offer any at all.

 

As a result, the atmosphere as our team left the room was ice cold. People said things like ‘Good job’, but no one replied.

 

Jung Taehee looked indifferent, but Kim Haejun was fidgeting, clearly worried about the duo.

 

To top it all off, the writers were pulling us aside one by one. They were obviously conducting individual interviews about what had just happened. Since the conflict over the part distribution had finally erupted, they were clearly planning to make it a major focus.

 

‘At this point, today’s practice is basically over.’

 

After dinner, we’d have our personal free time, and that would be the end of the day. The best thing would be to talk about parts more before that.

 

While Taehee and Haejun were doing interviews and a bit of extra solo filming, the Elder Duo, who finished their interviews faster, walked into the practice room where I was left alone.

 

Apparently they’d turned in their microphones after the interview, because neither of them was wearing one anymore. It was the perfect timing for a heart-to-heart. The duo approached, mouths twitching as if they had something to say.

 

‘Finally. They finally realized it.’

 

I greeted them warmly.

 

“Oh, hyungs, you’re back?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How was the interview?”

 

“…….”

 

“…….”

 

‘It’s like a funeral house in here.’

 

They’d probably been asked all kinds of questions.

 

“Just… so-so.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“What about you?”

 

“They asked me a bunch of things too. Since our team is basically at a crossroads right now. They asked what I thought would be the best course of action, what the difference was between the first and second performances… things like that. I imagine they asked Haejun hyung and Taehee similar questions.”

 

“What… did you tell them?”

 

“I just answered honestly. I said I thought Judge Page’s comments made sense. That each version had its pros and cons, and whichever one we chose, we’d just have to prepare it as well as we could. It was just a pretty standard interview.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Silence hung in the air for a moment. And then….

 

One of them, after glancing around nervously, finally spoke.

 

“Um… Unha.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I know this is shameless of me to ask…”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Could you help us?”

 

“I am sorry?”

 

“I don’t know if you know, but….”

 

“…….”

 

“This is our last chance. We came to this show right before our contracts were about to be terminated. If we don’t debut or do something notable this time… it’s really the end for us. If we go back like this, we’ll be dropped immediately. And as you know, we barely got any screen time in the last broadcast… and there’s no guarantee we’ll get any attention in the upcoming missions either…”

 

“…Yes.”

 

“If we mess up this mission too, we could end up leaving without accomplishing anything. Of course… I know it’s a shameless request as I said before… but this stage isn’t as desperate for you as it is for us. You’re in a much better position…”

 

‘What are you talking about? I’m desperate too.’

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah. Given your recognition… to put it bluntly, you’d make the debut group even if you did nothing from now on. So you don’t really need to be greedy for this stage, right? Same for Haejun… and isn’t it the same for Taehee? And… you guys are still young, so you have more chances. I think it’s okay for you to just let one mission slide… if it’s okay, could you convince Taehee and Haejun for us?”

 

‘Why would I convince them? Honestly, Haejun and Taehee are in just as desperate a situation.’

 

“We’re confident we can work harder. We may not have looked convincing in the first interim evaluation, but there’s still plenty of time left, and the rearrangement isn’t even finished yet. The final result might suit our voices and performance better… if you help us, we can practice with peace of mind… We’ll stake everything on it and make sure we don’t drag you or the team down. So please. Just help us this once.”

 

‘What on earth are these guys talking about?’

 

“Support us during filming tomorrow. Say we should go with the first plan… tell them that. We’re asking you. We’re… we’re really desperate.”

 

‘Aren’t you being way too shameless?’

 

So what they were saying was…

 

They wanted me to support them in front of the cameras.

 

Right?

 

If I wasn’t misunderstanding them, that was exactly what it sounded like.

 

‘Do you people have no conscience?’

 

If they insisted on the first plan themselves, they’d get trashed for the results, so they wanted to use Lee Unha’s influence to push it through. At the same time, they seemed to be aiming for the growth narrative that would follow.

 

With Lee Unha being the hottest topic on the show right now, they wanted my endorsement so they could later repay that support with a strong performance and present themselves as experienced veterans making a comeback. Now that things had gone sideways, they were simply changing tactics and trying to create a better TV moment.

 

I was waiting for them to give up, so this was mind-boggling.

 

‘No, wow… how can they actually do this?’

 

Naturally, I felt dazed for a moment. Hadn’t I already compromised over and over again?

 

‘No. If you want it that badly, then say it proudly in front of the cameras yourselves. And take responsibility for whatever happens because of it. Why are you dumping all the responsibility onto me and appealing to my sympathy, asking me to do this and that for you?’

 

Honestly, I was on the verge of exploding.

 

Anyone would have been angry in this situation.

 

‘Is it okay if I scream right now?’

 

I felt like cursing them out would be totally justified.

 

One of them was even trying to persuade me with tears in his eyes…

 

But it wasn’t enough to melt Lee Unha’s frozen heart.

 

“Haa…”

 

“Just help us once, Unha.”

 

“Haa…”

 

“We’ll work really hard. We’ll make this performance a success.”

 

Anger was slowly boiling up.

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