Chapter 23: Concept Planning (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 23: Concept Planning (2)
I sat down on the practice room floor next to Kang Gi-yeon.
Reflected in the mirror opposite us was Gi-yeon, fidgeting with his hands for no reason.
The awkwardness in the air was practically suffocating.
I debated whether I should try to lighten the mood, but I figured setting the stage was better for a guy like him than being overly considerate. I decided to break the ice first.
“If you have something to say, feel free to speak comfortably.”
Even then, Kang Gi-yeon didn’t speak up immediately.
Did he want me to make small talk first? I didn’t think he was the type to struggle with self-expression.
Fortunately, before much more time passed, Gi-yeon finally opened his mouth.
“About... getting nervous. I was wondering if I could get some advice on that.”
Surprisingly, the reason for Kang Gi-yeon’s interview request was ‘needing advice.’
It seemed my nerves of steel—not crumbling during the first evaluation—had left an impression on him.
‘Is there really no one else in Spark who looks mentally tough... besides Choi Je-ho?’
Jeong Seong-bin would eventually develop a pretty solid backbone, but for now, they were all just kids.
And as for Choi Je-ho, the only other person worth asking, the difficulty level of having a conversation with him was off the charts.
So, by process of elimination, I was the only one left.
‘I’ll give him credit for being willing to seek advice from a clumsy person when he’s desperate.’
It takes more than just average courage to accept direct criticism from someone else. This part of him was truly admirable.
As I was feeling genuinely moved, Gi-yeon asked, “Hyung, are you naturally the type who doesn’t get nervous?”
“I wouldn’t say I never get nervous, but I don’t do it often. I think I’m pretty average.”
“How did you fix your nerves?”
Well, I fixed them by getting f*cking destroyed by my department head in front of the executives as an example.
I closed my eyes, trying to erase the memory of that shouting match in the conference room.
Stay calm. Kang Gi-yeon isn’t a member of the workforce; he’s a high school student.
Instead of giving him a taste of the bitterness of corporate life, I refined my painful memories as much as possible to explain.
“I did a lot of practice that felt like the real thing. Like doing mock interviews.”
“Like the real thing...” Gi-yeon muttered after me.
“I imagined getting chewed out, and I imagined making mistakes. While doing that, I’d check how I’d handle a mistake and what kind of situation made me the most nervous.”
“I’ve tried a lot of mock tests, but they weren’t very effective. I even set up cameras.”
“If the pressure is less than the real thing, you can still panic no matter how much you practice.”
It’s like how you can prepare a presentation all night, but the moment your boss says, ‘Assistant Manager Kim, what’s with that look on your face?’ you feel the blood drain from your entire body.
“Did the teachers give you any specific advice?”
“They just said I’m doing well, so I should just do what I’ve been doing in practice... things like that.”
Classic UA. Their advice was too kind.
They probably didn’t want to provoke the idols, considering how their mental state might crumble later, but still.
Other people’s praise only lands when your ears are open to it.
Hearing that he was doing well wouldn’t have resonated much with Gi-yeon when he felt he wasn’t currently showing his true skills.
“How should I create that pressure?” Gi-yeon asked.
In my case, I used to hold a self-interrogation festival, running through hundreds of follow-up questions that Department Head Nam might ask.
It was a good thing I lived alone; if I’d had a roommate, they would’ve definitely thought I was losing my mind.
“I think you’d get used to it if you practiced in a situation that mimics being nervous as specifically as possible... but we can’t exactly ask the teachers to set that environment up for us every time.”
“Exactly.”
I thought for a moment and then made a suggestion to Gi-yeon.
“Want me to play the role of the evaluator?”
“What?”
Gi-yeon’s eyes widened slightly.
He’d been speaking calmly without raising his voice until now, so this must have been unexpected.
“You said just setting up a camera wasn’t enough. It might be more effective if we make the surrounding environment and atmosphere feel more realistic.”
“But Hyung, won’t the mood just lighten up the moment you open your mouth? I don’t think it’ll feel real.”
“Don’t worry. I’m great at playing the boomer.”
Gi-yeon wore a look of pure skepticism. He’s going to be shocked when he sees my performance possessed by the soul of Department Head Nam.
