Debut or Die!

Chapter 8

Strictly speaking, Park Moondae’s dancing wasn’t anything special. He was a good enough dancer that he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb in a group dance, and that was about the extent of his abilities. However, put differently, this meant he could put on a performance that was good enough to be included in a group dance in the first place.

Even if this is just his debut performance… He could probably match, if not outdo, every other person here in terms of skill. He was showing incredible improvement. The choreographer felt himself growing excited in the face of such a surprising development, but he forced himself to remain calm. He wasn’t this good two days ago. He can’t have improved in a meaningful way in that time.

If Moondae was smart about this, he’d probably put the most effort into making the best possible impression at the very beginning of the song.

He’ll go back to his clumsy execution soon enough…

But he didn’t. Park Moondae continued to dance at the same level even as he entered the chorus. In fact, he only seemed to get a better grasp of the tempo in the chorus and his arm and leg movements didn’t flounder in the extremities, as was typical of the beginner-level contestants. His dancing was accurate and stable, not some sloppy mishmash of moving parts.

The one to shine on stage today... I’ll be!

He was singing all of the lyrics as well, not skipping or skimming over any part. His technique could use a little refining, but he didn’t get a single note wrong and gave a clean, pleasant vocal performance.

Mewdy tapped the beat of the song on the desk cheerfully with her pen where she sat next to the choreographer. She seemed unaware of her own actions, but that was probably a testament to how much she was enjoying the performance.

Even to the choreographer’s untrained ears, Park Moondae’s singing was the best they’d heard so far.

Watch me closely... as I bring them to their knees!

His singing was excellent. He was pronouncing the lyrics clearly and audibly.

I wonder how much effort he had to put into keeping up with the dance while singing in such a steady voice? The choreographer found himself feeling a warm fondness for the boy. He treated people with skill, promise, and potential very differently from how he treated those without. In his mind, Park Moondae had just earned himself a considerable amount of goodwill, which had certainly not been the case before thanks to his obvious lack of dancing talent.

Maybe he looked like he was struggling to learn the moves because he was focused on keeping his singing steady—his strong suit is his voice, after all. But the choreographer still had his doubts. It’s hard to get this good after only a couple of days with no decisive reason why.

Park Moondae finished the second verse without losing the beat or any volume or power in his voice. The judges were silent. The choreographer, setting his puzzlement aside, suddenly felt overwhelmed with a positive emotion—admiration.

“Thank you,” Park Moondae replied, red in the face and gasping for breath. He had obviously given his all to finish the song powerfully. There was a passionate sparkle in his eyes, in contrast to the almost arrogant attitude he’d adopted during the first audition—when he’d gone ahead with his bold song choice without so much as a twitch in his expression.

It made it obvious to anyone watching just how hard he’d worked. The improvement was so incredible it was sure to seize the hearts of the audience. Mewdy already looked poised and ready to shower Moondae with compliments. The choreographer guessed that the other judges felt similarly, though their reactions might not be as emphatic.

However, there was no one better positioned than him to work this scene to the show’s advantage. He was the one who’d drilled Moondae for the last ten days in the dance practice room. For this reason, the choreographer ignored the production team as they indicated to him that Youngrin should be allowed to give her critics first. He spoke into the microphone.

“Moondae.”

“Yes,” Moondae panted, still out of breath.

“Well done.”

There wasn’t anything more that needed to be said. Park Moondae grinned instead of responding. It was a confident smile that bordered on playful, and strange to see on his face since he had been largely unmoved by anything for the last ten days.

***

Nothing beat a quality plot twist and nowhere was this formula more effective than on an idol audition show. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might explode right out of my chest, as I struggled to suck enough air into my lungs, but I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

The judges’ responses were favorable.

“My goodness, that was amazing.”

“Moondae, your performance was perfect today.”

“Excellent.”

