The subsequent basic choreography demo also wrapped up without any major issues. Because I had the whole routine memorized, the worst-case scenario of freezing mid-way didn’t happen.

After watching even my choreography showcase, the teachers applauded.

"Iwol, you’ve improved a lot!"

"Thank you."

"Your posture is really good. That’s why the sound comes out well. It’s your first time, so you must’ve been really intimidated, but you did great."

Objectively, the gap from the members’ level must have been severe, but maybe because my training period had been overwhelmingly short, the evaluations were generally lenient.

What was surprising was that the system popped up at this point.

 [SYSTEM] As the ‘Work’ adaptation period is complete, performance-based correction effects will be applied.

▷ Excellence in ‘Attendance Management’ is recognized and you receive a high evaluation.

▷ A positive effect occurs in the end-of-month evaluation.

+

...so it said.

In other words, the performance-evaluation items on my résumé affected reality too.

My Attendance Management score was 18 out of 20.

If the only activated item was this attendance management, I had to assume you couldn’t expect much of a correction unless the score was quite high.

If they give me even a single bonus point, I’ll take it.

Right now, when even one line of praise is precious, I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

"From next class, we can go a little harder. Right?"

"I’ll... work hard."

"Hey, you weren’t nervous at all a second ago—why are you nervous now?"

At my solemn answer the teachers burst out laughing.

I’m sorry, but just keeping up with this class was already plenty hard for me. It would be a problem if you think I’m joking.

I couldn’t start whining, so I laughed along with them. The very picture of a subordinate’s sorrow.

"One last question. What was the most decisive reason you chose this song?"

The vocal teacher asked. The answer was clear.

"I thought it was the song that would best show what I’ve learned."

The teacher smiled, satisfied at my response.

It matters to have someone who recognizes that I was trying to use my head. Better-than-expected results.

With individual feedback finished, the evaluation ended.

Only after the staff left and the practice room door shut did we finally get to catch our breath.

"Hyung!"

While I was putting away the desks and chairs we’d laid out for the evaluation, someone jumped onto my back.

I steadied myself and looked in the mirror—Lee Cheonghyeon was hanging off me.

"Crazy. I’ve never seen anyone get only praise on their first evaluation! Maybe you’re a genius, hyung?"

“Genius” is a word for future you, whose face will be like white jade, who’ll spit rap like flowing water, and who’ll even go boom-boom at composing.

It would be great if you could use those outstanding abilities to take a decent selfie, too.

You guys will never know how much of a hassle it was to go to the post office to trade photocards instead of Department Head Nam’s precious daughter.

Worried the kid might slide off, I grabbed his legs; Cheonghyeon clung to my back like a cicada.

"Looks like they appreciated the effort. And it’s largely thanks to you guys helping me."

"Even humble! I should learn from you."

"If you’re going to keep talking nonsense, get down."

"If I stop talking nonsense, can I keep ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) getting a piggyback ride?"

"Suit yourself."

"This hyung is generous in the weirdest places."

Even so, Cheonghyeon slid off my back right away.

Kang Giyeon, apparently proud that I’d gotten through the evaluation well, taught me a new move.

I, too, with the mindset of If I can soothe your stressed-out heart today with the sacrifice of this one body..., rolled around and worked hard.

Unfortunately, Giyeon’s face stayed ashen the whole practice. He’d clearly already forgotten my line about how there are people in this world who are born hopeless with their bodies.

After the end-of-month evaluation, the staff who served as judges gathered in the conference room on the company’s second floor.

"The kids are going right back to practice, yeah?"

"Yes. They’re all diligent."

Min Jugyeong answered the President’s question right away.

UA’s trainees were truly diligent. For years, no one at UA had ever seen a trainee slacking off.

And their personalities were all pretty unproblematic; compared to the rumor-fueled tales that come out of the big management companies renowned as idol powerhouses, UA’s trainees were, definitively, mild.

