Grade Evaluation (1)
After eating their boxed lunch in the morning, they were given free practice time.
Tomorrow, the judges were coming to conduct the grade evaluation, so they were told to prepare the song they would be evaluated with in advance.
Everyone except Neoul seemed to know they’d be judged, and they were casually going over the songs they’d already prepared.
The main writer approached Neoul, worried that he might not be able to get ready in just one day.
“The other contestants were notified ahead of time and even submitted their song choices, but since Mr. Gal Neoul joined so suddenly, it’s only natural that he’s at a disadvantage. You were also out of it yesterday because you had to go to the hospital….”
“…….”
“Still, even if the first evaluation is a little lacking, you can train hard and do well at the midterm evaluation. Don’t worry too much—just pick a song and let us know by this morning.”
She expected him to nod and say, of course. Instead, Neoul shook his head.
“Why? Is it too difficult to pick a song by this morning? Ah… then could you let me know by six this evening?”
The main writer was trying her best to accommodate him. But once again, Neoul shook his head.
She was starting to get a little irritated. If he couldn’t even choose by evening, was he planning to tell her tomorrow? The evaluation was tomorrow, for heaven’s sake.
Just as she was about to give him a sharp piece of her mind, Neoul suddenly began to hum a tune.
“The song choice. I’ll go with this song.”
The main writer stood there dazed, as if mesmerized by that beautiful voice, then snapped back to her senses.
“Th-then what’s the title? I need to prepare the MR, but I don’t think I’ve heard this one before.”
“It is called Wave. I made it myself. I also have Chancellor Do-seungji Is Bald and Our Younger Brother Is Cute.”
Oh, so he composes too?
The main writer’s cheekbones lifted in a grin as she thought a jackpot had just rolled straight into her hands.
The other two songs, with their decidedly unusual titles, made her immensely curious, but she made a note to listen to them later and asked, “Then can you send over the MR for your original song by the end of today?”
“There is no such thing.”
“Pardon?”
“If I merely sing it, am I eliminated?”
“No, that’s not it, but….”
At the very least, shouldn’t he accompany himself on guitar or piano while singing?
He was going to perform the song unaccompanied?
She wasn’t doubting Neoul’s skill, exactly, but she worried that such excessive confidence might backfire.
Still, this was a survival show. Each choice might decide whether he debuted or not, and she couldn’t interfere with a contestant’s decision.
The main writer said she understood and moved on to another question.
“But the song you just sang doesn’t seem like one you’d dance to.”
“……?”
At the mention of dancing, Neoul’s eyes went round.
“Must I dance?”
“Of course. Our program is an idol survival show, after all. We have no choice but to evaluate both dance and singing. If you’re going to perform that song, you’ll need to prepare a dance track or freestyle dance separately.”
Neoul nodded.
* * *
Neoul went to Baek Gi-yeom and asked, “What kind of dance track can even a beginner follow?”
“If it’s something you can manage at your level… a children’s dance?”
“A children’s dance?”
“Yeah. You’re asking because of the grade evaluation prep, right?”
Neoul nodded.
Baek Gi-yeom knitted his brows for a moment, thinking hard, then showed him a MTube video.
[Hey yo! Yo! Hello, everyone!
Look at me! I’m a baby octopus! (Octopus!)
Deep in the shallow sea mud,
I’m a cute little baby octopus! (Octopus!)
Wriggle wriggle, wriggle wriggle,
crawling along~
But in truth, I want to swim the deep sea too!]
The lyrics were nursery-rhyme simple, but it was still an idol song.
About eight years ago, perhaps. It had been the era when short-form video challenges exploded both in Korea and overseas. Back then, a girl group that was hailed as a miracle from a mid-tier agency had released an electro-house track, Baby Octopus, as a unit activity.
‘The choreography was really easy, but it was cute and addictive, so it became a pretty big hit.’
There were even challenge videos of kindergarteners dancing to it, and later it was used in little talent shows.
Its concept was goofy, but because the lyrics were about a baby octopus dreaming of quickly growing into an adult octopus and swimming out into a wider, deeper sea, there were parents who said the song made them tear up for no reason whenever they listened to it.
