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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Establishing KPIs (1)
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The company was starting to form the debut lineup.
In other words, if I made one wrong move, I would fail the mission of debuting with Spark.
Since I knew next to nothing, I was in the position of anxiously pleading, *Heavens, just give me a little more time...*
But for some reason, even the guys from Spark, a group of once-in-a-century talents, looked grim.
Seeing their faces, Min Jukyung smiled sympathetically.
“Everyone, relax. Okay? You’ve all worked so hard, so just think of this as the day you get to reap the rewards. You just have to keep doing your best, alright?”
After Min Jukyung dropped the bombshell and left, a brief silence fell over the practice room.
Park Juwoo was the first to head into the vocal room. After Choi Jeho grabbed his empty water bottle and left, the rest of the guys stiffly returned to their own spots.
It was news to me, but these guys must have known the evaluation period was approaching.
Seeing them so dejected made me wonder, *Just how harsh are these evaluations...?*
Failing the evaluation and getting cut would be a huge problem.
But even if I managed to scrape by, it was another matter entirely whether the members of Spark, whose skills were light-years ahead of mine, would even accept me. That was a separate issue from my own discomfort around them.
Was I getting ahead of myself when no one had even guaranteed I'd pass? Really, I could be so shortsighted.
I ran my hands over my parched face a few times. I felt the same weariness and fatigue that always set in right before quitting time.
When my confidence plummeted like this, I needed a mantra to lift my spirits.
Namely, *I worked that hard for such a pathetic salary. What could I possibly not do now...?*
Besides, the reward this time was something that couldn't be measured in money.
They said it could bring the dead back to life; I should be nothing but grateful. Plus, wasn't this a chance to erase the hell that was Hanpyeong Industries from my career history?
Some people would kill for an opportunity like this. All this worrying was a luxury I couldn't afford.
I firmly donned an iron mask of responsibility.
Time to just brazenly go for it.
* * *
Jeong Seongbin, who had been asked by Min Jukyung to help the new guy, kindly explained everything about the evaluation from start to finish.
Seongbin started with the evaluation dates, then went over what new trainees usually prepare and the general guidelines.
“...And that should cover most of the prep for the evaluation.”
“That’s quite a lot to prepare.”
“Well, they release rankings every time.”
Jeong Seongbin said this with a placid expression, sounding just like Manager Ahn from the marketing team.
Manager Ahn... He was always so worn out from reporting the metrics every morning.
Jeong Seongbin’s face held a similar world-weariness.
I offered my simple thanks to Seongbin, who finished his explanation with a few words of reassurance for me.
“Thanks.”
“Huh?”
“You must have a lot to prepare, too, but you keep helping me out.”
Hearing this, Jeong Seongbin’s eyes widened, as if he’d rarely heard such a thing.
It was certainly the kind of thing he probably didn’t hear much within Spark. Most of them were the type to handle their own business by themselves.
In fact, with the exception of Lee Cheonghyun, none of the Spark members were very expressive.
There was no point in being stingy with greetings and gratitude. It looked like once I’d secured my spot in the debut lineup, I’d have to make them practice saying “I see” at least once a day.
Since I was just riding their coattails, it only made sense for me to contribute something to make it worth their while.
But Jeong Seongbin said something so heartwarming it made my calculating thoughts feel pointless.
“It’s not just me. Giyeon said that next time you mix up your left and right, he’s going to tie you to the mirror to teach you.”
“I’m so grateful my nose is running.”
From across the room, Kang Giyeon shouted, “What about me?”
“Oh, just that you’re the best teacher.”
Kang Giyeon shot me a look that clearly said, *What on earth are you talking about?*
He looked like he wanted an explanation, but I didn’t elaborate.
Just giving them that one honest compliment had completely drained my daily quota of positive energy for Spark.
At that point, Kang Giyeon and I were still on opposite ends of the practice room...
When I snapped out of it, only Kang Giyeon and I were left in the room.
UA’s practice schedule ran from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. It was the kind of schedule that could get you reported to the Ministry of Labor at any moment.
And I, who had to nurse my aching feet, put in extra practice every day on top of that.
However, Kang Giyeon, who was on a completely different level from me, also seemed to have no intention of going home today.
If he was hurt, he should have just gone home to rest. He was clearly trying to make up for the practice he’d missed.
I, for one, was more comfortable being left alone in the practice room. It was the same principle as trying to study during evening study hall with the dean breathing down your neck—it just doesn’t work.
Having to spend every waking moment with Spark was torture enough as it was.
Every time I looked at their faces, I felt this overwhelming pressure, as if I needed to be cutting them out for a graphic.
Fortune favors the bold.
To secure my precious two hours of solitude, I cautiously approached Kang Giyeon.
“Giyeon, you’re not heading out?”
“What about you?”
“The instructor told me to practice a lot.”
“You spend half your breaks practicing anyway.”
“After all the effort you guys put into helping me, it’s the least I can do.”
Hearing this, Kang Giyeon thought for a moment before replying.
“Then just make a note of what you’re struggling with and tell me tomorrow. I have more to practice today, too.”
*No, you go home. I want to be alone, damn it.*
It was also unnerving to have an injured person moving around nearby.
The image of Manager Han from the accounting team collapsing from a herniated disc was still vivid in my mind.
To my eyes, Kang Giyeon’s ankle was a liability. I didn’t want to see someone collapse again.
“You hurt your ankle. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“They said it’s fine as long as I avoid movements that put too much strain on it.”
The quick reply suggested he’d already asked the doctor all about it. The kid was thorough.
