The First Broadcast (2)
"More than winning or losing, what hits me first is just how happy I am that I got to practice with my teammates and leave behind a stage we can be proud of."
A low murmur of appreciation rippled through the trainees.
I went on, my voice even and unhurried.
"That alone made this a mission worth everything. The fact that so many people even voted for us on top of that... I'm truly grateful."
I stripped out every word I didn't have to say.
The last thing I needed was some insufferable display of false humility — claiming Na-bin's team had simply been better, as if our loss were only natural. That kind of performance would only wound my own teammates.
No bitterness. No saintly act. Just enough polish not to leave a bad taste, plus a genuine thank-you to everyone who had chosen me. That was the right amount.
"Is there nothing you regret at all?"
The MC tossed the bait again, determined to get a bite.
Relentless, this one.
"No. Everyone on the team gave it everything they had, so I don't have any regrets."
"Surely there's something, though? Some part of you thinking, if we'd just done this differently, the result might have been better?"
This was the point where most people would take the hook. And the moment they did, everything they'd said before would go straight down the drain.
If you're going to pretend you have no regrets, you have to hold that line all the way through. That's the only way it reads as sincere.
And the truth was, I genuinely had nothing to regret. Why would I? I had wanted to lose — and we lost.
"I really couldn't say. Rather than looking back with regret, I think it was a precious experience just being able to connect with a live audience, myself and my teammates included."
The MC nodded, then let out a small, incredulous laugh.
"Are you sure you're a high schooler? You're an independent trainee, but you answer like you've been media-trained."
I didn't bother with a reply. I just let it pass with a quiet, smiling glance.
Only then did the MC — who had been flinging that fishing hook with grim determination — shift his gaze away with a look that said, She's not biting.
"Then I'd like to put a question to trainee Yu Na-bin, who took first place in this mission with a benefit of one thousand votes."
Na-bin waited for the question with bright, sparkling eyes.
"You're in first place. How are you feeling right now?"
"Honestly, I don't think it's because I did well. I think it's because our whole team prepared so incredibly hard."
Her voice was calm. Her expression sat somewhere between humble and quietly delighted — happiness held carefully in check, so she wouldn't look like she was floating away.
"We all gave it everything we had to put together a great stage, and I think that came through. That's what makes me happy."
A smart answer.
I had already laid on the excessive humility. If Na-bin had answered as if she weren't all that thrilled either, the other trainees would have written both of us off as insufferable. Knowing when to simply say you're happy — that was a virtue too.
And she's not overdoing the joy, either. She reads as someone with good instincts.
The only reason I had been able to pile on the humility in the first place was that I'd been answering from the loser's seat. And it had been painfully obvious the MC was going to keep needling me for something regretful.
"I'm also so grateful to everyone who voted for us in the audience, and I want to keep showing you even better stages from here on."
A beautifully polished answer, every word refined, not a single awkward seam showing.
Even after the broadcast ended, the lights in the production office stayed on.
The editing bay was still running hot. The monitors looped scenes that had just gone out over the air, and the conference table was littered with coffee cups gone cold.
"Lee Seo-yeon's side pulled strong ratings."
One of the writers said it while checking the compiled real-time responses. Nobody in the room was surprised.
"She even hit the ratings peak during the individual evaluations. Comment reactions are excellent, too. Looks like a lot of people were waiting through the whole first episode just for Seo-yeon's footage, ever since the group song."
"An independent trainee tearing it up like that — it looks great on camera, too."
The PD watched the monitor with a knowing little smile.
The moment the episode ended, communities across the internet had already exploded around the keyword Lee Seo-yeon individual evaluation. The buzz that had been building since before the premiere had only grown louder.
"So we're pushing Lee Seo-yeon going forward, then?"
"No reason not to. The visuals are strong, the response is exploding, and her character is crystal clear."
The writers scribbled quickly, mapping the flow of the next episode. Then one of them glanced at a different monitor and tilted her head.
"But... what about Han Yu-ri?"
The room went quiet for a beat.
Han Yu-ri had clearly posted a strong result. Her skills were outstanding. She had been the only one on her team to pull in over a hundred votes — in practical terms, she was the reason they had won at all. And yet, in the first episode, she hadn't been given a single proper shot.
"Isn't this... a little too buried? She's A-Class, she sang well, the stage was good. And that fresh, quirky character of hers is easy to work with, too."
One of the writers spoke up carefully. The PD took a leisurely sip of coffee.
Not got buried. We buried her.
This was no editing accident, and it was no coincidence.
"We got a call from that side, remember."
That single line was enough. Understanding settled over every face in the room.
Even before she appeared on the survival show, Han Yu-ri had been in contract talks with a major agency. And that was the problem. Wherever there are corporations, there are headhunters circling, waiting to poach talent. Han Yu-ri already had an agency — and a major company had approached her privately, behind her current label's back. Tampering.
Internally, a debut plan had already been mapped out for her. They had been confident in her skills and intended to use this program to raise her profile before launching her. Then those dealings opened a hairline fracture, and everything shifted.
Broadcast networks and agencies were always locked in a quiet tug-of-war — over which trainees to push, and how hard; over who belonged in the final Debut Group. And in that process, someone always vanished without a sound.
So who wanted Han Yu-ri buried off-screen, and why? Her original agency? Or the major company that had reached out to her?
"She did well in this mission too, didn't she? It was the kind of result that actually stands out. If we bury her this hard..."
The question carried an unspoken edge — isn't this a little too obvious? — but the PD just huffed a quiet laugh.
"Which is why we'll give her a little something this time. Like you said, she was the only one on the Sugar Melon team to pull a triple-digit vote count. Treat her like she doesn't exist and it'll backfire."
His pen was already moving.
"So how do we handle it?"
"Just grab a few seconds of the triple-digit vote count flashing on screen and lean on that. Nothing more."
"Bury her too deep and we get dragged. Push her too hard and it becomes a headache we don't need?"
"Just keep it... appropriately measured."
With that one remark, Han Yu-ri's screen time was decided.
On the other side of the editing bay, another issue surfaced, quieter but no less pointed.
"What do we do with Park Hye-in?"
"It's a little messy, but... the material is too good."
A trainee who had swaggered through the first episode insisting she was the best — only to take the lowest vote count on her own team. She had greedily gone after the center position, botched it, and stormed out after the mid-evaluation. Just airing it as-is would be plenty inflammatory. But there was no reason to stop there.
"If we push this too hard, she could end up as the punching bag, couldn't she?"
"It's not like we're fabricating scenes and splicing them in. These are all things she said herself."
A few heads nodded at that.
"As long as the ratings come in, that's what matters."
In the end, Park Hye-in's footage would be cut just enough to give people what they wanted. A measured dose of provocation. A measured dose of drama. A measured dose of controversy.
If Lee Seo-yeon was going to be cheered for her talent and her face, Park Hye-in would draw eyes as the teammate even someone like Seo-yeon couldn't save.
"Two hundred thirteen votes versus four. Beautiful. The trainee who takes an overwhelming share of her team's votes — and still manages to drag them into a loss."
The PD wrapped it up.
"So that's the edit for this round. Han Yu-ri, keep it measured. Park Hye-in, go for the buzz. And we push Lee Seo-yeon and Yu Na-bin as the main leads."
On a board that had already been set, some people shone and some people vanished. And some people... took the blame.
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The moment the first episode aired, the internet lost its mind all over again.
Louder, even, than when the group song dropped.