this week proves to her that adaptability is as valuable a skill as any other. thrust into a new environment provokes those ‘transfer-kid’ feelings in chorong: a queasy mix of ‘do i fit in here?’ ‘will they hate me?’ and ‘what can i do to help?’ when jinri calls them together for the first rehearsal the next day. opening the door to this room had been trial enough, but actually getting inside the space (so painfully identical to the one she’d left behind) drums up in the girl a wistful sense of wanting to belong. though memories have their time and place in the euphoria of existence, chorong knows that, just as she did, these new members have also lost someone vital to their team. how could she selfishly put her own lost feelings first when compassion earned a higher priority?
and truly, jinri turns out to be more kind than even chorong expects. the girl is naturally quiet but jinri doesn’t seem to mind it, especially when she welcomes chorong in cheerfully and allows the rapper the chance to meet with her other teammates for the first time. there’s xiao there, the little fellow rapper whose shy appeal provoked the interest of many viewers, and soojung-- whom chorong had met several times before. pretty, french soojung whose eyes speak of a familiarity between them that’s reassuring to the girl.
( yes, she’ll be just fine here. )
the pressure of work to stay in the competition keeps chorong’s mind focused. as the girls of this team are more reticent than what chorong is used to, it’s not surprising that the rapper finds herself contributing more vocally to the brainstorming sessions than ever before. jinri has ideas for songs and chorong’s pleased to discover that she allows her team members to speak up freely with their preferences until a carefully-crafted performance emerges from the meeting. the plan is set and then the whirlwind of rehearsals begins: three days of dance training, vocals, and blocking to prepare for thursday’s semi-finale. she’s lucky, again, that soojung exists-- for chorong’s singing is strengthened by the girl’s sincere advice for improvement, and their friendship enriched by an impromptu sleepover when the hour grows too late to stay any longer at the building by themselves.
( chorong’s embarrassed by the small space she offers as a temporary resting place but soojung reassures her quickly that it’s alright-- it’s more important they get some sleep, anyway, especially when the performance hinges on their ability to call forth a huge amount of energy. )
thursday’s semi-finale-- it’s a fearful thought in and of itself. regardless of the heartbreaking journey to get to this stage, chorong feels the pride of survival for lasting this long. despite the odds of losing that are quickly stacking up against her with each passing episode, her heart remains ever-hopeful that a chance, even the smallest sliver of one, exists to make her memorable. is she a front-runner for this competition? most likely not, not with the royal and nova teams sweeping the wins week after week. but to make an impression on someone-- to get her face and name out there... well, it’s a lot better set of circumstance than chorong had done for herself in the last few months. regardless of the results tonight, regardless if she hears her name called out for an elimination and feels the disappointment setting in that she’s lost, she knows, at least in some regards that she has won.
( she’s got jonghyun now and seulgi-- and seolhyun, and soojung and xiao, and jinri and luna, who have all helped her in some way become an even better, more skilled performer than before. wasn’t that the very definition of winning? )
nerves are soothed, as ever, by the way chorong runs her hands habitually down the ruby pleats of her voluminous skirt. she knows she’s come a long way since the debilitating anxiety of the first stage and finds confidence in it-- that she doesn’t need a hand to hold before taking her turn on the stage. she meets soojung’s eyes, and shares a glance with xiao who appears as equally lovely and vibrant. personal self-esteem issues have to be left behind backstage: once they arrive to the center, it can only be the performance-- and a damn good one, at that.
when the lights go up, the team’s energy is roused by the ‘la, la, la’s they sing together. jinri’s choice of this debut song makes use of their talents as well as weaknesses seen before. but, this time, jinri wants the audience to see how they’ve improved since that embarrassing time: dancing, singing, rapping-- all the primary skills are set on the stage for everyone to see and it’s as thrilling as it is a bold risk taken. chorong sways her hips, keeps the smile on her face, and pushes herself to dance with more excitement than she’s ever shown before. being on a new team doesn’t mean they deserve any less of her effort-- by being one of jinri’s swap picks, chorong’s got even more incentive to want to impress, to prove that being the coach’s decision is not a mistake, after all.
she claps her hands against xiao’s and takes the lead, asserting herself at the center stage as chorong captures attention with a smooth delivery of the debut song’s first rap verse.
