Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Nosebleed Rehearsal and Mini Fan Meet
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Trainees from A-rank on the distant stage, along with those from other ranks, craned their necks to see what was happening.
“What’s going on?”
The filming director and Jo In-soo PD, who had rushed over after hearing the radio call, looked up from below the stage and asked.
A nearby staff member explained.
“Looks like Raon’s really exhausted. He’s got a nosebleed, and it won’t stop.”
Right now, he was pinching his nose with tissues hastily tossed up from below the stage.
“Blood.”
“Is it okay to keep going like this?”
The trainees whispered while stealing glances at him.
Anyone overhearing might think he’d vomited blood.
With his nose plugged, his voice came out nasal.
“Why’s everyone making it such a big deal?”
“You’re the one it’s a big deal for. Visually, you look like a terminal patient right now.”
Ban Yo-han grimaced as fresh blood quickly soaked the new white tissue he’d handed over.
Now that he looked, his hand—clutched to his nose at first—had dried blood smeared widely across it, and spots of blood dotted the floor beneath his feet.
He’d thought the others were overreacting just to get a break.
‘…Does it really look that bad even on the outside?’
The staff member who’d brought tissues gazed at him pitifully and asked.
“Raon, can you keep going?”
If he said no, would they let him stop?
His head spun so much the words nearly slipped out.
The filming director scolded him in a displeased tone.
“Raon, if you’re in this bad shape, you should’ve said something sooner. Don’t you know condition management is part of your skill?”
If they’d just given proper breaks from the start, this wouldn’t have happened.
But the words that came out were meek. They were the bosses; he was the underling.
“Sorry…”
The filming director and Jo In-soo PD’s expressions softened considerably.
Lately, he’d been thinking this trait was kinda cheat-like. Everyone had a soft spot for the pitiful, after all.
Seizing the moment, he made his face look even more pained and exhausted.
Ban Yo-han, right beside him, wore a look that said, What are you doing? Then another notification popped up.
Wasn’t this saying his looks made him seem pitiful?
Should he be happy about this or not?
Anyway, even the filming director and Jo In-soo PD couldn’t completely ignore this sudden incident.
If word spread wrong, it could turn into headlines about trainee exploitation.
A nosebleed could easily be spun into something far worse by hungry reporters.
Better to let them rest than risk a scandal on a program where public attention was everything.
Sure enough, the filming director gave the order.
“Take 20 minutes and resume!”
“Thank you!”
This break was hard-won with his very body. Cherish it.
Perhaps alarmed by the fear that someone might collapse (like him), the filming director started giving full breaks consistently after that.
Fatigue piled up to just shy of 100 during rehearsals, then dropped bit by bit, only to build again.
Now that he knew about the garbage penalty called Status Abnormality, he checked his status window whenever he could to monitor fatigue.
He’d freaked out countless times seeing it hit 95.
“Kids, let’s do this well again tomorrow.”
The filming director, satisfied with squeezing the trainees enough, said.
“Good work. Manage your conditions and see you tomorrow.”
He glanced at On Raon, but Jo In-soo PD—having captured the F-rank trainees crying during their dancer roles early in rehearsal—also looked pleased.
The next day, the gym for pre-recording was far busier than yesterday.
A text had instructed them to head to the temporary makeup room inside the gym, where early arrivals were already getting styled busily.
The group outfits were various school uniform styles.
His was a subdued navy blazer, while Kim Jun-woo got a gakuran—the old-style Japanese uniform.
Each had a cherry-red heart badge pierced by a golden arrow on their chest.
White shirts and beige pants were uniform, but neckwear varied.
Red neckties were most common, followed by bow ties and ribbon ties in the same color.
His stylist had tied a thin, long ribbon necktie for him.
After changing, he got makeup done.
With so many people—and trainees needing to look pure—it wasn’t stage-level heavy or flashy, but still worlds better than nothing.
System, I’m not a pumpkin, okay? I’m an unripe watermelon.
Curious how much better he looked, he checked the mirror—his hazy impression had sharpened just a bit.
The makeup artist marveled at how well the makeup took.
One makeup session nearly doubled his charm. And even doubled, he still looked far from handsome.
“Prepared trainees, come out and wait!”
