Chapter 20: No Room for Weakness

“Let’s pause for a moment.”

There were a lot of participants, so two vocal trainers had been assigned.

One was Lee Hyeyeon, famous for training top Hunter idols, and the other was Yoo Donghoon, often named as one of the best male vocalists in Korea.

Roy’s team was assigned to Lee Hyeyeon.

She was a graceful beauty, known for her long, straight hair and calm demeanor.

When they first greeted her, the atmosphere was friendly.

But things changed the moment she pulled a pair of rimless glasses from a case and put them on.

The vocal training method was simpler than expected.

It went fine through the intro and verse one.

But Lee Hyeyeon, who had been smiling faintly the entire time, suddenly wore a cold expression after the interlude.

“Did you all actually practice? Why are your pitches so unstable?”

The criticism came out of nowhere.

Roy had thought everyone did well, but apparently, a professional’s ears told a different story.

“Especially you, trainee Lee Hajun.”

“L–!”

“You’re in the rap position, but your voice is so quiet. This isn’t about vocal technique—it sounds like a lack of confidence. You’ll be even more nervous on stage. Are you planning to whisper your rap like this then?”

“N-No…”

Lee Hajun responded with a trembling voice.

It was so shaky that everyone, while pretending not to show it, couldn’t help but focus on him.

“And the biggest issue is the main vocal. Are you all sure you chose the main vocal through group consensus?”

“Yes…”

It hadn’t been completely smooth sailing, but they had definitely come to the decision together after much discussion.

Now being singled out, Kim Jaemin’s face turned ghostly pale.

He had already been struggling with guilt, feeling as if he’d taken the main vocal spot away from someone else.

“Your pitch is the most stable among the group, your diction is clear, and your vocal projection is solid. The song has a high range, and you didn’t go off-key once.”

It sounded like praise.

But Lee Hyeyeon’s expression as she looked at Kim Jaemin was ice-cold.

“But your voice lacks charm. Completely. In a song like this, where vocal color is everything, your voice doesn’t suit it. It’s too plain and forgettable.”

“Oh…”

In other words, his voice could fit into any song—but that also meant it left no impression.

Kim Jaemin lowered his gaze.

If he kept looking Lee Hyeyeon in the eye, he felt like he’d burst into tears right there.

He had just been harshly criticized for the one thing he was most confident in—his singing.

“Based on voice alone, I think trainee Han Jihoo would’ve been a better main vocal. Did that thought never cross your minds?”

The words cut like knives, as if she was intentionally trying to hurt them.

The first to be criticized, Lee Hajun, was now silently crying, tears streaming down his face.

“That’s all for today’s coaching. At this point, there’s nothing I can fix and Lee Hajun—if you’re going to handle the rap part, then write your own rap lyrics by the next session. Got it?”

“Yes…”

Having said everything she wanted, Lee Hyeyeon gathered her sheet music and left the practice room.

Even after the door shut, heavy silence filled the room.

“I’m sorry… I messed everything up…”

***

Lee Hajun wiped away tears with the back of his hand.

Every time he spoke, emotion welled up in his voice, and his small face was soaked with tears.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have insisted on being main vocal.”

The mood sank further as each team member was weighed down by guilt.

Cruelly, the production crew filmed every expression without missing a beat.

“We just didn’t have enough time to prepare. It’s okay—we can do better starting now.”

The first to pull himself together was Roy.

He was actually used to being scolded—when he was learning spirit arts from his master, he got reprimanded nearly every day.

His master could be endlessly kind, but when it came to discipline, she was ruthless.

“Hajun, you start writing your rap lyrics. The rest of us should figure out how to improve based on what the trainer told us.”

Roy especially tried to lift the spirits of Kim Jaemin, whose mental state seemed completely shattered, gently patting his shoulder to encourage him.

Roy had been watching survival programs whenever he had time ever since he set his mind on debuting as a hunter idol.

What had just happened was a common scenario in those shows—trainees who were hopelessly bad at first would pull themselves together and deliver a stunning performance on stage.

Even if it felt cliché, viewers always found themselves rooting for contestants who showed growth.

Watching the participants face hardships, overcome them, and improve gave the audience a sense of satisfaction.

“Just a thought, but… do the two of them really have to split the parts?”

“What do you mean?”

Roy took out the sheet music and pointed at the parts sung by Kim Jaemin and Han Jihoo.

“Didn’t the trainer say that Jihoo’s voice fits the vibe more, but Jaemin’s pitch, diction, and vocalization were flawless? So, wouldn’t it be fine if they sang it together?”

