Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Even as a Villain, I Want to Debut
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“Looks like a real pro has stepped up.”
Han I-jae's entrance shifted the entire vibe on set in a way nothing else had.
The masters weren't the only ones glued to him—every trainee was watching too, buzzing with the expectation that he had to deliver something special.
“I-jae here's always been a standout, so let's watch extra closely.”
Even with comments like that from the masters, Han I-jae kept his face completely neutral.
Any other trainee would've been called arrogant or rude for it, but somehow, Han I-jae got a pass.
Guess that's just elite privilege.
But the second he fell short of expectations, that leniency would vanish.
Hope he pulls it off without a hitch.
“We'll begin the rank evaluation now.”
― ♩♪♫~
The music kicked in, and Han I-jae's eyes sharpened as he launched into motion.
Even though it was the same tired intro they'd heard a dozen times, the masters' reactions were night and day.
The exact same song and choreography somehow looked worlds apart when he did it.
This guy's on another level. Insane.
The novel called it "insane," but seeing it live? That word didn't even cut it. It was flawless.
A kid who crushes vocals and dances like that? What are we supposed to do?
For a split second, "Is this guy cheating?" nearly slipped out.
But the real worry? Do Won-woo's misfortune had apparently rubbed off on him.
Everyone else was chilling, soaking it in, while I was the only one on edge.
What curveball's coming? Lyrics slip? Choreo flub...?
That's when the trainees in the waiting area started murmuring, pointing at something.
The masters craned their necks, peering over curiously.
...A cat?
Something utterly out of left field had appeared.
Where the hell did a cat come from?
Han I-jae's poker face cracked the instant he spotted the intruder.
But up to that point, no real harm done. The trouble started in the next part.
As he spun into a turn, his pant leg swayed—and the cat bolted straight between his legs.
“!”
He dodged sideways, but the cat went full feral, swiping wildly with its front paws in pursuit.
“Whyooong!”
Trainees and masters alike burst out laughing. Han I-jae was the only one not amused.
At this point, shouldn't they cut and restart?
Fair play would've called for it, but the production crew clearly had no intention of stopping.
It was prime entertainment gold—they weren't letting it go.
Eventually, the cat gave up first and sauntered off, letting Han I-jae reset and continue.
But his momentum was shot; whatever fire he'd had earlier was gone.
“Hmm.”
The music faded, and faint smiles lingered on the masters' faces.
“A cat out of nowhere. Who saw that coming?”
“No kidding. Total surprise.”
“Does one live around here or something?”
The cat was now rolling around behind the evaluation area, licking its paws.
Everyone cooed over how cute it was, but Han I-jae shot it a look that screamed quiet resentment.
For Do Won-woo's misfortune arc, this is tame by comparison...
Still, he looked plenty rattled.
“Trainee Han I-jae.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A true pro doesn't flinch at anything onstage. They keep singing through it.”
And so the nitpicking began.
“Idols deal with all kinds of chaos at events—bugs crawling on their faces or bodies. If a cat throws you off that bad, how do you expect to handle a real stage?”
Some might call that fair critique, but not this time. I wanted to take his side.
How do you keep dancing with a cat lunging between your legs? One wrong kick, and it's disaster city.
Dodging was his best call.
But the masters pounced like this was their one shot to tear into him.
“Singers have to deliver the best show possible, no matter what crashes the stage or what curveball hits.”
“After that, your tension tanked, Trainee Han I-jae. Losing the flow was a real shame all around.”
“We know you're talented, but you need to learn flexibility for handling surprises.”
Han I-jae's eyes trembled like there was an earthquake in his head at the unfamiliar harsh feedback.
No way they're dropping him to B-rank over this, right?
Nah, couldn't be...
But the masters' deliberation dragged on longer than expected.
Waiting for the verdict, Han I-jae hung his head, biting his lip.
Never seen that expression on him before.
He anxiously clasped his hands, picking at his nails—a nervous tic I'd read about in the setting docs.
