"Who did you get paired with?"
In the van on the way back, I asked, doubting what I’d just heard.
Choi Jeho answered flatly.
"Allover."
"...Great."
Of all the groups to draw, we got the worst one.
Verion’s with me, so they’re off the board.
That leaves four groups. How do you manage to land Allover out of those.
"Why Allover? Because they’re close with Parte?"
From the front seat, Lee Cheonghyeon turned around and asked.
But I couldn’t answer. What am I supposed to say to a kid still in high school—“Yeah, those guys are headed to prison in a few years so I was planning to ghost them early”?
As a working adult, I want to show these growing sprouts a bright future and a hopeful world. Not easy.
"Better than the growing sprout ending up paired with Allover," I guess.
Cheonghyeon got matched with Log. Two of them came out on that side, and he was the youngest of the three, so he got doted on a fair bit.
"If it’s a relationship that shouldn’t be too friendly anyway, maybe it’s better to send the kid whose social skills are shattered."
Thinking positive calmed me down. I decided not to spare any encouragement for Choi Jeho.
"Go ahead and raise hell if you have to—if something’s annoying, say it’s annoying; if you want to be blunt, be blunt. Just don’t use profanity, got it?"
"Weren’t you the one who told me to delete ‘I don’t like it’ from my head?"
"Who told you to skip practice or be uncooperative? Do everything you’re supposed to do—and run your mouth, too."
As soon as we got back to the dorm, I split the stage budget from Royal Secretariat in half and tucked it into two envelopes.
I wrote Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon’s names on them and handed them over. They stared at me like, Why are you giving us this?
"You need money so you don’t get looked down on wherever you go. Take one each."
"What about you?"
"How much money am I going to spend on a vocal stage."
"This still isn’t right."
Choi Jeho opened the envelope and slid a finger in.
I grabbed his hand before he could pull any bills out.
"It’s not free."
"..."
"Keep your head on straight so your stage isn’t embarrassing. What did I say you do when you take money?"
"You do as much as you’ve been given..."
Like a button-activated vending machine, Lee Cheonghyeon muttered it.
Anyway, if you don’t pull your broadcast time, forget the money—you’re not leaving the basement practice room.
Neat semi-casual: check.
Backpack that keeps a sharp silhouette even with a laptop and planner inside: check.
Two cases of Vita 600, total under thirty thousand won: check.
I was fully prepped to visit Verion’s agency. First time on dispatch duty—nerves.
"Iwol, what’s with the drinks?"
"I heard it’s rude to show up at someone else’s place empty-handed."
"Right... yeah..."
The manager didn’t look thrilled, but he still drove me to Verion’s agency.
On the previous shoot day, after a bit of discussion, we agreed to prep Round 3 at Verion’s agency, Greenline.
"We can come to UA!"
"Thanks, but we’ll pass. UA only has one big practice room."
"Ahh..."
So that’s how it went. Choi Jeho and Lee Cheonghyeon were probably relying on someone else’s agency by now too.
I handed one case of drinks to the security staff at the entrance. I mentioned I’d be coming and going for a while and asked for their help.
They say “old building, best building,” but Greenline looked better than UA. UA and security? I’d be happy if we didn’t get robbed.
While those thoughts were running, a staffer led me to the practice room and Verion jumped to their feet.
"Hyung! Welcome!"
"Thanks. This is a bribe for ‘please take care of me during prep.’"
"You didn’t have to bring anything!"
They fussed and welcomed me. Thankfully, no one gave me the side-eye like I was trying to buy them off with one case of drinks.
"We said we’d each think of songs we wanted to try. What did you bring?"
One by one, the Verion members shared their picks.
Unfortunately, nothing screamed this is it. They seemed to feel the same, and a brief silence followed.
"Then, before I say mine... I listened to the cover tracks you uploaded to MeTube."
"Gasp. You listened to all of those?"
Yeo Seongchan looked genuinely shocked.
There weren’t that many to begin with. Compared to Spark’s flood of self-content, listening to those was nothing.
I said they should correct me if I was off, then gave a quick brief on Verion’s vocal traits and tastes as I heard them.
First, Verion’s main vocal, Cha Sehan.
Like a trendy modern group, Verion doesn’t draw rigid position lines, but inside that, Cha Sehan sings best.
