Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: The Trainees' Recording
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“Yeonwoo, did you have fun?”
It was six o’clock, time for dismissal, and the person who came to pick up Yeonwoo was Jiyeong.
“Yeah.”
Yeonwoo nodded.
“You didn’t feel too out of place or anything?”
“The kids kept asking if I was a girl. Everything else was great.”
That was because Yeonwoo was so pretty… But if she said that, Jiyeong knew he’d sulk and ignore her for days, so she swallowed the words she wanted to say.
“Anything else? Oh, what about the teacher?”
“She’s good.”
“Huh? At what?”
“Singing.”
“You mean she sings well?”
If it had been an ordinary kid saying it, she might’ve brushed it off, but this was Yeonwoo.
The composer who had propelled Kim Beomsin to No. 1 on the Mango chart—from real-time top spot all the way to daily and weekly No. 1.
A musical genius.
When a kid like that said someone was good, it meant something entirely different.
“Our Yeonwoo thinks she’s good?”
“Yeah, pretty good.”
“Hmm… How does she stack up to Uncle Kim Beomsin?”
At that, Yeonwoo looked up at Jiyeong, staring silently.
His eyes were speaking volumes.
Or was that a glare?
Like, don’t compare apples to oranges…
“Right, Kim Beomsin’s on another level. Come to think of it, there’s no singer worth comparing you to, huh? Besides him, you don’t know any others?”
“…Auntie Ellis.”
“Oh, Ellis back in her active days. What about compared to her?”
Yeonwoo pondered it carefully.
Truth be told, Ellis hadn’t been an idol known for her singing. During her idol days, her roles had been leader, producer, and composer, with her vocals only at sub-vocal level in the tracks.
“Our teacher’s better!!”
“Really? Did she go to a practical music program?”
Jiyeong didn’t think much of it.
There were surprisingly many people in this country who could sing well.
So many that music audition shows popped up every year like clockwork, yet hidden masters kept emerging from the woodwork like an endless fountain.
The teacher was probably one who had dreamed of being a singer but never quite made it.
Jiyeong brought up something more important.
“By the way, Auntie Ellis said she’s recording the song you gave her and to come visit. You’re going, right?”
Yeonwoo nodded without hesitation, saying yeah.
* * *
The idol group’s name hadn’t been decided yet, but BSK’s new idol project consisted of five trainees whom Kim Beomsin himself called “my kids.”
In fourth- or fifth-generation idol groups, it was common to recruit from other agencies to fit the concept or hastily cast good-looking kids from SNS and add them in.
It was rare to form a group solely from trainees who’d practiced for years, like BSK’s project this time.
But Kim Beomsin and his partner Park Sangcheol insisted on debuting their own trainees no matter what.
They didn’t want them feeling alienated or left out.
Ellis had no objections.
The kids’ skills and looks were solid, after all.
Of course, they weren’t all at the same level, so they’d carefully selected five, each with varying abilities and specialties—which was actually a plus.
Having one standout trait each wasn’t a bad thing.
“I haven’t assigned clear positions until now, right?”
“Yes.”
And today, gathered for recording, they would finalize those positions.
“Our team’s vocal line is Dahyun, Ayoung, and Yunseo. Dahyun’s the main vocal, and Ayoung and Yunseo are subs.”
Dahyun, Ayoung, and Yunseo—who’d been picked for vocals—had no issues with it.
They’d been scouted as singers, after all.
Among them, Dahyun stood out the most, with a wide vocal range and solid technique.
“Rap line is Somin, and main dancer is Chaewon. Yeah, pretty much what everyone expected. Right?”
“Yes!!”
“Then, the moment of truth: leader and center?”
Their eyes met.
It might be the most crucial spot, after all.
“Let’s not overcomplicate leader. Somin’s the oldest, so she’s leader.”
The five selected were all high schoolers, and among them, Somin was 18, a senior—the oldest in the group, no, among all the trainees.
These days, age didn’t always dictate hierarchy, but beyond that, she had great leadership and often led the whole trainee group, so it was predictable.
“And for center… we don’t have one.”
Everyone was stunned by Ellis’s firm declaration.
“Why the shock? Groups without a center aren’t exactly rare these days. Who even pushes for a center anymore?”
Truth be told, Ellis didn’t love dividing roles like main vocal or main dancer either.
“You know what happens when you split into center, visual, variety rep, and all that? Fights break out. Jealousy rears its head. So no centers, no visuals, no variety reps. Got it?”
“……Yes!”
Ellis nodded in satisfaction and gestured toward the booth.
“Time to record, right? You’ve all heard the guide track?”
“…Um, teacher.”
“Yeah?”
“It seems hard to match the guide…….”
“……I’m not expecting you to. Technique-wise or whatever. Just use it as a reference.”
“Yes.”
Remembering the guide that hardly felt like a guide, the kids sighed in relief and entered the booth.
Hellish recording time had arrived.
Ellis wasn’t overly strict, but she wasn’t lax either.
Especially during recording—she was strictness incarnate.
She wouldn’t scold if they didn’t follow her lead, but she’d make them do it until it was right.
“No, no. The ending’s pitching up too much. It’s ah-, not ah! Cut it sharp?”
