The Registered Seal in My Hand
Early Saturday morning, Lee So-hyun, the youngest writer on the Pick Yu-Ah production team, was sorting through the audition inbox with two monitors fired up.
The deadline for Pick Yu-Ah applications was December 20th. Only a single day remained.
With just one day left, hundreds of emails had piled up in the inbox.
Recommended trainee lists from idol clubs, independent trainee applications, self-promotion videos... Opening and sorting each one of them was the exact reason she was working overtime into the weekend.
Finally, the end of the task was in sight. While the number of "read" emails in the inbox exceeded several hundred, only a handful of new ones remained.
She breezed through most of them.
No affiliated club. No video. Lacks basic skills.
Then, her hand froze on one particular email.
"Hmm... An independent trainee..."
Lee So-hyun absentmindedly clicked the attached self-promotion video links.
There were two videos. One was a dance video, and the other was a singing video.
She opened the dance video first. It was filmed in a practice room lined with mirrors.
She was on beat. But that was about it. The way she channeled power through her body was all wrong, and the transitions between movements were highly—no, severely—awkward.
It looked like a children's toy being subjected to high-voltage electricity.
"Hmm..."
She skimmed through the rest of the self-introduction letter and was about to skip it when...
The very last line of the self-introduction caught her eye.
—I am the main subject of the Gijang Middle School festival video.
The Gijang Middle School festival video.
She knew that video. In fact, anyone who used social media couldn't possibly not know it.
The proof was in the numbers: over five million views on YouTube alone.
And the key detail was that it was five million only on YouTube. If you factored in other social media platforms, the number was far higher.
No way.
She clicked the singing video.
Under the distinct, flashing lights of a coin karaoke booth, a schoolgirl held a microphone. The camera angle was completely haphazard, and the video quality was terrible, as if filmed on a cheap smartphone. The video itself was shoddy beyond belief.
But the moment the sound kicked in...
Lee So-hyun turned up the volume.
And then she turned it up once more.
"...Wait."
She nudged her colleague next to her with her elbow.
"Hey, look at this."
Meanwhile, the main PD of Pick Yu-Ah, Kang Jae-won, was sitting by the window, staring intently at the contestant roster until his eyes felt like they were going to pop out.
Three days ago, a trainee who had been confirmed to participate suddenly announced her withdrawal. It was a sudden decision by her affiliated club.
The official reason was to fill a vacancy left by an injured first-team member using a trainee—in other words, a call-up to the first team.
While it was a stroke of incredible luck for the trainee, it was an absolute disaster for Kang Jae-won. Of all people, she was a highly talented contestant he had painstakingly recruited, only for her to vanish in just two days.
One out of a hundred.
It seemed like a small number, but with filming preparations already complete, it left a gaping hole in the lineup. He had to find a replacement immediately, but the deadline was only two days away.
It was enough to drive him absolutely insane.
"PD-nim, this is huge! It's absolutely huge!"
The youngest writer, Lee So-hyun, hurried over to him, clutching her laptop.
"What is it?"
"It's an independent trainee applicant. You have to see this."
"Can't you see I'm busy right now?!"
"Just give me thirty seconds. Seriously, this one is the real deal."
Letting out a deep sigh, Kang Jae-won replied half-heartedly, his eyes still glued to the roster.
"Fine... Let's see it."
Kang Jae-won shifted his gaze to the laptop held in Lee So-hyun's hands. Displayed on the monitor was an applicant's photo.
It was an ID-sized photo attached to the self-introduction form—or rather, it was literally an ID photo. The kind of composition you'd expect to see on a student ID card.
Kang Jae-won had been in the broadcasting industry for a long time. Specifically, in idol-centric programs.
The ability to distinguish between a face the camera loved and one it didn't was a basic skill for him.
Simply having pretty features was entirely different from dominating the screen and commanding attention. The former was dime-a-dozen in this industry, while the latter was exceedingly rare.
The face on the monitor right now was undeniably the latter.
Natural, long straight hair. Eyes looking straight into the camera. Despite the rigid format of an ID photo, the face in the picture strangely drew the eye, even within that tiny frame.
Every single feature was sharp and clear. Her eyes looked like they would stand out even without double eyelids, her nose bridge was high and perfectly balanced, and she had an already-completed look without any forced styling. It wasn't overdone. Everything was clean and defined.
Yet, there was something captivating about her. If he had to put it into words, it was a face that lingered in your mind once you saw it. The kind of face that made you stop scrolling.
In short, it was a face the camera would never leave alone.
Is she not wearing any makeup?
The question crossed his mind, but logically, that made no sense.
"The singing video."
"Pardon?"
"Play the singing video."
Lee So-hyun quickly clicked the link.
Kang Jae-won crossed his arms and stared at the screen.
The video started. Coin karaoke. Shoddy resolution. Haphazard angles.
The degraded audio quality typical of an old phone.
And yet, two or three people in the office raised their heads at the same time. Without even knowing who was singing, their eyes naturally gravitated toward the source of the sound. It was that kind of voice.
A brief silence fell over the room after the video ended.
Kang Jae-won was the first to speak.