고민은 blow Up
꿀꿀한 기분 change up
힘을 내려고 이제 wind up
한 방에 멋진 일이 가득 straight up
she shifts, letting xiao take over, and turns her attention to the execution of the dance. knowing this as her weakness, chorong carefully practiced as much as she was able to, enough to keep the movements in time with the other’s even if the dance itself lacked a certain special ability. she listens to xiao’s performance, as impressed as ever with the younger’s natural flow, and then to soojung who claims her main vocal right by the end. there’s an obvious reason why jinri’s team had stayed so strong so far and chorong sees it in the energetic backs of her teammates.
chorong winds her way to the front again when it’s time, shifting on her feet to the choreography and singing with a vocal color touched only by the lack of breath that’s beginning to show.
아침에 난 잠을 깨 엄마께
사랑한다고 말해
the way the lines have been arranged for the team is a blessing in disguise, as when chorong is not singing or using her vocals, she can remember to breathe properly for the dance that uses the entirety of her concentration. this particular performance doesn’t rely on the girls being in sync with one another-- as the lack of it can be attributed to ‘youthful energy’ instead-- but still, it galls the rapper that she can’t move as gracefully as the rest do. chorong is reliant on her enthusiasm to cover up mistakes and she forces herself to smile even wider as she moves, hoping it serves as a convenient enough distraction.
기쁜 일이 멋진 일이
세계는 참, 참, 참 많은 데라
the ninety seconds of performance moves all too quickly as their parts transition effortlessly into one another, and chorong summons up all the energy her tiny body can muster as she reaches her final solo part. just as she’d begun it, she’ll finish the song in an explosion of verse-- dark brown eyes pinned to the camera and voice (albeit breathless from her constant exertion) firing off the original lyrics.
어제 오늘 내일도
행복을 찾는 나의 모험 일기
달라 달라 나는 좀
긍정의 힘을 나는 믿고 있지
in rehearsals, she’d been exhausted by the constant repetition of so short of a performance, but adrenaline is a special circumstance that pumps liveliness through the veins. chorong doesn’t notice the time ticking away as they sing and dance (and rap) but knows it’s almost over once they reach the finale of their piece. just like the start of the empowering song, they conclude the vibrant feel of it together-- a burst of ‘happiness’ as the girls chant as if this is the last opportunity on stage they’ll have to do so together.
like a living nightmare, the days following the last episode cast a dull pallor over chorong’s every thought; reminiscent of the grief of the week before but, somehow, feeling even worse. not being chosen as mvp seems like a negligent matter now, for even during that humbling douse of insecurity, there had still been the four of them: the four strong competitors that had become friends to chorong... like a family the young woman had grown far too attached to in such a short amount of time.
last place. they’d been last place.
losing seolhyun was akin to a heartache and chorong isn’t able to shake the sinking feeling even as the staff member urges her to join her other two companions on the stage. sadness weighs heavily down upon her heart, slowing her footsteps to a crawl at the remembrance of seolhyun’s beautiful, tearful smile. it hurts and continues to hurt even as chorong silently takes her seat onstage. with a sweep of pink taffeta under her legs and the lights bearing down upon her, chorong glances out to the darkened audience, hoping beyond hope for even the smallest glimpse of their partner’s familiar face.
but the darkness makes that impossible.
resting her bare fingers upon the black and white keys, chorong waits for the end of the mc’s introduction before she begins the heartrending notes of ‘fiction’’s opening instrumental. jonghyun’s violin is soulful as it joins her piano, and seulgi moves center stage like a mournful swan-- her arms and legs gracefully extending in passionate movement as the music rises and swells.
this song is seolhyun’s-- for her, always.
jonghyun’s voice flows out effortlessly and chorong plays for him, swaying gently as the vocalist sings wistfully to the one whom they claim as their lost love.
-- even today I can’t send you away like this.
it’s so very, painfully true. chorong brings her head forward, lips hovering against the microphone as she continues on without hesitation. long black eyelashes flutter above sombre brown eyes and chorong looks outwards, wondering if the girl is listening. if she knows.
