● CONVEX OCTOBER EVALUATION: THE BIG DAY !
OCTOBER 28TH, 2018 — CONVEX’S DEBUT @ OLYMPIC HALL, SEOUL PRESS CONFERENCE ( 5PM - 6PM ) & SHOWCASE ( 8PM - 9:30PM )
october overall feels kind of like that strange state between awake and asleep, late at night after practice when exhaustion has well and truly seeped into his muscles but his eyes just won’t close. having had time off last month for chuseok and as a reward for their hard work, seungcheol expected this month to be a hectic rush to scramble together plans and the last of a semblance of organisation in their pre-debut lives. in a way, it is, practices stressing the little details he still hasn’t nailed ahead of their first public performance as debuted idols. it is in the way he can’t sleep without waking up too many times to count in the week leading up to the showcase. it is in the concerned glances he keeps getting from other members and staff as he continues to stutter his way through sentences.
blink and you’d miss the way the month flies by, leaving seungcheol trapped in his own head the night before the showcase despite having gone to the lotte world halloween celebrations in an attempt to tire himself out so much that even his wandering thoughts can’t keep him awake. it seems it doesn’t matter what he does, he can’t shake the nerves that tomorrow he’ll wake up and he’ll go to the press conference, the styling, the actual showcase and he won’t be choi seungcheol anymore — he’ll be a debuted idol, a member of convex.
when he does wake up the next morning, a little groggy from lack of sleep ( though he imagines everyone is, because if you’re not worried about all this then you’re probably too excited to sleep instead ), he thinks there’s no possible way five o’clock could come any slower. their morning preparations feel like they’ll never end, though his comfortable turtleneck and blazer combo are a good choice for the tightness in his throat as he spots the table for the press conference through the curtains. there are more reporters than he can count on both hands and feet, but he supposes they are a sphere group and it’s been a hot minute since sphere debuted a brand new group. with luxe just debuting earlier this year, too, and a kt group coming at some point as well, he supposes there’s a certain attraction to all the new ‘competition’ between the top tier companies’ new generation idols. personally, he doesn’t understand it, but if it helps both groups get the attention they deserve, he won’t complain.
it’s not exactly like how they practised last month. cameras distract his attention with each flash and click and he doesn’t recognise a single journalist in the way he recognised the stern curves of their coaches’ eyes and taut, emotionless lips. he doesn’t want to say anything, knowing that all that’s going to come out is a stumbled mess of mismatch syllables but he knows, too, that saying nothing is just as bad. he’d rather chance that people find his nerves admirable or endearing over thinking he’s rude or cold. or worse, ungrateful. so he answers one question about how excited but nervous they are, smiles so wide that his dimples dip into his cheeks and his long eyelashes flutter. he messes up almost every other word but he gets it out in the end and the stars in jihoon’s eyes down the table are enough to know he did well, all things considered. he swears to himself to answer more at their future comeback showcase, to try hard to answer smaller questions in the many interviews and shows they’ll take part in in the coming months to promote this debut, and that satisfies him for now. as much as he imagines the company might complain, he works best with baby steps, and perhaps with a group so large, it will go a little more unnoticed that seungcheol says so little at first. at all, it’s hard even for the chattier members to get a word in edgeways when the chattiest get going.
they’re hidden behind closed doors for an hour after that, plenty of time for his heart to come down to its regular pace just in time to speed back up again as staff begin warning them of how much time is left to go. some say it with an urgency to their voice, clipboards in hand and headsets over their ears, the stress of everything going perfectly clearly spiking their blood pressure. but the stylists, those who don’t have trivial things like the brightness of the stage lights and whether or not the mics will work when the vocal team perform the first song of the night to worry about, their voices are full of wonder. wonder and enthusiasm and all the things he should be feeling know that his dream is only twenty-eight minutes away but instead, his stomach is filled with angry butterflies, desperate to escape their cage. he’s probably going to sweat off all his makeup before he even goes out on stage, but he lets the stylist continue covering the pimple on his chin diligently, quietly, because it’s safer to feign not knowing his fate should it hit him before the stress finishes him off.
don’t get him wrong, though, he is excited — unbelievably so under all the pressure, but that’s just it. there’s so much riding on this hour and a half of his life, such a minuscule amount of time in his long, healthy lifespan, that it’s hard to enjoy it really. he knows he will once it’s over. he knows he’ll look out on the crowd once they’re doing their final introductions and goodbyes ( for now ) and he’ll feel immense pride and joy and everything in between because then all the scary parts are over. then, he’s made it. maybe not quite made it, but he’s gotten this far; he’s passed the worst of it. first impressions are important and it won’t matter if he’s perfect for the rest of the promotion cycle; he has to be perfect now.
