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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Duet Vocal Evaluation
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The day of the duet vocal evaluation had arrived.
As announced in advance, all the students were gathered in the small theater's audience seats, murmuring with tense expressions.
Up front in the seats sat three teachers serving as judges.
Composed of two men and one woman, these judges were musical theater instructors affiliated with the school, but not participating as mentors for the freshmen.
Of course, Han Hyo-jin, Jung Hye-seon, Huh Ji-woong, and the others handling mentorship for this year's freshmen would be watching from the very back seats.
Several mentors who weren't school staff had also shown up today to watch their one-on-one mentees perform.
It was just an evaluation for one subject, but with all these renowned musical actors in attendance, it could feel quite burdensome for the students.
After all, not one of those mentors was a pushover.
Before my regression, I'd experienced that gut-wrenching tension on days like this myself, so I knew exactly how they felt.
Since today's vocal test was being done in duets, a total of fifteen teams would take the stage.
Teams one through three were to prepare backstage, while the rest waited in the audience.
With no specific announcement yet, the musical theater freshmen were huddled together in the seats.
"Do-hyun uncle. I'm in big trouble. I gotta poop. What do I do? I'm so nervous."
"You're first up, aren't you."
"That's why!"
"Even if you shit yourself on stage, a pro doesn't keep the audience waiting."
"Uncle, what the hell are you saying? Ah, I can't hold it!"
Woo-sik finally bolted out, unable to hold it.
Dasom, his partner, turned away in exasperation.
Good thing there were still a few minutes before it started.
Lee Cheong-ha, sitting to my left, watched Woo-sik go with a faint smile.
She looked more tense than usual, but for someone with stage fright right before a performance, she seemed remarkably composed.
"You look in good shape."
At my words, the smile vanished from Lee Cheong-ha's face.
Oops, had I said something unnecessary?
Looking closer, she was fiddling with the bracelet I'd given her.
"You okay?"
"Now that it's actually here, I'm getting nervous. Haha."
Even after all that effort yesterday to overcome her stage fright, it still wasn't quite enough.
Two days ago, she'd even sung on a bench along a walkway with plenty of people around.
Dog walkers, a couple out for exercise, lovers on a stroll—they all glanced her way as they passed.
Her voice trembled a bit each time, but she'd managed to sing through without major issues.
That alone was tremendous progress.
But it seemed she hadn't fully overcome it yet.
Especially on a stage labeled an "evaluation," which was already loaded with pressure and tension.
"If it gets too scary like last time, just tell me. No need to push yourself."
I hoped she'd nail it, but if not, there was nothing for it.
She'd put in all the effort she could these past few days.
Even coming in dead last here wouldn't disqualify her from the Cheongyeom Arts Festival.
Though it would certainly make her chances slimmer.
With all the evaluations left over the next year, she'd make it work somehow.
"No. I can do it. And..."
Even knowing scores were on the line, she clenched her fist, determined to go through with it since she knew I was genuinely worried.
"And?"
"I have to."
"..."
"That's why I came here."
I was a little startled to see her eyes flash with resolve amid her anxiety.
As expected of her.
Even with her face pale, she took deep breaths, and I smiled quietly.
These past few days, Lee Cheong-ha somehow seemed different—commendable, even.
"Everyone seated?"
Ji-woong appeared from one side of the stage.
Not a judge for today's vocal test but the vocal instructor and homeroom teacher for the first-years, so he was handling proceedings.
"We appreciate your hard work today."
Ji-woong bowed politely to the three judges.
"Teams one through three, wait backstage. After each team finishes, the next one moves up to backstage on your own."
Order had been decided by lottery back in the classroom.
We'd drawn third from last, so we still had time.
Glancing at Lee Cheong-ha, her face seemed to be draining of color by the minute. Not sure if that was a good thing.
"Let's begin."
At Ji-woong's signal, two teams rose and headed backstage.
"Where's team one? Late?"
Ji-woong scanned the audience with a frown.
"Here! We're here!"
We saw Woo-sik rushing back into the small theater.
He headed under the stage with his partner to go backstage.
"Sorry. My stomach suddenly hurt."
"Get ready quick."
"Yes, sir!"
Woo-sik was about to head backstage after a swat on the back from his partner Dasom.
No good. It was too distracting.
"Woo-sik!"
At my call, Woo-sik turned from backstage and looked toward the audience.
"Namdaemun's open."
"Ah, what! Damn it! Why!"
Woo-sik hurriedly checked his zipper.
Must've been in such a rush not to be late.
The audience burst into laughter at Woo-sik fumbling to zip up.
This was the first scored test since starting at Cheongyeom Arts High.
The overly rigid atmosphere eased thanks to Woo-sik.
That was his talent.
Even unintentionally, anywhere Woo-sik was became lively and fun.
"Fight the power."
At my cheer, Woo-sik pumped his fist before finally heading to the backstage area.