Before I could press him about a minor staying out so late, he had already moved to the opposite corner of the room.
The sight reminded me of an old magazine interview with Spark.
『Q. I heard there’s a story about you being the one to turn off the lights in the practice room?』
『Seongbin: It wasn’t just me; all of us were like that. It felt like there was always at least one person staying behind for extra practice. We were all diligent and really wanted to improve. More than anything, we were desperate to debut. (laughs)』
I was also reminded of a review for Hanpyeong Industries I’d seen on some job-hunting site before I came back in time.
To sum it up in one line...
‘A company like a lighthouse whose light never goes out,’ I think it said.
At least with Hanpyeong Industries, you could tell from the outside that the lights were always on.
But this damn practice room was buried in a basement, so whether the young trainees were singing or dancing all night, not a single thing was visible from the outside.
Even after debuting through all this practice, Spark didn’t get a single number-one win for over three years. It was unbelievable, but that was the reality.
The idol world Spark debuted into was such a thorny path that comparing it to a last-minute company dinner on a Monday night would be an insult to the dinner.
If they worked that hard to debut, they should have promoted more fiercely.
From my perspective, as the one who had to monitor their activities, I was just grateful Spark wasn’t more active.
But it couldn’t have looked good to the fans.
What kind of group only does one live stream during their entire promotion period?
*Well... this is no time to be worrying about others.*
I immediately got back on my feet. I had a long way to go.
I don’t know how much time passed.
“Are you planning on staying longer?”
I was in the middle of wrestling with my reflection when Kang Giyeon turned off the music and asked.
“It’s 11 o’clock.”
“Eleven?”
The clock really did say 11 p.m.
I hadn’t felt this pressed for time since Department Head Nam asked me to rearrange the entire office desk layout by the next day.
Going home now would only mean facing the consequences later.
Having grown into an adult who could at least see one step ahead, I decided to stay a little longer for the sake of my future self and asked Giyeon.
“What about you? Aren’t you leaving?”
“Just a little longer.”
“You should get to bed early. You won’t grow any taller otherwise.”
After practicing his heart out, his expression soured at getting an earful of holiday-style nagging from the new guy.
*Just bear with it. I’m only saying this because I know you won’t break 180 cm in the future.*
*Your future self gets super stressed about it.*
Even though the fans called him a ‘giant 173-cm puppy’ and ‘super cute Giyeoni,’ he seemed to be extra sensitive about it because so many of the other members were tall.
As an aside, his short stature caused me quite a bit of trouble, too.
I’d need more than 140 characters to describe how annoying it was to edit social media headers because of him. I was tempted to ban vertical photos altogether, which should tell you everything.
Still, I couldn’t let a kid who had just graduated middle school walk home alone in the middle of the night. Especially not with a bad ankle.
Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I started packing up.
Outside the building, after a grueling fourteen hours, a biting wind was blowing.
The weather showed no signs of letting up, and every breath I exhaled turned into a white cloud.
“How’s the ankle?”
“You ask that a lot.”
“Your body is your livelihood.”
Hearing this, Kang Giyeon’s lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself.
*He has no awareness of how serious injuries can be. These kids have no idea how scary hospital bills are.*
It seemed all the trainees were in desperate need of occupational health and safety training. If I made them sit through twenty lecture sessions, they’d start taking care of themselves out of sheer annoyance.
Still, I felt a little bad for nagging Giyeon about how staying up late would stunt his growth.
Any working adult knows that every single word from a superior is a pain in the ass.
And though I was less of a superior and more of a nuisance, I still felt bad.
I pointed to a brightly lit convenience store and asked Giyeon.
“Want to stop by the convenience store?”
Then, without waiting for an answer, I pushed him inside. Gently, of course, considering his ankle.
Perhaps because he was running on fumes, Giyeon stumbled inside without any resistance.
“Pick whatever you want.”
“Why?”
“I was nagging you earlier. This is my apology.”
They say the most sincere apologies come with monetary compensation.
Kang Giyeon, the tip of his nose red from the cold, gave me a hesitant look.
“When...? Oh, about going home early?”
“Yeah.”
I herded the hesitant Giyeon toward the refrigerated section.
After a moment’s thought, Giyeon picked up a sports drink.
I was about to tell him to get something more expensive, but then I remembered he was one of those idols who took self-management to the extreme—the kind who doesn’t even put dressing on his salad. I quietly paid for it.
Even though my entire fortune consisted of that hard-earned 15 million won.
My sister would probably understand me buying a drink for a student who’d been doing physical labor until 11 p.m. It wasn’t like I was going to use that money for college anyway.
When I handed him the drink, Giyeon bowed his head.
“Thank you.”
“It’s just a 1,200 won drink. I should be the one thanking you for helping me practice.”
“It’s less helping and more of a rescue mission.”
“Fair enough.”
After that brief exchange, we walked toward the dorm in silence. It was a suffocating commute, just like walking home with a coworker.
After passing through an alley as dark as my future, we finally reached the entrance to our building.
At the entrance, I gestured for Giyeon to go on in.
“What about you?”
“I’m going to a karaoke place. I already got permission from our manager.”
“A karaoke place? Why?”
“To practice.”
Giyeon got a thoughtful look on his face.
*Right. You must also be bummed that the practice room isn’t open 24/7.*
I knew the feeling well; I was the type who’d rather pull an all-nighter than let work pile up.
*Though, the karaoke place isn't my only stop.*
Hiding my ulterior motives, I gestured again for Giyeon to head inside.
