Haeun could definitely get used to sitting in this #1 chair. She pushed her shoulders back, raised her chin in the air, and smiled at the camera with a mix of pride and defiance. Look at her, sitting all high and mighty like she was born for this throne. 

She scrunched her nose. The producers had made her take out her nose stud, her nose always felt empty when it was out. She’d have to find a way to sneak it in next time, maybe they’d be less vigilant during practices? Or maybe she could slip it in just before a performance and once she was on stage nobody could stop her anymore.

She slumped a little in the chair, it was so much effort to keep her back straight. She crossed her legs defiantly instead and leaned back. There, that sent an even better message, plus it was more comfortable. Win-win.

Wait, where were the others, anyway? She’d totally forgotten to keep track of where they were sitting. She leaned forward in the chair and tried to spot them, looking for the fancy black and white outfits they were wearing or at least Mosu’s questionable perm. Huh, they were all sitting apart, Mosu with Chaewon (of course) and the others on their own. Odd.

Ah well.

Haeun kicked her legs and sank back into the chair. She’d only trained with the Starship girls for… what a year now? Time flew. Most of them were pretty close as far as she knew, though not necessarily with her. Ah well on that one, too. She was just too strong of a personality, whatever.

The screen flashed the logo of Helix and Haeun peered down with interest. Hana was a bad and something of a role model to her, she wondered what her company would bring to the table. A squad of hip hop chicks ready to light the studio on fire? Some y bad es ready to show that school girl outfits won’t stop them from being hot?

Nope. All that came out was a girl in a plaid schoolgirl skirt looking like she was going to have a brain aneurysm from the excitement. Lame. She seemed to be yapping in… English? Haeun couldn’t tell details from all the way up here (and her English skills were… limited as it was) but that made things a bit more interesting. Did Helix send some pretty American who didn’t even know how to speak Korean? Now that was a mess waiting to happen and she might just be here for it. She'd see how it would turn out.

The Helix girl ran all the way up to the top and sat down on #9 and Haeun approved of her audacity. She could hear the girl speak some ty heavily accented Korean and Haeun laughed. That one was going to be a hoot, she could feel it.

After the Helix girl had settled, the screen changed once more to a logo that made Haeun freeze for a moment.

Woollim.

Of course this had to be the first year they sent a trainee.

She wiped her hands on her shorts. Why are you sweating? Get yourself together, Haeun, you chose to leave. Whatever. Yeah she’d probably know whoever came through that door but there was no guarantee it was her, and she had nothing to hide, anyway. She was above Woollim, she was at Starship now and doing much better, thank you. They could keep their Golden Nugus and whatever ty name they had planned for the new girl group she'd escaped. she was much happier in the home of Sistar. Well... former home... it was still painful, okay?

The door opened and a single girl entered. Haeun would know that wide-eyed face anywhere. She swallowed a curse that danced on her tongue. Of course it had to be her. Just when the world was throwing #1 chairs her way did it have to rain on her throne. 

It had been a whole year since Haeun had left but Fen hadn’t changed a bit. Still the beauty with the two facial expression: startled or smiling, that’s all she had (that wasn’t true, Haeun had seen a third, but best not to dwell on that now).

Fen sat down in the very last chair and Haeun rolled her eyes. Typical Fen, not grasping what was rightfully hers. If Haeun looked like Fen, she’d… well… doubly sit on #1? A face like that needed no introduction, but of course Fen wouldn’t see it like that, the idiot.

Fen looked up at the other chairs and her eyes fell on the top chair. Haeun could just about see the look of recognition on her face as she averted her own gaze. Nope. Nope this wasn’t happening. She was not going to let Woollim and Fen and the past get their claws into her chance for a future!

Some other girls were coming in and urgent whispers filled the studio but Haeun couldn’t get herself to concentrate. She could see Fen in her periphery vision, constantly craning her head back, trying to make eye contact while Haeun kept her eyes firmly trained ahead.

She was so busy not acknowledging Fen that she didn’t even notice the other girl until she was right in her face. “This is my seat,” a rude blonde demanded, materialized out of nowhere. “Scram.”

Haeun blinked. please! Nobody was going to talk to her like that! She opened to give the girl a piece of her mind but her eyes flicked to Fen way at the bottom looking at her (along with, you know, the entire rest of the studio) and then her eyes found the black eye of a camera. . . Motherer. Not the way to start a popularity contest.

