The Edit (2)
As expected, the broadcast opened with our team's practice footage from before we ever took the stage. Then the moment we chose our center came on.
It's painfully obvious I wasn't focusing.
That had been when I'd completely lost it after getting assigned the same song as Na-bin. I couldn't blame anyone else — I genuinely hadn't been paying attention. That was what I was thinking when the caption appeared.
The edit had come out nothing like I'd expected. With a string of cringeworthy captions, they'd made it look like I'd been so absorbed I simply hadn't heard the conversation.
Wow. They really dressed that up.
I watched the screen, quietly impressed. Cut like this, I looked like someone who'd been dead serious about practice from the very start.
In the scenes that followed, Park Hye-in's hunger for the center position was played up hard, and the version of me on screen took it all in stride. The trainees around me reacted immediately.
"Whoa, she just handed over center?"
"Look at her, just giving a teammate the chance like that."
"Seo-yeon's so cool."
The comments buzzing around me tickled my ears. That hadn't been my intention at all, but if it came across well, there was no reason to argue.
On top of that, they highlighted the way I'd asked the other members what positions they wanted and worked to coordinate everyone's opinions. The edit made it look like I'd been the one steering the team toward a consensus.
Nothing wrong with that.
Then came the practice footage. Park Hye-in's mistakes piled up one after another.
This is the part where Se-rin suggested switching centers, and Park Hye-in said we weren't going to get eliminated anyway.
I'd been curious how they'd cut it. It was the moment her attitude had shown through — that the elimination threat was fake, that she could afford to slack off if no one was actually getting cut.
But that scene had been edited out. The entire exchange where Se-rin asked if she was okay with it, given that elimination was on the line, had vanished completely.
What?
Were they covering for her so she wouldn't get completely destroyed? Park Hye-in ought to thank the production team.
That thought didn't last long. They hadn't just cut it. They'd flipped the whole thing.
The reason became clear with the mid-evaluation scene, where they were advised to consider changing the center. Park Hye-in's face went stiff at those words. That much was fair enough — better than smiling like she had no idea what was going on, honestly.
But the scene where she'd taken the harsh feedback and cried, her lips trembling, was gone. All that remained was her going silent and rigid after hearing the suggestion to switch centers. It was an edit that refused to allow even a shred of sympathy to reach her.
That was when it clicked.
That earlier cut... it wasn't for Park Hye-in's sake.
I meant her comment about the elimination notice being fake again — the one where she'd been so careless. They hadn't been protecting her. They'd erased it to hide the fact that they'd been messing around off-camera.
Wow. These broadcast people are terrifying. Actually terrifying...
And that wasn't the end of it. More accurately, that was just the beginning.
When the suggestion came up to switch centers based on the mid-evaluation feedback, Park Hye-in's face hardened. Then she snapped that they could do whatever they wanted and stormed out of the practice room. The atmosphere went ice-cold in an instant.
That scene made it to air, uncut.
It was all in the past now, but even the trainees watching the broadcast grew careful. Some whispered in concern that something like that had actually happened. Others couldn't say a word, just swallowing hard.
Meanwhile, Park Hye-in herself was watching with an uncharacteristically anxious expression — a look that said she'd sensed something was wrong.
She looks pretty shaken.
It was a face that said, I did that? She'd never had a chance to see herself objectively.
Meanwhile, back in the practice room after she'd left, the trainees on screen just looked at each other in awkward silence. That was when I stepped up.
"I'll go after her."
The justification followed right behind — for the team, and for Park Hye-in. A quiet wave of admiration spread through the trainees watching.
"That's so cool..."
"Seo-yeon's a real leader."
"Come get me too if I ever storm out."
Some looked at me with genuine emotion. Someone shot me a thumbs-up.
It was a calculated move. This is embarrassing.
On screen, I went straight to find Park Hye-in. And when I found her, I didn't speak right away. I just sat down a little ways off. A moment later, when Park Hye-in spoke first, a caption appeared on screen.
What is that beautifully packaged line.
They'd edited it even more favorably than I'd expected. Admiration leaked out among the trainees as well.
"Her consideration is actually insane."
"Did you see her sit down quietly at a distance?"
"That's so sweet."
