Chapter 4
Chapter 4
“Huh?”
A few judges began to whisper among themselves.
“T-Holic?”
A few years ago, the mega-hit boy group ‘T-Holic,’ who had won the Grand Prize for three consecutive years, had gone on hiatus. It was an unavoidable consequence of the members enlisting in the military, leaving them short-handed.
In their stead, the agency pushed a solo debut for the main vocalist and youngest member, who hadn't received his draft notice yet. It was a mini-album led by a title track with an intense chorus.
However, time proved that the true gem of the album wasn't the title track, but the B-side.
Surprisingly, the song climbed back up the charts, eventually peaking at number three.
What started as a recommendation on social media from a popular female solo artist grew into a wave that turned into a surge after being featured on several variety shows.
That B-side was 〈PARTY IN ME〉.
An easy-listening track that harmonized a rich band sound with sophisticated synths, it became a staple at university festivals that year and eventually secured a spot in the annual Top 100.
And the music currently filling the filming set was unmistakably its intro.
It was an iconic opening, featuring a backing track layered with a distinct, accordion-style chorus melody.
Of course, it was a great song. It was also a song that could be very impressive if sung well.
That was exactly why it was so strange.
‘Could he have picked this… without knowing what he was doing?’
The song occupied a very awkward position.
It wasn't a representative hit from a famous idol’s prime, nor was it a well-known classic by an established veteran singer.
Therefore, whether in an idol survival show or a singer's competition, it wasn't a song that would immediately come to mind for an initial evaluation.
It sat subtly outside the categories for both.
Furthermore, it had been several years since the song was popular.
The production staff hadn't assigned specific songs, assuming everyone would pick something predictable, but this variable had cropped up.
Of course, the staff could have checked the audio files submitted by the participants beforehand. However, there were seventy-seven contestants.
They hadn't thought it worth their time to bother with a filler contestant, and that negligence was now coming back to haunt them.
‘It’s hard to edit a comparison for such an ambiguous song...’
The writer tapped her pen against her notepad in frustration.
The judges, who had been surprised by the song choice, were now waiting for the intro to end with somewhat indifferent expressions.
Then, Park Moon-dae opened his mouth.
—I remember the me I once knew
Beyond the bright and dazzling seasons
Through the weary and fragile times
Even at the end of those endless days
The one who embraces my broken self, Oh—
It’s only me
Yes, it’s me
“...!”
It was good.
Starting on an off-beat, the first verse flowed cleanly, almost like a spoken confession.
Because it was so pleasant to the ear, many people didn't realize it, but it was easy to lose the subtle rhythm when singing this song.
In other words, it was easy to end up sounding like an amateur.
However, this contestant was hitting every intricate melody note precisely within the complex rhythm.
‘Dun, da-dun—, dun, dun, duuun—, da-dun.’
“...!”
One of the judges, who had been unconsciously tapping the table, looked startled. The timing was perfect.
When performed like this, even general viewers who didn't understand the details of broken beats would get the impression that he was a ‘good singer.’ It was because he sang in perfect synchronization with the accompaniment.
Furthermore...
‘His vocalization... is good.’
His vocalization was remarkably solid. It wasn't just loud; his tone had a rich, three-dimensional quality.
‘Was he like this at the karaoke bar?’
The writer tried to recall the song she had heard when they first met, but she didn't think he had been this good. If he had sung like this, she would have interviewed him more during recruitment and even helped him with his song choice.
‘Did he really improve this much in just ten days?’
Regardless of the bewildered writer, the song moved past the verse and into the pre-chorus.
—So I
I must celebrate myself
I must never forget again
Now, remember
Until now
Even as the notes climbed like an escalator, his pitch never once went flat. There were no unnatural breaks in his breathing.
By this point, even the writer began to notice other things—like the stunned expressions on the judges' faces.
—The amazing miracle
Of having survived every today
Don’t forget, don’t erase it
So, congratulations
Celebrate this moment
That’s the party in me
As if every day is a PARTY, Ooh—let’s PARTY
His high notes soared effortlessly. He didn't look strained at all. It was clean and easy, as if he still had an octave of range to spare.
It was the perfect approach for a song that needed to sound beautiful and intimate, like a conversation, rather than a belted-out performance.
Now, the writer felt like laughing out loud.
‘Well, this is great... He’s total main vocalist material... We were short on vocalists anyway, so isn't this a win? My eye for talent is truly amazing. To think a gem like this would roll in just from a street recruitment.’
The second verse began.
Park Moon-dae naturally handled the complexity of the second verse, which shared the same melody as the first but used a different rhythm.
He breezed through the bridge and into the final chorus, his voice soaring effortlessly through the key change as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The spine-tingling high notes hit pleasantly. It wasn't excessive, yet he didn't shy away from them either; it was a magnificent climax.
Then, returning to the first line of the verse as if speaking once more, the song ended.
—...I remember the me I once knew.
The contestant maintained a beautiful tone until the very last note.
As soon as the accompaniment stopped, Park Moon-dae gave a polite bow. Then, he added a few words with a somewhat blank expression.
“...Thank you for listening.”
A brief silence followed. The writer gripped her pen.
‘Right. Let’s not send him home; let’s keep him.’
As she was re-evaluating Park Moon-dae’s position, the judges excitedly picked up their microphones.
“Wow, Moon-dae!!”
“Yes.”
“You know you did a great job, right?!”
“...I practiced hard to sing it well.”
Another judge immediately cut in.
“No, this kind of thing is just innate. You have talent.”
It was the choreographer, famous for being blunt.
He was smiling, his eyes narrowed as if he were genuinely pleased.
While there might have been some exaggeration for the broadcast, he wasn't the type to say things he didn't mean.