I felt like I’d taken a large step away from my inevitable doom. I knew it. I was right to put all three of the points I collected into dancing. My dancing grade was now C. The level increase frankly had a more noticeable effect on my dancing than it did on my singing. Things I’d only been capable of doing in my head I was suddenly capable of doing with my body, and I could feel new muscles moving and flexing as I danced.

The experience was euphoric. At this point, I could probably keep up with the contestants in the intermediate classes at least, even if I hadn’t quite reached the advanced level just yet. I’d spent an entire week memorizing the choreography without getting even a wink of sleep, so I knew the moves inside and out. With this song, at least, I could hold my own in the intermediate class.

And I only showed how much I was able to improve at the very last minute. Unless they chose to edit all my footage out for some reason, this should definitely be enough to ensure that I wouldn’t be eliminated in the first wave of disqualifications. It felt like I was slowly but surely making progress toward surviving this.

The questions I’d been expecting to hear came next.

“Moondae, what have you been doing for the last two days?” the choreographer asked.

I could see judge Mewdy mouthing Why? at him.

The choreographer explained. “You’re suddenly a competent dancer? And it somehow happened in the two days since we last met.”

“Well…” I started, finally catching my breath and purposefully tidying my hair a little bashfully. I no doubt looked embarrassed. “I asked my friend to help me out since he’s a more talented dancer than me.”

“A talented dancer?”

“Seon Ahyeon.”

I was casting a smoke screen over the truth, in a way. I couldn’t very well tell them that I’d used the status window to level up, so I chose to weave a touching backstory instead. As it happened, Seon Ahyeon, who was in the advanced dancing class, was my roommate. It was sometimes the case that getting advice from a peer resulted in marked improvement, so I was trying my luck at using this as an excuse.

“Do you have a moment?”

“M-me? Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you could show me how to do this move if you have time…”

“O-oh! Sure thing!”

“Okay…”

Seon Ahyeon had perked up when I’d asked him for help and immediately began teaching me the steps so passionately that I would have felt bad if I hadn’t shown any improvement. I’d been a bit taken aback by how eager he was since he spent nearly two hours explaining every move in detail.

I only asked him so no one could poke holes in my story… In any case, it would probably do Seon Ahyeon some good to be seen as the guy who’d gone out of his way to help a clumsy amateur dancer like me. It’s a win-win situation.

I decided to sweeten the pot a little and throw in some unnecessary details. “Ahyeon is very friendly.”

“Hey, are you saying that I’m not?” the choreographer complained. There was a grin on his face, though. It seemed like I’d handled the question quite well. A warm, touching mood had fallen over the room.

“Do you remember what I told you during your first audition?” asked Youngrin of “Saint U” in a gentle voice. I had the feeling this was a rhetorical question. Smiling faintly, she continued, “I said that since you had no experience with dancing, future missions might be difficult for you to handle. It seems I was wrong. Park Moondae, I believe you’ve got what it takes to endure everything this competition throws at you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for your performance today. Hopefully, your dancing will be a little more relaxed and natural next time.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Their comments didn’t mean I was going to take it easy in the next round, but on an audition show, you had to be armed with a willing attitude at all times. That was pretty fun. In any case, my plan had been successful. As the judges went on to deliver an overwhelmingly positive review of my performance, I concluded that I was likely to receive a gold grade.

***

As was the case for many idol audition shows, “Idol Incorporated” revealed its theme song to the public before anything else aired. Those who got the most amount of screen time in the theme song, were, of course, the most skilled of the contestants. And it was the grades assigned in this round that determined who would be considered skilled.

One might easily guess that the gold, silver, and bronze grades corresponded with the advanced, intermediate, and beginner classes respectively.

“Any contestants who rank lower than bronze… will be eliminated!”

They said the same thing every season, but it had never actually happened, therefore it was usually safe to ignore the warning. There was one grade that ranked higher than gold…

“‘Idol Incorporated’ has returned with its new and improved season, ‘Relisted!’ Who will take the top spot and receive the platinum grade this time?”

