Chapter 1.1
Why do good things inevitably turn bad?
The blindingly bright stage lights burned the top of my head. Asking to dim them for better comfort was out of the questionâthere was no way I was risking a barrage of hate comments accusing me of neglecting my appearance. Better to endure the harsh lights head-on than deal with that.
For Go Ha Ram, who had failed his comeback diet, dazzling stage lights were a necessity. Shadows created by the lighting could enhance facial contours even better than makeup.
Familiar music poured into my in-ears. After rehearsing this routine more than a hundred times, my body moved on instinct before my brain could process it.
With nine adult men bustling around a small stage, even one person hesitating could cause a collision.
Unfortunately, this comebackâs choreography didnât include a single resting tempo. Now that we were three years in, R&M had big ambitions for us, forcing their dancers to craft intricate, complex routines.
The main dancers and confident performers, including myself, could keep up. But for members less skilled at dancing, this choreography was like a ticking time bombâone wrong move could lead to disaster.
Sure enough, four steps behind me, Choi Hyun Hee missed the beat. It wasnât a major mistake, but up close, his strained expression betrayed his attempt to act unbothered.
Losing a mic or shoe wouldâve been easier to recover fromâchoreography mistakes were impossible to smooth over once broadcasted. The fans would inevitably pick out his error when the footage aired.
[âHyun Hee, donât you practice? Why so clumsy?â]
[âLOL, now that theyâre three years in, theyâre starting to slack off. Letâs restore K-pop discipline!â]
[âStill, compared to Pick U Love days, thatâs progress. Hyun Heeâs always been clumsy.â]
Making such an error center stage meant it was bound to be captured. Hyun Heeâs choreography mistake would be immortalized as a meme or GIF across social media and forums.
Heâs perfect in everything but dancing, yet the agency barely spares him any consideration.
Donât overthink it.
Itâs not my problem anyway. Even if I suggested simplifying the choreography, the company wouldnât listen. And if we somehow changed it, Hyun Hee would undoubtedly feel guilty, thinking it was all for his sake.
To clear my mind, I focused on my facial expressions. Instead of worrying about unfixable problems, I should focus on doing my own job well. My plateâs already fullâwhatâs the point of stressing over someone elseâs?
Even if I did care, Iâd only get the same response: âYouâre good at everything, hyung. Must be nice.â Knowing that, it was still hard to ignore. Despite being grouped as one, this industry was about survival of the fittest.
As the highlight approached, the camera panned to me, standing center stage. Another jimmy jib crane darted in from the opposite side, aiming for a close-up, likely to capture a personal fancam.
Even though Iâd been told in advance about the dedicated face cams, the chaotic movement of multiple cameras made me queasy. I wasnât feeling well, but with the lights, cameras, and fans watching, there was no room to show weakness.
âYe Jin-ah!â
Someone broke the designated cheer rules, shouting my name loudly. Fans who had been smiling and excited moments ago suddenly looked uneasy. No fandom would enjoy a rogue fan yelling during a live performance.
Whoever it was would soon be escorted out by security for breaking the cheer guidelines and singling out one member.
âYe Jin-ah, look here!â
The desperate voice almost made me turn instinctively, but I resisted and kept my eyes fixed on the camera. Years of experience had taught me how to handle situations like this.
In front of me, Cheon Tae Rim subtly checked my expression, worried Iâd let something slip. Tae Rim was more passionate about idol activities than anyone in Reverb. He was probably worried this comeback stage might go off the rails.
But Tae Rim didnât need to worry. I smiled as if nothing was wrongâa playful, charming smile that fans would love. My expressions fully utilized my pretty face to maximum effect.
I wasnât a rookie anymore, so I couldnât afford to be caught off guard by fansâ unpredictable actions. Starting from year three, such reactions would be seen not as cute but as unprofessional. Even the âmoeâ defense wouldnât work anymore.
At the end of the song, fireworks went off, scattering confetti across the stage. The dazzling lights blinded me, and the multicolored confetti fluttered like petals on a spring breeze.
Even with in-ears, the fansâ cheers made my ears ring.
Every moment was as beautiful as a painting. The heat I felt was proof of how grueling the choreography had been. But even this was a blessing. The adultsâ words, that simply having the chance to stand on stage was a tremendous fortune, blended with the song, echoing faintly in my ears.
Reverb, as a boy group from a major agency, lacked nothing. If we took first place on the music show this time, it would mark our fourth win since debutâan overwhelming record for a male group in their third-year.
Our payouts were always generous, and so far, none of the members had caused any major trouble. Truthfully, the members probably avoided bringing problems to me because they found me intimidating.
