Episode 12. Monthly Evaluation (3)
UA’s monthly evaluations proceed in order of who scored highest in the previous assessment.
Since I had no evaluation record on file, I was assigned the very last slot.
It was my first time participating in an evaluation, but I knew the person who had taken first place in the last monthly assessment.
“Then shall we start with Juwoo?”
It was Park Juwoo, the future main vocalist of Spark.
From early in his debut, Park Juwoo possessed a rather peculiar character.
≫ He sings well, dances well, has a handsome face and a good personality. What on earth can’t this man do?
└ I feel like if you dropped him in the middle of COEX Dalmadan Library, he wouldn’t be able to find his way home
└ Isn’t that too harsh a treatment for our dopey boyㅠㅠ
└ Try saying that after taking your hand away from your mouth
└ (Smile)
The atmosphere simultaneously evoking a cool, chilly air and a languid impression was something rarely seen in a nineteen-year-old boy.
Among the stubborn Spark members who would say what they had to say even if it killed them, Park Juwoo held the position of watching over the others with an impassive expression.
In the idol industry, no matter how diligently you reacted, once you were branded as lacking proactivity, you were bound to catch flak.
For the first year after debut, Park Juwoo too seemed unable to escape such controversy.
That is, if his singing had merely been at the level of “moderately good.”
‘It was a night when everyone brought out the liquor they had been saving…’
Park Juwoo began singing along to a famous band song that any student who had ever picked up a band instrument in school would have inevitably heard.
Even within the powerful band sound, Park Juwoo’s voice shone.
What is technique, really? Not missing a single note—that is technique.
For the record, his English pronunciation was perfect as well, since this song was one of his personal favorites.
Though he had been mind-blowing even during practice, Park Juwoo’s all-out performance drew nothing but admiration.
The instructors did not hold back their praise for Park Juwoo, who finished his song cleanly and bowed. The CEO sitting in the center also looked thoroughly satisfied.
Of course. It was a level of skill that would have had me soaking three boxes of tissues in tears if I had been his fan.
“Juwoo is truly outstanding. I think you’ve improved even more since last time. Do you feel it too?”
“……Thank you.”
“He has a real knack for choosing songs that suit his tone. Song selection is a skill in itself, but he basically has great sensibility.”
The evaluations that followed for Park Juwoo were also filled with nothing but praise.
However, it did not remain warm all the way to the end.
“But from now on, I’d like you to practice more conceptual pieces, as I mentioned before. Understood?”
“……Yes.”
“Good work. Next is Jeho, right?”
As he switched places with Choi Jeho, a faint bitterness crossed Park Juwoo’s face.
‘Is it a matter of taste?’
Despite his cotton-ball-like appearance, Park Juwoo’s taste in music was quite different from his looks.
Deep in his bones, that guy was a rock-band music maniac with a rock spirit flowing through him.
However, the sight of Park Juwoo singing rock during his active promotions could only be seen in cover content—and even then, not until Spark’s second year.
The reason Park Juwoo had put down the rock music he loved so dearly was revealed during a live broadcast one day.
‘Juwoo, can you cover a RoseD song……? I like RoseD too, but you have to practice to do a cover. The old feeling doesn’t come out well anymore…… I think it’s because I changed my vocal technique.’
Park Juwoo wrapped up the conversation by saying he would practice hard.
And truly, a few months later, he uploaded a video covering that band’s famous song.
But the day when Park Juwoo would sing his favorite song on stage—or in front of people—never came.
If you thought about the tremendous concepts Spark had pursued in the past, the reason wasn’t hard to guess.
‘It didn’t match the image of an idol that UA pursues.’
Unlike when he had been preparing as a solo vocalist, after changing his path to an idol trainee, the styles of songs Park Juwoo could sing must have been far more limited.
Moreover, Park Juwoo was the member capable of the highest notes in the team. To that extent, the company clearly wouldn’t easily permit him to sing something like rock music, which is extremely taxing on the vocal cords.
With a face as lifeless as blanched spinach, I glanced at Park Juwoo sitting beside me.
Even to me—who had strained to catch Park Juwoo’s faint voice and painstakingly written subtitles for fan videos—his complexion looked rather pitiful.
While Choi Jeho prepared his music file, I spoke quietly enough that only Park Juwoo could hear.
“I like that song too.”
“……?”
“You really sang it well. I enjoyed listening.”
Park Juwoo, who had clearly looked puzzled, suddenly brightened at my words. Albeit only by Park Juwoo’s usual standards.
‘Hadn’t he heard enough praise about his singing to be sick of it?’
Puzzling over the unexpected reaction, I soon found the answer.
There hadn’t been a single person in Spark who shared Park Juwoo’s taste in music.
It struck me that singing every day yet having no colleagues with matching tastes must be rather lonely.
The performances by Choi Jeho, Jeong Seongbin, and Lee Cheonghyeon that followed were all excellent.
UA, which had pushed back its debut by another two years despite having members of this caliber, was also incredible in its own way.
“Next, Giyeon.”
When Gang Giyeon's name was called, Lee Cheonghyeon mouthed a silent “Fighting.”
I too brandished a fist of support with the loyalty of a fellow disciple.
“Hoo.”
Gang Giyeon took a small, deep breath.
