The First Broadcast (1)

"And now, all that remains is the announcement of the team battle evaluation results."

The sound of several trainees swallowing hard carried through the quiet.

"But before we reveal those results—we're all going to watch the first episode together!"

"...Huh?"

They'd been summoned for a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠results announcement, and now they were being told to sit through the premiere. The tension that had been coiled tight in everyone's chests unraveled in an instant. It was a bit of a letdown, sure—but the faces around me were already lighting up with a mix of anticipation and excitement, heads turning this way and that.

"Whoa, the first episode's already out?"

"I bet I got completely cut."

"This is gonna be so fun!"

My own hands had clenched into fists without my noticing. Watching this broadcast would tell me everything. How I looked. How they'd chosen to show me.

The enormous screen flickered to life, and the program's logo bloomed across it to a swell of majestic background music. An introductory voiceover followed, overlaid on archival footage of already-debuted idols tearing through their stages.

The trainees were already squealing and giggling, acting like this was the most entertaining thing they'd ever seen—even though nothing had actually happened yet.

The broadcast rolled on.

The screen cut, and my first appearance filled every inch of it.

"Waaah..."

A ripple of awe went through the trainees.

"She's so pretty..."

"Lee Seo-yeon, why is she actually that gorgeous?"

"The camera can't even capture how she looks in real life."

I let out a small breath of relief. So I hadn't been cut entirely. And the girl on screen didn't look half bad—a neat, composed smile, a calm presence. At the very least, the first impression wasn't a disaster. The fact that that person was supposed to be me, though... honestly, it still felt strange.

"Ack! She's so cute!"

"Seo-yeon used to be like that?"

"That intro is so wholesome."

Yeah. That one was a little bit of a cringe compilation.

Next came the individual evaluation. The lights glittered, the music swelled, and the girl on screen began to sing. Reactions erupted almost immediately.

"Hah..."

"Whoa..."

"I'm crying again..."

One trainee was actually wiping her eyes.

"You cried last time too. Why are you crying again?"

"I don't even know."

Watching the screen, feeling the room react around me, I was hit with a peculiar emotion. Was my singing really that moving?

From where I stood, I'd just sung it the way I'd practiced. Granted, I sang it well enough that even I had trouble believing it—but that had been the extent of my own assessment. The broadcast's editing and the music had wrung every last drop of emotion out of the moment. They'd cut in the teary-eyed reactions of the other trainees, and you could even feel the trainer swallowing back tears.

I didn't know it looked like that.

The emotion they'd manufactured spilled straight into the evaluation. Naturally, all those lavish compliments from that day made it onto the airwaves—the kind of comments that said they couldn't believe I was an independent trainee.

And that wasn't the end of it. The moment the stage shifted from vocals to dance, the energy in the room surged all over again.

"There was a scene like that?"

"Whoa, her dancing is insane...!"

"She's out here doing the cool thing and the pretty thing all by herself."

"Seo-yeon is actually ridiculous."

To be fair, the performance itself hadn't been bad. The editing, though, had clearly gone a little overboard on my behalf. The whole thing was staged as if they'd already stamped me as the final boss.

Not like that's a bad thing.

In the scenes that followed, teammates I hadn't even been watching for started getting their close-ups, one by one.

Kang Se-rin, D-Class. She'd made a small mistake, but the editors had leaned into her adorable reaction instead, turning it into something that played up her particular charm.

"Wow, I was really bad back then..."

"Okay, but Se-rin's so cute. She's forgiven."

She really was cute, to be fair. She could sing just fine, and her slightly clumsy dancing had somehow become the exact thing that made her character pop.

Then came Park Hye-in. Before her individual evaluation even started, her interview clip rolled.

Laughter burst out among the trainees.

"Okay, she's actually bold."

"Stuff like that does play well on TV, though."

"Look at Hye-in's confidence~"

Park Hye-in listened to their reactions and looked even more pleased with herself, wearing the expression of someone who was genuinely delighted to be getting so much screen time.

So she was like that from the start.

This did not seem like the time to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be celebrating. I muttered to myself as I watched the screen. She would've been better off getting cut. Once the team mission episode airs, she's going to get absolutely destroyed.

And then—at last—Na-bin appeared on screen.

In that instant, I instinctively held my breath.

"It's Na-bin!"

"Na-bin's just a celebrity already, no question."

While the trainees erupted in admiration, I was turning over every thought I had. What actually mattered on a broadcast like this? The moments where someone's visuals were pushed to the extreme? Editing that detonated an emotional arc? Behavior that generated buzz? All of it mattered. But the single most important thing was one thing only.

A person's positive presence—the sum of all of the above.

Watching Na-bin's footage, I understood that with absolute clarity.

Just when it seemed like the episode was wrapping up, the screen suddenly changed.

"Current rankings?"

"KYAAAA!"

"What? They're showing that on the broadcast right now?"

"That's not the final ranking, right?"

A current of tension swept through the trainees. Names began flashing up from the lowest ranks, rapid-fire.