I never thought I’d voluntarily do something for the good of Spark in my life.
But since I’d received a lot of help from Gi-yeon so far, I decided to think of it as simply repaying a debt.
“Then... please do.”
Whether it was because he had no other choice or because he was truly desperate, Gi-yeon accepted my offer without much hesitation.
“It’s in exchange for you watching my practice during the day. If you want to practice at night, just let me know whenever.”
“Let’s start tomorrow.”
“I truly admire your passion.”
I didn’t hold back my praise for Gi-yeon’s attitude; he definitely would have suggested starting today if there had been any time left in the practice room.
And I added a short word about something that had been bothering me for a while.
“More importantly, you don’t have to hesitate over a request like this.”
Reporting first and dealing with the fallout later was fifty thousand times better than agonizing over whether or not to have a consultation until the problem grew out of control.
The same went for fighting. It was better to have them duke it out in front of me rather than fighting where I couldn't see and letting the emotional rift deepen.
Though, fighting and reconciling before coming to me would be the absolute best.
‘If he was the type to pester even Choi Je-ho several times to practice together, he shouldn’t be the type who finds it hard to ask others for things.’
Furthermore, Gi-yeon was surprisingly the type not to harbor complaints if it was for the sake of his goal.
Meaning, he wasn't the type to hesitate or ask for a separate meeting just to ask something like this.
Then, a rather surprising answer came back from Gi-yeon.
“You’ve looked busy lately, Hyung, so I was debating if it was okay to ask.”
And it came with a fairly thoughtful reason.
His character was worlds apart from Department Head Nam, who would say, ‘Assistant Manager Kim, you look busy?’ while asking me to book a birthday cafe for Spark.
It was a moment that made my previous thought—that I’d rather eat all the rice cakes myself than give one to someone I hate—feel shameful.
Yes, the proper way to be a human is to take the rice cake meant for someone you hate and give it to a kid who works hard.
I thought of Supervisor Song, who was the epitome of a hard worker—good-natured, competent, and diligent.
Supervisor Song, I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of you back then.
That imitation of Department Head Nam that made you burst out laughing... I’ll put it to good use here. I hope you’re having a peaceful day without overtime today.
Just as I was about to get all sentimental, my eyes caught the clock pointing to 11:50 PM.
Before worrying about others, it was time for me to finish my own overtime. How bitter.
After that midnight conversation, the relationship between Gi-yeon and me became quite interesting.
“Hyung, you need to go ta-da boom here, but you’re just going crash and bang.”
“My bad.”
During the day, Gi-yeon practically grabbed me by the collar and dragged me along...
“Gi-yeon, don’t let your hands shake. Keep your eyes fixed forward. Straighten your back.”
“Yes.”
And at night, I hounded Gi-yeon like a drill sergeant.
There were even days when Lee Cheong-hyeon, who had stayed behind wondering what the two of us were doing every night, ran away after being nagged for 20 minutes about his facial expressions.
“Shoulders back, back straight. If your posture is hunched, you’ll feel even more nervous.”
“...I’m still nervous even with my posture straight.”
“Try lying down on the floor over there for about three minutes and then get up.”
It was a joke intended to ease his tension, but Gi-yeon actually sprawled out on the floor.
That’s how desperate he was. How frustrating must it be to have outstanding talent but be unable to show it?
With the singular determination to make sure my dance teacher saw the light of day, I approached the reclining Gi-yeon.
“How is it? Do you feel the tension easing a bit?”
“...Yes. I think it’s because it’s comfortable.”
Gi-yeon’s expression did look much more relaxed, so he wasn't lying.
Watching Gi-yeon regain his breath, I said, “Okay, get up now. Let’s run the simulation again from the beginning.”
Gi-yeon stood up with great effort. I highly valued his endurance, considering he hadn't complained once about it being hard.
It wasn't as if Gi-yeon was just eating up my practice time, either.
Since I was seeing him every day, albeit unintentionally, I was learning things too.
Because I was watching a model example dozens of times as if I were monitoring him, I began to see the movements in much finer detail.
For example, like this:
“It looks like there’s less weight on your left foot than before. Was that because you’re tired, or because you’re nervous?”
“Because I’m tired.”