The teammates, who were now sitting in a circle with their heads together, widened their eyes.

Even Lee Hajun, who had been writing rap lyrics on his tablet, looked up in surprise.

“Now that you mention it… I don’t think they ever said only one person had to sing a part!”

In many idol songs, it was common for two or more members to sing parts together—especially when harmonies were involved.

“Since Jihoo’s pitch is a bit unstable, Jaemin could sing in the original key, and Jihoo can adjust his pitch to match the harmony. What do you all think?”

[Hero, that idea is amazing!]

Even Earth, who had been quietly listening, popped up an emoticon with a thumbs-up in front of Roy.

“I think it’s a good idea. It’s a bit of a gamble, though.”

“I like it too.”

Even the ones directly involved, Han Jihoo and Kim Jaemin, agreed with the plan.

After that, practice took a completely different turn from the gloomy atmosphere earlier.

“Let’s make sure we get praised by the trainer tomorrow!”

Like children thirsty for praise, their determination flared brightly.

***

But the problem reared its head again during the dance coaching session.

“Roy.”

“Yes.”

“You’re really… what am I supposed to do with you.”

The dance trainers were made up of UK and his crew, KingK, where he was the leader.

Roy’s team was lucky—or unlucky—enough to be coached by UK himself.

After picking up the choreography early, Lee Doha had even taught it to the others and prepared a dance break routine.

Kim Chan had received a bronze rating in dance, but his fundamentals were strong.

The same went for Lee Hajun, who had trained longer than Roy.

The real problem was Roy.

Even alone, his dance skills were unimpressive—but surrounded by more skilled teammates, his weaknesses were painfully obvious.

Watching UK sigh in despair, Roy instinctively opened his status window.

[Hwang Roy (22)]

[Vocal: D+ (C-)]

[Dance: D]

[Acting: F]

[Lyric Writing: F]

[Composing: F]

[Trait: Honey-Coated Voice (C)]

Gaining experience points from weekly missions and the surprise missions Earth gave him wasn’t nearly enough to improve even from D to C.

Going from D to D+ required 200 experience points, and D+ to C took 400.

Every time a letter grade changed, the required experience doubled.

‘To keep up with the others, I need at least a B…’

He’d already cut down on sleep to train, but it still wasn’t enough.

“You really need to practice a lot more, Roy. When I saw you by yourself, I thought you were okay. But standing next to the others, it’s just not working. Because of you, the overall performance quality drops a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me. If your teammates don’t get a good result because of you, they’re the ones who suffer.”

UK seemed like someone who had made it his mission to crush Roy’s spirit, just like Lee Hyeyeon.

Maybe he was aiming for dramatic TV, or maybe he just wanted to push Roy until he snapped.

The only saving grace was that Roy’s mental fortitude was like steel cable.

What really bothered him was seeing his teammates slouching beside him, unable to get proper feedback because of him.

“The only thing I can praise is that you memorized the choreography. But that alone won’t help you survive here. You know the first ranking evaluation comes right after this stage, right?”

“Yes.”

There were so many participants that the production team had decided to eliminate a large number of them after the first performance.

Usually, survival shows started with the program’s signature song.

But this time, they had thrown the contestants straight into a team mission.

They hadn’t even told them where the cut-off would be.

Rumor among the trainees was that at least one-fourth of them would be eliminated.

“I’m pointing out Roy right now, but none of you are in the safe zone.”

Roy could see his teammates’ morale, which had barely recovered after the vocal coaching session, shatter all over again.

“Doha’s dance break was solid. The issue was that the rest of you couldn’t support it properly.”

The only part UK praised was Lee Doha’s dance break.

But even Doha, the one receiving praise, looked gloomy.

“I’m worried because I don’t think Roy’s going to improve overnight. There’s nothing more I can do for today, so I’m heading out.”

“Goodbye.”

Everyone forced themselves to smile and bowed politely as UK left the room, lazily waving his hand on the way out.

Silence settled over the room, thick with sweat and tension—just like after vocal evaluations.

“Sorry… for dragging everyone down.”

Roy now understood how Lee Hajun and Kim Jaemin had felt earlier when they apologized.

Seeing the downcast faces of his teammates, the words just slipped out.

“Roy hyung… you really did practice hard…”

If they had to pick the member who practiced the most, everyone would have pointed to Roy.

He had sacrificed even his sleep just to improve.

Lee Hajun looked even more upset, as if Roy’s efforts were being denied.

[Hero! Don’t worry!]

Just when Roy was wondering how to overcome this obstacle, a bright effect flashed before his eyes.