"I—I'm in last place?"

"I'm done for."

"..."

The room split cleanly in two: the trainees forcing themselves to look unbothered, and the ones whose faces had gone completely stiff.

And first place was Lee Seo-yeon.

In other words—me.

"Called it."

"The center position really does matter."

"There wasn't anything before the broadcast except the group song."

"Well, I mean, who actually goes and watches every individual PR video?"

"I'm so jealous."

Han Yu-ri grinned at me from the side.

"Kyaa~ Seo-yeon! Congrats! I knew it from day one, didn't I?"

"You worked so hard because of us. I'm glad it paid off," Se-rin added softly.

I couldn't make sense of either of them. Han Yu-ri had received an A-Class and still been completely cut from the episode, and Se-rin's ranking was low. How could they say things like that?

I was sure Han Yu-ri's comments would get edited in after my footage at least a couple of times.

There had been nothing. And I'd only even realized that fact just now, listening to her congratulate me. Which meant her face hadn't appeared on screen. Not once. If they'd included even a single ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shot, I would have noticed. I'd been waiting for it—wondering when she'd show up, what kind of sound bite they'd attach to her. But for the entire broadcast, I had completely forgotten Han Yu-ri existed. Even the part where she'd spoken to me after I finished my individual evaluation and came back to my seat had been sliced out as if it had never happened.

Why, though?

I was still turning that over when the episode ended.

"The rankings you just saw on the broadcast can change at any time based on online voting, including votes from this mission."

At the MC's guidance, everyone stared at the screen with their own private expressions. The rankings as they stood right now were not absolute. The individual evaluations were over, the team battle episode would air, the public would watch and pass judgment—and the moment that happened, everything would reshuffle.

"I was center for this mission, so I'll get screen time, right?"

"This is seriously going to give me an ulcer."

"I really don't want to be one of the first ones eliminated."

I listened to all of it as if it were happening to someone else. This game was never going to be decided by a single win or loss anyway.

And then the team battle evaluation results began.

"We'll start by announcing the results for the first team."

The screen lit up, and the first team's individual vote counts were revealed one after another. Among them, one number and one name stood far above the rest.

Han Yu-ri, with 107 votes. She was the only person on her entire team to break into triple digits.

"Whoa..."

"She broke a hundred all by herself?"

"Yu-ri's actually insane."

The rest of her teammates' scores were revealed in turn, and in the end, Han Yu-ri's team took the win. I'd seen that coming. Even the trainees watching from the waiting room had reacted well whenever Yu-ri got picked up by the cameras.

There's no way they completely cut her after a showing like that... right?

With ability like hers, why hadn't I noticed her in my previous life? If they edited out the only person who scored in triple digits, something was clearly wrong. At the very least, they had to show every team's stage—there was no way they could just skip hers.

Strictly speaking, it's none of my business. Then again, looking at it another way, it is entirely my business.

There was a reason I kept getting hung up on Yu-ri's screen time. I needed to understand how this broadcast's system actually worked if I wanted to survive it myself. The fact that someone with that much talent hadn't been given a single spotlight—and that her ranking was sitting so low because of it—was already a warning sign.

"Next, the vote results for the Electric Fever teams."

Numbers began appearing on the big screen, one by one.

"Whoa! What is that?"

"A clean sweep?"

"She's an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠actual monster."

Some of the trainees clapped their hands over their mouths. Wide eyes and dropped jaws made up a clear majority of the room.

Wait. This might be a little dangerous.

The number of votes I'd received was 213. Next was Na-bin, with 191. The third-highest count was Kang Se-rin, at 32. Everyone else hovered around the twenties.

Ah. Except for one person, of course.

Park Hye-in's face went rigid in an instant. A single-digit score. A delicate, uneasy atmosphere settled over the trainees.

"...Four votes?"

"Someone actually got single digits?"

"That's a little too brutal."

"A shrimp getting crushed between two whales."

Meanwhile, the MC announced the winning team.

"The winning team for Electric Fever is Team 2."

Reactions exploded from every direction.

"What?"

"She got 213 votes and still lost?"

"Those four votes dragged them under."

I was on Team 1, and I was cheering on the inside. Nice!

The corners of my mouth lifted on their own. I didn't bother hiding it. I just clapped.

No need to bury what I'm feeling right now. Because this way, it would look like I was taking the result with grace.

Se-rin clapped too, a wry smile on her face. Park Hye-in clapped with her expression still locked tight.

That's right. You don't win by sulking over a loss. You win by smiling and giving them a round of applause.

Of course, I was smiling because I was actually happy.

And then—

"Trainee Lee Seo-yeon. You received two hundred and thirteen votes and still lost. How does that feel?"

A murmur rippled through the room around me. Ah. I hadn't seen that question coming. The MC's expression was faintly mischievous. She wanted a reaction, obviously.

You think I'm going to dance to your tune?

This was an opportunity, if anything. I let a faint smile touch my lips and opened my mouth in a calm, even voice.