Everyone looked moved again. Honestly, I felt a little guilty, like I was deceiving them all.
On screen, I added, matter-of-factly:
"From what I saw, you did really well. The whole team knows how hard you worked. The evaluation just came up a little short, that's all."
When those words landed, a long breath rippled through the trainees watching. No — less a sigh than the sound of people who'd been genuinely moved. On-screen me didn't stop there.
"......!"
That single line set off another wave of reactions among the watching trainees.
"She's insane."
"Is Seo-yeon really a high schooler?"
"Wow, this is actually moving."
And then the finishing touch.
The moment those words landed, some of the trainees watching welled up as if they'd been the ones being comforted. And in the end, a few of them actually started crying.
I was a little thrown.
...I didn't think it'd be this effective.
But Park Hye-in herself — the one it was actually directed at — may have been persuaded, but she hadn't shed a tear.
If she'd cried there, public opinion might've flipped even a little... or would it? If she had cried, would they have cut it?
They probably wouldn't have, if they were trying to push me. The production team's priorities, though... I honestly couldn't tell. Whether tearing someone down came first, or building someone else up. If you were only looking at buzz, the former would matter more.
When we came back to the practice room together, the atmosphere had completely changed. The tension that had hung in the air was gone without a trace, and the members greeted us with visibly lighter faces. More than anything, everyone naturally struck up conversation so Park Hye-in wouldn't withdraw into herself.
"Hye-in, want to run through this part again?"
"You were a little off on the timing here, right? Let's do it together!"
And I was at the center of all of it. I was catching every member's weak spots like I had ten bodies to work with.
"Ease up a little more here."
"Let's take it from the top."
"I matched the arm angle like this, see?"
Park Hye-in and the other members alike hung on my words and focused on practice. And Han Yu-ri, who'd been watching it all, suddenly turned toward me with a bright, sunny look.
"Waaah~ Seo-yeon's actually the best! I could never do something like that. She's amazing!"
Han Yu-ri's eyes were sparkling with genuine admiration, but I couldn't understand her brightness. She'd been edited so thoroughly she barely got any real attention — and she was still smiling that brightly.
And it doesn't even look forced.
Practice wrapped, and Team 1's Electric Fever stage began.
"Waaaaah—!"
The moment the music started, the trainees watching the broadcast let out cries of amazement. And of course they did — because the shot of me appearing as center had just come on.
And then the same shot played again. The first appearance: the trainees gasping. The second: a trainer gasping. The third: even the audience gasping.
How many times are they going to replay that?
I stared at the screen, bewildered. And after that, every single thing I did set off a reaction. Every time they cut to a close-up, the trainees on screen and the trainees watching in real life reacted in perfect sync.
"Seo-yeon's so pretty...!"
"She's actually insane..."
A gasp on screen, and the same gasp would follow in the room. Every time. At this point, wasn't this basically forced brainwashing?
Then came Kang Se-rin's killing part. The moment her voice came through, the reactions exploded again.
"Whoa! That still hits just as hard the second time."
"Se-rin's vocal power is actually insane."
Reality and the broadcast kept overlapping. The amazement just kept coming.
But when the camera found Park Hye-in, the editing took a strange turn.
"You can't do that."
The moment Park Hye-in tried to stand out, one of the trainers frowned and said it firmly. The same shot played again, and the trainees tilted their heads. And then it played one more time. This time, they'd attached a shot of the audience going stone-faced.
Those audience faces don't look like they're reacting to the stage... this is a bit much...
They were just blank, vacant faces from before the stage had even started — people zoning out with nothing on their minds. But spliced against Park Hye-in's footage, it looked like they'd gone cold because of her.
"......"
I turned and looked at Park Hye-in. She couldn't have expected the scene she'd been waiting for to be cut like this. Her face had gone rigid, and the corners of her eyes looked faintly wet.
I'd always found Park Hye-in grating, but this time... I don't know.
...I can't help feeling sorry for her.
And just like that, Team 1's stage was over. Then, immediately, Yu Na-bin's team's stage. It hadn't been long at all.
"Pffhahaha!"
The trainees burst out laughing. I stared at the screen, startled, and couldn't believe my eyes.
...Wait. What is that?