Haeun turned her eyes back to the rude girl in front of her. It took a tremendous amount of willpower and people had better worship her for this ing restraint she was showing, but she shrugged. “Whatever. If you want it that bad, take it.” It’s your funeral, she thought. An attitude like that and that's the last time you'll ever sit in that chair. Thankfully the #2 seat was yet untaken and Haeun sat herself down, refusing to look up at Yeeun and keeping her chin up and eyes front instead.

Traps, everywhere. Rude girls, ghost girls from the past, what did it matter? All that mattered was winning that crown and winning that future and Park Haeun was not going to be distracted.

She’d make it into that group no matter what.

 

 

Here Choi Bitna was again, sitting in the waiting room of Produce 101… well, 99. Potato, tomato. Part of her couldn’t believe she was here again, the other part felt almost familiar. Like coming home to the most hostile and stressful home she'd ever known.

Bitna felt the stares, sitting in that blank little waiting room on all the little chairs surrounded by nervous trainees. She knew some of them had recognized her, the ones who’d looked her way. She knew they’d fake some big reactions as soon as she walked through that door anyway, like it was the first time they'd seen her. Good. Let them. It would make her entrance that much better and she knew more than anyone here that screen time was key. You had to play the game to stand a chance.

Last time she’d been here, She'd had no idea how to play the game. She’d been terrible, honestly. She was ashamed, now, of the person she had been then. She was ready to show them the new and improved her, she was ready to play the game well.

The door opened and the independent trainees were called in. Four others got up from all corners of the room and Bitna followed suit. She didn’t need a company this time, it wasn’t like NH Media had done anything for her last time, they hardly had any negotiating clout with only a broken boy group and struggling girl group under their name. Her own name should be enough. God, she hoped her name would be enough.

The staff member led them down the hall to into the same room from last season, the ‘official’ waiting room with its cameras and mirrors. They’d furnished it differently this time, fancier, but it was the same room underneath just like it was the same procedure. Five name stickers waited on the table, and Bitna quickly spotted hers. Last time she’d had to stick it right on her chest because the company had given her this white frilly tennis skirt and crop top jacket that she hadn’t felt comfortable in. Though, to be fair, at that time she hadn’t really been comfortable in anything that showed too much of her body, which was kind of a job staple for female idols. Still, this time she’d opted for comfort and swag. She stuck the sticker onto the baggy white shirt and smoothed it out.

The other four independent trainees were an odd bunch. There was a girl with striking short blonde hair who seemed a little haughty, keeping her chin up and not looking their way. Bitna had seen her type before, she was here just for the competition and nothing else. Bitna could respect that, even if she knew it wouldn't get her many fans.

“I just stick this anywhere on the torso, right?” the girl grabbing for the Ryu Haesung nametag asked.

“Stick it where it doesn’t get in the way of your dancing and can be easily seen,” Bitna said. "You want them to remember your name."

“Dancing won’t be a problem,” Haesung laughed nervously, sticking the sticker low on her skirt to stay clear of the big black bow she was wearing.

Not a dancer? Already a bad choice.

Another one of the independent girls looked like she was terrified. Wide eyes, panicked look, nervous glances at the obvious ceiling-mounted camera. Bitna sent her a smile, just a small token of reassurance, and the girl sent a small smile back.

Bitna remembered how scared and nervous she’d been the first time. The NH Media trainees had been one of the very last company teams to come out to the chairs, she remembered how they’d searched for three empty chairs together somewhere in the very end of the range. It had been so intimidating to walk in with so many pairs of eyes looking down on them, and the cameras were ever present. Now, two survival shows down, cameras didn't bother Bitna anymore.

The nervous girl was having trouble with the sticker, her hands shook too much to peel it. Another girl, a glance at her sticker revealed her name was Hwang Jiho, stepped up. “Let me help you with that.”

"Thank you," the nervous one said.

Five very different girls under the same umbrella of 'independent'. Bitna wondered how many of them would actually make it. Having no company was not a good thing, not without the name recognition to make up for it. They had to be truly desperate to attempt it without backing. 

Best not to think too much about that and best not to get too close. This game held 90 losers.

Smart, though, to help another girl out on camera. Maybe it might get shown in the show. Probably not, aside from Bitna, the others didn’t have anything noteworthy going on for them. No company, nothing Bitna recognized any of them for, and the struggling girl looked quite old for a trainee, too. Maybe they were super talented and got some screentime for their evaluation but that was all they could ask for at this point.

Bitna shook her head. Keep your head in the game and your mind on the cameras.

After the last girl put her sticker on the five of them got the cue from a staff member to go enter the studio. Bitna strode towards the door first and opened it, blinking against the bright lights. She held her head high and waiting for the staged and unstaged whispers about her to fill the room. She didn't have to wait llong.

