The Broadcast (2)
"She's completely different from the Hye-in I used to know."
A teammate's interview played over archival footage of Park Hye-in's old behavior. There she was, sitting out while everyone else practiced. Storming out of the practice room. Even those moments when she'd overacted just to stand out.
Why did they have to splice those scenes in?
My head went hollow. If they'd simply shown her working hard now, the viewers would have taken it well. Instead, the broadcast had deliberately dredged up her ugliest past — as if to reinject memories that had already begun to fade for most of the audience. In short, it was designed to make people think, Oh, right. That's how she used to be.
That's not saving her.
For something supposedly meant to show her growth through contrast editing, those archival clips were vicious. Framed like that, the likely reaction wasn't admiration for how far she'd come. It was resentment: She's just pretending to have changed.
I've been on the receiving end of that. I know exactly how it works.
Once an unpleasant memory resurfaced, no matter how many good scenes followed, people found it hard to accept them sincerely. They didn't even want to. Last time, I could write it off as them chasing shock value. But what were they after now? The network people had been in this game long enough. They wouldn't have done this just because they were stupid.
They're disgusting.
While I was turning that over, the broadcast moved on to Team No Mercy's midterm evaluation. And I recoiled all over again.
"The leader did a great job guiding them here, too."
Park Hye-in had clawed her way through that rap, and they'd packaged the whole thing as her team leader's leadership. Maybe there'd been personal praise for her somewhere. If there had, it hadn't made it onto the broadcast.
The main stage performance that followed was already past Park Hye-in's part before I knew it.
No mercy, never no mercy
Then the broadcast cut to me, getting choked up as I listened to Hye-in's part.
What the hell is this?
Now they were showing the trainees tearing up after hearing Park Hye-in's sincerity? Highlighting the people moved by her honesty — wasn't that an edit meant to save her?
Are they trying to kill her or save her?
That question was only answered once the rap position stages were over and the results were announced. During Team No Mercy's results, they asked a crying Park Hye-in for her thoughts. She delivered her comments through tears, and the camera closed in on the face of the person comforting her.
In that instant, Park Hye-in's tears burst even harder. On screen, I quickly looked away, but the camera didn't miss the way her tears had already spread to me.
And that wasn't the end of it. Trainees from her previous team were cross-cut in, one after another, tearing up as well.
I'd hoped this would make it onto the broadcast, but...
This was subtly different from what I'd expected. It wasn't that everyone was crying because of Park Hye-in. It was the atmosphere of me comforting her that had properly turned the whole thing into a sea of tears.
It pretended to be Park Hye-in's growth narrative. It wasn't. In this edit, Park Hye-in was right back where she'd started — because they'd already crushed her earlier. The only one who benefited from this was me. They'd taken her story and used it as they pleased, then made even her change look like it was all thanks to me.
They were trying to elevate me?
The B-roll that followed confirmed it. It was me, going after Park Hye-in when she'd stormed out of the practice room, sitting a careful distance away. And the subtitle that appeared beneath it was a masterpiece.
Because there was a leader who understood her teammate's heart, she was able to grow.
This was clearly shining the spotlight on me. It felt like they were kindly informing anyone still on the fence: Don't look over there. You need to focus here.
And the proof came immediately.
"Ooh~ Seo-yeon~"
"Seo-yeon really does have serious leadership potential."
"Even in our concept evaluation right now, Seo-yeon's been leading us at vice-leader level right next to Eun-bi unnie."
Even the trainees' reactions were all funneling toward me. The protagonist of the narrative had shifted from Park Hye-in to me in an instant.
It's good for me, sure. But it is genuinely creepy.
My eyes found Park Hye-in. She was looking at me with a clear, bright smile.
Park Hye-in doesn't have a clue.
It wasn't a bitter smile. She looked genuinely content. If you weren't nitpicking as obsessively as I was, you'd think they'd edited it to show her growing in a positive light.
They're playing you.
The scenes of her working hard. The scenes of her teammates acknowledging her. The trainees crying at her stage. Even the subtitle recognizing her growth. Of course she'd think they'd built a narrative for her.
Don't rain on her parade. Just stay quiet.
There was no need to stress her out by explaining that it wasn't what she thought. So I just looked at Hye-in and smiled back.
And then, at last, our team's footage began.