"Is this the girl from that old school festival singing video?"
Lee So-hyun nodded and continued.
"Yes. She wrote it herself in her self-introduction. Honestly, so many people tried to track down the person in that video. Even Writer Choi, our senior on the team, asked around last year and finally managed to find out her name was Han Se-ah."
"And?"
"They couldn't get permission from her parents for an interview. Her mother flatly refused."
Kang Jae-won furrowed his brow.
"If they didn't get parental consent, isn't that going to be an issue this time too?"
"Well, about that..."
Lee So-hyun hesitated for a moment.
"There's a parental consent signature section on the application. And it's signed."
"..."
"I don't know if she convinced them herself or used some other method, though."
Kang Jae-won was silent for a moment.
It was signed.
It meant a fifteen-year-old girl had somehow secured a signature despite her parents' previous refusal. Whatever the process was, it was a clear expression of her sheer determination.
"What about her agency?"
"None. She's a completely independent trainee."
"Her dancing?"
Lee So-hyun grimaced slightly.
"...It leaves a lot to be desired."
Kang Jae-won looked back at the monitor. The face in the photo. And the voice he had just heard.
"How old is she?"
"Born in 2000. She's scheduled to enter high school this year."
Fifteen years old.
Old enough to participate.
Kang Jae-won pondered. He got that her dancing was lacking. She had no agency either. It was highly uncertain how long a self-taught kid could survive among trainees from prestigious club youth academies who had their fundamentals thoroughly drilled into them.
But.
That voice wasn't something that could be manufactured in an academy.
And that face was something the camera would never leave alone.
"Contact her."
"Pardon?"
"Put her in. In the vacant spot."
Lee So-hyun's eyes widened.
"But she's an independent trainee with no agency."
"That's actually better. Her viral potential has already been proven."
Kang Jae-won picked up his cue sheet.
"Verify the parental consent form and send her the training camp schedule. Before the deadline."
"...Understood."
Lee So-hyun was about to head back to her desk with her laptop when she paused.
"PD-nim."
"What?"
"Are you going to watch her dance video too?"
Kang Jae-won paused for a moment before replying.
"Later."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Not long after sending the application email for Pick Yu-Ah...
I received a text message notifying me of my acceptance.
But then I ran into a problem. I needed signatures for various documents required for the broadcast, as well as a guardian's contact information in case of emergencies.
Even so, that issue was resolved much faster than expected.
Thanks to a very reliable ally.
"Oh, hey there, Se-ah. How's my granddaughter doing these days?"
My maternal grandfather, Hwang Tae-shik, was easily the person who doted on me the most in this entire world.
In exact inverse proportion to how strict Gyeong-ja was with me, my grandfather was someone who would grant my every wish.
It had been that way since I was a kid. If I wanted something, Grandfather made it happen, and if I smiled, Grandfather laughed even louder.
Though to Gyeong-ja, he was just a father who had almost ruined the family finances with his pursuit of the arts.
Anyway.
Writing down Grandfather's number in the guardian contact section of the application was a piece of cake. As soon as he heard my explanation over the phone, he just burst into hearty laughter.
"Bwahahaha! My Se-ah really inherited her grandfather's blood!"
"So you'll help me, right?"
"What kind of grandfather would stop his Se-ah from doing what she wants?"
"Grandfather, you're the best!"
"Keep this a secret from your mother, alright?"
"Of course."
With the guardian's contact info secured, the next hurdle was the guardian's signature.
Personal information consent form, group living consent form, broadcast appearance consent form, filming and portrait rights consent form, and so on.
Since we lived far apart, I couldn't exactly carry all of them to Grandfather in person.
I pondered for exactly three minutes.
The conclusion was simple.
While Gyeong-ja was out at the supermarket, I checked the location of her registered personal seal in the back of the drawer. Gyeong-ja always kept important documents in the exact same drawer. It was an old habit of hers.
And then, I stamped it.
It would be a lie to say I didn't feel any guilt, but Gyeong-ja was the one who broke her promise first. I mean, she should have sent me to a youth academy ages ago instead of putting off her promise for over six years.
I wonder if this is how Maradona felt when he scored with the Hand of God?
As for the remaining ambiguous documents that didn't explicitly scream "TV broadcast," I spun them as boarding academy paperwork, showed them to Gyeong-ja, and got her to sign them herself.
Having lived with her for so long, I had already figured out that Gyeong-ja wasn't the type to read through things meticulously.
"Is all of this for the academy?"
"Yes, living in a dorm requires a lot of different things."
"Do academies collect this much personal information nowadays? There's even a portrait rights consent form."
"Oh, that? Boarding academies these days film vlogs or promotional videos of students whose grades improve and upload them to YouTube. If you agree to that, they give a twenty percent discount on the first month's tuition."
At the magic word "discount," the furrow in Gyeong-ja's brow smoothed out instantly, and she picked up the pen without a shred of suspicion.
The moment Gyeong-ja's signature went onto the portrait rights consent form, I couldn't help but laugh and cheer internally.
I won. Just as planned.
Not long after submitting all the documents, a text message arrived.
I took a deep breath and tapped the message.