“After the first day’s lessons ended, life settled into an ordinary routine.

The way the kids treated me seemed subtly different—definitely in a good way. At first I felt like a complete outsider, as if I were waiting behind a “No Entry!” sign. Now it felt like I’d been invited inside the fence. I was glad they were so warm.

But just as the peaceful everyday life seemed destined to continue, a new event shattered it.

Early December.

We were in the middle of choreography practice when the practice-room door opened.

The moment Director Jo Gyu-hwan’s face appeared, the maknae quickly turned off the MR.

“Hello, Director!”

“Ah, yes.”

Director Jo returned the greeting with a smile.

“Phew, you all smell of sweat. You’ve been working hard, I see. I just came to give you something—nothing to get nervous about.”

He handed us a sheet of paper.

“Your year-end evaluation assignment is out.”

“Really?”

We all gathered around Kim Bi-ju as he handed out the notices, printed in a neat official style:

【 2013 Joint Year-End Evaluation Notice 】

Venue: Taehwa High School Auditorium

Date: 2013.12.28 (Sat)

Participating Agencies: DNS Media, Lemon Entertainment, Why Entertainment, Big Brother Company, Eoulrim Entertainment

Assignment: A performance that ties two different songs together under one theme

Please inform trainees’ parents in advance, as traffic may be chaotic on the day.

While the others stared at the notice with tense expressions, I scratched my head.

Year-end evaluation? I knew about month-end evaluations. Idol trainees take monthly skill exams, like regular students take mock tests. The subjects aren’t Korean or math, but it’s still an exam—and the stress is just as real. The difference is that if a trainee flunks too many month-ends, the company can drop their contract. Trainees who don’t improve get discarded.

At TJ Entertainment, we had three or four of these each month: small evaluations every two weeks, and bigger ones every Thursday. Sometimes you’d be told, “Your high notes are weak, master this song.” Other times you’d compete in teams to create choreography. So this “tie two different songs together” theme was just another exam type.

What surprised me was that they were making it public—and with other agencies. Was it just a showcase? A showcase is a promotional stage: you show a display in a shop window to gauge reaction. I’d heard that MOP, one of the Big Four, once opened trainee stages publicly like this. But I needed more information: what exactly was a year-end evaluation?

I looked around at the trainees scanning the notice, and picked the one whose mouth seemed to run fastest.

“Huh? What? Year-end evaluation?”

“Yep.”

During break, Wang Ji-ho, chewing the chocolate bread I’d bought him, asked, “First time hearing about it?”

“I only know the month-end evaluations.”

“Oh, this is every six months with neighboring agencies. The one in December is called the year-end evaluation.”

“Like an MOP showcase?”

“A bit different. MOP calls ordinary audiences. Our year-end evaluation’s audience is trainees’ families and associates.”

“I’d rather have ordinary people.”

I shuddered. The maknae agreed.

“Exactly. If you mess up or trip over a rap in front of your parents, that’s humiliating.”

Just imagining singing and dancing before my grandmother made me cringe inwardly. While I brooded over that, Ji-ho gobbled the rest of his chocolate bread.

“But there’s a real reason we have to ace the year-end evaluation.”

“What’s that?”

“Because it’s inter-company, there’s rivalry. DNS and us are the biggest, so we’re rivals. If we debut a girl group, they debut a girl group. That’s how it goes at the year-end evaluation too.”

“Like a Korea-Japan soccer match?”

“Similar.”

Ji-ho gulped his milk and continued.

“And in June they beat us badly. Like 7-0 in soccer. The mood was terrible—our CEO barely greeted anyone for days.”

“Our CEO?”

“Hard to believe, right? But it happened.”

“So we have to win this time?”

“Yes, yes.”

“But you’re all talented too. Did DNS really do that well?”

“From what I remember, their seniors were amazing. Probably the ones who made it into their debut group.”

Ji-ho showed me articles he’d found on his phone:

“‘La Vie en Rose’ junior group to debut... 9-member ‘Street Boys’”

“DNS Media rookie ‘Street Boys’ debuts in reality show”

“‘La Rose’s junior group’ Street Boys reveals debut journey on K-Net reality”

It described a 9-member hip-hop boy group. A reality show for K-Net airing now, aiming for April debut.

“These are our rivals?”

“Yep.”

“Why film reality before debut?”

“Aren’t you jealous? If you do this, fans will come flooding in.”

I nodded. To an ordinary viewer, a 0.1%-rating show is nothing, but to idols, it matters. Major agencies get recognition by debuting alone; small agencies are grateful for anything that draws fans.

I nudged Ji-ho’s arm as he stared at the articles.

“Let’s get back. The others must be waiting.”

“Hyung.”

“What?”

“My throat hurts from talking so much. Could you buy me a chocolate milk?”

While I bought Ji-ho his chocolate milk, I grabbed drinks for the rest of the members too.

