Chapter 7: The First Round

While the participants took their seats, the main camera was reset to focus on Son Chae-i again.

Once preparations were complete, the PD gave her the signal, and Son Chae-i lifted her microphone.

“Please stay with us until the day these boys achieve their dreams.

Now, let’s welcome the trainers of Please Take Care My Idol Season 2, who will help our trainees take one step closer to their dreams!”

As she made a gesture of clapping with the hand holding the mic, the trainees followed along and began applauding.

One by one, trainer names appeared on the screen, and each corresponding trainer stepped onto the stage.

Even through the loud applause—so strong it could’ve set palms on fire—I could hear trainees exclaiming in awe.

I wasn’t familiar with any of them, but judging from the reactions, they must be big names in the industry.

Once all six trainers had made their way up, the PD raised his arms in a big X above his head, signaling everyone to stop.

As the studio quieted down, Son Chae-i asked the trainers how they felt about joining the show.

They each gave the usual clichés—how they were excited to meet hidden gems, how they would teach with their best efforts, the textbook scripted lines.

The writers had probably prepared them for formality’s sake, and this segment would likely flash by in the final broadcast.

When the trainers finished reciting their lines, Son Chae-i immediately raised the mic again, as if she’d been waiting for that exact moment.

“Alright, please look forward to the amazing work of our Season 2 trainer team.

And now, we’ll officially begin the agency evaluations!”

***

We were given a short break while the stage and cameras were being reset.

The trainees only had time for a quick bathroom run, while the staff bustled around, placing what seemed to be sponsored drink bottles, microphones, and a stack of papers—presumably the trainees’ application forms—on the table facing the stage.

Before long, it seemed preparations were nearly complete, as one of the staff hurried around calling for the MC and trainers.

The trainees scheduled early in the agency evaluation lineup were summoned by the PD.

Once Son Chae-i and the trainers had all taken their seats, filming resumed.

“We’ll begin the agency evaluations.

First up, TUU Media trainees Kim Seung-gyu and Lee Chan-gyu, please come forward.”

From their introductions alone, the first pair was visibly trembling.

Once the performance started, they missed the beat, danced in the wrong direction, and made mistake after mistake.

Even after the stage ended, they were still shaking so much it was obvious to everyone, barely swallowing back tears.

Both MC Son Chae-i and the trainers looked genuinely sympathetic, and the trainees watching felt the same—but the scores they received were brutally realistic.

The trainee who made the major mistakes received an F, and the one who didn’t mess up but lacked skill was graded D.

Five more teams performed after that, but none received a grade above B.

As the string of low scores continued, tension began to creep through the trainees watching from the seats.

“Next, True Music trainee Yoon Jiheon, please come forward.”

At Son Chae-i’s call, Yoon Jiheon stepped onto the stage.

A few of the trainers seemed to recognize him from before and let out soft sighs of pity, but Jiheon remained composed and expressionless.

He simply stated that he would put the past behind him and work hard with the mindset of starting anew.

Son Chae-i nodded calmly and asked staff to prepare the stage.

Jiheon also nodded, then stepped back into position.

A moment later, a track with an intense beat filled the studio.

“Yoon Jiheon sunbaenim’s mentality is seriously something else.”

The moment the music started, I heard sharp intakes of breath from all around us.

I wondered why, but thankfully the trainee on my right spoke up first.

When I asked, he looked at me like he couldn’t believe I didn’t know.

‘Well, sorry for not knowing every little thing…’

“‘Saga.’

It’s A-IST’s song.

They are Burst’s junior group from the same company.

They debuted almost right after Burst disbanded, and the company pushed A-IST hard by trying to tear down Yoon Jiheon sunbaenim with all sorts of media play.

If it were me, I wouldn’t have even pretended to listen to that song.”

Judging by how even a trainee with no real connection to the situation talks like that, whatever that company did to Jiheon must’ve been pretty dirty.

“But honestly, Yoon Jiheon sunbaenim is way better anyway, so this is kind of satisfying.

A-IST probably couldn’t even perform this song live.”

…Was he really okay saying things like that while filming?

I hesitated, then quietly pointed at the collar area where the mic was clipped.