Among celebrities and MTubers, it became trendy to do the challenge wearing a giant octopus plush hat.
“If you’re not confident in dancing, you could go cute with something like this instead. As long as you work hard from here on out and gradually show improvement, that’s what matters.”
Baek Gi-yeom had heard that Neoul had received crash-course training from Baek Yuri for only a few hours. And yet he was still like this, which meant that before the training, he must have been far worse.
Even in Baek Gi-yeom’s eyes—the one who had corrected Neoul’s posture at dawn and taught him how to walk and run properly—Neoul looked like someone only just beginning to understand what to do with his own limbs.
It may be a little harsh to say, but this is about the level Neoul can manage right now.
He might be accused of lacking ambition… but his vocals were outstanding, so perhaps that would balance things out to some degree.
Once the broadcast aired, he’d definitely become “that Baby Octopus guy” and draw a lot of attention. If he steadily improved his dancing and showed himself overcoming that weakness, then the narrative of a hardworking underdog would come naturally as well.
If his skills don’t improve… well, there’s nothing to be done.
That was something only Gal Neoul could handle for himself.
* * *
Neoul went off to a corner by himself and replayed the video Baek Gi-yeom had found for him, diligently practicing the wriggly little dance. Dancing alone was awkward and boring, so he learned the motions while singing too.
That evening, a barbecue party was held for the night shoot. There were so many people that they split dinner into groups of ten, and the main dishes were meat and ramen. There were plenty of tangerines and watermelons for dessert as well.
The outdoor grill for the meat and the burner for the ramen were both PPL products.
There were no mission requirements for the meal, just a request that they grill it deliciously and show themselves eating it happily.
Baek Yuri, knowing that teenagers probably weren’t very experienced at grilling meat, took charge of the ramen and naturally reached for the tongs himself.
He was concentrating on grilling with practiced flair when he noticed Neoul staring at the knife over there. It was the knife prepared for cutting watermelon.
Is he going to kill me with that and take out my liver…?
It had been hot from standing by the fire, but all at once it felt as if he’d been doused in ice water.
No… surely not….
Shaking off the delusion, Baek Yuri placed the perfectly grilled meat on a plate and set it on the table. Then he hurriedly laid more raw meat onto the empty grill.
Neoul watched the people using chopsticks with intense interest, then picked up a pair himself and tried fitting them onto his hand this way and that. In the meantime, the plates were emptied in no time. Everyone was starving, so there was nothing to be done about that.
Neoul stared forlornly at the empty plate.
One of the contestants ladled ramen for the others and gave a bowl to Neoul as well. Neoul tried to eat it with chopsticks, but when that didn’t work, he simply lifted the bowl and drank it down.
“……!”
Neoul stuffed his mouth full of ramen and flailed helplessly, miserable. He couldn’t very well spit it out, so after swallowing it all, he went “huff, huff—” and searched for water.
“Water! Water! It is hot! Hot! My mouth is hurting!”
“Can’t handle hot food? Eat it slowly after letting it cool.”
At another contestant’s words, Neoul waited for the ramen left in the bowl to cool, then tried it again.
“It still hurts! It is surely poisoned!”
“Oh dear, is it very spicy? You can’t handle spice, huh!”
It was pandemonium.
Baek Yuri cut the well-grilled meat into pieces and put them on a plate, then brought Neoul a spare pair of tongs. Neoul fiddled with them a few times and eventually succeeded in picking up meat to eat.
“Yuri. I will grill the meat now. You go eat too.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Baek Yuri handed the tongs to another contestant. He went to the table, ate a few bites of meat, then claimed the knife for himself.
Such a dangerous weapon had to be used quickly and put away immediately.
Before anyone else, especially Neoul, could get their hands on it, he grabbed the knife and hurriedly cut the watermelon.
He was exercising the soul of a craftsman, slicing the watermelon into neat, beautiful pieces, when Neoul came over and asked, “Teacher Rabbit. Does the liver presently lie inside the belly, or has it been placed elsewhere?”