I will rewrite it again,
our story will not end
I will bury fact that reality is
seeping into my skin for now
I rewrite it once again,
the start beginning with you and I smiling happily
In case you will leave me,
the background is a small room without an exit
she remembers vividly the first time she and seolhyun met, the vision of a harried, beautiful woman who’d propositioned chorong with an evening to draw the reticent girl out of her safe shell. seolhyun had taken a chance on her, judging the elder as someone worthy of her company, and chorong had given her trust in return, opening up to the younger about the writing that meant so much to her.
if only chorong could rewrite this part again.
seulgi’s voice is pure when it resounds through the hall, causing chorong’s heart to pound strongly in her chest as the maknae proves why she, too, is worthy to be on this stage. it’s a soft, beautiful verse that suits her and inspires chorong to do even better. even without one, they still have each other here and now. for however long, maybe even for the last time, they have each other.
gentle and full of longing, chorong soars in.
like this again
i can’t forget you
a surge of emotion brings stinging heat to her eyes and chorong blinks furiously as seulgi and jonghyun continue to sing. her fingers dance along the keys solely by memory from rehearsals that now all seem like nothing more than a daze of reluctant ‘moving on’. they know they have to continue on this competition, they know that this group won’t remain whole forever as more cuts are made in the final three episodes. but is it so wrong to cling to a memory of a time when all four of them were truly happy? laughing and smiles that transformed body-breaking stress into moments worth cherishing forever?
how much is too much? the question repeats itself to her in a silent whisper when no answer is forthcoming. black eyelashes, painted to be so by the stroke of an artist’s wand, flutter above thoughtful brown eyes. chorong stares absently off into space as the makeup artist swipes pink powder along the edge of her cheekbone, paying no mind when the blush is exchanged for bronzer, and then again for a dab of lipstick rubbed expertly upon her lips.
how much should they know? the pd perches on the edge of the counter and flips through his book of notes, wire-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he recites, in order, the questions she’ll be expected to answer. most of them are straightforward but, he pauses his flipping of the sheets to warn her, if what she reveals could interests the viewers, then he will press chorong for even more details. “the more riveting the story, the more viewers will eat it up,” he advises the girl sagely, “give them something they can relate to.”
‘too much’ or ‘not enough’?
ankles align neatly side by side as chorong settles in front of the camera. hands placed in her lap subdue their nervous tremors when she curls her fingers under the hem of her shorts, as even a feeble anchor is better than none at all. teeth sink into her pink lower lip as chorong watches the flurry of movement behind the camera-- the same pd calling to the lighting staff to adjust instruments here and there and then taking his seat to the right of the recorder. “ready?” he asks her politely, waiting until the room descends into a respectful silence, and for chorong to answer in assent, before signaling the camera operator to start the recording.
the bottle of water placed to the side of chorong’s elbow seems like it won’t be enough as her throat dries up in an instant. “tell us about your family,” the pd prompts her, his beady eyes flicking to the left to remind chorong to look at the lens and not at him. she shifts her gaze obediently.
“my mom is... my best friend,” chorong explains. the pendant necklace circling her neck bobs as she swallows thickly. “we’re really close-- have been since i was six.”
when she doesn’t offer more, the pd speaks up, “and your dad?”
“not around.”
“chorong,” he scolds impatiently, “i don’t want this to sound like an interrogation, alright? we’re going to start over again from the top and i’d like you to answer the questions clearly.”
“...okay.”
“ready?”
“yes.”
the pd cleared his throat. “tell us about your family.”
chorong blinks slowly and draws in a steadying breath before speaking, “since i was six, it’s just been my mom and me,” she repeats, keeping her eyes steady on the unrelenting glare of the camera lens. “she’s my best friend and it’s always been the two of us.”
when she pauses, the pd’s eyes narrow. but as his lips begin to shape the next question, chorong beats him to it, the girl not wanting to be chastised yet again in front of the crew. “my dad remarried when i was nine,” and was much happier with a younger woman. “--and so, after that, my mom and i stayed together as much as we could. i think it helped her... cope.”
not as much for the daughter, however. “i didn’t have any brothers or sisters so it was just me and her mostly. she’s helped me a lot... and encouraged me so much-- i don’t want to disappoint her.”
not like dad disappointed her. “do you visit your dad?” the pd’s voice came. chorong’s gaze had clouded with the drifting of her thoughts but she glances back at the pd in surprise before shaking her head. “does he know you’re a contestant on the show?”