He’s got range, but Verion’s songs tend to hover in the same band, so it hasn’t really shown. Maybe that’s why he covers songs with dramatic builds.
Next, Yeo Seongchan—who reminds you of someone unusually sociable.
His selling point is a big, open voice. With solid technique, he’s the most stable of the three. The vocal style and the personality are a little different, if that makes sense.
He’s weak on emotional ballads. But he’s got a real edge on those K-high-note songs that had their moment.
Lastly, the leader, Mun Yeonggyu, is a finesse singer. Eight out of ten ad-libs on Verion’s stages are his. He doesn’t have huge volume, but he nails pitch even in falsetto.
Taken together, it’s not a bad mix... but Verion isn’t # Nоvеlight # exactly a monster vocal group.
That’s not just Verion. It’s more that the idol scene has fewer beyond-human-level vocalists now.
With mass appeal dwindling and labels trying to patch it with firm fandom power or easy listening, a lot of companies settled for “good enough.”
Thanks to that, Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu get called rarer than wild ginseng—“visual main vocals you can’t knock on skill”—and enjoy the glory of being beyond critique.
Anyway, long story short, we can’t count on the kind of thrilling high-note peaks Spark’s shown before.
So I wracked my brain hard before heading to Greenline this morning. That’s how badly I wished I could borrow Jeong Seongbin.
But I found it in the end.
A secret-weapon song where Cha Sehan can finally unleash a killer high note, Yeo Seongchan can flex his projection, and Mun Yeonggyu can drench the track in ad-libs.
"Hey, how about this one?"
I played the opening from an old anime on my laptop.
"Then let’s split parts like this. I’d also like to match some harmonies—are you all free to stay longer?"
Kim Iwol asked. Even with that gentle voice, there was a force that made it hard to refuse.
"Is it because he’s older?"
At Verion, where most are the same age, separating by age didn’t mean much.
And for the leader, Mun Yeonggyu, it had been a while since someone else led him.
He still remembered the first time he saw Spark’s stage.
No—every Verion member remembered it clearly.
Overwhelming skill compared to same-year groups who debuted around the same time.
Flawless visuals and physiques, and high-quality stages.
They’d sharpened their teeth and come out. That thought occurred on its own.
No idol does their debut stage half-asleep. But idols who approach every stage like it’s life or death are rare.
Every rookie tries their best, but Spark felt a little different.
A group that tries their best and delivers the best stage. That’s the phrase that fit Spark.
There’d been a bit of noise early in Royal Secretariat’s broadcast, but even so, Yeonggyu wanted at least to say hello.
The “rude to other idols” narrative didn’t hold water—Spark was kind to everyone.
If a group like that gets undervalued because of a bogus controversy, it would be heartbreaking.
His worries were needless. Spark nailed every stage and never missed first place in the audience vote.
They made you unable to look away; they made you wait for broadcast day; when the episode ended, they made you go and rewatch the stage.
Once or twice could be luck, but Spark proved in Round 2 that it was skill. Yeonggyu himself was counting down to their Round 2 broadcast.
At the same time, he wondered:
What exactly makes Spark’s stages special?
As the one leading a group, he couldn’t help but think about it.
Even if asking wouldn’t get him the answer, at least while they were on the same program, he hoped to learn over the shoulder.
By a stroke of luck, he got to sit right next to Kim Iwol—the producing member of Spark—and join the stage-planning work.
And on day one, Yeonggyu realized just how much they’d fallen into doing things by inertia.
Most people pick songs where they can shine a bit.
If given the chance to build a stage, they pitch the concepts they’ve wanted to do, then negotiate to a middle ground.
Kim Iwol was different.
He thoroughly sized up the people he’d work with and did his best to consider what each person wanted to sing.
Despite the cold looks that made him hard to approach, his manner was always moderate.
He had a knack for explaining his intent clearly while persuading people gently.
When others said, “Let’s make a cool stage,” Kim Iwol already seemed to have that cool stage perfectly drawn in his head. Just hearing him, you could picture what would be on stage.
"Amazing."
Yeonggyu marveled inwardly—and felt happy.
Somehow, it felt like this stage would be the chance for him and his teammates to level up.
But the pleasant stretch didn’t last.
"Then let’s at least finish the harmonies before we break?"
To deliver the ideal stage that Kim Iwol envisioned, a mountain of ultra-dense practice was already waiting for Yeonggyu.
