Spark’s songs were notorious for their high notes.
With high-note captain Park Juu and vocal master Jeong Seongbin at the front, and with Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon not exactly bad singers either, every member had managed to belt that hellish song just fine.
This team even had the rapper, Lee Cheonghyeon, singing well. I’d heard the agency scored vocal ability at auditions regardless of position.
So I get why the trust in the members’ singing is high, but...
No matter what, isn’t this too high?
This wasn’t a question of whether the main vocals would suffer or not. It was on a different level—because even I, a sub vocal, would end up showing off high notes!
The loudest I’d ever raised my voice in my life was when I stopped Manager Nam from driving home drunk, so this was just cruel.
“But if we lower the key here, the exciting feel dies,” Lee Cheonghyeon said, watching my face.
He played the track again with the key lowered. The song definitely felt duller than before.
We’re already trying to push these kids to first place, and then because of me we lower the key, ruin the song, and get slammed by critics?
“That won’t do.”
“Right? And at this level our members can definitely handle it!”
Does that “our” include me? If so, that’s a mistake.
In web novels with systems, they, like... raise your stats and stuff.
I thought of all the web novels I’d squeezed in during this short break. That was the only place I could get info about the system.
If I got desperate enough—and apologies to the web novel authors—I even wanted to email them to ask what structure a system has. That says it all.
I hadn’t read past the hundredth chapter on every series, but thanks to them the system didn’t feel totally alien anymore.
And I’d developed a new complaint about my old-fashioned system.
Other people’s systems handed out money and fantasy items, but this system wearing Manager Nam’s skin had been playing it safe lately.
Nothing like “this time you get EXP,” huh?
When I muttered in my head, the system appeared.
▶ Judging by the nonsense in your head, Assistant Manager Kim must be pretty free these days, huh? If someone’s truly busy, okay? They don’t even have time to think.
Fine. From today on, I’ll assume my vocal cords are dead.
Seeing my resolute face, Lee Cheonghyeon asked, “What are you so worried about? In your range it’ll be plenty doable.”
Right. If I pinch my thigh hard enough, a head voice will come out.
And then I’ll be inducted into the Hall of Fame for World’s Most Unbearable Boy Idols. I could already hear my shredding high note being clipped into Shorts and sold.
In the darkness before my eyes, the system—its insides blacker than pitch—showed up again.
▶ By the way, Assistant Manager Kim, are you expecting to receive something? A package showed up. Don’t have packages delivered to the office. This isn’t a post office.
I grumbled hard on the inside.
And as always, the system said only what it wanted to say...
▷ Period: 20XX.03.XX–20XX.03.XX (total 7 days)
▷ Purpose: Strengthen job competency through group education and training
▷ Subjects: All six members of Spark
▷ Condition: During OJT, achieve a minimum of 5 hours of practice per day for each task
▷ Reward: For any task that achieves the 5-hour minimum on all 7 days, proficiency +1
...I bit the bait immediately.
From the start, this wasn’t something I could ignore.
Lately, no matter how much I practiced—hell, even after experiencing the real field of the stage—I could barely raise proficiency.
And this time, I wasn’t the only target.
Even those Spark punks, whose skills had already reached a certain plane and weren’t growing much, had a chance to sprout like bean sprouts.
It kills me that high school isn’t on break.
A sigh leaked out from inside. Why are there so many minors in this team!
While I was despairing, Lee Cheonghyeon asked me, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking we all have to grind till our bones ache to make your song shine brighter.”
I gave Lee Cheonghyeon, who was working hard to make a great song, a bright smile. It looked like we were going to need a life-or-death special training plan.
But before that.
Instead of “achieve the 5-hour minimum,” how about “proficiency +1 for every 5-hour block”?
If we do it as the system suggested, even if we practice 10 hours every day for 7 days, proficiency only goes up by 1.
But if we break it into 5-hour units, those same 10 hours would raise proficiency to 2.
We’re going to grind ourselves to death anyway; might as well scoop up every reward.
▶ Assistant Manager Kim. The company isn’t obligated to grant every little thing an employee wants, you know? That’s a company decision area. You’re overstepping right now.
