Chapter 12: Monthly Evaluation (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 12: Monthly Evaluation (3)
UA’s Monthly Evaluations proceed in order of the previous scores.
Since I had no prior record, I was assigned the very last slot.
It was my first time participating, but I already knew who would have taken first place in the last evaluation.
“Shall we start with Ju-woo then?”
It was Park Ju-woo, the future main vocal of Spark.
From the early days of their debut, Park Ju-woo had a rather peculiar character archetype.
≫ He sings well, dances well, has a kind face, and a great personality. Seriously, is there anything this man can’t do?
└ If you dropped him in the middle of the Starfield Library at COEX, I don’t think he’d ever find his way home.
└ Isn’t that a bit harsh for our clumsy cutie? T_T
└ Why don’t you put down the hand covering your mouth before you say that?
└ (Smile)
The aura he projected—a mix of a chilly vibe and a languid gaze—was the kind rarely seen in a nineteen-year-old boy.
Among the stubborn Spark members who would say what needed to be said even if it killed them, Park Ju-woo occupied the position of the stoic observer, watching over the others with a placid expression.
In the idol world, no matter how diligently you react, you’re bound to get flak if you give off the impression of not being proactive.
For the first year after their debut, it seemed Park Ju-woo wouldn’t be able to escape such controversy either.
That is, if his singing had only been "moderately" good.
『It was a night when everyone brought out the liquor they’d been saving…』
Park Ju-woo began to sing along to a famous band song that any student who had ever picked up an instrument in school would inevitably know.
Even amidst the powerful band sound, Park Ju-woo’s voice shone through.
Who needs fancy techniques? Hitting every single note perfectly—that’s the ultimate technique.
For the record, his English pronunciation was perfect too. This was because this song was one of his favorites.
He was breathtaking even during practice, but hearing him give it his all now, I could only marvel.
As Park Ju-woo finished cleanly and bowed, the teachers were lavish with their praise. Even the Representative, sitting in the center, looked thoroughly satisfied.
Of course. If I were his mentor, I would have already soaked through three tissues with my tears of pride.
“Ju-woo, you really are outstanding. I think you’ve improved even more since last time. You feel it too, right?”
“…Thank you.”
“He has a knack for picking songs that suit his tone. Song selection is a skill in itself, and he fundamentally has great sense.”
The evaluation for Park Ju-woo continued to be nothing but praise.
However, the conclusion wasn't entirely heartwarming.
“But from now on, I’d like you to practice more conceptual songs. Like I mentioned last time. Got it?”
“…Yes.”
“Good work. Next is Je-ho, right?”
A hint of bitterness flickered across Park Ju-woo’s face as he swapped places with Choi Je-ho.
‘Is it a matter of taste?’
Park Ju-woo’s musical preference was quite different from his soft, cotton-ball-like appearance.
That guy was a die-hard rock fan with "rock spirit" flowing through his marrow.
However, throughout his career, the only time you could see Park Ju-woo singing rock was in cover content. And even that didn't happen until Spark was in their second year.
The reason why Park Ju-woo had set aside the rock music he loved so much was revealed during a live broadcast one day.
‘Ju-woo, please cover a RoseD song…? I like RoseD too, but I’d have to practice to cover them. That old feeling doesn't really come out anymore… I think it’s because I changed my vocal style.’
Park Ju-woo had ended the story by saying he would try his best to practice.
And indeed, a few months later, he uploaded a video covering one of that band’s masterpieces.
But the day never came when Park Ju-woo sang the songs he truly loved on stage or in front of an audience.
Considering the extravagant concepts Spark had taken on in the past, the reason wasn't hard to guess.
‘It didn't fit the image of an idol that UA was pursuing.’
Unlike when he was preparing to be a solo singer, the style of songs Park Ju-woo could sing would have been much more limited once he pivoted to being an idol trainee.
Moreover, Park Ju-woo was the member who could hit the highest notes in the team. Naturally, the company wouldn't have easily allowed him to sing things like rock music, which is notoriously taxing on the vocal cords.
I stole a glance at Park Ju-woo, who was sitting next to me with a face as limp as blanched spinach.
His complexion looked a bit pitiful, even to me—someone who used to struggle to catch his faint voice just to write subtitles for fan videos.
While Choi Je-ho was preparing his music file, I spoke softly enough that only Park Ju-woo could hear.
“I like that song too.”
“…?”
“You sang it really well. I enjoyed it.”
Park Ju-woo, who had looked visibly puzzled, suddenly had a spark in his eyes at my words. Well, "sparked" by the standards of his usual dull gaze, anyway.
‘Hasn't he heard that he’s good at singing a million times already?’
As I racked my brain over his unexpected reaction, I soon found the answer.
None of the other Spark members shared Park Ju-woo’s musical taste.
It suddenly occurred to me that it must be quite lonely to sing every day but have no colleagues who share your preferences.
The subsequent assignments from Choi Je-ho, Jeong Seong-bin, and Lee Cheong-hyeon were all excellent.
In a way, UA was also incredible for delaying the debut of members with this level of polish for another two years.
“Next, Gi-yeon.”
When Kang Gi-yeon’s name was called, Lee Cheong-hyeon mouthed "Fighting!"
I also gave a supportive fist shake, showing some loyalty to my "pupil."
“Phew.”
Kang Gi-yeon took a small, deep breath.
To put it simply, Kang Gi-yeon’s performance was good.
