Elimination (1)

That voice didn't sound right, so I turned my head on reflex.

"What? Something not working out?"

Had something gone wrong with what had been perfectly fine all through practice?

Han Yu-ri studied my expression, paused for a beat, then beamed at me.

"I think we're going to get told we're too perfect at the mid-evaluation. What do we do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about that?"

"...You scared me. Don't do that."

"No, seriously, think about it. If we get that kind of feedback and they reshuffle the whole team, that's a disaster!"

Classic Han Yu-ri. So the source of that question had been a cocktail of misplaced confidence and sheer bluster.

"Yeah, that would be a disaster."

"Right?!"

"For that pristine mind of yours."

"Huh?"

I popped a side dish into my mouth and looked away. The mid-evaluation was coming up soon.

Once the evaluation began, our team tried to treat it as much like a regular run-through as we could. Each of us lifted the energy whenever our part arrived, holding the center so the stage could finish itself the way it was supposed to. It was the best performance we were capable of giving.

"...That's really good."

The trainer smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Eun-bi's the leader?"

"Yes."

"Eun-bi held the center together really well."

"It wasn't me! Everyone on the team followed along so well. And Seo-yeon helped a lot from the side as center."

The trainer nodded again at Baek Eun-bi's words.

"That's it. The leader did her job as leader, and the center did hers as center. That's exactly why those two positions matter."

With that, his gaze shifted to me.

"Seo-yeon, you didn't give up the center spot this time, huh?"

For a second I had no idea what to say. But the trainer kept going before I could find an answer.

"Good. When you own it that completely, that's not greed. That's confidence — and that kind of confidence is a plus for the whole team."

Another trainer cut in right on the heels of that.

"You walked out there looking like you were going to devour the stage."

"That wasn't a mid-evaluation. That was a one-woman concert."

"And it didn't even feel like you were overdoing it. More like you'd gritted your teeth and decided to show them what class looks like."

I offered a faint smile and dipped into a small bow.

"Thank you."

"There's another one on this team who was grinding her teeth, isn't there?"

The trainer grinned and moved his gaze. At the end of it stood Park Hye-in.

"...!"

Hye-in flinched, clearly not expecting to be called out.

"This time you blended in really well."

He went on, his eyes warm.

"Blending in isn't a bad thing. It means you help the focus land where it needs to land. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And then when your own part comes, you light right back up. You did so well."

At the praise, Park Hye-in's eyes began to tremble.

"Seo-yeon said it, didn't she? 'She was just trying to do well.' We teachers all know that."

The trainer's voice was gentle.

"We know how hard you worked this time, too."

That was the moment.

"...Thank you."

Park Hye-in answered in a voice already thick with tears. The rims of her eyes had gone red.

"You crybaby. Why do you cry so much?"

The trainer's tone was teasing, but Park Hye-in only bit down hard on her lip, fighting to hold the tears back.

Yeah. She really does cry too much.

Getting overwhelmed in front of someone who actually sees you is only natural — but I wished she'd cry in moderation. Because now I was tearing up too.

"...I'm so grateful I got to train under all of you."

Park Hye-in finally said it, and the tears came with the words. Even the trainer who'd been coaxing her with jokes had gone red around the eyes.

Then the trainer standing beside him spoke, quietly.

"Why is everyone crying again? Because you think this might be the last time?"

"..."

"In here, this might be the end. But out there, it isn't an ending — it's a beginning."

"..."

"That's why we were harder on you this whole time... and you all worked so hard just to keep up."

He hadn't even finished before the trainees started crying, one after another.

"Don't cry, kids."

Caught in that atmosphere, even the trainer who'd been talking them down so steadily ended up with a reddened nose. I bowed my head as well. When had we gotten this attached? The tears just kept coming.

The day of the position evaluation broadcast, the trainees gathered in one place again.

Once this episode airs, another twenty people will be gone.

Watching from home, I honestly used to not understand why trainees cried when someone else got eliminated. I'd felt more or less the same way through the last cut, too. But it was a little different now.

We don't even know who's leaving yet, and I'm already sad about it.