Soon, all 100 trainees finished prepping and headed to their spots above and below the heart stage, positions set from yesterday’s rehearsal.
The mentors, led by Jena, arrived.
They conversed softly while watching the trainees on stage. Cameras captured it.
“Filming starts now!”
Ear-piercing music echoed through the vast gym.
Bathed in softer rose-gold lighting than yesterday, they danced the routine they’d probably run three hundred times and mouthed the lyrics.
Lock eyes with you
When you call my name
I aim for your heart
Heart a-ttae-ttae-tack!
As the song ended and they lifted their heads in the choreography, countless petals drifted down from above—a moment of small, vivid joy surged from his toes upward.
I’ll make sure you don’t regret
Your choice will be perfect
Grab my hand before it’s too late
When he pulled back his outstretched hand, a smile slipped out unbidden.
Was it the accomplishment of clearing one stage?
At the same time, the faint realization that this was just a game brought a tiny sadness, dimming his smile.
Catching himself, he quickly adjusted his expression.
Multiple cameras roamed, filming the trainees.
No telling which shot they’d catch, so no relaxing.
“Good! This is what we wanted from the start.”
From the filming director’s lenient words, the trainees sensed it wouldn’t be as grueling as yesterday, catching their breath with smiles.
Thankfully, filming wrapped after about ten takes.
Still, thinking of the main broadcast, they gave their all each time—stamina drain similar to yesterday.
Confirming stage filming done, mentors approached the front, mics in hand, speaking in turn.
Didn’t expect you to do this well. Good job. It’s just the start. You look like idols now. Do better. F-ranks cried, huh? Don’t think this is the end. A-ranks, don’t get arrogant thinking you’re the top.
Then Jena took the mic and said something totally unexpected.
“Heard someone was so exhausted they got a nosebleed yesterday.”
“On Raon!”
The voices from Hye-seong’s half-team rang out especially loud. No need to answer, guys…
“Raon? Oh dear, good job. But manage your stamina better, okay?”
This is why everyday behavior matters. The same words from the filming director had grated, but from Jena, they felt like meaningful advice.
He politely replied he understood to the shining Jena. She smiled and encouraged the other trainees.
The trainees listened raptly, faces full of emotion.
“Don’t forget—you’ve only just toed the starting line. But you all did amazingly well. I’m so proud. Great job everyone.”
“Thank you!”
The first mission was complete.
The very next day, trainees gathered in front of the Sangam ALT Center, headquarters of Music Box—the channel airing Pick Heart.
For the mini fan meet, their official debut before the public.
They wore the same uniforms as yesterday.
Today, they got name tags too, pinned with the heart badges so people could read their names.
Aside from a few with debut experience, most had no real fans, but as a fan meet, they owed something to those who showed up.
For that, they wrote fan letters on palm-sized cards.
These would go into paper bags with simple souvenirs, prepared by production, for the fans.
Short on desks, trainees wrote anywhere flat—even sprawling on the floor. Space was too tight to worry about dirtying clothes.
Foreign trainees who didn’t know Hangul used phone translator apps propped nearby, slowly copying letters.
Wonder if they’d finish two that way—but the effort showed sincerity.
Soon, staff circulated, announcing five minutes to wrap up and move.
Hands sped up, including his.
He finished his third letter when time was called.
Staff distributed Pick Heart-logo paper bags matching each trainee’s letter count.
Bags in hand, they circled the building, greeting employees.
100 people swarming was utter chaos.
What was this nonsense? A moment of reality hit, but thinking of it as a school group trip to the broadcast station eased his mind.
“We’re Pick Your Heart 3 trainees! Please take care of us!”
Only after greetings to the top floor could they finally exit.
Even before stepping out, murmurs grew louder.
Facing the distracted trainees, staff raised voices with instructions: do this, do that.
Trembling inwardly, trainees boomed back, “Yes!”
Their eyes fixed beyond the glass doors.
Outside, fences formed a central space amid a packed crowd.
Mostly young women, as expected.
Many held pricey cameras.
Even ladder-climbers towering heads above neighbors, as he’d heard tales of.
Spotting the trainees through the glass, the crowd started calling names, turning the scene even rowdier.