“You’re a half-step flat? Dahyun, you’re main vocal—you can hit that, right?”
“You didn’t study harmony theory, fine, but at least match the chords? It’s just one bar—can’t you get it? You’re not expecting me to fix it in post, are you?”
“Too fast—no, now it’s slow. Yeah… no, that’s not it!!”
From lunchtime until evening approached, Ellis had them rotating without a break, then finally sighed.
“At this rate, we won’t finish today. Everyone out for a rest. Eat dinner and we’ll start again.”
“Yes….”
The kids, buzzing with debut excitement earlier, now slumped dejectedly into their seats.
Ellis watched them, words of comfort on the tip of her tongue but unspoken, and quietly opened a delivery app.
“Anything you want to eat? Oh, but nothing heavy on the throat for singing, no grease, not too spicy, and easy to digest.”
…So what does that leave?
As she pondered, the studio intercom buzzed.
“Oh, must be here.”
Who’d come at this hour?
Seeing Ellis move to greet them, the trainees—well-versed in caution from years of trainee life despite their fearless youth—quietly stood to bow.
“Senior, you’re here?”
“Yes, Ellis. Yeonwoo’s with me.”
“Hello. Auntie.”
“Yes, nice to see you.”
Ellis exchanged greetings with Jiyeong and Yeonwoo, then turned to introduce them to the members.
“Say hi, kids. This is producer Shin Jiyeong, who made Daydream.”
At BSK, Daydream was a success story and role model. Their creator, Shin Jiyeong, stood out specially.
“Hello, ma’am!!”
They greeted with the crisp precision of fresh recruits.
Jiyeong smiled at the kids standing at attention.
“Oh my, you’re all so cute. Reminds me of Daydream kids at debut.”
Pre-debut kids were always this fresh.
Personally, Jiyeong loved this stage best.
Nostalgic, innocent, pure.
That vibe vanished once time passed.
“Oh, figured you hadn’t eaten dinner, so I got some porridge.”
“As expected of senior!! Nothing beats porridge for recording without burden.”
“Right? Porridge first to fill up, then finish recording and eat something tasty.”
“Exactly.”
The trainees nodded along to the two whose tastes aligned perfectly.
Porridge was a blessing, honestly.
With debut looming, they were on strict diets—salads, half sweet potatoes, chicken breast every day.
Yeonwoo observed them closely.
Just like with Chae Hayeon, fairies hovered around them.
And through them, Yeonwoo spotted a common thread.
The fairies around them… had nothing.
Unlike Grandmother Fairy, Wes Montgomery, or Kim Beomsin’s sharply defined avatars, or the genre fairies with their distinct traits, these were bare as newborns, not even winged.
Why?
A childhood memory surfaced.
Sure, he was still a kid now, but sharpened by events, Yeonwoo recalled clearly.
Yes, there’d been a time when fairies like these hovered around him.
After his only musical link—Mom’s piano—faded, when he’d lived alone in the kitchen nook, missing her.
Now he saw them anytime, but back then, no music from outside meant no fairies.
Those were the fairies.
Maybe these threadbare, infant-like ones stemmed from longing for music?
Or potential? Talent?
Thinking of Kim Beomsin or Grandmother’s fairies, potential or talent fit better.
Having roughly sorted his thoughts, Yeonwoo looked at his sisters.
Right on cue, Ellis introduced them.
“This is main vocal Dahyun, subs Ayoung and Yunseo next to her, leader and rapper Somin, and dancer Chaewon. Senior.”
“They’re all pretty. Is it Beomsin senior’s eye, or CEO Sangcheol’s?”
“You got me. They’re all great.”
Among the sisters, Dahyun had the most fairies swarming.
“Auntie, what’s main vocal?”
“Main vocalist—the one who leads the singing in the group. Means she sings really well, right?”
Ah, so this sister sings well like Teacher Chae Hayeon.
But weird.
Trainees were people who’d practiced years to become idols.
Yet Teacher Chae Hayeon had more fairies.
Did that mean she sang better?
As Yeonwoo mulled it over, the others started unpacking and eating the porridge.
Yeonwoo eyed the bowl in front of him. He didn’t love porridge, but considering his aunt’s effort, he finished it clean without leaving any.
“Alright, now let’s get serious with recording?”
Stomachs full, the members reignited their resolve and headed back into the booth.
The intro—familiar to Yeonwoo and Jiyeong—flowed out, followed by them tackling the group parts in sequence.
“Was it hunger holding back the singing? Way better than before.”
“Really? I think they’re good.”
“Me too, seems solid now, senior.”
Ellis, saying that, glanced at Yeonwoo and asked cautiously.
“What does Yuin think? Seem good?”
“Um…….”
Yeonwoo looked at Kim Beomsin’s fairy in response.
‘How is it?’
Kim Beomsin’s fairy shook its head firmly.
Yeah, could be.
It was Kim Beomsin’s fairy, after all. High standards made sense.
“Not really.”
“N-Not really?”
“Yeah? Where? Why?”
As the two asked in panic, Yeonwoo looked toward the booth.
Amid blue fairies popping up, red ones sporadically burst in, shoving through the playful blues to disrupt them.
As if saying, kids’ singing is wrong—don’t play!!