A Team Without Rappers

Just as the sudden realization drained the color from Ye-chan's face, MC Andrew began explaining how the teams would be selected.

"What? Really? How?"

Nam Ji-yu asked in complete seriousness, having forgotten that nothing they said could be heard on the other side.

As if on cue, the MC's answer continued and the screen changed.

"Whoa, Ye-chan! We're on the same team!"

Ye-chan's name sat at the very top of Room 2, Team 1.

Nam Ji-yu grabbed Ye-chan's shoulders and shook him hard, beaming with delight.

"Hyung-nim! Looking forward to working with you! I swear I won't hold anyone back!"

Gi Tae-rang — who had clearly been told to just call him hyung, yet had freely tacked on the honorific -nim of his own accord — grinned ear to ear at Ye-chan, who was being rattled around like a paper doll.

……Status Window.

Ye-chan steadied his trembling body and calmly summoned the Status Window.

After quickly scanning Nam Ji-yu's stats, Ye-chan raised a hand and patted Gi Tae-rang on the back.

"Let's do well, all of us."

"H-huh?! Y-yes, Hyung-nim!"

Status Window.

Gi Tae-rang's eyes sparkled as he sucked in a sharp breath, but Ye-chan was already busy reading the Status Window that had appeared beside him.

The stats were truly abysmal.

This kid…… how is he even trying to be an idol?

Aside from his face, physique, and sheer drive, there was nothing redeeming about Gi Tae-rang's condition. While Ye-chan hesitated, Shim Sang-rok approached.

"I was hoping we'd be on the same team. Shame."

I'm the one who should be disappointed here.

Above Shim Sang-rok's head, Ye-chan could almost see the S- rap stat he'd checked last time floating in the air like a mirage.

"Let's both give it our best."

"Yes, hyung."

Shim Sang-rok smiled brightly, clapped Ye-chan on the shoulder, and returned to his own teammates.

After parting from Shim Sang-rok, Ye-chan made contact with each of his teammates under the pretext of greetings and checked their Status Windows one by one. The reality he found left his head spinning.

"……You look pale. Are you okay?"

Apparently it showed on his face, because Woo Hwi-gyum — who throughout the entire previous training camp had never spoken to him about anything outside of official business — actually asked.

Ye-chan stretched out a hand toward him like a drowning man grabbing at straws.

"I'm fine. More importantly, we're on the same team again. Let's do well this time too."

Woo Hwi-gyum froze at the sudden handshake request, then awkwardly took Ye-chan's hand.

"……Yeah. Looking forward to it."

Status Window.

Double S……!

Ye-chan reined in the temptation that had nearly seized ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him for a moment.

If not for the school violence accusation, these were stats he would have grabbed by the collar and forced into a debut with him no matter what.

I knew he could sing, but not just S- — a full S? No, wait. That's not what matters right now……

Ye-chan fixed a hard stare on the final line of the Status Window. The unusually florid elaboration was far too suspicious — he'd never seen anything like it before.

Status Window, you take a bribe from Woo Hwi-gyum or something? You've been weirdly favorable toward him from the start, haven't you?

"If you've finished checking your teams, please move to the practice rooms!"

Closing Woo Hwi-gyum's Status Window with a lingering unease, Ye-chan followed the production staff's instructions and left the room.

As he walked down the hallway, the stats of the teammates he'd just checked swirled through his mind.

F, C, C-, F, D-, D……

The other trainees still hadn't noticed their team's fatal flaw — their faces were full of excitement.

"Alright, Room 2 Team 1 will practice here. Lunch is from one o'clock, same as the last camp, so please head to the cafeteria then."

Once the writer finished speaking and left, the trainees began looking around the practice room one by one.

"Looks like each team gets its own practice room this time?"

"It's huge!"

Im Chae-jin answered Nam Ji-yu with pure excitement. With far fewer people remaining compared to the first round, each team was assigned more cameras, and the overall treatment had improved.

"We probably won't have to wait forever for meals and showers like before, right?"

"Whoa, that would be awesome."

Gi Tae-rang stretched both arms high overhead and cheered.

Ye-chan quietly picked up one of the lyric sheets prepared at the side of the practice room.

"Everyone, can I have a moment?"

Confirming that five pairs of eyes had turned toward him, Ye-chan gave the lyric sheet a light shake.

"Has anyone here not heard Don't Bother?"

"I listen to it all the time!"

"I've heard it quite a few times too."

It was a famous song — apparently not a single trainee was completely unfamiliar with it.

Ye-chan pointed to the speaker sitting beside the lyric sheets.

"Then shall we give it a quick listen? Anyone have the track on their phone?"

"Oh, I do!"

Im Chae-jin connected his smartphone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the speaker and hit play. A heavy instrumental intro began pouring out through the speakers.

"Been a while since I heard this — the intro still slaps."

"Ji-yu hyung, you suddenly sound so old-fashioned."

To my ears, it's not what it used to be.

Every Lee:Spirit song released so far had been a decent imitation of the era when Ye-chan was still with them — but that was all they were. An imitation.

Ye-chan's own parts, now performed by an entirely different person in Jung Chan-yang, went without saying. The other members' parts were the same.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was missing.

The more a song had been composed or produced by Ye-chan himself, the more glaring that shortfall became.

You can copy the sheet music and the pitch, but you can't reproduce the subtle sensibility I wrung out of myself to finish these tracks.

While Ye-chan was lost in that thought, his teammates casually enjoyed the song and traded opinions.