When I clung on in a petty way, the system finally accepted my proposal.
Should’ve done that from the start. People in power never think for themselves unless the underling pokes them first.
Now the remaining problem was how to persuade the kids.
It’s easy to say “10 hours,” but aside from workout time and classes, squeezing 10 hours of practice in there means almost no breaks.
Breaks? By their standards they’d have to cut sleep too.
Even though the recommended sleep time is 8 hours, they’re sleeping far less than that already. I didn’t want to cut it further.
Should I just practice 20 hours a day myself and focus on bringing my stats up to the team average...
Right when I was starting to have ridiculous thoughts, Jeong Seongbin came over.
“Iwol, what are you thinking so hard about?”
Yeah, things like this should be discussed with the team lead.
It’s not that I’m bad at persuading people. It’s not that I’m confident either.
But sweet-talking kids who’ve lived way fewer years than me felt like a matter of conscience more than competence, so I steeled myself and opened my mouth.
“Tell me something. Do you think effort leads to results?”
Then I swallowed hard.
I felt bad that I had to ask this of Jeong Seongbin, who had been a trainee for a long time, struggled without escape, and suffered because of evaluations.
All the more reason I’d come to persuade him first.
His answer was nothing like what I expected.
“Of course. Why?”
“Huh? You do?”
“What’s something that doesn’t work if you put in the effort? Ah, I did learn that it often takes a lot more effort than I expected, though.”
He smiled wryly. I made a huge fuss inside and prayed his mood wouldn’t sink.
Thankfully, his face soon returned to its usual gentle self.
“But I debuted in the end. I believe in the power of effort.”
Fxxk, you really grew up. Your head’s more adult than mine...
I was so proud I wanted to hand him an “Employee of the Month” award for teammates.
What if this kid, whose mental state had been shattered, had debuted a year later like before—what would his insides have been like?
And if the team he debuted in after enduring such a hard time had disbanded, what would he have thought?
All sorts of stray thoughts flashed by. I raked my hair for nothing to shake them off.
Focus. Today the priority is selling the remedy to these punks.
Putting on the purest smile I could manage, I asked him, “Let’s suppose that if you practice exactly as I tell you for one week, you’ll definitely get results that match. Would you do it my way?”
“Definitely?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
The system doesn’t lie. It just fails to say what it should.
He tilted his head for a moment, then answered.
“I would.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’d probably do it even if there weren’t definite results. You wouldn’t make us do something bad.”
It was a moving answer. As your drill instructor, I will grind you with all my heart and soul...
While I was drowning in a wave of emotion, he spoke up with a serious face.
“But, Iwol.”
“Yeah, what?”
“You’re... not a cultist, right?”
Would I be a cultist?
I woke up from overtime to find I’d lost my degree, lost my job, and even got reassigned. I’m at the point of not believing in God even if I used to.
I was so dumbfounded I almost just stood up, but his expression was deadly serious.
He looked tense, like I might start preaching a good word any second now.
I’m not a cultist. I’m really not. This is so unfair.
I mean, yes, you should be wary if there’s a cultist nearby!
I scrubbed my face with both hands.
Then, with a smile of utter resignation, I told him, “Listen carefully, Seongbin.”
“Y-yeah!”
“The truth is...”
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them. Then I looked at him with sincere eyes.
“That week... is when the energies of the universe align.”
“...Sorry?”
He looked stupefied.
Yeah, you don’t get me? I don’t get me either.
But I didn’t want either to be branded dangerous and kicked out before I hit my KPIs, or to throw away a chance for every member to hit a third growth spurt.
I put a hand to my chest to look as earnest as possible and said, “The ancestor spirits told me. If I’d known earlier, I would’ve told you sooner. Sorry.”
“Uh, Iwol.”
“You know ancestor spirits are a folk belief, right? I’m really not a cultist. I’m not going out to proselytize, I’m not going to buy some religious trinket and wear it, and I’m not going to sell you any Octagonal Ion Carbonated Water. I promise.”
After I squeezed my eyes shut and clasped both his hands to swear, silence filled the emergency exit corridor.
A few seconds later, his roaring laughter flooded the stairwell.
