'…Yoo A-yeon's "New Life"?'
The trainee tilted his head. It was a choice he hadn't expected.
All trainees who were set to appear on had been notified in advance to prepare a song that let them show dancing and singing at the same time.
So the trainees who had already gone through the level test had all been practicing dance tracks from senior idol groups—songs with decent name recognition that could highlight their strengths and cover their weaknesses.
In particular, most trainees chose songs by seniors from their own agency, to emphasize their connection and bring out the color of each label.
Of course, trainee Won Yuha had also picked a song by a senior from his agency. The problem was—
'…That's the single Senior Yoo A-yeon released after she left KRM.'
A senior was a senior, but it was a song by a senior who had broken away from the company.
Yoo A-yeon had been the center and main vocal of "Lumiel," a girl group KRM debuted seven years ago. From the start she drew a whirlwind of popularity with her striking beauty and clear, bell-like voice.
At the same time, though, she attracted a lot of antis, and the flaw they harped on was her dance lines, which looked half-hearted.
In truth, the problem was a lack of talent in dance, which kept her from cleanly connecting movements. But the public insisted it wasn't a lack of talent, just a lack of effort.
On top of that, "Lumiel" had several members who excelled in performance, which made Yoo A-yeon's weak dancing stand out even more.
KRM's original plan had probably been to "store" Yoo A-yeon amid the dance members.
But being surrounded by people who were too good made her pop all the more instead of being hidden. And the looks KRM hadn't been able to give up when assembling the debut lineup naturally drew eyes to her as well.
KRM seemed to think her skills would improve with time, but everyone has limits. Up to the end of her contract, Yoo A-yeon never managed to show noticeably better dancing.
Maybe she was fed up too; as soon as the five-year contract ended, she left KRM without regrets. Then she began laying the groundwork for a sudden solo career, and "New Life" became the stepping stone for it.
Because she'd come from "Lumiel," she couldn't abandon dance entirely, but the song felt like it was saying: the core here isn't dance, it's the vocals.
With only light steps and a few point moves sprinkled in, Yoo A-yeon's solo debut "New Life" was a track without any performance elements worth noting.
What's more, "New Life" had an ambiguous mood. It was certainly on the darker side, yet melodic enough to allow steps and point moves, not sunk in gloom but floating somehow, as if slightly unmoored.
However you looked at it, it didn't seem like an audition-type dance song.
In the silent room,
only gray noise—
As the intro played and he moved lightly, trainee Won Yuha opened his mouth. The voice that came out through his calm expression was clear.
'…Oh.'
As a female solo song, "New Life" could be a bit tricky for a man to pull off, but Won Yuha's voice suited it very well. A neat, distinct, delicate tone rode the melody and filled the space.
The long thrashing
deep in blue
the true self kept hidden
even the scars you want to erase
quietly close your eyes
look back again
Won Yuha showed a light point move—shaping the lines of his body, lifting his arms to softly touch the air.
'…Clean, but.'
Isn't it a bit lacking?
Thinking so, the trainee cocked his head.
While he and the other trainees were dissecting Won Yuha with sharp eyes, the song was racing toward its climax.
listen
can you hear it now
your voice
Hello stranger, it's a new life
You call it dream
But the future is now
His technique was noticeably inferior to Yoo A-yeon's. But the voice itself was clean, free of excess.
The song fit his tone as if it were originally his, and above all, because he didn't reach for anything unnecessary, it was easy to listen to despite the technical shortcomings.
Besides…
'He looks incredibly at ease.'
Even while singing with the dance—light though it was—Won Yuha's breath never wavered.
That was probably because he knew exactly when to inhale and when to exhale.
And rather than forcing himself to wedge something into the stage, he seemed to use the stage itself as an element to present who he was—that natural ease.
That isn't something you pick up easily unless you've stood on stage countless times singing and dancing together. Even seniors say they only get that feel after standing on stage hundreds, thousands of times post-debut.
Within the spectrum,
a newly discovered miracle,
unfurled on the canvas,
new colors.
Better than I—
that's my new world.
A future filled in,
a world unfolding.
Despite his lack of skill, Won Yuha delivered the live remarkably steadily. That composure was comparable to trainee Do Ji-hyuk, who had just received his first A grade.
In other words, there was a seasoned "taste of experience" to Won Yuha that you wouldn't expect from a trainee.
Breathe out quietly,
now open your eyes—
it'll be there,
your new life.
As the song faded, Won Yuha came to a halt. He lowered the mic and looked straight ahead, his face as impassive as ever.
The calm face of someone whose boldness he'd admired could be felt plainly.
'…It's over.'
Gasping for breath, I froze in place. Maybe because my stamina was a D, even though I'd barely gotten through one song with the choreography minimized, my heart was pounding and my muscles were shaking.
'…This was the best choice.'
My original plan was to just pick some random song from a senior idol group. KRM had plenty of popular seniors, and I hadn't planned to show off flawless dancing anyway.
Choose a safe track like the other trainees, get a decent grade— that was my goal, but—
"…Hoo."
If there was one thing I failed to account for, it was that my stamina was trash.
'Feels like I've got a hundred heavy weights tied all over my body…'
After regressing, I couldn't help being shocked. No wonder: my current body had abysmal stamina and skill.
Compared to before the regression, my muscles moved like they'd atrophied, refusing to obey, and my singing came out as if it were stuck halfway out. I had as much knowledge as I'd learned, but my body wasn't in a state that could melt it into vocals. It was frustrating.
'And on top of that, I had muscle aches for a whole day after finishing just one song.'
Boy-group choreography tends to be intense to begin with, and after barely making it through a full routine, I practically tasted death.
