Chapter 3: Stardust Project (1)
The conference room at Doubles Entertainment.
In the midst of the silent air, Manager Song Jinha was the first to speak.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes. I’ve reviewed all the materials sent from PD Lee Young‑chae’s side.”
“First, shall we prepare and send the end‑of‑month evaluation scores, the kids’ specialties, and a simple video?”
“That should work. I’ll tell the kids to get ready.”
Stardust Project.
Doubles Entertainment poured their soul into this program, co‑produced with TBN.
Although the senior team still performed well, Doubles hadn’t had a rookie in a long time.
This time, they had to succeed no matter what.
For that reason, the bold choice had been an audition.
TBN had made a solid offer, and they judged that if it went well it could generate buzz.
PD Lee Young‑chae was famous for hitting several audition programs.
Although they basically cloned the format, that approach usually had stronger public resonance.
For now, they could only hope this program would be a huge hit.
Team Leader Song Jinha spoke in a sharp voice.
“Oh, have we confirmed the list?”
What PD Lee Young‑chae had requested was the list.
In other words, the list of likely debut candidates.
“She said to pick those with some talent, you know.”
Too obviously, the broadcast editing wouldn’t come out naturally.
Twenty‑two Doubles trainees and twelve private trainees.
Distributing airtime evenly among the 34 trainees was nearly a miracle, and the conclusion was that PD was asking them to pick the members they wanted to push.
It was the Doubles folks who had seen the trainees through countless end‑of‑month evaluations.
Manager Song Jinha looked around at those gathered in the conference room and asked.
The vocal trainer, the exclusive choreography trainer, the rookie development team, etc.
People who had seen them up close were all in one place.
Immediately a lively voice spoke up.
“Ha Junseo. I think this friend is good.”
“You saw that during the end‑of‑month evaluation?”
“He really was good.”
The first person named was Ha Junseo.
His end‑of‑month evaluation scores had been steadily good, so it was a plausible pick.
“Jin Se‑hyun? Wasn’t he first in the vocals last time?”
“Oh, Se‑hyun. He sings well. Personally, among the trainees, he’s the top one.”
“Is he that good?”
“How about Kevin? He’s the consistent first‑place in the monthly evaluations.”
Swoosh.
Manager Song Jinha wrote down the names as they came.
Among them were trainees who had made strong impressions in the end‑of‑month evaluations.
Especially when Kevin’s name came up, Manager Song Jinha’s eyes glittered as she nodded.
“Kevin is good.”
Besides that, names of friends rated favorably by the trainers, including Lee Junhyeok, were listed one after another.
The list numbered at least ten.
“Wonseok has been on an audition program before….”
“Oh, he has some recognition.”
“Wasn’t he dropped right away on that show?”
“Still, they’d have something to say—wouldn’t they?”
They also planned to include a few with backstories to aim for buzz.
They couldn’t push all thirty‑some people, so this list was not bad.
Manager Song Jinha nodded with a satisfied expression.
At that moment.
An employee who had been silent all along cautiously raised a hand.
“Yes, please speak.”
It was vocal trainer Yoo Minseo.
Unlike her brief hesitation, she spoke in a fairly strong voice.
“Seohan.”
“…Do you mean Seohan?”
“Oh. That friend.”
At once the gazes of the other employees turned to her.
They looked somewhat surprised by Yoo Minseo’s remark.
In fact, he was a friendly‑looking, likable type who had elicited some reaction since casting.
The problem was that he hadn’t produced anything noteworthy after coming in.
“This friend was at YR Entertainment before coming here, right?”
“He’s been a trainee since he was very young.”
“As far as I know, he even reached the KJ debut team.”
“KJ as in the major agency I know… KJ?”
If it was KJ, that was a large agency.
The rookie development team employee’s comment caused a brief stir in the conference room but soon quieted down.
“But… he didn’t show any special performance in the end‑of‑month evaluation.”
“He’s young so maybe he hasn’t adapted well.”
“Right, he seemed slightly withdrawn? If he can’t adapt now, the audition will be even harder.”
From moving through an SM entertainment‑level audition to a large agency like Doubles, his basic skills were already verified.
The problem was that here, too, was a top agency: Doubles.
They had plenty of trainees like him, and Seohan was not a standout.
Although he hadn’t been at Doubles long, his last end‑of‑month score was mid‑range.
He danced somewhat well, but was particularly weak in vocals.
Aside from being a long‑time trainee, he lacked an impressive narrative that could be used for broadcasting.
Manager Song Jinha scratched her head, as if displeased.
It was a habit.
“He’s a slightly ambiguous candidate….”
One end‑of‑month evaluation.
Manager Song Jinha had only observed him to that extent.
And if she didn’t remember that performance, it probably wasn’t a particularly impactful stage.
Instead of outright rejecting, Manager Song Jinha asked again.
“But… in what way?”
“Right. Minseo‑ssi, you’ve been on audition judging panels, too. You have a good eye for this kind of thing, don’t you?”
“Oh, that’s right. Is there some particular reason?”
Yoo Minseo’s eyes were filled with a strange confidence.
Vocal skill?
Honestly, not top tier. He wasn’t particularly outstanding in her class either.
Nevertheless.
Because an audition isn’t judged solely on skill.
“He’s actually quite smart.”
“What?”
“Really?”
With a flash of memory, Yoo Minseo recognized a trait of Seohan.
“He’s the kind of child who learns ten when you teach one.”
Quick song learning ability, strong judgment about what he should do to perform well, even a sense of strategy.
In her view, Seohan was smart.
A small smile curved at Yoo Minseo’s lip.
“This kind of audition—smart kids survive it.”
---
“Practice… practice… let me see.”