However, it fell far short of what he had shown in the practice room. Even considering that he couldn't show off his specialty, dancing, because he had to rest for a few days due to an ankle injury.
If a non-expert like me could notice, it must have been even more obvious to the experts.
And more than anyone, Kang Gi-yeon himself seemed to know that best.
“Gi-yeon.”
“Yes.”
“We all know you’re talented.”
Kang Gi-yeon’s shoulders flinched slightly. It was likely because he could anticipate what was coming next.
“But it’s only when you perform well during a test that it can be called your true skill.”
Because it wasn't wrong, it was feedback that would hit Kang Gi-yeon harder, and it was the kind of remark that would stick deepest in the mind of a perfectionist like him.
“You can relax a bit. There aren't many kids your age who can sing while dancing as well as you can.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good work. Let’s do better next time.”
I could practically see every warm word being etched into Kang Gi-yeon’s bones.
As Kang Gi-yeon sat down with a stiff expression, Lee Cheong-hyeon busily ruffled his hair.
As far as I knew, Kang Gi-yeon’s habit of getting nervous in important situations was going to last quite a while. I remember seeing four different types of herbal sedatives in his "What’s in My Bag" content.
But now wasn't the time to worry about Kang Gi-yeon.
“Now, I-wol, shall we see what you’ve prepared?”
I had my own fire to put out.
If I didn't want to get kicked out of UA this very day, I had to keep my wits about me.
“This is your first evaluation. Was it difficult to prepare?”
Perhaps out of consideration for me being a "new hire," there was some ice-breaking, unlike with the other members.
It had been a long time since I was on the receiving end of such consideration rather than being the one to ease the tension for others.
“Everyone helped me a lot. Thanks to them, I’ve gained a bit of confidence.”
“You don’t seem that nervous for someone who only has ‘a bit’ of confidence.”
“I’m actually very nervous on the inside.”
The teachers laughed, seemingly taking my words as a joke.
I’m being serious here. I’ve even resolved that if I get fired here, I’ll roam every major intersection in the country and camp out until my sister appears.
I’ve prepared as much as I could. All I have to do now is show what I’ve built up; that is the best I can do.
And I have never made a mistake in a situation like this. Because I work hard specifically so I won't make mistakes.
“I’ve prepared 『Sitting by the Window』.”
The three teachers sitting in a row before me wore surprised expressions. Only the Representative looked pleased to hear the song.
It made sense. Since 『Sitting by the Window』 was a somewhat aged ballad, it wasn't a song many people my age listened to.
The future Spark members also looked like they were hearing it for the first time, with the exception of Jeong Seong-bin.
“Having a wide spectrum is a good thing. Let’s hear it.”
I started the accompaniment at the signal from Teacher Oh Eun, who taught vocals.
As the lyrical music flowed out, I steadied my breathing and focused on the song.
『I thought about it for a long time.』
『Sitting by the Window』, originally sung by a male singer in his late thirties, was a song filled with poignant regret over time that had slipped away unnoticed.
Thanks to the calm progression typical of ballads, singing this song didn't require "K-high notes" or immense technical skill.
It was a song that felt like plainness painted into notes, with a clearly structured beginning, middle, and end.
To give the impression of having sung such a song "properly," one’s diction and vocalization had to remain rock-solid.
The very basics I had learned in vocal lessons over the past three weeks.
I’m confident in thoroughly internalizing what I’ve been taught.
Thanks to ears so sensitive I could tell Department Head Nam’s condition just by his voice, I was able to adjust my pitch note by note, as if squeezing them out, while mentally playing a keyboard in real-time whenever a note wavered.
The same went for establishing a strategy for the evaluation.
I had spent ages setting grading criteria at Hanpyeong Industry. After three years of living as a dog for the HR Team, one learns to recite the "poetry" of personnel evaluations by heart.
By applying this, it was possible to reverse-engineer what kind of algorithm would be used to set the evaluation criteria.
All I had to do was extract keywords from the assignments given during lessons, group them by category, and create a scorecard. It was a method I had frequently used during exam periods in my school days.
I’d bet my brick phone that the margin of error between my predicted scorecard and the actual one is less than 5%.
Once I identified the "problems," I focused intensely on the items that would be on the scorecard. My strategy was: even if I don't get bonus points, let’s not get any points deducted.
Of course, there were difficult parts. A prime example was crafting a calm emotional line befitting the sentimental lyrics.
I could feel the dissonance between my fumbling hands and the song that should emanate from my twenty-year-old exterior, even without looking in a mirror.
So, after incorporating feedback, I spent the most time on understanding the song.
I deeply contemplated what it was that I truly regretted.
My most poignant regret in life was joining Hanpyeong Industry. But if I sang with that heart, it would surely turn into a dirge filled with social criticism and satire.
Instead, I recalled the past when a public recruitment process I had completed after two weeks of all-nighters and overtime was scrapped by a single "I don't get it" from Department Head Nam.
The moment when all that past work time became trash, and only the related tasks remained like dregs.
The moment when the deadline was right under my nose, but the progress of the work had returned to 0%.
『It’s fading away, leaving me behind. Everything—』
I poured the raw, hollow, and empty emotions felt by a man who suddenly realizes the futility of it all on the verge of success into the song.
I confess. I almost cried while singing.
『—The wind is dying down.』
And so, the nearly four-minute song came to an end.
Without a single mistake.
