| Episode 126. Detached Duty (2)
“Who did you say you ended up in the same unit with?”
In the van on the way back, I asked, doubting what I had just heard.
Choi Jeho answered indifferently.
“Allover sunbaenim.”
“Oh, come on……”
Of all the groups to get stuck with, he’d landed the worst one.
Berion was paired with me, so let’s say they were out of the running.
That left four groups, so how did he manage to get picked out of all of them to team up with Allover?
“What’s wrong with Allover sunbaenim? Is it because they’re close with Parte sunbaenim?”
Lee Cheonghyeon, sitting in the front seat, turned around and asked.
But I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t exactly tell Lee Cheonghyeon, who was only a high school student, “Yeah, those people are going to prison in a few years, so I was planning to ignore them in advance.”
As a working adult, I wanted to show these growing sprouts only a bright future and a hopeful world, but it wasn’t easy.
‘Still better than the growing sprout getting paired with Allover.’
Lee Cheonghyeon had been grouped with Rogue. Two people came from that side, and since Lee Cheonghyeon was the youngest among the three of them, it seemed he’d received a fair bit of affection.
‘If it’s a relationship that shouldn’t get too friendly anyway, maybe it’s better for the kid with wrecked social skills to go.’
Once I thought positively, my heart felt at ease. I decided not to hold back on words of encouragement for Choi Jeho.
“It’s fine if you go and raise hell, so if something pisses you off, say it does, and if you want to speak your mind, speak your mind. Just don’t use profanity. Got it?”
“Didn’t you tell me to erase ‘I don’t want to’ from my head?”
“Who said anything about skipping practice or being uncooperative? Do everything you’re supposed to do, and open your mouth too.”
Then, as soon as we arrived at the dorm, I split the stage production budget we’d received from Awangsil in half and put it into two envelopes.
When I wrote Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon’s names on each envelope and handed them over, the two stared at me as if asking why I was giving this to them.
“You need money so people won’t look down on you wherever you go. Take one each.”
“What about you, hyung?”
“How much money could I possibly need for a vocal stage?”
“Still, this isn’t right.”
Choi Jeho opened the envelope and stuck his fingers inside.
I grabbed Choi Jeho’s hand as he tried to take out the bills and said,
“I’m not just giving it to you.”
“……”
“Stay sharp and make sure the stage isn’t embarrassing. What did I say you do when you get paid?”
“You have to do as much as you received……”
Lee Cheonghyeon muttered like a vending machine whose button had been pressed.
Anyway, if you fail to get enough broadcast footage, money or not, none of you are leaving the basement practice room.
* * *
Neat semi-casual outfit, check.
Backpack that maintained crisp edges even with a laptop and planner inside, check.
And even the purchase of two boxes of Vita 600, totaling no more than 30,000 won.
I was perfectly prepared to visit Berion’s agency. It’s my first time on detached duty, so I’m nervous.
‘Iwol, what are those drinks?’
‘I heard it’s rude to go to someone else’s place empty-handed.’
‘Yes, well, that’s true……’
Though he looked dubious, our manager drove me all the way to Berion’s agency.
On the last filming day, after a bit of discussion, we agreed to prepare for the third competition at Berion’s agency, “Greenline.”
‘We can go to UA!’
‘Thanks, but I’ll just accept the thought. UA only has one large practice room.’
‘Ahh……’
And that was how it turned out. Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon were probably being taken in by someone else’s agency by now too.
I gave one box of drinks to the security staff at the agency entrance. I didn’t forget to say that I would be coming and going for a while and asked them to take care of me.
They say the old familiar place is the best, but somehow Greenline looked better than UA. As for UA, security? Forget security, we’d be lucky if we didn’t get robbed.
Thinking this and that, I followed the staff member’s guidance into the practice room, and the Berion members all jumped to their feet.
“Hyung! Welcome!”
“Yeah, this is a bribe asking you to take good care of me during the competition preparation period.”
“No, you didn’t have to bring anything like this!”
Berion welcomed me with a fuss. I was relieved they didn’t give me looks asking if I had no shame trying to pay them off with one box of drinks.
“We said we’d each think of songs we wanted to sing, right? What songs did everyone bring?”
At my words, Berion’s members took turns giving their opinions one by one.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything that made me think, this is it. They seemed to feel the same way themselves, because after they spoke, a brief silence fell.
“Then before I tell you the song I brought…… I listened to the cover tracks you uploaded on MeTube.”
“Gasp. You listened to all of them?”
Yeo Seongchan was greatly surprised.
There weren’t that many in the first place, though. Compared to the amount of Spark’s self-produced content, listening to those was nothing.
After telling them to point out anything I got wrong, I gave a brief rundown of Berion’s vocal characteristics and preferences as I’d understood them.
First, Berion’s main vocalist, Cha Sehan.
Like a trendy group these days, Berion didn’t clearly divide positions, but among them, Cha Sehan sang the best.
His range was on the wider side, but the songs Berion had released so far had all hovered around similar highs and lows, so it felt like his ability hadn’t been properly shown. Perhaps because of that, he tended to cover songs with dramatic developments.
