Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Year-End Evaluation Day
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December 28th.
The long-awaited day of the year-end evaluation had finally arrived.
We huddled together inside the Staria, swallowing hard over and over.
Even bundled up in puffer jackets, scarves, and hats, our bodies were still shivering.
Some silently shook hand warmers, others licked their parched lips, and a few gnawed at their nails—each coping with the tension in their own way.
I sat in the passenger seat, warming my cold hands with a hand warmer.
The car was freezing.
We hadn’t turned on the heater even in the dead of winter, just in case our throats got too dry.
I turned to Seok-hwan hyung, who was gripping the steering wheel.
“The vibe feels just like heading to my CSAT, hyung.”
“That tense?”
“Nah, it’s that I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
“Hang on.”
Yoon Seok-hwan narrowed his eyes.
“Didn’t you skip that exam?”
“Oh, right.”
We stared at each other blankly for a second before bursting into laughter.
Meanwhile, the mood up front was lighthearted, but the back seat was dead silent.
Even the maknae, who usually chattered nonstop, had gone quiet. It must’ve been that bad.
“Hey, Kim Bi-ju. What am I gonna do? I have to nail this.”
“Why?”
“Dad’s bringing Grandpa and everyone. Even chartered a bus for the whole village.”
The ever laid-back Kim Jung-hyun let out heavy sighs.
Fair enough.
If a whole village was chartering a bus to come see me, I wouldn’t sleep a wink either.
“Hang in there.”
Kim Bi-ju said.
“I was nervous about my sister coming, but that’s nothing compared to this.”
“My little sister’s the only one coming for me.”
“Our whole family’s probably showing up. Dad might be too busy, so please, just stay away.”
As the maknae rambled on in his stream-of-consciousness style, my mind wandered elsewhere.
Come to think of it, we’d spent the whole month buried in practice and hadn’t shared much about our personal lives.
Well, more precisely, these guys all knew each other’s stories, and I was the only one out of the loop.
Seok-hwan hyung glanced at me.
“What’d Grandma say?”
“Hm?”
“She coming up?”
“Yeah, she should be at the terminal soon. Gotta give her directions later.”
While I checked the messages from Grandma on my smartphone, Kim Bi-ju poked his head into the front seat.
“Manager-nim.”
Bi-ju asked.
“Who’re our judges?”
“Dunno exactly. Yoon Chan-hyeok from our side, probably. And... I think Jang So-won from Hwayi Entertainment?”
“Senior Jang So-won?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re screwed.”
Seok-hwan hyung shot me a look as the kids plunged into worry, like it was some apocalyptic sign.
I explained.
“One of the songs we picked for the year-end eval is by Senior Jang So-won.”
“Oh boy, good luck with that.”
Anyone who’s watched audition shows knows: performing a judge’s own song in a competition is all or nothing.
Singers are pros who get paid to perform.
Singing in front of an expert who knows the song inside out—especially their own—is no easy feat.
Put simply, it’s like an undergrad giving a PPT on a Nobel-winning economist’s specialty right in front of them.
Ugh.
Now I’m getting nervous just thinking about it.
I straightened my slumping shoulders and shook my head.
Jang So-won, huh.
She was in Sugarfish, the girl group that debuted when I was in high school.
Now solo as a singer-songwriter after the group disbanded, she was thriving.
I loved her melodies—one of my favorite artists.
Picking her song for our performance was influenced by that taste, too.
Performing her song in front of her...
Terrifying, but the good kind of thrill.
“Oh, right, I had something to tell you guys.”
Yoon Seok-hwan said, like he’d just remembered.
“Nothing big. K-Net sent a cooperation notice. They’re filming a reality show today.”
“Filming?”
Seo Ri-hyuk in the back seat furrowed his brows.
“What kind?”
“You know Street Boys, right? The boy group debuting from DNS. They’re shooting their reality here and wanna grab a few scenes. Just one camera crew, no need to stress. Haha.”
The kids’ faces turned to stone in real time.
Like the Agrippa statue in the art room.
Seok-hwan hyung panicked, like ‘that’s not what I meant,’ and cleared his throat.
“Want me to turn on the radio?”
He hit the radio button and fiddled with the FM dial.
『... This letter from 5289. Hello. I’ve been listening to TBC Beautiful Morning for three years now. With the cold winter winds blowing, I keep thinking of my eldest daughter abroad.』
A calm voice read the letter.
The tense air in the Staria eased a bit, like a taut string loosening.
『She has a big exam today. She probably can’t hear me right now, but I wanted to share what’s in my heart through the radio. Seon-a, Mom knows how hard you’ve worked. It’s not about acing it—it’s about giving your all till the end. Don’t stress. Mom believes in you.』
We were already on edge thinking about our families.
Hearing about Seon-a abroad made us jealous in that moment.