“no,” she admits reluctantly, “no, he doesn’t.” he won’t care, either.
“why don’t you send him a video message now then?” the pd suggests with a lifting of his brows. one forefinger presses against the edge of his glasses and he pushes them back on his nose. chorong’s mouth goes dry.
“i... um--”
“right to the camera. go ahead. tell him what you’re doing.”
reluctance beats like a drum. the girl looks into the lens with a lost expression. “dad... um. this is chorong and i’m...” her eyes meet the camera operator’s, whose gaze softens as if knowing her chaotic thoughts. she continues, “i’m a contestant on the mgas this year-- i made it past the first round. i hope you... i hope you’ll support me.” the last comes out breathlessly and, immediately, chorong feels the heavy weight of guilt sinking in.
it’d been years, but still even the mention of her father still causes chorong’s mother’s face to ashen. if she watches this-- if she hears that video message... chorong doesn’t want to imagine the brief flash of pain in the older woman’s eyes. she hadn’t remarried like her father had. she hadn’t found the same kind of happiness in all these years as he did. living with his wealthy second family far, far away from them.
‘chorong, you’re my happiness.’ her mother always said. but why does that feel more burdensome now than reassuring?
for a heartbreaking few moments, she thinks she hasn’t made it; the grievance of being listed last means hope stays forlorn until the very final second... but chorong’s worried gaze lands on her name, printed neatly beside a perfect number ‘3022′, and euphoria crashes down upon her. a delighted squeal escapes, high-pitched and loud before being muffled hastily by a palm clamped over her lips. she’s shaking, ecstatic, that she’s made it past the qualifier and mom-- mom should know first.
she tells the older version of herself the news once she’s back home, trembling from head to toe with the aftermath of shocked excitement, and chorong’s mother hugs her tightly-- whispering praises for her ‘sweet little turtle’ and embracing her with a grip as suffocatingly soothing as only a mother’s could be. there’s more rounds to go and plenty of decisions to make (including what the heck she’s going to wear! and what to do about missing classes-- ) but chorong lives in this moment for what it is: her mother’s cloying perfume in her nose, chorong’s dreams that suddenly feel so much more alive, and-- in a small tiny chest buried inside the dusty shelf of her heart-- a sad, wistful longing that her dad was here to hug her, too.
but chorong and her mom are a team, and she’s the one who accompanies chorong the second time the girl is required to show up for a secondary performance. going off alone the first time had been a matter of pride but now, chorong is glad more than ever to have a hand to hold as she climbs up the building’s steps. “are you really going to meet the company ceos?” lee seol asks excitedly, and chorong flashes a smile in her mother’s direction, mildly amused.
“i don’t know, mom, it could be a panel of strangers for all i know-- i don’t know who all works for this event,” she answers honestly. there’s over a dozen people waiting by the time chorong gets to the designated area and she feels the familiar nerves fluttering like butterflies in her tummy. the tambourine she bangs lightly against her thigh draws curious stares and chorong blushes, immediately ceasing the twinkling sound out of embarrassment. “i’ll be okay, right?”
“don’t let it get to you, honey,” her mother reassures her in a soft voice. chorong will be the last number to be called and that means a long wait time before she’s expected to go in front of the panel. plenty of time to let doubt peek its way through the cracks of chorong’s confidence. she’s seen some of these competitors before, some in the waiting room of the previous audition and others in the practice room performing their pieces as well as she. despite her mother’s comforting words, chorong would be foolish if she didn’t take this competition seriously. lee seol grips her daughter’s hand, as if guessing her thoughts, and squeezes it. “i’ll be waiting outside for you when you’re done. come find me.”