Nam Ji-yu bobbed his head with a bright smile, clearly liking it, while Im Chae-jin and Gi Tae-rang were outright tapping their feet to the beat.

Ye-chan watched the other trainees for a moment.

"Uh……"

"Hmm……"

As the track progressed, the cheerful atmosphere that had filled the practice room gradually drained away.

"……Sae-byeok, can I get a lyric sheet too?"

By the time they reached the midsection, a heavy mood had settled over the trainees' shoulders as if by magic.

Having finally grasped the severity of the situation, Nam Ji-yu took a lyric sheet from Bae Sae-byeok, a crease forming between his brows.

Before long, every other trainee was staring down at their lyric sheets with equally grave expressions.

Even after the music ended, the team sat in silence for a long while. Ye-chan watched them quietly, then raised one hand just slightly.

"Is there anyone here who can handle main rapper?"

Don't Bother, as mentioned before, was a song that broke from the grain of every Lee:Spirit track that had come before it.

Where earlier songs had been vocal-driven dance tracks designed to showcase Ye-chan — a main vocalist blessed by the gods — Don't Bother was a hip-hop track built around main rapper Kim Dae-hoon.

Kim Dae-hoon was not a rapper of genius-level talent and skill like Kang Hae-sol.

But there was nothing in this world that money couldn't fix.

After throwing an absolute fortune at the music and the performance, they managed to maximize Kim Dae-hoon's strengths and bury his weaknesses, producing a track that was actually quite listenable. Only then was Lee:Spirit able to shake off the label of "the group that only pushes Ha Ye-chan."

That was how Don't Bother became a deeply meaningful song for both Ye-chan and Lee:Spirit.

If Kim Dae-hoon had just delivered it a little better, it was a well-crafted enough track that there wouldn't even have been room for love-it-or-hate-it opinions.

And on the opposing Team 2 stood Shim Sang-rok — the second-best rapper in all of Choose My Prince 99.

Ye-chan could already picture Shim Sang-rok soaring on the wings of Don't Bother.

Meanwhile, our team……

Ye-chan reviewed the rap stats he'd checked all over again.

F, C, C-, F, D-, D…… No — the fact that we don't have a single person in the rap position is bad enough, but how do you even gather this many people who are all this bad at it?

Ye-chan looked at his teammates rifling through the lyric sheets, then pressed hard on his temple.

Shoving a song where one specific position completely dominated into a random team-assignment system like this — he wanted to crack open the production staff's skulls and inspect their brains.

"……There's no way we can sing this as is."

Nam Ji-yu scratched his cheek and let out an awkward laugh.

"So nobody here can actually rap, right? I mean, I know none of us are in the rap position, but maybe someone has a knack for it!"

"Is this really the kind of song you can just wing like that……?"

The team's expressions sank darker and darker.

The song and the teams had only just been assigned — they hadn't even divided positions yet — and already the atmosphere felt as if the win and loss had been decided.

Ye-chan swept his bangs back.

Think calmly.

To salvage this song with the current members, the best option was to rearrange it in a direction that eliminated the rap entirely.

But stripping the rap out of a song that had been designed around rap from the ground up — no matter how brilliant the rearrangement — made it nearly impossible to significantly surpass the original.

"Has anyone here ever tried rapping? Karaoke is fine."

Even as Ye-chan ran the cost-benefit analysis in his head, his teammates were seriously debating who should take on the rapper role.

"I, uh, I've done it a few times at karaoke."

Rap stat D spoke up cautiously.

"I like doing it too, but……"

Rap stat D- confessed next.

"Hmm…… I've practiced a few times myself, but honestly I'm so bad at it people told me never to do it in public. Since we all know the song, how about we each try once and then decide?"

Ye-chan could no longer sit through even Rap stat C- speaking with such gravity. He raised his hand.

"About the main rapper."

Every gaze converged on Rap stat F.

"I'll do it."

Rap stat F — Ye-chan — declared it with solemn gravity.

"Ye-chan, you can rap too?"

"Yeah, well……"

Ye-chan trailed off at Nam Ji-yu's question.

Anyone could tell the attitude was suspicious.

Nam Ji-yu's eyes narrowed as he read Ye-chan's uneasy demeanor, but Gi Tae-rang — thick rose-tinted glasses firmly in place — clasped both hands in front of his chest in pure admiration.

"As expected of Ye-chan Hyung-nim! I respect you!"

Ye-chan looked at Gi Tae-rang, whose eyes were shining so hard it wouldn't have been strange if laser beams shot out of them, and finally managed one comment.

"……Can you change that 'Hyung-nim' thing?"

"Hup — did I say Hyung-nim? Oh no! My inner voice leaked out again…!"

Whether he genuinely hadn't realized he was calling him Hyung-nim, Gi Tae-rang clapped both hands to his cheeks and gaped like the figure in Munch's The Scream.

Ye-chan averted his eyes from Nam Ji-yu's skeptical stare and gave the lyric sheet in his hand a light shake.

"So it's fine if I take main rapper, right? While we're at it, shall we assign the rest of the positions too?"

At Ye-chan's words, the trainees all unfolded their lyric sheets at once.

Don't Bother's parts were divided into main rapper, sub-rapper, main vocal, and sub-vocals 1, 2, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and 3. For a five-member song split six ways, the distribution was surprisingly even.

True to a track with a heavy rap weight, the main rapper also held the center position — so Ye-chan naturally claimed the center title ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as well.

Ordinarily I wouldn't have taken it even if they offered.

The other trainees seemed to feel the same way; not a single one voiced a complaint.