Chapter 18: Hand on the Wheel

3. Fandom Entry Warning

“Wake up.”

“……”

“Woo Yeongchan, wake up.”

At someone’s persistent calling, Woo Yeongchan jolted awake.

He must have passed out while watching the music videos. It was likely because he was in Xenon’s frail body—back when he was in his own physique, no matter how exhausted he was, he had never simply passed out like this. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth. Even after sleeping, his entire body felt stiff and heavy.

What a troublesome body.

He sat up irritably, instantly meeting a bright, unblinking gaze. It was none other than Han Hoseong.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… I wanted to confirm you really are Woo Yeongchan. When I called you ‘Xenon,’ you didn’t even flinch, but the moment I called you ‘Woo Yeongchan,’ you reacted right away.”

“…So you were running a test on me.”

Hoseong looked like someone who would be easily fooled, yet he was surprisingly sharp and suspicious. Since Yeongchan had never intended to deceive him in the first place, the whole test felt ridiculous. Sensing his annoyance, Han Hoseong quickly offered an excuse.

“I do believe you’re Woo Yeongchan. I really do, it’s just… fascinating.”

“Enough. Why did you wake me up?”

“Let’s go to the practice room.”

Come to think of it, their intensive comeback practice was scheduled to start today. It wasn’t something Woo Yeongchan had ever wanted to do, so he felt zero enthusiasm for it. But given his current predicament, he had no choice but to comply.

“…Give me a minute to change. Get out.”

“Okay. Don’t fall back asleep,” Han Hoseong emphasized as he stepped out of the room.

Woo Yeongchan let out a heavy sigh—a habit he had developed over the past few days—and changed his clothes.

After a quick breakfast, Woo Yeongchan left the dorms with Han Hoseong. The company building was roughly a twenty-minute drive from their residence. Previously, they had ridden in a company van driven by a manager or taken a taxi, but today was different.

“Get in.”

“…You’re driving?”

“Yeah.”

Han Hoseong slipped into the driver’s seat. Resigned to his fate, Woo Yeongchan climbed in, though he couldn’t resist offering, “I’ll drive.”

“Xenon doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

“……”

“And besides, you…”

“What?”

“Never mind. Let’s just go.” Han Hoseong shook his head and turned the key, starting the engine.

Normally, when riding in someone else’s car, you sit in the front passenger seat. But Woo Yeongchan instinctively took the backseat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Crossing his arms, he looked every bit like an arrogant corporate chairman inspecting his driver. That alone was annoying enough, but the way he kept glancing around nervously, as if he didn’t trust Han Hoseong’s driving skills for a second, was even more irritating.

“Relax. I could drive to the company with my eyes closed.”

“So you’re that confident in your driving?”

“Ah, no. I’ve just driven back and forth hundreds of times, so I know the route by heart.” Hoseong added awkwardly that he couldn’t drive anywhere else, prompting Woo Yeongchan to stare in disbelief.

“Then why did you even buy a car?”

“This isn’t my car, it’s the company’s. I use it whenever our schedules don’t align with the manager’s.”

“……”

“To be honest, I never planned on getting a license, but when we debuted, I was the only adult in the group, so I had no choice.”

This company apparently made its own celebrities drive. Yeongchan didn’t know if the entire entertainment industry operated this way, but the division of labor seemed absurdly dysfunctional. Clicking his tongue, Woo Yeongchan watched as the car pulled up to Sosori Entertainment.

Woo Yeongchan headed straight for the basement practice room alongside Han Hoseong. Having visited a few times now, he had grown somewhat accustomed to the gloomy underground space—though from his perspective, it was hardly a pleasant adjustment.

“Come to think of it, where are the others?”

“The others? …Ah, the rest of the members?” Han Hoseong turned around. “Jujin has a web drama shoot today, and Haeil and Itae are stopping by the gym first. Unless there’s a special schedule, they always start their day at the gym. But fixing your vocals is our most urgent priority, so you and I came to the practice room first.”

I would have preferred going to the gym; at least that would have been somewhat productive, Yeongchan thought with a pang of regret. Interrupting his thoughts, Han Hoseong thrust a sheet of music and a pen into his hands.

“Here, take this.”

“What’s this for?”

“To write down notes on what you learn. Now, before we start, we’ll do vocal warm-ups…”

“The instructor isn’t here yet?”

“Instructor?” Han Hoseong blinked, looking completely bewildered. His long eyelashes fluttered softly, but to Yeongchan, the blank look was just frustrating.

“You said you’re an actor, but there’s no teacher here.”

“Oh, you mean a vocal trainer! Um, well… we don’t have a vocal trainer.”

“You don’t? Why?”

Professional athletes, regardless of their sport, always had coaches. Soccer, basketball, volleyball, swimming—everyone improved through specialized training. Idols shouldn’t be any different.

“Uh… selective allocation of resources, I guess? We had to invest heavily in the song production and choreography…”

“So it’s a budget shortage.”