To cut to the chase, Gang Giyeon’s performance was good.
However, it fell considerably short of what he had shown in the practice room. Even taking into account that he couldn’t show his specialty, dance, due to taking a few days off with an ankle injury.
If even a non-expert like me could tell, it must have been even clearer through the professionals’ eyes.
And Gang Giyeon himself seemed to know that fact better than anyone.
“Giyeon.”
“Yes.”
“We all know what you’re good at.”
Gang Giyeon’s shoulders flinched slightly. He probably anticipated what would follow.
“But you have to do well during tests for it to really be considered your skill.”
Because it wasn’t wrong, it was feedback that struck Gang Giyeon all the harder, and it was also the kind of words that would sink deepest into that perfectionist’s mind.
“It’s fine to relax while you perform. There aren’t many kids your age who can dance and sing like you.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good work. Let’s do even better next time.”
I could see each warm word being carved into Gang Giyeon’s bones.
Lee Cheonghyeon vigorously ruffled the hair of Gang Giyeon, who sat down with his expression stiffly frozen.
As far as I knew, Gang Giyeon’s habit of getting nervous at important moments would last quite a while. After all, in a “What’s in My Bag” segment, four different kinds of calming pills came out of his bag.
But now wasn’t the time to worry about Gang Giyeon.
“Now, Iwol, shall we try what you’ve prepared?”
I was the one in trouble.
If I didn’t want to get cut from UA today, I needed to pull myself together.
“This is your first evaluation—was it difficult preparing?”
Perhaps out of consideration for me as a new hire, there was icebreaking unlike with the other members.
It had been a long time since I had stood in the position of receiving consideration rather than being the one easing tension.
“Everyone helped me so much. Thanks to them, I’ve gained a little confidence.”
“For someone with only a little, you don’t look nervous.”
“I’m very nervous on the inside.”
Whether they took it as a joke, the instructors laughed.
I was being serious. If I got cut here, I had even resolved to go around every crossroad in the country performing until my sister showed up.
I had prepared as much as I could. If I simply showed everything I had built up until now, I would be doing the best I could.
And I had never made a mistake in situations like this. Because I worked hard not to.
“I have prepared Sitting by the Window.”
The three instructors sitting side by side in front of me looked surprised. Only the CEO seemed pleased to hear the song.
It was understandable. Sitting by the Window was a ballad that was a bit dated, not the kind of song people my age listened to often.
The prospective Spark members also looked as though they were hearing it for the first time, except for Jeong Seongbin.
“Having a broad spectrum is a good thing. Let’s hear it.”
At the signal of vocal instructor Oh Eun, the accompaniment began to play.
As the lyrical music flowed out, I regulated my breathing and focused on the song.
‘I thought for a long time.’
Sitting by the Window, sung by a male vocalist in his late thirties, was a song containing heartfelt regret for time that had slipped away unnoticed.
Thanks to the ballad’s characteristically calm progression, this song required neither Korean-style high notes nor tremendous vocal technique.
It was a song that seemed to draw plainness through sound, and one with a clearly defined structure.
To give the impression of having ‘sung properly,’ a song like this required that one’s diction and vocal support not falter.
It was the basics I had learned over the past three weeks of vocal lessons.
I was confident in my ability to thoroughly internalize what I had learned.
Thanks to ears so sensitive that I could gauge Manager Nam’s condition just from the sound of his voice, I could match each pitch in real time the moment the note came out, squeezing out each tone as though playing a keyboard.
Setting up a strategy for the evaluation was the same.
I had established grading criteria to the point of disgust at Hanpyeong Industries. After living like a dog in the HR team for three years, I could recite the wind and moon using the performance review references in my head.
Applying this, reverse-engineering what algorithm they would use to set the evaluation criteria was entirely possible.
You simply extracted the keywords from assignments given during class, grouped them by category, and made a grading sheet. It was a method I had often used during exam periods in school.
I could bet my brick phone that the margin of error between my predicted grading sheet and the actual one would be under 5 percent.
Once I understood the problem, I focused my attack on the items that would appear on the grading criteria. It was a strategy of not losing points even if I couldn’t gain bonus points.
Of course, there were difficult parts. Drawing a calm emotional line befitting the sentimental lyrics was the prime example.
The sense of disconnect between the song and my fidgeting hands and twenty-year-old appearance was palpable even without looking in a mirror.
So I devoted the next greatest amount of time to understanding the piece, after incorporating feedback.
I deeply contemplated what I truly regretted.
What I regretted most bitterly in life was joining Hanpyeong Industries. But if I sang with that heart, it would obviously become a song filled with social criticism and satire.
Instead, I recalled the past when a public recruitment process completed after two weeks of all-nighters and overtime was overturned by Manager Nam’s single line: “I don’t get it?”
The business hours that had passed had all become trash, and related tasks remained like dregs.
That moment when the deadline was right before my eyes, yet the work progress had returned to zero.
‘They are disappearing, leaving me behind. Everything—’
I put the nihilistic, hollow emotion that a man on the verge of success suddenly feels into the song, raw and unfiltered.
I confess. I almost cried while singing.
‘—The wind is dying down.’
And so the nearly four-minute song came to an end.
Without a single mistake.