The reverse position for Team 6 consisted of Joo Dan-woo, Park Woo-jae, and one more trainee who had shown a vocal position in the previous mission.
For Joo Dan-woo and Park Woo-jae, their positions had changed from rap to vocal, and the remaining trainee took the main rapper role.
When the reverse positions were announced, the screen assigned both of them either as main vocal or sub-vocal 1, and it seemed that the main vocal role had gone to Park Woo-jae. Joo Dan-woo appeared to have been pushed down to sub-vocal.
Judging by how they arranged their formation and structure, it looked like Park Woo-jae was also the center—possibly even the leader.
So that team is running under Park Woo-jae's lead, huh.
Sometimes things like this happened when one person's influence within a team became too strong.
It could have been a strategic choice, but to me, the current setup—Park Woo-jae taking main vocal instead of Joo Dan-woo—didn't look like the optimal arrangement.
Dan-woo's vocal ability was good enough that putting him on a reverse position was almost questionable, while Woo-jae, though capable in rap, had never shown anything distinctive in vocals.
"Team 6 will begin."
And, as if to prove my point, Team 6's stage…
"…Hm. Is this really the best they could do?"
…failed to draw praise from the mentors.
The first to frown and raise the mic was Cha Mina.
"Woo-jae, why was the key lowered this much?"
"…I believed it was an unavoidable choice to match the vocal key."
"Oh, really? 'Same And Different' is even lower than 'Look.' Dan-woo handled 'Look' just fine—couldn't he have hit that note? Dan-woo, what do you think?"
"Sorry?"
Out of breath from the intense choreography, Joo Dan-woo quickly lifted his head and looked at Cha Mina. She continued, face cold.
"Dan-woo, try singing it. This time in the original key."
"...."
Dan-woo hesitated for a moment in silence. At Cha Mina's request, Park Woo-jae couldn't hide a flash of displeasure and shot him a glare.
Dan-woo seemed flustered after sensing that look, but soon he sang along to the original version of "Same And Different" that Cha Mina had played.
Unlike Park Woo-jae, who barely managed the heavily lowered rearranged version, Dan-woo hit the notes cleanly.
When Dan-woo finished singing, Cha Mina opened her mouth as if to say, See?
"You're good."
"...."
"How did you decide positions on this team?"
"We went with each trainee's preference!"
"So Dan-woo said he wanted to be sub-vocal 1 instead of main vocal?"
"…Yes."
After a brief silence, Dan-woo quietly nodded. Woo-jae quickly added, as if to excuse himself:
"Dan-woo hyung thought it'd be hard for him to handle, so he conceded."
"Did none of the other trainees have opinions on the positions? You all thought this lineup was fine—everyone agreed?"
"...."
The other trainees, except Woo-jae, exchanged uneasy looks. Watching them struggle to answer, Cha Mina let out a frustrated sigh and said, "That's all I have," setting down the mic.
"Why did you arrange the song like this?"
The next to pick up the mic was Do-min.
"Well, we wanted to change the original conceptual vibe as much as possible and show a contrasting charm. And since Dan-woo hyung and I lean more toward hip-hop, we thought a hip-hop arrangement would be a good way to show our abilities."
"So you think you showed that well today?"
"…We think we… showed it well."
Team 6's arrangement was overall suited to the hip-hop style they intended. But because they had lowered the key too much, the atmosphere became vague, and many of the parts that defined the song's character disappeared.
On top of that—
"I feel like I didn't see anything at all."
Because of that, Team 6's "Same And Different" ended up painfully bland. The lyrics and story were still there, but without a concept to match them, the whole performance felt neither here nor there.
Hearing Do-min's harsh critique, the trainees' faces hardened. Do-min looked them directly in the eyes and said one last thing:
"Showing what you're already good at is important too, but I don't think I even saw what you're supposed to be good at."
"…We'll fix whatever we lacked."
"No, no—that's obvious. What I'm asking is whether you understand what the core of this mission is."
"...."
"What I'm trying to say is simple. You need to think again about what you're supposed to do in this mission. Why reverse positions exist, and what each of your roles and abilities are."
And with that, Do-min lowered the mic.
After that, Team 6 failed to receive any good evaluations from the mentors. Their arrangement had killed the strengths of the original song, failed to make use of the members' abilities, and didn't show the "contrasting charm" they intended. It was criticism after criticism.
"…Thank you."
Some froze up, some looked troubled, and others wore expressions of anger. Just like that, Team 6's mid-evaluation for "Same And Different" came to an end.
***
"What are you going to do?"
"Huh?"
"Practice."
On the way back to the practice room after the mid-evaluation, Do Ji-hyuk asked me, and I stared at him blankly.