“Trainee Han I-jae's rank is...”
After an eternity, Raise finally announced it.
“A-rank.”
Whew, dodged a bullet.
The masters had some sense—they weren't tanking him to B over that.
Wouldn't want the backlash from viewers if they did.
“Still, don't forget our advice today. Let it sink in.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Han I-jae bowed and trudged back to the waiting area.
His steps were heavy on the way back, nothing like the confident stride he'd had going in.
“Hey, you're good.”
“Yeah, you nailed it, man.”
The other trainees' encouragement didn't lift his mood; he still looked weighed down.
He'd held his rank, but not shown his full potential. That stung.
They should've just let him restart from the top.
Blame Do Won-woo's bad luck narrative—he was getting screwed over for no reason.
Eh, at least he kept A-rank.
With that, evaluations wrapped, and final ranks were set for everyone.
In the distance, Kang In-hyeok slunk by with his head down, sporting a C-rank badge.
Couldn't climb up, huh.
The F-ranks with no changes were funeral-quiet, some trainees even hunching over in silent sobs at the results.
In that heavy mood, Shin Su-yeol grabbed the mic to console them.
“Everyone, don't get too down. We're assigning centers by rank soon, right? You can still snag center in your group depending on how you perform. You never know what'll happen.”
Just like he said, all that was left was picking centers for the signal song video by rank.
For reference, I'd already memorized who got center in the original story.
Most of those centers ended up as key debut lineup members. Do Won-woo aside, that is.
In the original, he snagged F-team center on visuals alone and got early buzz.
His screen time was only 12 seconds, though.
That tiny clip worked magic for him—enough to tease his looks without exposing his skills. His team mission later blew it all up, sure.
I've escaped F-rank now. Could aim for center myself.
Lee Hae-won was right there beside me.
The protagonist, B-team center. My biggest rival here.
Of course, with the novel's rising freedom stat, anyone could snag it now—but Lee Hae-won was still the frontrunner.
Shooting wrapped, and word came down: center selection battles tomorrow.
For the record, centers are decided by votes within each rank.
Everyone was chattering about it over meals.
“I bet Hae-won gets it.”
“Won-woo's got a shot too, from what I saw.”
I ate while eavesdropping. My name and Lee Hae-won's popped up now and then.
Doesn't mean much yet.
The center selection was like a mini rank re-eval, but with a twist.
Everyone had to debut a unique, self-choreographed dance break.
Production gave us one day to plan and rehearse it. Brutal schedule, but no choice.
Han I-jae shoves breaking into his dance break and cleans up votes.
Han I-jae shoveled rice into his mouth, face gloomier than ever.
Lee Hae-won next to him looked blissfully content with his meal by contrast.
Lee Hae-won packs his entire dance break with raw passion, melting trainees into votes.
I glanced sideways.
Jeong Hee-min, C-team center, was picking at his food in the corner.
He'd climbed from D to C this round.
D-team should be Hyeon Si-woo barring surprises, so F-team center's a wild card without Do Won-woo.
I scanned the F-ranks, but no standouts.
Hell, I'd barely talked to most since I was always in C-team.
Guess tomorrow tells.
I wolfed down dinner and beat everyone to the practice room.
First one here?
Plopped in the corner, brainstorming strategy.
Something that stands out without overlapping others, playing to my strengths...
I already knew Lee Hae-won's dance break plan.
It brimmed with desperation and heart—the kind that made voting inevitable.
And damn, for one day of prep, he actually danced great.
To compete, I'd need matching—or better—intensity and grind.
...Screw it. Pull another all-nighter.
Ever since arriving here, sleep had been a myth anyway.
Lee Hae-won taking center like in the original? Fine by me.
But to max debut odds, I needed a spotlight moment now.
I was riding high in the survival show, but edits could bury me.
Center's the best shot at eyes on me.
Every trainee was desperate, but I was the hungriest.
Fail to debut, and I'd die at 21, just like that.
So I have to claim center.