Park Moon-dae bowed his head, inwardly cheering.
Praise continued to pour in from the judges.
In particular, Mudie, a female solo artist appearing as a vocal coach, praised him with sparkling eyes.
“First of all, your tone is very refreshing. And because your vocalization is so good, it’s even easier to hear.”
“Right? It really felt like you were speaking right into my ear...”
“Exactly, exactly.”
Voices of agreement erupted. Mudie nodded and continued speaking quickly.
“Also, your voice seems like it would suit any genre, which is a very important quality for an idol. You don't have any of those affected habits, and I’m really looking forward to your future. Truly.”
“Thank you.”
“Moon-dae, you haven't been in an agency yet, right? You said earlier you had no experience, and looking at your profile here, there really isn't any history.”
“Yes. Not yet...”
Then, a young male judge chimed in. He was a member of a famous boy group that had recently lost two members during contract renewals.
“Then you’ve never had special lessons?”
“No.”
“None at all? Not even at an academy?”
Park Moon-dae silently shook his head.
The judge who asked looked impressed, though a hint of suspicion remained on his face. Mudie then spoke up again with a bright smile.
“Right, right. Sometimes it’s better to wait for that one perfect shot rather than just joining any agency. I’m sure you’ll get offers from great places!”
“Thank you for the kind words.”
The writer suddenly remembered that Mudie’s agency was preparing to launch a new boy group.
‘Come to think of it, she has a stake in her agency.’
She looked at the contestant, who was still bowing politely but didn't seem particularly moved by the praise.
Then, looking back at the judges' panel, which was still full of nothing but compliments, she was overcome by a strange feeling.
It felt... like they were being subtly played.
Finding a talented contestant was certainly a benefit for the show, but she felt uneasy.
The writer rested her chin on her hand, and then, seeing the handheld microphone Park Moon-dae was holding, it clicked.
‘He didn't actually dance properly!’
Of course, Park Moon-dae had performed some choreography-like movements.
However, since this song wasn't originally produced for a performance, those movements were merely at the level of rhythmic gestures.
The original performance was structured so that while dancers performed proper choreography around him, he would just extend his hands or move his legs a few times in sync with the beat.
But the original stage, which included dancers, remained as a lingering image in people's minds.
Even when seeing those meager gestures, it was easy for people to mentally fill in the surrounding dancers and let it slide, thinking, ‘Well, that’s how the original stage was.’
Especially if the person sang exceptionally well!
Furthermore, since he had performed a conceptual song by a top-tier idol, he could avoid questions like ‘Are you sure you want to be an idol?’ even though he had essentially relied solely on his vocal ability.
In the end, it had been the best possible choice for Park Moon-dae’s situation.
‘This goes beyond just having good sense; it feels like veteran experience...’
Feeling somewhat cheated, the writer scanned Park Moon-dae with dissatisfied eyes.
And as if reading the writer’s mind, one judge, who had been quietly watching the others' praise, picked up the microphone.
It was Young-rin from the girl group ‘Saint You,’ who had successfully climbed the charts after a fancam of her smiling while doing acrobatics in the pouring rain went viral during their obscure days.
“The choreography for this stage had almost no difficulty. Could we see you dance properly separately?”
The writer wanted to give her a round of applause.
‘It worked.’
The effort I put into focusing on leveling up while singing only this song until I was sick of it over the past few days had paid off.
As a result of pouring every single point into singing, the ‘Vocal’ category on my status window was now an A-.
It was an obvious choice. In Korea, if a singer couldn't sing, they were out, idol or not.
You could cover up poor dancing with practice, but poor singing was obvious even if you used a pre-recorded track.
Moreover, in the pool of idol hopefuls, there were generally fewer main vocal candidates than main dancer candidates.
So, if I established a strong image as a main vocalist early on, the probability of securing a spot in the debut lineup would increase.
Next was the method of selecting the evaluation song.
Judging by the significantly low amount of negative feedback, it seemed my approach had been correct.
The filtration method: predicting the criticisms the judges might make based on my weaknesses and then excluding every song that might trigger those reactions.
‘What’s with your dancing?’
—Delete songs with full-scale choreography.
‘You’re not dancing at all?’
—Delete ballads.
‘You sing well, but you don't feel like an idol.’
—Delete everything except idol songs.
‘Wasn't it too much for you to handle this song alone?’
—Since I can't even rearrange music, delete all songs originally sung by three or more people to avoid unnecessary risks.
‘You’re being compared to the original artist!’
—Delete all songs released within the last three years.
Then, from the remaining songs, I chose the one with the best chart record.
Hmm, it was a good strategy, even thinking about it again.
I thought I might be able to slip through like this, but as expected, there was at least one person who didn't get swept up in the atmosphere.
I made eye contact with the judge holding the microphone.
It was a familiar face.
She was the first idol who taught me that taking photos of idols could be profitable. Thanks to her, I had covered my tuition for the second semester of my freshman year.
‘Since she also gained an image as a hard worker through that acrobatic fancam in the rain and became quite a hot topic, it was a win-win.’
However, this time, it didn't seem like a particularly mutually beneficial meeting.
“I understand that you haven't received training. But since this is the first evaluation, shouldn't we check your basic condition? I assumed that if you’re participating in an audition program, you would have prepared at least one more song.”
Saying something like ‘I haven't prepared anything’ here would be madness. It would be better to just keep my mouth shut.
“Yes. Then, would this song be possible?”
A staff member quickly approached the edge of the stage and gestured to me. I walked over and told them the song I had in mind.
The camera followed, even capturing the staff member flinching.
Seeing this, it seemed I would likely avoid being completely edited out. My efforts were paying off.
And immediately, a cheerful accompaniment filled the filming set.
“...!?”