Debut or Die!

Chapter 4

“Huh?”

Several of the judges began whispering to one another.

“T-Holic?”

T-Holic had been a hugely popular male idol group that won the artist of the year award for three consecutive years. They had been inactive for several years because many of the members were completing their compulsory military service. Instead of waiting for everyone to come back, the agency had promoted the youngest member’s solo career since he had yet to enlist.

He’d released a mini album with a title track that boasted an addictive chorus. After some time, people began to realize that the true value of the album lay in its B-side track, “Party in Me.” To everyone’s surprise, it even climbed up the music charts and made it into the Top 3. A popular female artist had recommended the song on her social media, then it was used on several entertainment shows, kickstarting the song’s wave of popularity.

With rich band instrumentals and a stylish synthesizer tune that paired well together, the song was pleasant to listen to and was frequently covered at college festivals. In the end, it managed to make the Top 100 songs list for the year.

And without a doubt, the instrumental coming from the speakers on stage at that moment was that song. The iconic intro was accompanied by a unique accordion melody. Of course, the song was considered to be a masterpiece. It would certainly help the contestant stand out if he sang it well, but that was what made the song choice even more strange.

Many would wonder, Is it possible… for an ordinary person with absolutely zero experience in this field to sing this song?

The song was a risky choice. It was neither a major hit song from a popular idol group nor a classic piece sung by an established artist. It just wasn’t the song that would typically come to mind for an initial audition, regardless of whether it was an idol survival or singer survival audition. In both cases, it was a jarring song choice, especially since several years had passed since the song had first gained popularity.

Seorin hadn’t bothered assigning him a song because she had assumed he’d give a pretty predictable performance—which was how she’d found herself in this unexpected situation. It went without saying that the production team should have checked the contestants’ song selection beforehand, but there were seventy-seven entrants in total, and the staff hadn’t bothered wasting any of their precious time on a mere substitute. Now, they were facing the consequences of that.

It will be hard to compare him to any of the others with this song… Seorin tapped the table with her pen irritably. Initially shocked by the contestant’s song selection, the judges were now waiting for the intro to end with a slightly apathetic air.

Finally, Park Moondae began to sing.

I remember who I’ve always been

Not just in the shining and dazzling seasons

But also all the times I felt weary and weak

At the end of these endless days

The one who’ll embrace my broken self

Will always be me

Yeah, it’s me

He was good—the song began on an offbeat, but he came in at the correct time and then flawlessly sang the first verse in a soft voice. Not many people would notice because he sang with such ease, but the song had a very tricky beat. It was the type of song that could easily reveal that the singer was an amateur, but the contestant was able to hit every note no matter how complex the beat was.

Da, dada, da, da, daa, dadan.

One of the judges, who had been unconsciously tapping his finger to the beat, jolted with surprise at Moondae’s perfect rhythm. The general audience wouldn’t hear the intricacies of the beats but would be left with the impression that he sang well since his notes were timed perfectly with the instrumental.

Besides... His vocalization is... pretty good. It was actually incredible. It wasn’t that he was loud—the way his mellow tone resounded made it sound like it was almost three-dimensional.

Did he sing this well at the noraebang?

Seorin tried to recall how he’d sounded on the day she had first met him, but he couldn’t have been this good. If he had been, she would definitely have filmed a longer interview with him and even helped with his song selection. Did he improve this much in just ten days?

Oblivious to her shock, Park Moondae continued singing, moving from the first verse into the pre-chorus.

That’s why

I must commemorate myself

So that I won’t ever forget again

Yes, remember

Until this very moment

Even when the notes climbed like a bird in flight, he didn’t produce a single flat note. Nor was his breathing unnatural. At this point, something else caught Seorin’s attention: the judges’ shocked expressions.

I’ve managed to live through another day

That itself is a wondrous miracle

Don’t forget it, don’t erase it

So remember

And celebrate this moment

That’s the party in me

As if every day is a party, ooh

Let’s party

He hit the high notes perfectly and with ease. It was as if he could go an octave higher if he wanted, his voice sounded so effortless and crystal clear. Rather than yelling, the method required was that the singer delivered the song as if speaking softly and beautifully.

Seorin felt like laughing in disbelief. Okay, this is actually great… He’s certainly main vocalist material… I mean, we were lacking vocalists, so hasn’t this turned out perfectly? I have a good eye. Who knew I’d find such a gem recruiting a random guy off the street?

The song proceeded to the second verse. While the melody was the same as the first, the rhythm was much more complex—Moondae pulled it off as easily as breathing. His voice didn’t fail even once as he moved into the bridge and toward the final chorus. The way he hit the high notes sent chills down everyone’s spines. He didn’t exaggerate but didn’t sound careless either. It was, in a word, a superb climax.

He returned to the first line of the song like he was finishing a conversation, and with that, the performance came to an end.

I remember who I’ve always been

Moondae maintained a nice tone until the final note. As soon as the instrumental ended, he bowed and said in a dazed manner, “Thank you for listening.”

There was a brief moment of silence. Seorin gripped her pen and thought, Okay, we’re keeping this one. As she mentally readjusted Moondae’s role in the show, the judges picked up their microphones with great enthusiasm.

“Wow, Moondae!!”

“Yes?”

“You know you’re amazing, right?!”

“I practiced hard so I could give a good performance.”

One of the judges interrupted.

“No, I’m telling you. This is something you’re born with. You’ve got talent.” He was a choreographer infamous for his blunt attitude. Anyone could tell he liked what he’d heard, based on the way he was grinning from ear to ear. There was a chance that he was exaggerating, but he wasn’t the type to say anything he didn’t mean. Screaming with joy on the inside, Moondae bowed appreciatively as the judges continued to give positive feedback.