The platinum grade. People on the internet had promptly turned the grade into a meme, comparing it to everything from multi-level marketing scams to multiplayer games that were infamous for their toxic communities. Frankly, I was just relieved that the production team hadn’t gone so far as to call it the diamond grade.

Regardless of how I felt about it, the other contestants were waiting with bated breath for the emcee to announce the results. A fancy metal box had been placed in front of every contestant, and inside each was a badge that would reveal the grade given to them by the judges.

I wasn’t very nervous, since I already had a good idea of what mine was. Twenty-sixth place and beyond was silver, and a quick glance at the various status windows around me told me that I was currently in the top twenty-five. I wasn’t good enough for the platinum grade, which was given to the top ten. That meant that I would be gold.

“Contestants, please open your boxes!”

I wore a solemn expression to hide my boredom and flipped the lid open. I froze. Inside the box was a glittering badge with a hologram finish. I was platinum grade, not gold. Seeing that I was frozen in shock, Seon Ahyeon glanced down as he lifted his own gold badge from its box. He jolted upon seeing my badge.

“Wh-wh-whoa!

“Huh? No way! Wow, that’s amazing!”

Lee Sejin, formerly in twentieth place, also held a golden badge in his fist and screamed when he saw what lay inside my box. He slapped me on the back.

“Wow, you’re something else! Platinum, huh?”

Since when were we this friendly with each other? The most we’d done was say hello in the corridor. I didn’t react to his sudden enthusiasm, however, since he’d been the one to start making comments unsolicited.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the badge. It probably looked to the other contestants as if I was emotional about the high rank, but in truth I was confused. Why am I platinum? I knew that two or three contestants in every season were usually awarded the platinum grade because of their growth instead of for their actual skill level. But I hadn’t thought I’d made that much of an impression.

Then I realized what had happened. The grade evaluation order! Since everyone had already been evaluated and sorted into grades, it probably meant very few people were able to make their way up from the lower and middle rankings, making my skill boost more noticeable. I’d memorized this specific dance by practicing every night, and that, paired with my prior knowledge of the song thanks to my past life, meant my performance was superior to those with similar stats.

“Hmm...” I turned the badge over in my hand. I’d made a strong impression, that much was obvious, but for some reason, it left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. There will be hell to pay if I mess up now.

If I made even the smallest mistake during the next evaluation, there was no knowing how I’d come out in the edit. A contestant in the first season had fallen victim to the same fate. In fact, I didn’t think I’d have to wait until the next evaluation. If anything was even slightly off in how the footage of me receiving the platinum grade was edited together, I was screwed.

Choi Wongil was glaring at me from a few paces away, and he’d instantly set me up for a fall if he said something like “frankly, I don’t get why he got that grade” in an interview. It would be extremely unwise of me to let on that I wasn’t entirely pleased, though.

Can’t be helped, I guess. I slowly took the badge and pinned it to my shirt. Turning around, I took note of which contestants had received platinum badges. As expected, the guys who’d placed first and second in the first round of auditions had both been given platinum badges. In addition, those who’d been sitting on the comfy sofas all got platinum grades for the most part.

It seemed some of the contestants from after tenth place had managed to force their way up, while the rest remained in the gold grade. The only person formerly lower than twentieth place was me.

Sh*t. I have a target on my back. But no—I should look on the bright side. Ranking high was good, after all. At least I’ll get plenty of screen time.

Until fancams started making the rounds online, it was a battle for who could get the most screen time. At least I was safe from being disqualified early on, that was for certain. I was making decent progress toward my goal—to debut within a year.

All I have to do is avoid coming off as crazy unlikable. I resolved to do everything I could to avoid people finding reasons to dislike me. I’d level up and put all my points into dancing and singing.

“Please come up to the stage, everyone, starting with those in platinum grade!”

And for now, when it came time to perform the theme song, I would do my best to avoid ending up next to anyone with an A in dancing. I had nothing to gain, and a whole lot to lose, from being compared like that.