"Iwol already had the basic shape, too. Did you bring him in, Jugyeong?"

"Yes. I was surprised—he did better than I expected."

Since the trainee she’d cast was mentioned, Min Jugyeong added another comment.

I thought he looked promising, but I didn’t expect he’d actually be a seed bound to sprout...

When the casting story of the new trainee, Kim Iwol, came up, the trainers who’d been opening their score sheets showed interest and asked questions.

"You brought him in, Jugyeong? From where?"

"Hongdae. He was watching a busking set, so I snatched him on the spot!"

"Even the location has a vibe."

"That Iwol kid pops out, too, when he’s among people."

When Jugyeong answered, the President and the dance trainer each chimed in.

Jugyeong thought back to when she first ran into Kim Iwol.

He did stand out.

The moment she saw his pale, shadowed face on a Hongdae street, Jugyeong thought—

He’ll match our kids’ faces perfectly...!

What also helped was his unusually proper posture.

Long limbs and even his posture was straight; that particular uprightness stood out even more in the crowd.

"Anyway, Jugyeong, you’re a bulldozer. How did you decide to bring in someone without a major?"

"I actually asked about that last time. He said the kid has listening sense."

"Really?"

"Yes. You know how loud Hongdae is. He immediately picked out that one of the instruments was off pitch."

At Jugyeong’s words, everyone’s faces showed surprise. Understandable.

The way Kim Iwol usually looked was like someone doggedly doing his own practice; he hadn’t shown the image of catching each and every note with a sensitive ear.

But that day, Jugyeong saw clearly.

How he stood still a little apart from the stage, and when a particular part of the melody repeated, his brow would crease ever so slightly.

He didn’t stay near the busking stage long.

Maybe he wasn’t that interested in the song; while Jugyeong was thinking that, the vocalist grabbed the mic to do banter.

That’s when a lone guitarist came into her view, re-tuning his instrument by himself.

After that, there wasn’t anything to agonize over.

Jugyeong energetically explained to the wary young student who’d seen her suddenly dash out from somewhere that she wasn’t a suspicious person.

And seeing the student accept the business card she offered with both hands, she thought: Please, I hope this kid comes.

At first I did intend to cast him for his face alone, true...

Jugyeong cleared her throat. However you get there, the goal is Seoul.

At that, the vocal trainer, Oh Eun—who had been quietly listening to the three speak—said,

"He does seem to have sense. And he works hard."

At Oh Eun’s words, everyone in the room turned their eyes to him.

He had debuted through a small agency, but as the main vocal of a girl group that didn’t leave a very strong impression and disbanded after three years.

Because he had been an idol himself, Oh Eun was also the person among UA’s staff who evaluated trainees the most objectively.

Getting a “works hard” from someone like Oh Eun wasn’t easy.

If it were Jeong Seongbin or Kang Giyeon, who had been trainees a long time, sure—but for Kim Iwol, who hadn’t even hit one month, to have his effort recognized was clearly noteworthy.

What kind of evaluation Kim Iwol would receive in his very first month-end—Min Jugyeong couldn’t help quietly looking forward to it.

Back in high school, once a mock exam ended you could go home.

But as a trainee, even after evaluation you stayed to practice and practice again.

After I finished the rest of my practice like I was writing an error log, it was about time to head back to the dorm.

Tonight’s lights-out members were me and Jeong Seongbin.

On the way out of the building, Seongbin asked,

"Are you getting used to living here now?"

Caring for others even when you’ve got a lot on your own plate isn’t something just anyone can do.

Even so, Jeong Seongbin was always the same. The kind of guy who makes you think, So this is who becomes a leader.

"Yeah. Except for getting completely wrung out during a one-hour private with Giyeon."

"If it was one hour, you got off early."

"So you do know how to joke?"

Seongbin laughed, half-embarrassed. I, who’d been rolled like a roasted chestnut drum in midwinter by Kang Giyeon’s hands, couldn’t laugh.