Up through the last round I'd only had eyes for Na-bin, and I don't think I'd built a real bond with anyone who ended up going home. Maybe it was just that we'd been knocking around together long enough now. Those tears finally made sense.

And then the broadcast started. The program itself felt like it was leaning toward the end, which only made the feeling stranger.

The shot of Hye-in picking her song flashed by in seconds. It wasn't just her. The other lower-ranked trainees got more or less the same treatment — nearly skipped, the empty slots filling in fast.

A scene I would have let slide by without a second thought now lodged itself far deeper than I'd expected. Not a single person still standing here was phoning it in.

Unlikable or not — even the ones whose personalities don't click — you can see every one of them fighting for their life in their own way.

And yet if your rank was low, if you weren't generating buzz, if your on-screen character was too weak, they simply didn't put you on camera. The popular members took more airtime, and their popularity grew from there.

Of course, from the production team's side, they can't spotlight everyone. They have ratings to worry about. It can't be helped.

The moment the higher-ranked trainees' turns arrived, the editing changed completely.

Only then did the trainees getting continuously bumped look a little pitiable on screen. The ones sitting here seemed to feel it too.

"That's so sad! They keep getting pushed out!"

"Making them pick from the lowest rank up is actually brutal, you know that?"

"Having your position stolen on top of that must have hurt so much."

If they'd wanted to push Hye-in, they could have given her the edit where she picks first and then keeps getting displaced. Instead that edit had gone to someone else.

She didn't get bumped in the first place, so I guess there was nothing they could do.

A little later, when my turn came — the moment I followed Eun-bi unnie and chose Last Confession — the screen cut to the trainee about to get displaced and Yoon Se-ah, both of them looking stunned at the same time. Faces that said this was a disaster. So that's what they'd looked like. I'd been so focused on Eun-bi unnie I hadn't noticed at all.

But Se-ah wasn't even getting bumped. Why that face? Because if Na-bin picked next, she'd get pushed too?

I barely had time to turn over that unimportant question before the broadcast cut straight to Se-ah's interview.

I turned my head toward Se-ah, who was watching the broadcast with the rest of us. She must have felt the look, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because our eyes met — and an embarrassed smile spread across her face.

"Seo-yeon, you get where I was coming from, right?"

"That's what you were thinking? You were pretty honest."

The words, tossed out with a smile, made Se-ah fluster.

"Nooo, that was a compliment about how good you are. Okay, at first I really did just think I was doomed."

The answer was still so straightforward that a laugh slipped out of me. The interview itself wasn't a problem. From Se-ah's position, nothing she'd said was wrong, and if you actually took it apart it was praise for me.

Whatever she was thinking, we got along just fine, so it doesn't really matter.

Still, there was something to learn. That interview might have looked like nothing, but it said a lot to me.

I really need to be careful with interviews.

Even if you meant well, even if it seemed like it wouldn't be an issue — laying your honest feelings out in the open always needed more caution than that. There would definitely be people who decided Se-ah's interview meant she was thinking about herself over the team. The facts didn't matter. The public was the one doing the judging.

An interview I gave without thinking could end up hurting someone.

And this wasn't just about a survival show. In this line of work, the meaning of the words you let out of your mouth got twisted more often than you'd think.

Don't go too deep on this right now.

The more I had to consider in front of the public, the more my head throbbed. So this was how people ended up with panic disorders. When you had to think through every single thing before you acted, just looking at another person was enough to seize your throat shut.

And then a contestant who had probably felt that reality on her skin long before I had appeared on the screen.

Park Hye-in got a one-shot. Cheeks puffed out, mouth twisted to one side.

Hye-in kept asking her teammates about this and that, learning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rap the whole time. There was something cute about how seriously she was taking it, and something a little heartbreaking at the same time.

So she really did pick a position that wasn't originally hers.

Even at a glance, the edit made her effort obvious. Were they looking out for her because they'd gotten her piled on so badly last time? We didn't have phones, so we had no way of knowing whether she'd actually been dragged or not. But you develop an instinct for these things.

Whatever the reason, this is a good thing.

I was still thinking that when the screen cut — and for an instant, my heart stuttered to a stop.