"Hoyun-ah! They said this is our spot!"
"Yeah, okay."
I absentmindedly nodded while fiddling with my ear.
My nerves felt like they were balanced on the edge of a knife.
'That sound earlier… fuck, it must've been my imagination, right?'
I really wanted to believe that.
"When's it supposed to start?"
"Probably after these guys finish rehearsing and the setup's done."
On stage, a bunch of clearly baby-faced kids were rehearsing, wearing heavy makeup far too mature for their age.
"Oh, sunbae-nim! Hello!"
"Hello!"
"Good luck! I'm looking forward to your stage."
"Fighting!!"
Even with the broadcast just around the corner, the Daepaseong trainees we'd seen at the company a few times greeted us with a full 90-degree bow as they passed.
Our company's trainees acting like that was one thing, but I was curious about the others. Still, there wasn't much to say.
'They're gonna have a hard time trying to make these kids popular.'
As a former main PD of a survival program, it was all too clear to me.
Skills that were obviously lacking, and yet the rehearsal was half-hearted.
Eyes unfocused and expressions empty.
Like how I misjudged The Dawn at first—whether someone makes it or not depends on them. But when the person themselves lacks all motivation, there's no saving it.
Compared to these trainees, the mentors felt way too good for the program.
'So that's why the internet was reacting like that.'
Every thump of the music made my head throb, so I pressed hard on my temples with my fingers before finally standing up.
Sung Jiwon looked up at me with wide eyes.
"Hoyun-ah, are you okay?"
"I'll be back when the broadcast starts. It's just a little loud…"
"Oh… okay."
Behind Sung Jiwon, Kim Seonghyeon and Jeong Dajun's worried gazes followed.
But instead of prying, they respectfully turned away.
I slowly walked down the familiar hallways of the broadcasting station where we filmed Shining Star, and opened the door leading to the emergency stairwell.
The quietest place within my range of movement.
"A mentor performance?"
Then, voices echoed through the stairwell.
"Was that ever mentioned before?"
"Ugh, seriously, we barely get any screen time as it is…"
"Shit, are we even going to gain any recognition after this show?"
Right. This place was quiet and low-traffic, so it was popular for people to talk shit.
But seriously, day or night, broadcasters hear everything.
Gripping the railing, I carefully peeked up and down—there was a shadow below.
The voices sounded more like grumbling complaints than anything malicious, but still. You'd think the companies would train their trainees better about keeping their mouths shut. These kids' lips were lighter than feathers.
I wondered if I should go down and give them a word or two about mouthing off in places like this. That's when I heard a familiar name.
"But isn't Kang Ichae seriously scary?"
"…Yeah. Fucking terrifying."
"She's super scary. Like, she's the only mentor who doesn't scream at us, but I'm still totally scared of her."
"Her face?"
"I thought she was funny and chill from variety shows, but nah. I don't know if it was just a persona or what, but she gives off this crazy intense vibe. I once cracked a joke and she looked at me—I nearly pissed myself…"
Wow, they actually had a pretty accurate read on Kang Ichae.
My head was spinning, and I didn't need to hear any more whiny panic-talk from these kids. I was about to head back to where the others were—until the door in front of me opened before I could reach it.
And someone popped out.
"Hi~."