The kids stiffened at the MC’s heavy, pressure-filled tone.
『Here’s Family Portrait, requested by 5289...』
Seok-hwan hyung switched to AFN, blasting intense rap, but the mood was already sunk.
Just then, the high school came into view in the distance.
“......”
What now? Seriously.
* * *
Taehwa High School auditorium.
A chill swept through the empty hall.
With no one else around, it felt like we’d arrived first.
“Whew.”
The trainees took deep breaths and started warming up.
As I stretched, Kim Bi-ju approached.
“Woojoo hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m worried. Will our stage really go well?”
Even after endless practices, the anxiety lingered.
Fair enough.
We’d choreographed together, but the arrangement was all me.
No wonder he wasn’t confident about that part.
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Truth be told, I wasn’t 100% sure either.
Stages are full of variables—you can’t predict what’ll happen.
Just gotta roll with it.
But I couldn’t say that to them.
I flashed a confident smile instead.
“Alright! Let’s run the positioning first.”
We’d come early to sync up on the stage ahead of time.
As we danced and hummed, our stiff bodies loosened up.
At first, the unfamiliar space threw us off, but with reps, it flowed like in the practice room.
If we could pull this off live...
I was taking a sip of warm water from my thermos when—
Clunk.
The auditorium doors swung open, flooding in light.
A rowdy group of guys entered with laughter.
Oversized clothes, gold chains—pure hip-hop vibes.
No need to guess who they were.
Street Boys.
DNS Media’s new boy group, our rivals for this year-end eval.
They were cracking up among themselves until they spotted us.
“......”
The trainees from two rival agencies locked eyes across the room.
The air turned icy—you could feel it on your skin.
A 0.5-second sharp stare-down.
“Hello.”
“Yeah, hi.”
We exchanged polite greetings and passed by.
Anyone hoping for drama would be disappointed, but reality’s like that.
In a scripted survival show, maybe, but we barely knew each other.
Our agencies were rivals, so there was that competitive edge, sure.
While we practiced in one corner, they set up nearby.
Nine members made their vibe totally different from ours.
Lively, maybe.
More voices kept the audio full, and they had this casual confidence.
A bit over-the-top.
Probably because of the K-Net crew with them.
Camera ops with ENG cams, PDs, writers.
While practicing, they’d pose cutely or wink at the cameras.
Our kids watched, envy bursting in their eyes.
“Hello, fans!”
A pink-haired member stepped up to the camera.
“Street Boys here at Taehwa High auditorium for our year-end evaluation performance.”
“Wooo!”
They filled the audio with cheers as a notepad-wielding writer asked a question.
“What’s the year-end evaluation?”
“Oh, it’s where five companies, including ours, hold monthly evals. We invite company folks and families for performances. We’ll give it our all to show you something awesome today. Look forward to it!”
On the leader’s cue, the other eight flashed Vs or yelled “Peace!”
“Go Street!”
As they shouted together, I felt New Black’s morale crash through zero into the negatives.
Trauma from debut cancellation? Inferiority complex?
I clapped to snap the shrinking members back.
“Guys, focus.”
“Huh?”
“We gotta practice. You here to play?”
“Oh, right.”
We resumed, but the energy dipped.
The louder they got, the more self-conscious we became.
A vicious cycle.
How to break it?
Pondering solutions while slowly checking choreography, I sensed a sudden shift.
Without a word from me, our skills leveled up.
They’re killing it.
I’d been the only one going hard before, but now everyone stepped up.
Kim Bi-ju nailed the moves crisply.
Kim Jung-hyun’s rap handwork got flashy.
Seo Ri-hyuk belted a sudden three-octave high note.
And the maknae poured 120% into the cute choreography.
Our team’s got talent, after all.
Yeah, knew it.
Smiling warmly, I blinked at what was happening nearby.
Wait, they’re...?
Street Boys.
They’d wiped the grins off their faces and doubled down on practice.
What’s going on?
Sudden three-octave ad-libs everywhere, flashy unnecessary dance breaks.
Like they’d all chugged energy drinks.
The mystery solved quick.
“Director, get those trainees on camera too. Full shot of the auditorium.”
“Got it.”
“Wow, these trainees are on another level.”
Camera’s the answer.
Every time Street Boys’ reality cam swung our way, Ri-hyuk’s high notes exploded.
Jung-hyun’s rap fired like a machine gun.
I watched Bi-ju dance like a shop mannequin, Wang Ji-ho sparking fire with his aegyo.
K-Net staff voices mixed with awe.
“Man, that passion.”
“Youth is wasted on the young.”
“They’ll sweat buckets already?”
At that, both sides started dramatically wiping fake sweat like they’d trained under the sun.
“......”
I smiled warmly at the camera-hungry trainees.
Yep.
Nothing beats TV.