Position Evaluation (2)
"If we just take the chorus in a purely rhythmic direction, I think it'll come off weak."
The arrangement they'd been circling so far mixed in a jazz feel and unpacked the chorus in an R&B style. It was certainly soft and sweet — but if they kept going like this, the mid-evaluation would tear them apart.
I remembered the team that had chosen this song in my previous life. They'd gone in this exact direction, and they'd crashed. Midway through the mid-evaluation, as the team was falling apart, a trainer who couldn't stand to watch any longer had stepped in and changed the arrangement. The result: that stage went down as one of the greatest vocal performances of the show.
The problem was, once it aired, all the credit went to the trainer.
Every struggle the contestants had gone through was framed as a mess, and the trainer was lit up like some kind of savior. Which, to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue.
I guess I should be grateful that bizarre turn of events is why I still remember the arrangement.
If this had been the song I'd originally planned to pick, I wouldn't have remembered the arrangement at all. Lucky break.
"Let's lean harder into the pop side of it."
The others turned to look at me.
"It's a mainstream song, after all. Mixing in jazz might feel fresh, but there's a real chance it'll just come off as inaccessible."
Eun-bi blinked at me.
In my previous life, she'd gone along with everything to avoid friction, which was how Yoon Se-ah's opinion had solidified as the plan. I had no intention of doing the same.
I'm not looking for a fight. But whether they go for it or not, the scene where I propose this arrangement has to make it in.
Even if no one backed me now, once the mid-evaluation was over, the idea I'd put forward would turn out to be the right one. And when that happened, the editors would cross-cut back to the moment I'd spoken up and give it the broadcast treatment it deserved.
"So how would you want to bring that out?"
Eun-bi asked, interest flickering across her face.
"Instead of leaning into the softness, I think we'd be better off arranging the chorus to hit harder."
"Harder…?"
"Yeah. If we lay down a thicker chorus underneath and have the lead vocal pull it with real power, wouldn't that give it more impact?"
Eun-bi's eyes lit up.
"…That's actually really good!"
This was the arrangement the trainer had recommended in my previous life. There had probably been more technical notes attached to it, but this was as much of the direction as my memory had held onto.
"That's not a bad idea either. Like Seo-yeon said, switching it to a jazz feel might be fresh, but it could also get a little inaccessible. Should we tweak the melody line in the chorus too, then?"
Yoon Se-ah looked interested as well. She'd just had her own idea discarded, and she was taking it surprisingly well.
Does she understand that a better stage comes first?
Or maybe it was because the person across from her was me. Somewhere under the surface, there might have been a quiet fear that picking a fight with me would bring my fans down on her head.
"For sure — if we keep it sweet and then detonate the chorus, the impact would be undeniable!"
Whatever the reason, the mood had swung positive. They were getting on board with the new direction faster than I'd expected. The conversation that followed dove into professional talk of chords and music theory that I could barely follow, but I kept offering opinions based on what the trainer had advised in my previous life, and I made a point of staying visibly engaged. Before long, the atmosphere was far better than I'd anticipated.
"Alright, this direction is locked!"
"Then let's decide on a center."
I'd already made up my mind.
I want Eun-bi to take it.
Jumping in with a recommendation before Yoon Se-ah even had a chance to speak would have been poor manners, though. Better to wait and see how things played out.
"Anyone who wants to be center?"
Eun-bi asked.
In a vocal position, center meant main vocal, obviously. It wasn't a role I had any interest in.
I already did center last mission.
Looking greedy every single time wouldn't do me any favors. And if I was going to step aside for someone, I wanted it to be Eun-bi. That wasn't the whole reason, though.
Standing out on stage wasn't simply a matter of how many parts you had, or even how good you were. Landing the important sections would naturally pull focus — but there was another way: detonating a moment no one saw coming.
That's the part I'm aiming for.
Taking the climax of a song famous for its vocals and actually living up to the expectation was harder than people thought. Showing something unexpected in a place no one was watching for it, though — that might be easier than it sounded. Precisely because no one expected it.
It's also true that taking center would dramatically raise the odds of walking away with the hundred-thousand-vote benefit…
But more important than the benefit were the viewer votes. The picture I was painting was of someone who didn't grasp at everything — and then, as a sub-vocal, detonated something no one saw coming.
I already proved I have main-vocal caliber in the individual evaluation. If I can show the appeal of a sub-vocal too, I can diversify my position.
There was even a chance I'd start looking like the kind of hexagonal talent you could plug in anywhere and she'd still deliver. In soccer terms, a Gullit.