Next was Yeo Seongchan, who reminded me of someone especially sociable.
His refreshing, powerful voice was his strong point. His vocalization was solid, so among the three, he had the greatest stability. Should I say his vocal style and personality were a bit different?
He was weak when it came to emotional ballads. Instead, he showed quite a strength in songs with the kind of K-high notes that had once been popular.
Lastly, the leader, Mun Yeongyu, was a technical vocalist. Eighty percent of Berion’s stage ad-libs were handled by Mun Yeongyu. His volume wasn’t especially big, but his ability to hit notes accurately even in falsetto stood out.
Looking at it like this, the combination wasn’t bad, but…… Berion wasn’t a group that sang exceptionally well.
This wasn’t only true of Berion. It was simply because the number of superhuman-level vocalists in the idol scene had decreased.
Amid a trend where many agencies tried to cover the sharp decline in mainstream popularity with solid fandom power or easy listening alone, a lot of them attempted moderate compromises.
Thanks to that, Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu enjoyed the glory of being called visual main vocals rarer than wild ginseng and impossible to criticize for their skills.
In any case, to summarize, it meant it would be hard to expect the thrilling high-note production that Spark had shown before.
So I wracked my brain hard until I came to work at Greenline today. I was so desperate for Jeong Seongbin’s help.
Still, in the end, I found it.
A secret weapon of a song where Cha Sehan could show an amazing high note for once, Yeo Seongchan could boast his volume, and Mun Yeongyu could freely do ad-libs.
“You know, what do you think of this song?”
I played the opening video of an old animation on my laptop.
* * *
“Then let’s divide the parts like this. I’d like to try matching the harmony sections to some extent too. Is everyone okay on time afterward?”
Kim Iwol asked. Even though the suggestion was made in a gentle voice, it somehow had a force that made it impossible to refuse.
‘Is it because he’s older?’
In Berion, where most of the members were the same age, there wasn’t much meaning in distinguishing the older members.
Moreover, for Mun Yeongyu, the leader, it had been a long time since he had experienced being led by someone else.
Mun Yeongyu vividly remembered the first time he saw Spark’s stage.
No, not only Mun Yeongyu, but all of Berion would remember it clearly.
Compared to peers who debuted around the same time, their skills were overwhelming.
Their visuals and physiques lacked nothing, and even the stage was high quality.
They really came out grinding their teeth. It was the kind of debut that naturally made one think that.
No idol goes into their debut stage half-heartedly. But idols who approach every stage as if they’re prepared to die are rare.
Any rookie would do their best in everything, but Spark felt a little different.
A group that did their utmost to put on the best stage. That description suited Spark.
There had been a bit of noise early in Awangsil’s broadcast, but even so, Mun Yeongyu had wanted to at least greet Spark.
To the point where the controversy about them being rude to other idols seemed ridiculous, every member of Spark was kind.
It would be so upsetting if a group like this were undervalued because of a mistaken controversy.
Mun Yeongyu’s worries were unfounded. Spark did incredibly well on every stage and never lost first place in the audience vote.
They made it impossible to take your eyes off the stage, made you wait for the day the stage aired, and once the broadcast ended, made you search for the performance video again.
If this had happened once or twice, it could have been coincidence, but in the second competition, Spark proved it was skill, not luck. As proof, Mun Yeongyu himself had been waiting only for the day Spark’s second competition performance would air.
At the same time, it also troubled him.
What made Spark’s stages special?
As someone who led a group, Mun Yeongyu couldn’t help but think about it.
Even if he asked them to tell him something like that, they wouldn’t, but he simply thought it would be nice to learn, even just by watching from the sidelines, while they were on the same program.
Then, by luck, he ended up right beside Kim Iwol, Spark’s producing member, participating in his stage planning work.
And on the day of their first meeting, Mun Yeongyu realized just how mechanically they themselves had been working.
Most people, when choosing a song, pick one where they can shine to some extent.
When they get a chance to create a stage, they put forward a concept they had wanted to try, then coordinate it and find a compromise.
Kim Iwol, on the other hand, was different.
Kim Iwol thoroughly grasped the abilities of the people he would be working with and tried to understand as much as possible what kind of song each person wanted to sing.
Contrary to his cold appearance, which made him seem difficult to approach, his attitude was always moderate.
Kim Iwol had a talent for clearly explaining his intentions while gently persuading people.
When everyone else said, “Let’s make a cool stage,” Kim Iwol already seemed like someone who had perfectly drawn that cool stage in his head. That was how it felt, given that Mun Yeongyu could imagine what kind of stage would come out just from listening to Kim Iwol’s words.
‘He’s incredible.’
Mun Yeongyu admired him inwardly. At the same time, he was happy.
For some reason, he had a feeling that this stage would become an opportunity for him and his fellow members to grow another step.
However, enjoyable times were short.
“Then shall we finish up to the harmonies for now and call it a day?”
Because for the ideal stage Kim Iwol wanted, a mountain of extremely intensive practice was waiting for Mun Yeongyu.