“number 3022,” a black-clad staff member calls and chorong jumps in her seat. “let’s go.”
the digits of the number, her number, echo in chorong’s head like a refrain. would this now be all she would be known as in this competition-- a four-digit number situated among others? a rare spark of defiance cried out for the contrary: chorong needed to make this panel appreciate her as a human being, as park chorong who wanted to join them in the industry ranks!
she wanders onto the floor with a held breath and exhales only once she’s reached the marked position in the middle. the panel chorong stares at possess faces unfamiliar to her, for the most part, and a tense smile wavers on the girl’s lips. “i’m park chorong, number 3022,” she introduces first, deliberately making sure her name is heard before the number.
anxiety washes over her in waves. she’s handed a microphone by a staff but the fingers curled around the handle are shaking as chorong brings the instrument to her lips. she’d foolishly thought that she’d been nervous at her audition before but this... it hadn’t even compared to the sinking feeling present now. chorong licks her lips absently, wondering if the panel weren’t already tired of hearing people sing and dance and rap before it was even her turn. the danger of being last is that nothing is new anymore-- not unless it’s absolutely sensational.
chorong couldn’t guarantee that, not when she knows she’s not a star yet. but her mom is outside depending on her, and how could chorong go back out there and confess that she’d messed it all up at the most important moment? how could she say she didn’t even force herself to try?
“i’ll be performing ‘stupid love’ for you today,” chorong manages to finally say. she glances down at her feet, eyes briefly closing while she inhales slowly. she lifts the tambourine at her side, her replacement for the cd of music she would have brought any other time, and lets the room lights shine on the metal discs until they glimmer. she adjusts the microphone on the stand in front of her, allowing her other hand to remain free so she can play without hindrance. with a flick of the wrist, she begins to set the beat with her tambourine, allowing herself and the panel to hear the flow before she starts on her first verse.
chorong’s head tilts up but her eyes remain closed as she forces herself to concentrate on enunciating the words. rap is a mess if it’s mumbled unconfidently, emotions needing to be delivered but mostly understood. for chorong, it’s easier to do this first than to sing, her tongue rolling off the syllables in a rhythm that’s challenged with every turn of the line.
Your attitude was different, making
my heart ache, you felt strange
The sky is black as if it will rain
Both of us are getting sick of the
repeating disappointment and arguments
You will probably break up with me
when her eyes are closed, it’s easier to pretend that companies like trc aren’t here watching her-- judging the way chorong doesn’t act like the stereotype that’s probably much easier to cast. she knows she’s unusual, and maybe not in a good way, but she loves this... can’t help that she’s chosen this skill to cherish above all others. when the first verse finishes, the girl’s eyelashes lift. she chooses the safest panel member to look at (the representative who’s definitely not aligned with trc) and hardens her tone deliberately.
here today it felt like my heart was on fire
and without knowing, I yelled
I pushed and banged and shuddered
Why are you looking at me with such
sad eyes? It’s always like this
I’m the bad one and you’re too nice
the tambourine playing stops and chorong takes a breath, air sucked through her nose for the moment she takes to soften her voice. rap isn’t the only skill she possesses and, if she’s going to be kicked out of this round, chorong wants it to be with the panel all well aware that the vocalist can perform more than a simple fast rhyme. the melody of this song is gentle, a deliberately contrast to the harshness of the rap verses entwined between, and chorong allows her voice to soar on it.
she’s not the best singer in the world, definitely not even in this competition, but chorong loves to sing and lets them hear her pure, uncomplicated tone as she sways to the sweetness of the lines. allowing her shoulders to relax, chorong feels some of the tension seeping out of her as she feels the path shortening to the end.
Even if your lips curse at me,
that’s not what I mean
Even if your heart throws me
away, that’s not what I mean
Why don’t you know
the meaning of my tears?
I’m not saying we should end it,
I’m asking you to hug me
one minute here could turn out to be a disappointment to the panel; they might even regret their decision to retain her for his round. but as the song comes to an end and chorong is left with several seconds left to thank them formally, all she can think about is that she’s done the best she could. playing the tambourine could be a hit or miss decision but it’s hers, uniquely most likely, and if she’s labeled ‘the tambourine girl’ from this point on-- well, it’s better than being forgotten.
she’s used to being invisible, but to become dismissed in another’s memory? like her father’s. that’s a pain entirely too cruel to fathom. chorong dips her head and upper body into a formal bow and repeats her name. “thank you for your time!” chorong says sincerely and follows the wave of the staff as they usher her away.