Mewdy, a female singer who was starring as a vocal coach, seemed especially impressed and showered him with praise. “First of all, I’d like to say that your tone is very refreshing. You can hear that very clearly since your vocalization is so good.”

“I know, right? It almost felt like he was whispering right in my ear…”

“True, true.” The others all expressed their agreement eagerly.

Mewdy nodded, adding, “Also, your voice seems like it would suit many genres that are really important for an idol. You also don’t seem to have developed any bad singing habits, so I’m very much looking forward to your future performances. I mean it.”

“Thank you.”

“Moondae, you’ve never worked with an agency before, right? Earlier, you mentioned that you have no experience in this field, and looking at your application form that’s certainly true.”

“No, not yet…”

At this, a young male judge cut in. He was a popular idol whose group had lost two members recently because they had chosen not to renew their contracts with his company. “Does that mean you’ve never taken any lessons before?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Nothing at all? Not even after school lessons?”

Park Moondae nodded silently and the judge seemed impressed by this answer, if slightly skeptical.

Beaming, Mewdy spoke again, “Yeah, it might be better for you to wait for your big break rather than signing a contract with just any random agency at this point. I’m sure you’ll be able to secure a good deal!”

“Thank you for your kind words.”

Seorin suddenly remembered that Mewdy’s agency was preparing to launch a new boy group soon. That’s right, Mewdy owns shares in her agency.

Glancing at the contestant who was bowing his head politely, Seorin noted he didn’t seem all that impressed. When she looked back at the judges who were showering him with praise, she suddenly had a strange feeling. She felt like… they had fallen into a trap. Discovering a talented contestant was a win for the show, but for some reason, she felt unsettled. Resting her chin on her hand, Seorin stared at the microphone Moondae was holding, and was suddenly hit with a realization, He didn’t do a proper dance!

Of course, he had performed a few moves that resembled dancing, but since the song itself wasn’t produced for being performed on stage, the moves were very simple and couldn’t be called choreography.

Ordinarily, the backup dancers would give a legit performance, and the actual idol would just move their hands and feet according to the rhythm while singing, but anyone who watched his performance would remember the song’s “official choreography.”

So despite the contestant’s lackluster dance moves, the viewers wouldn’t think twice because the original performance was like that as well. This was especially true since his singing was so good!

Besides, no one could deny the song belonged to a top-tier idol. By choosing this song, Moondae was able to be considered for his singing abilities alone and avoid being questioned about whether he was serious about being an idol. Ultimately, this was the best song Park Moondae could have chosen in his situation.

This goes beyond just having good sense, it almost feels crafty… Feeling somehow deceived, Seorin studied Moondae with a dissatisfied expression. As if reading Seorin’s mind, one of the judges, who had been sitting quietly until then, picked up her microphone.

Her name was Youngrin, and she was from a girl group called “Saint U,” which had gained overnight fame after someone uploaded a fan cam of them performing acrobatics in the rain while smiling. “The dance you just showed us barely passed for choreography. Can you perform something else that shows your dance skills better?”

Seorin very nearly clapped with glee.

***

I did it.

It was worth singing the song over and over for the past few days until I’d gotten sick of it because in doing so I had majorly leveled up. After transferring all my points to “singing,” my level for that category rose to A-. It was the obvious choice—you had to sing well to succeed as an artist in Korea. This held true whether you were an idol or an ordinary singer.

If you couldn’t dance, that could always be fixed with intense practice, but if you couldn’t sing, not even a pre-recorded track would save you on stage. Also, when it came to idol trainees, there were always fewer people pursuing the position of the main vocalist compared to the position of the main dancer. If you were able to establish yourself as the main vocalist early on, you had a better chance of securing a spot in the debut group.

The next important step had been choosing the right song for the evaluation. Seeing as I had barely received any negative feedback, it seemed as if I had chosen the correct strategy. I had predicted what criticism I was likely to receive from the judges based on my weaknesses and avoided any song which might summon those negative comments.

“What’s wrong with your dancing?”

I deleted any songs that had hardcore choreography from my list.

“Why aren’t you dancing at all?”

I took out any slow love songs, too.

“You sing well, but I’m not getting any idol vibes.”

I excluded all songs that weren’t originally performed by idol groups.

“I must say that you were overly ambitious trying to perform this song all on your own.”

Since I didn’t know how to rearrange songs, I avoided taking any risks and stayed away from all songs that were sung by more than three people.

“To be frank, I’d rather listen to the original artist’s version.”

I eliminated all songs that had been released within the last three years.

Then from the songs that were left, I chose one that ranked high on the music charts. Thinking about it again, it was definitely a good strategy. I thought I’d be able to pass the first round without incident, but of course, there was always at least one person who wasn’t swept up in the atmosphere.

I made eye contact with the judge holding the microphone, it was a face I recognized. She was the idol who made me realize I could earn money taking pictures of idols. Thanks to her, I was able to earn enough to pay tuition for the second semester of my freshman year.

It was a win-win for both of us since she became famously known as a hard-working idol thanks to the video I took of her doing acrobatics in the rain. Unfortunately this time, it didn’t seem like we’d be benefiting each other in any way.

“I understand that you’ve never received training before, but since this is the first round of auditions, we still need to know whether you have the basics down or not. I’m sure you must have come prepared with at least one song.”

It’d be crazy if I said I hadn’t prepared anything—in fact, it would be worse than keeping my mouth shut. “Yes, is it possible for me to do this song?”

One of the crew hurriedly approached the stage and gestured me over. I told him the name of the song I had in mind. The camera followed us and filmed the moment the staff jolted, surprised. Seeing this, I was sure I’d avoided ending up on the cutting room floor. My efforts had paid off.

The studio was then filled with a rhythmic melody.