He had taken advantage of a moment when he removed his mic to replace the battery—apparently to discuss strategies for the rest of their practice.
"Chan-hee probably won't help. He's already swamped with his own stuff. And Yu-ha… I think he doesn't like you."
…Of course he wouldn't let comments like that get recorded.
Amazing how a person can lose all their filter the moment there isn't a mic around.
There was no need to sugarcoat anything, so this was more convenient.
I lowered my voice, glanced at Yoo Chan-hee walking ahead, and opened my mouth.
"That's probably true."
"You planning to help him?"
"If he just says he needs help. Though honestly, even if I offered, he'd probably push me away because of his personality."
"Hm, I don't know why he's being so prideful… In the end, if he gets eliminated, it's all over."
"…Which is probably why he's like that."
The more desperate a person becomes, the more they get trapped inside their own head, and their vision narrows.
His trauma keeps getting poked, yet his skills aren't improving, and the thought of asking the very guy who triggers his trauma for help is worse than death. He doesn't want to help that guy either.
That was probably exactly how Yoo Chan-hee felt.
"But as desperate as he is, he won't be able to stick to that stance forever."
"You have a plan?"
"I'm not sure if you could call it a plan, but…"
At Do Ji-hyuk's question, I looked again at Yoo Chan-hee up ahead. From the start, there had only ever been one strategy I could use on him.
A carrot and a stick.
***
"Can you try it just once?"
"…Huh?"
"The chorus."
"...."
Yoo Chan-hee looked at me with a face that was half puzzled, half annoyed.
He seemed confused as to why I was suddenly talking to him. Until now, we had been ignoring each other during practice whenever the cameras were rolling.
Because if we faced each other on camera, all they'd get were scenes perfect for conflict-storyline material. So we'd implicitly agreed not to interact while we were being filmed.
But I had broken that rule without any warning.
"…You're gonna help me?"
"I think the mentors were right. I don't know how much I can help, but why don't we at least exchange opinions?"
"I was going to ask Young-oh hyung for help."
"Yes, it'd be great if Young-oh hyung helps you. And I'll practice together with you on top of that."
"Why?"
"Chan-hee, when you first started rapping, how did you begin learning?"
"...."
Just like with singing, rappers also go through all kinds of songs to find a style that suits them. You don't pick one song and declare, This is my style, and stick with it.
Practice methods are the same.
How to use vocal support, how to control your throat, how to get rid of bad habits—everyone has different know-how they've learned. So it's important to hear diverse opinions and try methods that might fit you.
Chan-hee was an idol trainee too, so of course he must have received vocal training from his agency. He would know plenty about practicing. But—
"Don't you need someone to point things out for you?"
In the end, the most important thing was an objective ear.
Especially with high notes—depending on how you use your throat, you need more delicate technique to produce sound.
And the person practicing often can't tell for themselves. The voice you hear from inside your own head is quite different from the voice others hear.
And the most important thing I ever learned in vocal training was: Don't trust the sound you hear from yourself.
"I don't think you know what you're doing right or wrong right now. I didn't, and no one does."
That's why practicing alone without certainty was dangerous. If you practiced incorrectly with no one to correct you, that mistake would harden into habit.
If you had already mastered the right method, practicing alone would be fine—but Chan-hee hadn't found what worked for him yet.
When he practiced "Look," it seemed like he'd heard from Do-min how to use his throat, but he'd probably lost that sense while practicing. A small breath, a tiny bit of tension—any number of things can change your vocalization.
"…Okay, I get it. But I want to do some solo practice today. Can I ask you starting tomorrow?"
"Sure. And if you need anything in the meantime, just say so."
"Yeah."
Chan-hee fell silent for a moment, then looked around at the cameras. He shot me a sideways glare, then eventually nodded.
The mentors' advice and the fact that the cameras were rolling must have made it hard for him to outright reject me. But he still gave himself a vague grace period with that ambiguous answer.
Which meant I could already predict he'd come find me in the practice room later today to settle things directly.
He'll definitely get angry.
In a way, I'd cornered him using the security of the cameras. Since I'd said all that on camera, the production crew would want footage of us practicing and interacting afterward.
And since Chan-hee was desperate to get screen time, he wouldn't be able to avoid that pressure. So although he'd feel annoyed, he'd still have to accept.
But on the other hand, he would feel like he'd been maneuvered into a corner. So whether to warn me or vent his anger, he'd definitely try to say something to me.
Of course, I had no intention of avoiding that. In fact, I wanted it.
We should end this pointless war of attrition soon.
If I'd offered the carrot, then it was time to give the stick.
Well, it's not like our relationship was destined to explode anyway…
Even if it did end up breaking it.
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