( he has to be perfect all the time, as per the woes of the idol life, but now especially. at least, it feels that way in the heat of the moment. )
he takes a deep breath, gulps down a mouthful of the water bottle thrust towards him in the crowd of members backstage. this is it, and he can hear the roar of a lively audience as the first vcr clip plays.
it’s strange hearing familiar voices boomed out over the arena, and then moments later in the room around him. it’s strange hearing familiar names called out to prepare to enter the stage once the arena stereos fade to a dramatic silence. a familiar song, familiar vocals, everything feels so close yet so far. he knows all these people, knew these songs before anyone else out there in the audience did, yet he feels disconnected from it all, like he isn’t really here living it — like this is some kind of dream. it’s as if all his friends, new and old, are debuting around him and he’s a bystander, watching it all unfold, but he’s not. he’s part of this and he’s being ushered away to follow the vocal team on stage with their own unit song, the lights blinding as he walks out and the screams deafening as they get into position.
but he can’t stay starstruck; he can’t think about how his parents are out there somewhere watching him ( probably crying, too ). even if he wants to, he can’t. he has a job to do and he has a stage to own the best he can and hell yes, he’s nervous, but this is where he feels the most at peace in the world. perhaps not in front of two and a half thousand people, the last time they did this having only been about two hundred or so, but still— the stage, swallowed by the music and the atmosphere, is where he belongs.
when he raps, he doesn’t stutter even once. he’s practised ‘ah yeah’ enough times now that he could perform it in his sleep, even, but regardless, he exudes a confidence that whilst doesn’t embody the meaning of the word charisma, at least more than makes up for the shy mess he is off stage. anyone can see the difference between the strength he feels when he raps compared to his timid speaking nature and he can only hope that duality appeals to their audience. all he can ever really do in general is hope because he can’t change anything overnight. he can grow, though, so maybe, whatever it is their fans will be called one day, maybe they’ll come along for the ride.
he pays enough attention to the other rappers to keep in sync with their movements as they ‘dance’ their loose choreography. he’s still grateful for it all these months later but their more relaxed coordination for this song is a blessing when mansae has so many steps and jumps that he’s always worried he’s going to land on someone’s toes or twist an ankle. he doesn’t have too many lines, too much to worry about perfecting, but what he does have, he executes with a precision only achieved by late nights in the studio and a demo playing through his headphones in the dorm when they get a little free time. once that same silence befalls the speakers, he exits the stage to allow the performance team to own it themselves.
their first full group introduction of the night goes by with ease. he’s said ‘hello’ enough times in the last few days let alone lifetime not to mess it up, thought enough about how much he loves the song 20 to gush about it on park heejae’s command with only a few stutters every sentence. the mafia game is understandably a bit of a mess to his muddled brain, thirteen people far too many to keep up with as he stares wide-eyed at each of them accusing one another with fire in their eyes. ( it’s then that he realises why he’d gotten the nickname bunny from a fan whose post he’d read online after their pre-debut showcase, and he blushes just in time to be called out by one of the performance team as the mafia. ) the following retelling of all the memories they’ve made over the past year as convex ( he wonders if anyone out there realises how long this group has been in the works, how long he’s doubted he’d make it this far, but he supposes that ruins the illusion ) bring tears to his eyes. he doesn’t once cry, but he won’t deny getting teary-eyed as he recounts the time jihoon had surprised him with the news he’d be joining the group and that their long-time dream to debut together that felt so unrealistic would actually be coming true ( and again when tales of hyun pranking people are retold and he can’t hold in his laughter ). he feels so comfortable that he almost misses the cue to say a temporary goodbye so that the ‘mansae’ music video can play on the big screens for the first time before they gather to perform it moments after. he wonders if it’s really that fun to hear a song twice in a row like that, but he soon realises how stupid that sounds when he himself is guilty of listening to new songs on repeat for hours the day they come out. he hopes people will do that with ‘mansae’ tomorrow when the album is finally available to buy and stream. as always, he hopes.
it’s not the first time they’ve performed their debut mini albums’ tracks, and certainly not the last, but it still feels like both of those kinds of ultimatums in one. most of his peace has gone by the time they’re in formation and the first beat hits, but he doesn’t think about it at risk of losing more. he doesn’t really think about anything, honestly. he lets his mind blank a little, listens to the backing track and his friends’ voices so to know when to jump, when to kick his foot across the floor and when the time comes for his own lines.
blink and you’d miss the way the minutes fly by, leaving seungcheol’s chest rising and falling and his heart pounding at what feel like a hundred miles an hour. the night’s coming to an end as they introduce themselves one last time, make a loud promise to work their hardest for all the fans and for the equally as hardworking staff that helped make all of this a reality — that helped their dreams all come true.
and at the end of the day, when he curls into bed with exhaustion deep in his bones as always, he drifts away the moment his head hits the pillow. debut day complete. now? who knows what the future holds, but he’s ready. they’re ready.
happy debut, convex; may the force be with you.