How to Avoid Debut

༺ How To Avoid Debut – 9 ༻

 

  “Let’s exchange phone numbers.”  

 

  “…… Are you shooting a youth film?” 

 

  On the long-awaited day of the team mission shooting, as soon as they arrived at the set, he offered his phone to Jun and Jigu, only to receive a cringy reaction. 

 

  “Just give me your number, it’s easy.” 

 

  He didn’t think it was such a burdensome request, but clearly, they, being younger, had different ideas. Forgetting the mere 3-year age difference, he corrected himself with an elder-like demeanor in an attempt to resonate with Jun. 

 

  “Just your number.” 

 

  “Please.” 

 

  Jun quickly snatched the phone from his hand, dialed the numbers at a fast pace, and dialed a call. Then he passed the phone to Jigu without even saving the number. 

 

  “Let Hahyun save it himself, leave the contact name as it is.” 

 

  Jun smiled smugly as he deprived Jigu of the chance to write his own contact name. He took back the phone with the two unsaved numbers and entered the names accurately without a typo. Jun frowned as he watched this in real time. 

 

  “You really have no fun, hyung.” 

 

  Jun, who had been grumbling for a while, silently shifted his focus at the start of the shoot. 

 

  26 contestants stood in two lines on a set that felt slightly different from usual. Only the MC was cheerful in this set, as nothing about the second mission had yet been disclosed. 

 

  I too was privy to the details of the mission, but I couldn’t afford to be cheerful. I was fearful of the imminent hell.

 

  The second mission my uncle had mentioned was more substantial than expected. The task was to form a team and perform with four songs sent by the sponsoring agency who would take the final five remaining participants. 

 

  The pressure was already on to perform new songs, not even established ones, and on top of that, a proper vote was to take place, not merely the number of video recommendations that could be duplicated. The only consolation was that the stage was not being held with an audience in attendance. 

 

  “26 survivors from the first mission. First of all, congratulations.” 

 

  As the MC clapped alone, the contestants struck their palms together a few times with expressions that weren’t particularly pleased. By the time the clapping sound reached the ceiling of the set, the MC started a new ment, and the set naturally quieted down. 

 

  The following words were as I had expected. All the contestants began to murmur at the mention of a team mission, and the buzz grew louder as the MC’s detailed explanation continued. Most voices were curious about what the song would be, and occasionally sighs were heard. 

 

  “The teams are formed before the songs are revealed.” 

 

  “What?” 

 

  Voices surprised at the strange approach further increased the murmur. This was something I hadn’t heard from my uncle. It seemed they assigned numbers to the songs and arranged them randomly, then revealed the correct song. 

 

  The intriguing way of throwing curveballs already caused a flood of worries. I had no concerns about dancing, but I was the type to be greatly influenced by the concept. 

 

  “Song 1, Song 2, Song 3, Song 4. The quota for each is 6 people, 7 people, 7 people, and 6 people. Voting is done individually, so there’s no disadvantage to having fewer people. The top-ranked contestants come forward first, pick a piece of paper from the box, and then enter.” 

 

  As is typical in audition programs, they called the people with high ranks first. Two people who had been plotting to join the same team right behind me let out a sigh at the mention of drawing lots. 

 

  Since nothing was predetermined, I hesitated not to pick up a piece of paper and return to my seat. Some put their hands in the box with a careful face and took a while to choose, and some accidentally pulled out two pieces at once and hurriedly shoved them back into the box. There was also someone who closed his eyes tight and prayed in the middle, which honestly was a bit cute. It was funny to put energy into the hand when it was not something one could choose. Actually, that was Jun. 

 

  “Please check the paper and enter the corresponding room.” 

 

  The white cloth that had been hanging on the wall fell to the floor, revealing four doors. And they were colourful doors, each exuding its own personality. The door of bright red colour had the number 1 written on it, and next to it, in stark contrast, was the cold blue door numbered 2. Doors 3 and 4 also caught the eye with their deep green and yellow colours. 

 

  I quickly scanned the colours and numbers, then carefully unfolded the paper in my hand. I couldn’t unfold it all at once, as I was unnecessarily nervous as if I were sneaking a peek at someone else’s diary. 

 

[4] 

 

  Yellow. I momentarily sank into a sense of disillusionment as I stared at the door that looked like it could burst open with a chick cheeping at any moment. Surely it wouldn’t be a cute and refreshing song. While idols should be able to digest all concepts regardless of the genre, I was not an aspiring idol. 

 

  “Ah…” 

 

  Thinking that yellow necessarily meant a cute song was a stereotype. Struggling to shake off the image of a chick deeply embedded in my heart, I stood in front of the door of room number 4, which was already deserted. It seemed that everyone had briskly entered while I was internally cheeping on my own. If possible, I wanted to avoid people with high rankings. It was annoying to get attention if we ended up on the same team. 

 

  “This is a total balance breakdown… oh.” 

 

  “Hello…” 

 

  The moment I opened the door and stepped in, the room became quiet. In the chilling silence, I barely moved my eyes to scan the five people sitting in front of me. There was the first place, and the third place. The team composition was phenomenal. 

 

  It was so phenomenal that I almost smashed the doorknob. That flashy blonde hair surely belonged to Seongwon, and the one slightly bowing his head towards me with a gentle face was definitely Jigu. 

 

  If my uncle found out about this, he would be horrified. Already, my head was aching thinking about it. A team with such popular members would never get cut from the broadcast. 

 

  “The final boss has arrived. What are we going to do now with our team.” 

 

  That person, who was laughing so cheerfully that I thought tears might gather at the corners of his eyes, was definitely one of the top-ranking participants. His name was Gaon Lee. I didn’t remember his performance vividly, but I remembered him prominently displaying his face in front of the camera during the first episode I watched with my uncle. 