“It’s understandable. But you know the teachers won’t take tiredness into account during the evaluation, right?”
“...Yes.”
When I told him the angle between his index and middle fingers changed every time he danced, a look of sheer exhaustion flitted across Gi-yeon’s face.
So what? You’re the one who’s going to obsess over it later anyway, even if I don’t say anything.
I looked at Gi-yeon, who was drenched in cold sweat despite not moving much, and asked, “Has your ankle hurt since then?”
“No. Maybe because I went to the hospital early that time.”
“Exactly. If it hurts, go to the hospital immediately. Don’t put it off because it’s a hassle and turn it into a major illness.”
“Yes, yes.”
Gi-yeon answered mechanically, as if he’d grown accustomed to the constant nagging.
“Still, your movements are much more natural than at the start. At least you seem to have adjusted to me.”
“I feel that way too.”
“It might be that I look too soft, so the atmosphere isn’t quite right. Would it have been better to sit Choi Je-ho there instead?”
“What?”
At my words, Gi-yeon gave me an incredulous look.
“Do you... really think you look soft, Hyung?”
“I think I look either average or a bit blurry.”
I held back from saying I probably looked squishier than a water dumpling.
If that weren't the case, there was no reason for Department Head Nam to single me out and grill me just three days after I joined the company.
However, the answer I got back was truly shocking.
“Hyung, uh... I don’t know if it’s okay to say this.”
“Go ahead.”
“Honestly? Without a filter?”
“When have you ever used a filter? Just tell me straight.”
“Just looking at your face is f*cking scary, Hyung.”
...What?
“Cheong-hyeon said when he first saw you, he thought you were a Director, not a trainee.”
“What are these cold-hearted, cool-toned punks talking about?”
“Ju-woo Hyung was so nervous the day you first arrived that he couldn’t even eat dinner properly.”
“You’re lying, right?”
“It’s true. You’re giving off plenty of pressure, so I don’t think you need to worry about that part.”
The more Gi-yeon spoke, the more bewildered I became.
It seemed I needed to do something about these dark circles as soon as possible.
When I returned to the dorm after Gi-yeon’s shocking confession, Lee Cheong-hyeon was waiting for me.
At this point, it felt like I was onboarding the new hires one by one.
Occupying Kim I-wol’s back office past midnight, Cheong-hyeon asked, “Hyung! I’ve finished the melody, so what should I do now?”
“Shouldn’t you ask another expert about that instead of someone who looks like a Director, Cheong-hyeon?”
“Gi-yeon told you that?! He didn’t even act like he was listening when I said it!”
“If you two keep talking nonsense, I’m going to tell Seong-bin to increase your practice hours.”
“Aw, come on. We have so many constructive conversations!”
Then, Lee Cheong-hyeon began to shower me with praise, utilizing a level of social savvy I didn't know someone his age could possess.
He said things like, ‘Hyung, aren’t you really good at seeing movements?’ and ‘Gi-yeon says that a lot too.’
However, Cheong-hyeon’s approach wasn't entirely soft.
“Hyung, if your dynamic visual acuity is that good, why can’t you output the moves?”
He landed a very heavy punch right at the end.
“If you look at a Picasso painting, can you paint it exactly the same way?”
“Aha.”
Thanks to that, we even exchanged some pointless banter.
After chatting for a bit, I steered the conversation back toward work.
“Anyway, you said you finished the melody. Can I hear it?”
“Of course. But please, give me gentle feedback.”
“Gentle?”
“Right now, I feel like I’m revealing a house I built starting from the roof,” Cheong-hyeon said in an uncharacteristically cautious tone.
It wasn't as if I, who wasn't even an expert, could give him much advice anyway.
Beside Cheong-hyeon, who was covering his eyes as if he couldn't bear to watch, I put on the earphones and played the audio file.
What flowed out was definitely the melody of the B-side track 『The Beginning』, which I knew Lee Cheong-hyeon had composed in the past.
However, there was a part that was distinctly different from before.
‘Isn’t the song... even better than before?’
It was a shame that my limited vocabulary could only express it this way, considering how much better it had become.
Lee Cheong-hyeon’s song was good. I could bet all my PSD files from my years of being a Spark fan on it.