***
The vocal evaluation kicked off with Woo-sik and Dasom, who had drawn first.
Each team got less than ten minutes, tops.
It struck me anew how ruthless Cheongyeom Arts High's system was.
You pour hours into practice for these ten minutes, but one slip and it all feels wasted.
Prioritizing results over process—same here as anywhere.
Before regression, wrapped in dread and tension, I never had time for such reflections, no leisure for it.
Now, reliving seventeen, I noticed things I hadn't before.
Of course, once you're an adult in a troupe, this becomes routine, and in the pro world, it's par for the course.
But was it right for high schoolers to go through this early?
At the same time, yeah, maybe that's what school should teach.
At least here, they wouldn't expel a student just for a transfer from an idol group.
Lost in such thoughts, I watched the other kids' performances until Moon Woo-hyuk and Song Ha-na took the stage tenth.
I could feel the audience's focus shift.
As the stage began, admiration escaped me naturally.
True to form, they delivered a powerful performance, dominating the stage.
What's this? Song Ha-na yielding?
The number they chose emphasized the male vocal's weighty depth, though the woman's emotional acting was key too.
Feisty Song Ha-na putting up with that—surprising.
Either way, it showed exactly why these two drew the most attention among first-years, family background aside.
Their chemistry was solid, like acquaintances from way back.
Satisfied themselves, they exited the stage smiling and listened to the judges.
"Song Ha-na and Moon Woo-hyuk—beyond expectations. Not just anyone can pull off a stage like that at seventeen."
"Right? Son of Actor Moon, alright. Born for it, born for it."
Worth the effort to sit right behind the judges.
You could vaguely overhear what they said between stages.
Their critiques were gold the more you heard.
Great study material, beyond just this vocal eval.
So I'd been peeking to listen after each performance, but I decided to skip Moon Woo-hyuk's.
"Do-hyun. Our turn backstage."
"Yeah, let's go."
Lee Cheong-ha tapped my shoulder lightly to signal, so I stood.
Their stage had been tenth, so eleventh and twelfth passed—now thirteenth, us, to backstage.
Lee Cheong-ha and I quietly rose from the audience and headed there.
***
Cheongyeom Arts High's small theater even had a nice backstage.
Who'd have thought I'd return here.
Not only did the student waiting room have ten dressing mirrors, but the interior was pretty and pristine.
Same "small theater" label, but unthinkable compared to off-university district ones.
Remembered my shock at first glance at another venue's backstage past twenty.
Clearly, building experience on stages with facilities this good was a huge blessing.
"Lee Do-hyun, Lee Cheong-ha. You're up after this one. Get ready."
Time backstage was uncanny.
You think, just a moment to catch your breath—bam, your turn.
Some things never changed, anywhere.
"Hoo. Hoo."
As our slot neared, Lee Cheong-ha kept deep-breathing, tension unrelenting.
She'd steeled herself, but first time on a stage like this—she had to be shaking badly.
I placed a light hand on her shoulder, smiled faintly, and spoke.
"Remember. Whatever mistake you make up there, nothing changes. Just relax."
Lee Cheong-ha stopped her breathing and looked up at me.
This being her first stage, I racked my brain for something to say.
A phrase I'd heard somewhere popped into mind.
I pointed toward the stage, shrouded in black curtains.
"That's your world alone. Like singing your favorite song to people you've invited into your room. That's it. No need to overthink."
Lee Cheong-ha nodded with a resolute face.
Good. Just threw out what came to mind, but it helped her.
I nodded back, then stood side by side with her in front of the mirror.
Was that line too cringy?
I'd barely kept my fingers from curling in embarrassment while saying it.
But at that age, especially for kids without stage experience, sentimental stuff like that often motivated.
Anyway, how long since I'd take a stage?
Even counting pre-regression, it felt ages.
First time in this seventeen-year-old body.
I had more experience than anyone here, but experience didn't make stages comfy.
Some veteran actor said he'd been tense every single time, right up to his retirement stage.
For a rookie like me, par for the course.
It was the lifelong burden of any stage actor.
Just differed in how you controlled it.
"Lee Do-hyun, Lee Cheong-ha. You're up."
The performance right before us ended.
Now, time to start my first stage this lifetime.
***
On stage side by side, I glanced at Lee Cheong-ha and nodded.
In dramas or movies, it looks like you get time to compose yourself, but reality? No such thing.
Even after a decade-plus, it felt like you blacked out onto stage and bam—acting or singing started.
I saw Lee Cheong-ha deep-breathing nonstop, stroking her bracelet.
Mistakes are fine. But please, nail it.
Ding—
The accompaniment for our assigned number began.
The first line was Lee Cheong-ha's.
More nervous than me, I focused all attention on her beside me.
And finally, the timing for that first line.
Her eyes, shut till then, opened slowly like in a drama,
"I've always waited, repeated it endlessly—"
A heavenly voice that erased all prior stages poured into the world.