“Ha, is the roleplay still going on?”
“……?”
Ha ha ha… oh dear.
He laughed and asked as if he were playing along, but Neoul just stared blankly, as though asking what on earth that meant.
The cameras were rolling, and he still had a mic on—was he not even trying to hide his identity? Or did he simply not understand what cameras and microphones were for?
Baek Yuri’s conviction that Gal Neoul was not human grew stronger by the minute.
The fingertips gripping the knife trembled. If he said his liver was in his belly right now, Neoul might snatch the knife away and split him open lengthwise beneath the ribs the way one sliced a watermelon.
Between the severed halves of watermelon in Baek Yuri’s hands, the red juice dripped down like blood.
“I left it at home.”
“…….”
“The house is far away. Very far away. Really far.”
For a moment, the silence felt like it was squeezing the breath out of him.
Neoul nodded as if that made sense, then went back and quietly ate meat with his tongs. Baek Yuri quickly finished cutting the watermelon and put the knife away.
* * *
The next day, three judges flew to Jeju Island on a plane.
Twenty minutes from the pension, the production team set up a cute little tent in the hotel grand hall and laid out picnic mats. With fancy camping chairs and tables in place, plus garlands and string lights draped everywhere, the whole thing looked surprisingly charming.
They had originally planned to film outdoors, but the weather was far too hot and humid, and the rain kept coming and going, so they decorated an indoor space instead.
“Oh! This is nice.”
“Wow, it really feels like we came here to have fun!”
“Wooo!”
The judges cheered as they entered the set. Their clothes, too, were dressed down like people on vacation.
Sunglasses and Hawaiian shirts, straw hats and sleeveless beach dresses, surfboards and rash guards that may or may not have been swimsuits(?)—they had fully embraced the program’s vacation concept.
“I hope the judging ends quickly! I’m going surfing right after, so do you all want to come along?”
Director Seok O-young, who had been deeply moved by the judges’ outfits, felt that emotion abruptly melt away at the words of the judge carrying a surfboard.
So you really did dress like this because you came to play!
Still, since they’d come all this way, he was grateful enough to provide snacks to replenish their sugar levels on top of the PPL drinks on the table.
Once the judges were ready, filming began soon after.
The trainee contestants from the same agency, who had prepared together for the evaluation, were the first to go.
They entered three or four at a time with flushed, nervous faces, and when they saw the judges, they gasped in surprise.
After a little while, once they’d calmed down somewhat, the contestants bowed repeatedly and introduced themselves at the center of the stage.
“Oh, these guys are from Zest. I heard the training there is really tough. They should be good.”
“The contestant Ha On-ha in the middle was even a candidate for center in the signal song.”
“I think I’ve seen that kid somewhere before. The Ha On-ha contestant—didn’t he do an ice cream commercial back then?”
“Yes! I was seven when I filmed it.”
“Right? I remembered because his eyes were so pretty.”
“Ah, that’s right! He was famous for a while as a Korean kid model with blue eyes.”
The judges tossed a few extra remarks toward the contestant who had made the center shortlist among them. Then the contestants finished the songs they had prepared, and the evaluations continued.
The contestants who received harsh criticism and the contestants who received praise each experienced their own swings of fortune. The judges divided them into three grades.
Economy, Business, First.
They were taken from airplane seat classes.
Behind the judges’ seats, the places to sit were divided according to rank. No matter how much they called it healing or whatever else, this was still a survival show.
“The seat the contestant Ha On-ha will be boarding is… First Class!”
* * *
In the waiting room outside the grand hall, the contestants waiting their turn buzzed as they heard about the first First Class boarding.
There was no soundproofing at all, so the judges’ voices, speaking into microphones, came through clearly.
“I’m jealous.”
“Ha On-ha is good to begin with. He’s definitely debut material.”
The contestants waited for their turns, growing even more tense.
After about forty people had gone in, Neoul’s turn came around. When his name was called, Woo Cheong and Baek Gi-yeom patted Neoul on the back and shouted encouragement.
Neoul walked into the grand hall with a natural gait, showing no sign of nerves at all.