 

  I wanted to change rooms, looking at his deeply dimpled cheeks filled with joy. I wish I had entered the wrong room. I turned back slightly, crying inside, but the yellow door remained unchanged, even on the inside. 

 

  I had joined a team that was destined to be a hot topic, but I didn’t feel happy at all. Barely suppressing the urge to declare my withdrawal in front of the camera, I hesitantly sat down, and silence swept over. Glancing sideways, a small filming crew was silently shooting us, but my uncle, of course, was nowhere to be found. 

 

  “Ah, what a surprise.” 

 

  The silence in the room was shattered in an instant. A screen dropped down from the previously empty left wall, and a video began to play. It was a video of six men dancing to a song I had never heard before. 

 

  I recognized it right away. This was the song we would have to perform. Contrary to my fears, it wasn’t a refreshing song. It just seemed like a typical idol song that the general public would listen to. 

 

  The highlight part was extremely addictive, and while the movements themselves were not complex, the synchronized choreography on the screen seemed very challenging. This was evident just by looking at Gaon, who was sitting right next to me, his mouth unconsciously open. 

 

  “Do we have to practice it just like that?” 

 

  “It won’t be too hard.” 

 

  Seongwon rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and said. Hearing his confident remark, I unconsciously looked at Jigu, whose eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Was he not confident in his dancing? While I was speculating, an answer came 

 

  “You can modify the choreography as you wish, or you can even remake it completely.” 

 

  I was a bit taken aback by the cool suggestion to modify what I assumed was a professionally made choreography. But not everyone here would be good at dancing, so the ability to modify would be extremely helpful. As I was retracing the overall movements of the video I saw earlier in my mind, a call to select a team leader was heard. 

 

  “Who wants to be the team leader?” 

 

  I thought someone would raise their hand since the team leader could get more screen time, but surprisingly, it was quiet. 

 

  “I’m not really fit for something that requires leadership like team leader.” 

 

  Gaon gave a rueful smile and subtly stepped back. It seemed everyone didn’t really want to do it, and of course, I was no different. I shouldn’t stand out in the first place, I had even chosen the spot that was almost in the corner when I watched the video earlier, I couldn’t let that effort go to waste. 

 

  “We have no choice. Shall we decide by voting?” 

 

  Gaon quickly brought a sheet of A4 paper and a pen. Holding the voting paper torn to an appropriate size, I sank into a brief contemplation. 

 

  It would be best if someone who is responsible and diligent took the role. If a popular person became the team leader, they would undoubtedly draw a lot of attention. I wrote down the three-letter name, Kim Seongwon. He’s skilled, so he should be able to teach well. 

  I briefly considered voting for Jigu, but as he was still a high school student, I finally  decided on Seongwon and folded the paper in half to submit it. I thought others would have thought similarly, but… 

 

  “Congratulations, leader.” 

 

  The sight of applause resounding dozens of times in the air was utterly irritating. With the exception of one voting paper with Kim Seongwon’s name, all of them had my name written on them. 

 

  Didn’t they all conspire because they didn’t want to be the leader? My mouth kept opening and closing at the unanimous vote that was so perfect it was hard not to suspect. I wanted to argue something, but I didn’t have the courage. The camera approached my sullen face, now burdened with the unexpected role of leader. 

 

  I’m sorry, Uncle. I’m stepping all over your efforts. I can’t throw a tantrum and refuse to do this since it was decided by a vote, so I forced a smile and said, 

 

  “Shall we discuss our opinions for now?” 

 

  Soon, the production team handed us a tablet PC containing the video we saw earlier, and we tried to share our opinions while watching the video. I thought things would go smoothly, but that expectation was shattered in just three minutes. 

 

  “The beginning part should be changed. We need to give an impact. This part is too bland.” 

 

  “I think it’s more important to perfect the parts that are already set rather than adding unnecessary elements.” 

 

  “The first part should be powerful; that’s half the battle won. I’m not saying we should overhaul everything, just modify this part. And I’m not saying we make it harder. We can dance even if the difficulty is raised a bit here. ……Although, I can see why you might want to keep it neat rather than make mistakes because of lacking skills, I guess.” 

 

  The video was stuck at 0:13, unable to play further, and the atmosphere was very tense. Thanks to Seongwon and Jigu, who were bursting with ideas from the beginning, I was nodding my head and listening intently, thinking things would go smoothly, but at some point, their opinions started to clash.   

 

  Seongwon was strongly appealing his opinion, clapping his hands, while Jigu quietly suppressed his strong assertion with a soft voice. Thanks to them, the rest of the team members were rendered speechless. 

 

  In fact, not everyone here was a professional dancer, and we were a random group of people who didn’t know each other’s skills, so it was right to do as Jigu said. In a situation where we didn’t know if we could perfectly digest the given movements, there was no need to unnecessarily make the choreography flashy. 

 

  “I think I can do it any way…” 

 

  “I’m fine too. It would be nice if it’s on the easier side though.” 

 

  The rest of the team members, seemingly tired of the unexpectedly tense exchange of opinions, began to gingerly voice their thoughts, and Jigu was the first to back down. 

 

  “Then, I think we should modify it just enough that all our team members can follow along.” 

 

  “Ah, that sounds good. Perfect. That’s completely okay, right, leader?” 

 

  Only then was the first round of argument settled. I was already exhausted just from deciding on the introduction choreography. At this rate, how were we to revise the rest of the dance, and when would we distribute the parts? We had to decide at least half of it by the end of the day to start practicing, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility as this was a group mission, not something I was doing alone. If only I hadn’t become the leader… 

 

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