He blinked in confusion, then seemed to understand and simply tugged the bottom of his T-shirt to straighten his name tag.

‘ND, Lee Chanseo’

“I’m a trainee at A-IST’s company.”

…So he did have a connection?

After Yoon Jiheon received the first A grade—just as A-IST’s own trainee had insisted he would—more trainees began earning A and B grades as well.

Once about half of the trainees had received their stickers, we heard instructions for several agencies, including individual trainees, to head down and get ready.

Among the agencies called was DY, Chae Han-ul’s company, so we went down together.

We waited in order at the bottom of the stage steps, and eventually my name was called.

While sitting in my seat watching others, time had crawled by, but standing beneath the stage waiting for my turn, it felt like someone had pressed fast-forward.

As I started walking up, Chae Han-ul whispered a tiny “Fighting!” and raised his fist.

I gave him a quick nod and continued up the stairs.

The moment I stepped onto the stage, I noticed that the view was slightly different from earlier—earlier being when I first came up here.

All ninety-nine pyramid seats were now filled, and in front of them sat the MC and the trainers at their table.

I could also clearly see several cameras fixed directly on me.

To be honest, I had never felt nervous about idols or survival auditions.

It wasn’t something I had dreamed of or chosen myself.

I had no pressure to show anything impressive, no burning desperation to make the final lineup.

Everything an idol—or even a trainee—was supposed to do always felt burdensome and uncomfortable for me.

“Hello, I’m independent trainee Sim Jaeseo.”

But now that I was actually standing on stage in front of so many people, a wave of nervousness hit me.

Not the nervousness born of fear, but of embarrassment.

I was about to pretend to show off “skills” I’d only trained for two months… in front of people who had likely spent years—maybe even decades—singing, rapping, and dancing.

No matter how hard a grub tries to do breakdance, to a human it’s still going to look like nothing more than wriggling…

“Let’s take a look at the performance you prepared.”

At the MC’s cue, I nodded and adjusted my grip on the microphone.

It wasn’t as if I could suddenly refuse and run offstage now. The only thing to do was regain as much composure as possible.

Just think of this as giving a presentation for a general-ed class you only ended up in because you failed your first course registration.

Not an audition.

As I tried to get my mind under control and settled into my starting pose, the instrumental began to play.

Thanks to memorizing it nonstop for two weeks, the song and choreography came out of me like a machine.

Without any major mistakes, I managed to finish the performance safely, and the other trainees applauded.

Not because I had done particularly well, but out of courtesy—and to offer encouragement, the way they did for everyone.

I bowed deeply and glanced toward the trainers.

They were speaking quietly among themselves so the trainees couldn’t hear, but their expressions and the atmosphere didn’t seem bad.

Maybe it hadn’t been a complete disaster after all.

Relieved, I steadied my breathing just as MC Son Chae-i lifted her microphone.

“Your application says you have no trainee experience and only attended an academy for two months.

Is that correct?”

“Yes.

I started after becoming an adult.”

PD Muk Sahyeon had asked me the same question during the preliminary interviews.

He’d mentioned that twenty was relatively late to start as a trainee, then asked what I’d been doing before and what made me suddenly decide to prepare for idol life.

‘Well… because I woke up one morning and fell straight into an idol-game world…’

Not exactly something I could admit, so I had made up an excuse.

I’d planned to repeat the same answer—how I saw some senior’s stage last year and was so moved I wanted to be like them—but Son Chae-i didn’t press further and simply nodded.

“Considering you’ve had no real training, that was good.

Your live vocals were really solid.

You’ve probably never sung while dancing before, but you were very stable.”

I hadn’t expected any positive feedback—even with a disclaimer attached—so her words surprised me, and I bowed to thank her.

“But being ‘good for a beginner’ won’t matter from now on.

You just have to be good.

You’ll need to work hard, understood?”

“Yes, thank you!”

As Son Chae-i set her mic down with a small smile, one of the vocal trainers picked it up right after.

“I liked it.

Your tone is incredibly charming, so if you can just fill in the weaker areas, I think you could play a very important role in a group.

That’s what came to mind.

Hmm… Personally, I’m looking forward to your next stage.

Thank you for the performance.”