On screen, I was just blinking as I listened to my teammates talk. They closed in on my awkwardly darting eyes, then slapped on sound effects to make the whole thing look ridiculous.
Ah... they kept that.
The trainees burst out laughing.
"Oh my god, Seo-yeon's face!"
"That's the exact face of someone who has no idea what's going on."
"Seo-yeon did that? That's so unexpected."
"Right? I thought a maestro had possessed her or something."
Judging by the reactions, it had come out funny, but...
Weren't they supposed to be pushing me?
These network people. Just when I thought I had them figured out.
While I was thinking that, a voice caught my ear.
"Ah, unnie, your face is so cute."
It was Na-bin, looking at me and laughing. Na-bin had called me cute. And she was smiling when she said it.
Network people! Thank you!
Right after that, my interview came on.
"They were talking in all these technical terms, so I had no idea what they were saying. I just sat there."
At that, a few of the trainees looked over at me.
"Seo-yeon's got such a human side~"
"Even if she doesn't know that stuff, her stats are broken anyway."
"I thought there was nothing she didn't know. What a plot twist."
Thank god I'd already been recognized for my skills. They were reading it as humanity, not incompetence.
"Then I figured I couldn't just sit there like that, so I decided to be honest and do what I actually could."
With those words, it cut back to the practice footage.
"I don't really know chords and stuff like that..."
"It's okay not to know. I still find it hard too."
A small wave of admiration rippled through the trainees at my conversation with Eun-bi unnie.
"Eun-bi unnie is so kind."
"It's hard enough just to admit you don't know something."
"Seo-yeon's always so cool."
I'd just said I didn't know something I didn't know, and they called it cool. Judging by the trainees' reactions, this edit was lifting both me and Eun-bi unnie.
After that, I kept getting a pretty substantial amount of screen time. Even if I didn't know the technical terms, I was throwing out opinions as hard as I could about how I wanted it to feel.
That earlier edit of Hye-in wasn't contrast editing. This is real contrast editing.
At first I'd been worried they'd only emphasize how clueless I was... but the flow was a reversal — showing someone who didn't know much but was still trying her hardest to participate.
And then, the moment we decided on a center.
"Seo-yeon might feel awkward, so how about we do a secret ballot?"
A brief silence hung on the screen. What followed that quiet edit was Se-ah's line.
"Eun-bi unnie, we're only voting for Seo-yeon. How is a secret ballot even possible?"
The trainees, catching the absurdity a beat late, all burst out laughing.
"Ah, you're right!"
"Eun-bi unnie is so cute."
"She's such a dummy."
Right after those reactions, the same line came from the screen.
"You idiot."
The timing was so perfect that another explosion of laughter went off.
"Se-ah...... I'm your unnie......"
"You're right...... I'm the unnie......"
The trainees howled at my exchange with Eun-bi unnie.
"She's a natural airhead! A total airhead!"
"Why is that team so cute?"
"All three of them are idiots."
When the trainees started teasing, Eun-bi unnie puffed out her cheeks.
"Calling your unnie an idiot!"
"Aah! Eun-bi unnie is so cute."
"When you're that cute, it just makes us want to call you an idiot even more."
I snorted a laugh inwardly.
They kept that conversation too, unedited.
Yep. They were definitely lifting Eun-bi unnie too.
Meanwhile, the midterm evaluation footage continued.
"This is good. Having this much talent at arranging too — are you trying to eat alone? The other kids have to make a living, you know."
The trainer poured out lavish praise for the arrangement. The trainees reacted instantly.
"What? She said she barely knows applied music theory, and she made that on feel alone?"
"I take back what I said about her being human."
"Seo-yeon's a total cheat character!"
All that admiration was mortifying.
Everyone, I'm sorry, but that's not my ability.
I couldn't say it out loud, so I swallowed it. Even if I told the truth, they'd just call me humble. The broadcast had already gone that way anyway.
"I don't know anything about chords or any of that. I just talked about the feeling, and Se-ah and Eun-bi unnie did the rest."
"Having that feeling is the talent. The rest you can pick up quickly if you study."
I'd come out looking like some arrangement genius who even had humility to spare.
And then that question came.
It was followed immediately by a sharp question, left completely uncut — was she not ambitious, or was she just not confident?
And then, the moment my answer — the one I'd given after listening in silence — rang out through the speakers, everyone watching the broadcast was swallowed by silence.