Eight years earlier, if that had been me, I’d have just thrown myself into singing.
And it had worked.
Seohan’s weakness had been vocals, and thanks to grueling practice volume, his growth was fast.
At the time of the first evaluation, he hadn’t stood out, but because the camera captured his growth, his ranking soared.
He ultimately failed to debut by just one rank.
But the second time was different.
Instead of approaching it so recklessly, he planned to take a different route.
“Found it.”
Wow, this was still here.
I took out the practice journal that I had shoved into the corner of my locker.
It was already tattered from how much I’d pored over it.
It was a notebook I’d been using since I was at YR.
It was called a practice journal, but it was closer to a diary.
Flip. Flip.
I quickly flipped through the pages.
There was a clue here.
“Ah.”
The evaluations I’d received during training.
I’d scribbled some down during class but had never looked back on them.
That’s right.
I’d been the type of student who didn’t study but took good notes.
“Sing without straining your throat. Has strength in falsetto.”
“Dancing is powerful but lacks some control—was this from a monthly evaluation?”
Besides these, I had tons of other feedback.
Brutally honest evaluations I received during the Stardust Project.
‘Your tone is okay, right? But your vocalization is a mess. You can’t sing because you don’t have the basics.’
That experience was now becoming fertilizer.
Thanks to it, I was beginning to find direction in practice.
Without hesitation, I selected a light and sweet drama OST.
I cautiously opened my mouth while awkwardly following the rhythm.
“I know I can’t stop
You feel the same way too.”
After singing one verse, I realized.
“…It’s different.”
Even though it had been a while since I last sang, I could feel it.
The results of countless vocal exercises that the Seohan from eight years ago could never have achieved flowed out naturally.
And when I added the feedback from my journal, the vocalization came out even smoother than I remembered.
Before I knew it, I let out a gasp of admiration.
“Even the start feels different.”
At this level, even in the first audition evaluation, I might not get the original C grade—I could aim for B, or even A.
Of course, not with this song.
“It’s not impactful enough. Should I try this instead? Hmm… ‘First Dance’?”
“First Dance” by Demir.
It was a second-generation idol song, but so famous that almost everyone knew it.
It was a song where a refreshing rhythm matched well with powerful vocals.
“Ah—”
This time, I focused on the vocalization the trainer had emphasized over and over.
I saw where I was lacking.
I swallowed hard and repeated the same section a couple of times.
Then moved on to the next song.
How many minutes had I gone without rest, singing nonstop like that?
There was a small commotion outside the door.
I turned my head with wide eyes.
“Huh?”
Top vocal trainer at Doubles.
Ms. Yoo Minseo was standing outside.
---
Bba-bba-ra-bam. Bba-bam.
It started with that.
Because some lively trot sounds were echoing down the hallway.
Ms. Yoo Minseo frowned and approached the empty practice room.
Through the glass door, she saw Seohan.
Maybe it was because he was the one they’d talked about earlier today, but her interest was piqued.
However, the scene unfolding was far from what she’d expected.
“…!”
Thump-thump.
Seohan was bouncing his shoulders to the rhythm, grinning as he moved.
He looked quite excited.
Of course, to someone watching….
“What is he doing now?”
There he was, with less than a week until the first evaluation, acting like that.
Should she take back the comment about him being smart?
Ms. Yoo Minseo seriously considered it.
But then.
Aaah–aaaaaah–aaaah–
Seohan’s expression suddenly turned emotional.
Without meaning to, Ms. Yoo Minseo furrowed her brow.
“What’s he doing now?”
What kind of song crosses genres like it’s driving on a free interchange?
Earlier it was trot, now it’s classical, then ballad.
Trendy K-pop, soft pop songs, even rock.
“What is this?”
At first, she was just puzzled.
But next—
“…He’s actually kind of good?”
It was pure admiration.
Ms. Yoo Minseo blinked and stared through the crack in the door at Seohan.
‘How did he pull that off?’
Though she had recommended Seohan in the meeting, it had never been because of his vocals.
He had a fairly natural tone.
But his fundamentals, which couldn’t bring that tone to life—that was how she remembered him.
That’s why she found it even stranger.
Maybe it was just her imagination, but his vocalization had improved to a level that couldn’t be compared to the last class.
No, to be precise, the song Seohan had sung earlier matched his vocal tone perfectly.
“Did he… sing all those just to find this?”
That’s when a chill ran down her spine.
A terrifying thought crossed Yoo Minseo’s mind.
And at the same time—
Rattle.
As the door creaked, her eyes met Seohan’s.
“Oh? Hello!”
Seohan bowed awkwardly.
He looked quite flustered, probably not expecting Yoo Minseo to be standing outside the door.
She smiled awkwardly and asked,
“You’re Seohan, right? How’s the audition prep going?”
“Yes, I’m working hard on it for now.”
“I heard you from outside—you’re doing well! Keep practicing hard!”
“Yes, will do!”
“Alright, alright.”
Thud.
Yoo Minseo shut the door as if being chased.
The moment she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, a soft gasp escaped her lips.
She had only heard a few short lines, but she had already figured out Seohan’s practice method.
If her hunch was right, Seohan was clearly searching for a song that matched his voice.
While others were probably busy choosing audition-optimized songs, there weren’t many trainees testing each song against their tone and vocalization one by one.
Even more rare were trainees who knew exactly what they were good at.
Most picked songs claiming confidence, but from a professional standpoint, the choices often left much to be desired.
Yet even with limited time, he was methodically singing through each possibility—and that level of precision was awe-inspiring.
He had nearly found the perfect answer.
“What is with that kid, seriously.”
And she was convinced.
“My judgment was right.”
That kid…
He was definitely going to cause a stir at the audition.