Looking at me, Seongbin asked,

"You always stay to practice until the end. Isn’t it tough?"

"The teachers are kind, and everyone helps me—if I don’t work hard, that would be rude. Luckily my stamina holds up."

"Hyung’s stamina is admirable, that’s for sure..."

He trailed off, remembering how he’d come over to teach me a move and then collapsed like boiled mung-bean sprouts.

This is what you get for feeding growing teenagers nothing but salad.

A company that doesn’t understand the importance of the growth period. Giyeon’s not going to top 175 cm at this rate—maybe then they’ll wake up?

"It’s not like you’re only working hard by staying late. You even wander around during breaks."

In the practice room, Seongbin moved like someone who didn’t know how to rest. Same after debut.

At my words, Seongbin paused for a beat. If I hadn’t been looking closely, I would’ve missed it.

Then he relaxed his face and smiled.

"I’m average."

A humble line—but, I don’t know.

Can you call a life “average” where you wake at the crack of dawn and repeat nothing but dance and song from morning till night for years?

In today’s world where even paid overtime is capped at twelve hours a week.

“Go back to being a trainee vs go back to the army...?”

On his post-discharge celebratory live, when he was solidifying his rep as one of Idolland’s Five Great Bodhisattvas, Seongbin couldn’t answer that question for a long time. Says it all.

If you’ve been that diligent, I’d think you’d at least have pride in the time you put in. But Seongbin had a strangely strong tendency to take his own effort for granted.

In our department, if there were an employee who was faithful in attendance, never spared a hand to help other staff, and worked every day to improve their job competency?

If it were me, I’d carry that friend to work on my back starting tomorrow. This is all because modern society is stingy with praise.

Should I just give him that praise.

It doesn’t cost money to compliment someone.

Besides, of SPARK’s five, Seongbin was the one I held the least grievance against.

On shows, he’d arrange the speaking order so voices wouldn’t overlap, and he’d call everyone by name so viewers could learn them.

For a forcibly initiated, novice fake Sparkler like me, Seongbin’s consideration had been a ray of light.

For such a benefactor, one word of praise is the least I can do.

If only he’d also stopped the disbandment, I could’ve avoided the calamity of falling flat and fainting and de-aging nine years, but still.

I walked a few more steps with him and opened my mouth at a reasonable timing.

"Most people, even if they have something they want to do, don’t work at it every day like you."

"Sir?"

"When you’re younger it’s even more so. There’s so much fun stuff in the world. Knowing there’s fun stuff and resisting it—most people can’t do that."

Somehow it felt like I was doing a long-overdue check-in with a junior.

I don’t love conversations in this register, but I couldn’t duck out for the dorm mid-sentence, so I forced myself to keep going.

"And it’s not like you’re only good at one or two things. You sing well and you dance well. Look at me. I can’t sing and I can’t dance."

"Hyung?"

I was definitely trying to comfort Jeong Seongbin, but somehow my own heart hurt.

And in the middle of that, maybe I’d babbled too much—Seongbin’s expression had shifted into something strange.

They say if you sit someone down and only say what you want to say, you’ve turned into a boomer. That was exactly the act.

"...Of course, thinking of the countless fans you’ll gain from now on, building your skills diligently right now is the right move."

People’s lives are unpredictable, so I didn’t forget to add a touch of cautious pressure.

Not that Seongbin was that kind of guy, but if one slip of my mouth made me lose a seven-year general, no matter if the other party was SPARK I wouldn’t be able to hold my head up.

"Fans...?"

Seongbin gave a bitter smile.

Huh?

A chill wind seemed to cut across the back of my neck for an instant.

I already knew this unsettling feeling well.

A counterpart whose self-esteem has bottomed out. The uncertainty about himself seeping from his expression. A tone that clearly shows he’s not expecting the future—he’s completely resigned.

"Assistant Manager, I’m thinking of quitting at the end of this month."

This was, an unmistakable resignation signal.