And the most important thing of all was teamwork. No matter how well you performed on your own, if the team fell apart, the stage would sound wrong. It wouldn't come across as one person shining. It would come across as everyone else failing to keep up.
If only the main vocal's skill sticks out, the team just looks like a mess.
Surviving alone on a ruined stage was impossible. Following that tangle of calculations, I'd been ready to put Eun-bi forward.
"I want to try center."
Yoon Se-ah's answer made me freeze for a second.
Right. Of course she'd want it.
In truth, it didn't matter all that much who took it. Personally, though, I'd wanted to give Eun-bi the chance — a small guilt over having stolen the spotlight that would have come from helping with Na-bin's vlog. I couldn't let that show too obviously, though.
"How about we hear both of you?"
I jumped in with the suggestion before Eun-bi could do what she always did and give away her own meal without even trying to keep it.
"Fine by me."
Yoon Se-ah answered with confidence. Eun-bi smiled brightly and nodded as well. Then they took turns singing the highlight.
Ah, wait… they're both good.
Which made it that much harder. If Yoon Se-ah had slipped, this would have been easy. Then again, if Eun-bi had slipped, I could have let it go cleanly too. As it stood, both of them were more than good enough.
"Who sounded better?"
Yoon Se-ah asked, looking at me.
Honestly, they're about even. I could dress it up a little and just raise my hand for Eun-bi.
That was when it happened.
"Seo-yeon might feel put on the spot, so how about a secret ballot?"
Eun-bi's suggestion hit me like I'd just fallen out of a tree. For a second, I went completely stupid.
"…Eun-bi unnie. I'm the only one voting. How exactly is a secret ballot supposed to work?"
"Ah. Right. Yeah!"
"You dummy."
"Se-ah… I'm your unnie…"
"That's right… I am the unnie…"
The mid-evaluation began.
A short while later, when our team finished the stage exactly as we'd practiced it, the trainer's expression was hard to read.
…What is that?
Had something gone wrong? Had I reconstructed what I remembered too abstractly? My mouth went dry in an instant.
"How did you even think of this? It's better than what I would have done."
"…!"
The praise landed so hard it made the lurch in my chest feel almost embarrassing. I quietly let out a breath. Good. So far, nothing was broken.
"Whose idea was it?"
At that question, I looked at the trainer for a moment.
I'm sorry, but this was your idea.
Not that I could say that out loud.
"Seo-yeon's!"
Eun-bi answered without a second's hesitation.
That's a guilty answer if I've ever heard one.
I flinched inwardly, but I kept my face as even as I could. The trainer looked at me, clearly pleased.
"Not bad. Talent like this for arranging on top of everything else — are you trying to make a living all by yourself? The other kids have to eat too, you know."
The trainer's teasing loosened the air in the room. My insides, though, felt a little different.
Maybe it's because it isn't actually my ability. The praise sits wrong.
I spoke up quietly.
"I don't know anything about chords or any of that. I only described a feeling. Se-ah and Eun-bi unnie did the rest."
"Having that feeling in the first place is the talent. The rest you can pick up fast enough if you study."
She didn't hold back on the compliments as she said it.
"Anyway, the arrangement is good. And the main vocal is Se-ah?"
"Yes!"
I'd originally meant to recommend Eun-bi, but in the end I'd left the main-vocal seat to fate. Specifically, to rock-paper-scissors. And the reason I'd been able to make that choice was that I genuinely couldn't pick one of them over the other.
If I chose Se-ah, Eun-bi would have understood completely — and I didn't want to choose Se-ah because of that.
Yoon Se-ah, on the other hand, would have carried a quiet resentment no matter how carefully I dressed it up. Once she started stewing, it would have absolutely gotten in the way of the teamwork.
I also didn't feel like making an enemy for no reason.
That wasn't all. Eun-bi hadn't taken center in my previous life either, and she'd survived just fine on her own. The vlog had played a huge role back then, of course — but even without it, she was sitting at a pretty high rank right now.
And the deciding factor: they were both good, but neither of them punched through the climax above expectation.
In other words, they were fine — the kind of fine that could make a trainee look like someone you were reluctant to spend a vote on. In that sense, the way this had shaken out was actually for the be—
"Seo-yeon. Did you give it up again?"
Silence dropped over the room.
"You competed and lost? I don't think so. When it came time to pick a center, you didn't even put your name in, did you?"
Teammates, other trainees, trainers — every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me.
She didn't even give me room to answer before pressing in.
"Go on. Answer. Depending on how you look at it, this is the kind of thing that can make you look like you have no confidence."
Yeah. I'd figured this question would come up eventually.
I'd just been wondering when.