The next day I couldn't even get out of bed and spent the whole day groaning with muscle pain. Given that, dancing boy-group choreography and singing live on top of it was out of the question.
So I ended up looking for a song that would let me move less, and that was Yoo A-yeon's "New Life."
—How about reconsidering?
The moment he heard I'd chosen "New Life" as my evaluation track, Manager Kwon voiced his concern, but I felt there wasn't a better song for me right now.
It wasn't just that it required less stamina; the song also had that ambiguity that made it ill-suited for a survival show.
'It's a gentle song. There isn't much room to flaunt technique or skill.'
Episode 1 is crucial in a survival program. Since viewers decide which trainees to vote for based on first impressions, most of the "debut contenders" get fixed around this time.
I was already in a favorable spot to draw attention, being from a major agency. And my vocal grade was B-. From what I'd seen so far, a B- among trainees meant you were at least somewhat equipped vocally.
So even if my dance was whatever, if I showed some vocal ability, I'd likely manage to get into viewers' good graces.
'But that misses my target exactly.'
I intended to slowly drop my visibility and get eliminated. Which meant I had to stay at the "acceptable line" at all times.
Not so low as to invite scorn, but not so high as to be picked as a next-debut candidate—ambiguous. This song was perfect for showing exactly that.
Manager Kwon disliked my song choice to the end, but eventually he acknowledged that, given my trash stamina, this was the most I could express while singing, and let it slide.
'He probably also wanted to show off that things are good with Yoo A-yeon lately.'
After Yoo A-yeon made her solo debut under another company, her relationship with KRM was frosty for a while. Both industry people and fans knew the rumors, and it seemed Manager Kwon was now trying to change that reputation.
Back when Yoo A-yeon was about to debut solo, KRM, holding a grudge against her for "deserting" the company, forced comebacks from two of KRM's top idol groups to coincide with her debut. They kept up the pressure afterwards as well, hampering her promotions.
As a result, her solo track got relatively buried and didn't perform well. Her fans lashed out, but KRM kept up the air of ostracizing Yoo A-yeon for a while. They probably wanted to warn their artists that betrayers wouldn't be forgiven.
That began to settle only recently, after Yoo A-yeon conveyed she was considering a comeback as "Lumiel." Nothing concrete yet—just in talks.
Anyway, with the agency's tacit approval and a compromise with my stamina, I ended up performing "New Life."
And everyone had probably guessed it was an attempt to hide my dancing skills somehow.
"Trainee Won Yuha, did you perhaps prepare any other dance?"
Given a question like that popping up right away.
"Yes."
I answered and took my stance. The mentors' suspicious gazes fixed on me, and at a nod from the dance mentor, the other track I'd prepared started to play.
"…!"
"Oh my."
And to a famous dance song that every trainee would know, I showed "basics" moves.
"That's totally…"
"Haha."
As I diligently performed light choreography made by slightly altering fundamental drills, the mentors let out incredulous laughs. The trainees, too, looked at me—some with eyes full of nostalgia, others with a hint of a sneer.
'Go ahead and sneer. I just need to get past this…'
It wasn't that I was trying to hide my dance skills; it was that my stamina was lacking, so I'd chosen a song with minimal choreography. There was no need to show off anything intense.
'And this is the most stable dance I can show in my current state.'
They were basics I'd practiced every day for five years. Even with lowered stamina, I could present them with some stability.
'Everyone started from this first step, so it should feel familiar.'
So I just performed choreography in the style of lightly modified fundamentals. I figured this much would be forgiven as "cute."
"Thank you, Trainee Won Yuha."
Apparently my judgment wasn't wrong—after I finished all the dancing, the mentors' expressions weren't all that bad.
They seemed to think I'd tried to be clever and failed a little, and were looking at me with a mix of pity and fond amusement.
The first to pick up the mic was the male vocal mentor.
"Trainee Won Yuha."
"…Huff—yes."
"How long did you say you've been a trainee?"
"This makes it five years."
"Mm, I see. Not short."
"Yes…"
I held the mic, quietly caught my breath, and waited for the vocal mentor's next words. The male vocal mentor—balladeer Do Min—wiped the smile from his face and continued.
"First off, your voice is good."
"Thank you."
"But your skill is lacking. You know that yourself, right?"
"…Yes."
"After five years, you'd expect you'd have learned a decent amount of vocal technique, but none of that shows in your singing. Your pitch is accurate, your high notes come out clean. But that's it. Nothing's being expressed. Your breathing all sounds uniform without any sense of give and take, so it's boring."
"..."
Harsh.
I nodded slightly. Seeing that, Do Min went on.
"And there's no emotion at all in your singing. You did understand all the lyrics, right? And 'New Life' isn't even a song where the focus goes to the dance. In that case, you could have poured the extra energy into the vocals, but there was none of that. That's what I found disappointing."
"…Thank you."
Next, Cha Mina—the instructor who specializes in idol vocals—took the mic.
"My thoughts are the same as Mr. Do Min's. But at the same time, I think Trainee Won Yuha has limitless potential to improve."
With eyes sparkling playfully, Cha Mina continued.
"Right now, you feel like a blank page to me. A blank page full of possibilities for what kind of vocalist you might become. I really like your voice, Trainee Won Yuha. If things go well, I think you can grow as much as you want through this program."
"Thank you."
Do Min nodded along in agreement. I offered my thanks, a bit dazed. Perhaps thinking she'd encouraged me, Cha Mina lowered the mic with a slightly proud look.
"Trainee Won Yuha."
The next to pick up the mic was one of the dance mentors—the dancer, Jane.