“…Yeah, pretty much.”

As with most problems, money was the root cause. It was true that they had made a sizable profit this year, but they had also poured an unprecedented amount of capital into preparing for this new comeback. They had to cut corners somewhere.

“It’s fine, though. We’ve been promoting without a vocal trainer all this time, and at least we’ve never been criticized for our vocal skills.”

“Is that because your other problems were far more glaring?”

“Did you look up public reactions? What did you see, and where? Was it our debut music video?” Han Hoseong offered a bitter smile before deftly switching the subject. “Anyway, let me start. We have a mountain of work to do, and the comeback is less than a month away. Time is running out.”

Unlike Han Hoseong, Woo Yeongchan didn’t actually feel that time was short.

All he had to do was learn one single song. No matter how lacking his fundamentals were, if he drilled a single track for an entire month, he should easily be able to pull it off. Besides, Yeongchan had always been a fast learner in every field he pursued.

“Tighten your abs! Sing as if you’re pulling the sound out from deep inside your core.”

Yet, it wasn’t as simple as he had envisioned. Setting the singing aside, mastering proper vocal technique was surprisingly tricky.

Woo Yeongchan braced his abdominal muscles following Han Hoseong’s instruction. Unlike his original body, this scrawny torso tensed up tight. Just as he held his breath, Han Hoseong unexpectedly reached out and poked his stomach.

“…!”

Having another person casually touch his body caused the tension to drain instantly. Relaxing his muscles in a flash, Woo Yeongchan glared at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry! I thought you were tensing up too hard, so I wanted to check.”

“You literally told me to tense up.”

“Not that much. You still need to breathe comfortably! Look at me.” Han Hoseong stood directly in front of him to demonstrate. “Keep your abs feeling pulled inward, but exhale like this: ‘S— S— S—’.”

“S… S… S…”

“Don’t just imitate it with your mouth—actually engage your breathing!”

Watching Hoseong, Woo Yeongchan could grasp the theoretical concept, but executing it was another story. Repeating “S… S… S…” like a deflating cicada, Yeongchan stopped and scowled.

“Even if I can’t do it, shouldn’t this body’s muscle memory take over?”

He had hoped Kim Jeguk’s body might retain some automated physical habits, but there was nothing. It seemed Jeguk himself hadn’t possessed great vocal technique to begin with. It was glaringly obvious from how quickly he ran out of breath and gasped just standing still and making vocal noises without even moving.

“You’re really not that bad right now, though.”

“Really?”

“For a complete beginner, I mean.”

“……”

Woo Yeongchan pressed his lips into a tight line. Hoseong studied his prickly expression and gently suggested, “Let’s pause the vocalization drills here and try singing through the song once.”

Basics were important, of course, but obsessing over fundamentals could cause a beginner to lose the joy of singing altogether—and Hoseong didn’t want that happening to Yeongchan.

“Don’t overthink what you just learned. Just sing comfortably as a change of pace.”

“Fine.”

Woo Yeongchan agreed, though he wasn’t the type to feel better simply from singing. Han Hoseong pressed play on the instrumental track.

Plop, plop, plop. The familiar water drop sound effect echoed through the room. Hoseong, who handled the intro, sang his line first, and soon it was Xenon’s turn.

I think I’ve actually gotten better.

Woo Yeongchan evaluated himself as he sang. Thanks to half a day of intensive practice, his voice sounded noticeably steadier than when he started. He had no idea how it would sound in a studio recording, but for now, it wasn’t half bad. To exaggerate a little, even singing the same line right after Han Hoseong, he didn’t feel completely outclassed.

“How was it?” Woo Yeongchan asked with hidden anticipation after finishing his part.

“Seems better.”

It was a bland, noncommittal response. If it was better, it was better—what was “seems better” supposed to mean? Still, it was positive feedback. Woo Yeongchan allowed the corner of his lips to curve up slightly.

On his first day of practice, he had been appalled by the lack of a vocal trainer. But once they got into the rhythm of things, it wasn’t a problem at all. Han Hoseong did an exceptionally thorough job stepping into the role.

“You should just become a vocal trainer,” Woo Yeongchan remarked offhandedly during a short break.

Han Hoseong froze mid-sip from his water bottle.

“…To be honest, I’ve thought about it. If things don’t work out as an idol, switching to vocal coaching might be my best bet. There aren’t many other options for me anyway.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

From Han Hoseong’s perspective, it was a dismal prospect—not because of the job itself, but because it explicitly assumed his failure as an idol.

Still, knowing that Woo Yeongchan meant it as a genuine compliment, Hoseong offered a faint smile.

“If I ever become a vocal trainer, I’ll definitely put you in my portfolio. I’ll even attach before-and-after audio clips.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Even though it was just a joke, Woo Yeongchan looked thoroughly repulsed. This time, Han Hoseong burst into genuine laughter.

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