Back in the practice room, we sat in a circle sipping our drinks—for a strategy meeting. We had to plan our year-end evaluation assignment: “A performance tying two different songs under one theme.”

“When DNS did hip-hop last time, should we go intense too?”

“Hyung, they have four rappers. We only have one. If we go hard, we’ll lose.”

“Hm... but Jung-hyun has a point.”

Kim Bi-ju spoke up. “What if we go with a strong concept? If we do something soft like last time, we might get pushed aside.”

“I’m not sure. A head-to-head match could be bad news.”

“I think we can handle a head-to-head.”

“This isn’t an easy choice.”

They calmly debated which concept before choosing songs. Three of them argued, while Ji-ho and I observed. Ji-ho fidgeted with his phone; I pondered deeply.

Something didn’t feel right. They all seemed fixated on DNS. Were they seeing this as a survival competition? A war to defeat rivals? Had it not been for the families watching and last June’s painful defeat, maybe they wouldn’t be so obsessed with “outdoing DNS.” Their desperation reached me too—even so, I stayed silent because of my short tenure here. It felt like a newly posted captain joining a debate among senior sergeants.

“Hyungs, we need to decide quickly,” Seo Ri-hyeok said, tapping the floor. “If we factor in arrangement work, it takes longer.”

“Director says he won’t do the arrangement?”

“He and the engineers are busy with Senior Yoon Chan-hyuk’s album.”

“So we have to do it ourselves.”

“With choreography, we’ll only have two weeks of practice, I bet.”

“Then let’s decide.”

“Do we know what DNS is planning?”

Our theme was connecting two different songs—verse one and verse two from different tracks. Choosing songs was already tough. The members looked at us.

“Ji-ho, Woo-joo hyung, any ideas?”

“I trust whatever you hyungs choose.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to me.

“I do have an idea.”

“Oh? Anything works, so tell us.”

“...I’m sorry to say this, but I think you’re approaching this wrong.”

The air went quiet. Seo Ri-hyeok’s narrowed gaze bore into me.

“What’s wrong?”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re mostly talking about what DNS will do.”

“So?” 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

“Beating a rival is important, but this isn’t a survival show. We need to consider the essence of performance.”

They looked at me as if to say, Who are you to know? Still, I couldn’t let this go. If we kept this up, we’d crash and burn.

“I think we must think about the audience first.”

“The audience?”

“Our reason for being on stage is for the fun of it. Our purpose is to entertain the audience.”

An entertainer’s goal is to make the public happy.

“Before picking themes or songs, I believe we should analyze the audience’s preferences.”

I’d thought this way since childhood: how to increase my grandmother’s diner sales? You study the local market, current food trends, and customer profiles. My point was similar: don’t imitate the neighbor’s hit dish—think about who actually comes to your door.

Kim Bi-ju smiled. “That makes sense.”

“Of course it does.”

Seo Ri-hyeok’s sharp gaze turned to me. “But that’s too abstract. Everyone here knows we need to entertain. What matters is concrete alternatives.”

“I have an idea.”

“Oh? Share it.”

I explained the plan I’d had since I first heard the theme—how to showcase our strengths and satisfy the audience. Their reactions varied.

“Hyung’s idea is good.”

“It’s fine but risky—hit or miss.”

“I’ll support it if my rap part is solid.”

“It’s too difficult. I like the concept, but the arrangement alone will take two weeks. Only Jung-hyun hyung and I can arrange.”

That had a solution. “I can arrange.”

“No.”

Seo Ri-hyeok repeated impatiently, “Knowing how to arrange and the difficulty of this are different. You know how hard it is. By the time you finish, the evaluation will already be over.”

“One day.”

“Huh?”

“One day is all I need.”

Silence fell. They stared at me in disbelief. They might think I was overconfident without a basis—but I wasn’t. I’d spent two years preparing for college composition studies as well as CSAT.

Seo Ri-hyeok narrowed his eyes. “You really can do it?”

“Of course.”

I smiled. “One or two days is enough.”

“That’s ridiculous—”

“Then want to bet?”

Seo Ri-hyeok hesitated. “A bet?”

“Yeah. If I can’t finish the arrangement by midnight tomorrow, I’ll buy snacks for a week.”

“Wow, really?”

The maknae, stone-quiet until now, lit up. Jung-hyun and Bi-ju, intrigued by the week’s snacks, listened closely. Seo Ri-hyeok paused, as if wary of a trap. I offered ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ a gentle smile.

“It’s a no-lose bet for you guys.”

“What are the terms?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want if you win?”

“Simple.”

I answered, “If I win, let me design the year-end performance my way.”

“......”

“It’s no-lose for you, right?”

“Right, no risk.”

Ji-ho piped up, trading on the promise of snacks, and the seniors quietly watched. Finally, Seo Ri-hyeok said, “Okay.”

I smiled. Observing from the sidelines doesn’t suit me. Now that I’m in the game, I’ll take the lead.