It was astonishing how little had changed. Everything was all the same with a slightly new coat of paint. Everything was a little grander, the decor a little better, but the core was almost completely unchanged. The same pyramid, the same plastic chairs, nearly the same big pink special chairs that Bitna had never been allowed to sit on, the same nervous and excited jittery energy, the same whispers whenever someone would come in through the door.

Produce through and through. She was really, truly back.

Well then. Time to find her number.

 

jung gaeul

sm

 

 

Jung Gaeul was in a room full of other girls, just waiting to be summoned to enter, and nobody knew who she was. It was great! Well, not that anyone would know who she was anyway (thanks SM), but at least they’d heed her as soon as they knew what company she belonged to, and for now that was absolutely nobody.

She felt so giddy about it all! It was like sitting on a juicy little secret! All these girls sat here and chatting with her and none knew the company she came from, the pedestal she'd be put on soon enough. She was so looking forward to the awe that would come when she’d enter the studio with that pink little logo above her. It didn’t make the 9 years she’d been training okay, exactly, but it was pretty satisfying anyway.

But, for now, nobody knew her and she loved it.

There were so many girls here! Some were breathtakingly beautiful, some had that cute energy, some were even speaking a foreign language! How cool was that?? She was having fun trying to match everyone up, too. Sometimes it was super obvious like the girls wearing the adorable colourful hanboks. Sometimes it was harder like the three sets of girls all wearing black leggings and white blouses all sitting apart. Were they all together or did everyone just accidentally pick the same dress code? Gaeul was looking forward to finding out!

“This is all exciting, isn’t it?” she asked a girl sitting next to her. “I’m Jung Gaeul, 97 liner.”

The girl next to her smiled widely. “Nice to meet you! I’m Gong Seulrin, I’m a year younger than you. Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to see what the studio looks like! Like, in real life, you know?”

“Me too! Things always look much smaller on TV, right?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “I really hope there are still seats left in the top!” she announces. “I wanna sit all the way up there.”

“You can challenge someone for the #1 seat, right?” Gaeul asked. She'd heard something like that.

Seulrin’s eyes widened. “Oh no, oh no that’s too much, I could never!”

Gaeul giggled. “Then you’ll just have to hope someone left a spot open for you.”

The girl sitting next to Seulrin leaned in. “Unnie would never,” she said conspiratorially. “She’d chicken out the moment she gets up there.”

“Would not!” Seulrin argued, going a little red.

“I suppose I’ll just have to see when I get in, then!” Gaeul leaned back in her chair. “I’ll be sure to glance up at the top chairs and I expect you to be there.”

Seulrin’s face flushed. “I- eh- maybe!”

More and more companies were called in to enter, but Gaeul ever remained. Of course Gaeul knew she’d be the last to be called in. They didn’t want to spill the beans on the SM thing, and while she was sitting here without a name or company tag she was just a nobody. Besides, save the best and most shocking for last, right?

She chatted some more with Seulrin and her labelmate Kim Jihee. She tried to talk a bit with the girls on her left but the duo didn’t speak much Korean, just Japanese, and language was never Gaeul’s strong suit so that didn’t go very well. Everyone else around her was too busy being nervous, poor things. One by one groups of people disappeared (and it was indeed three different groups in tight black pants and white blouses!), including Seulrin and Jihee and the Japanese duo, until Gaeul was the only one left.

“SM,” a staff member announced a bit redundantly as she was the only one left in the room. The guy held the door open for her and Gaeul made her way to the little backstage room and stuck the sticker on her shirt. She paused in front of the mirror to make sure her hair was still perfectly styled and smoothed her pretty sheer blouse and adjusted her black bow (SM sure did know how to dress their artists… or secret trainees). She waved at the little camera in the corner, sending it her very best smile, and opened the door.

There were gasps.

There were whispers.

There were stares.

Gaeul felt alive.

 

 

go yoonseo

fnc

 

 

C. Seriously? She got a C?

The sticker on her nametag felt tainted, she knew she could do so much better but the judged had said that she didn't stand out!

“I told you I should’ve rapped,” Go Yoonseo said miserably. “I told you not to give that to Dahee! I'm the better rapper.” So. Much. Better. And now both of them were banished to C, and Yoonseo knew that if you weren't in A, B, or F then you'd be all but forgotten. Who cared about the inconsequential mediocres? At this point it would've been better to simply feint a lack of skills so one could wow the judges in F. Wait... she should have done that instead!

They were all standing outside of the studio for the only pee break they were going to get (and that mostly because Chanhee had really had to go and hadn't been quiet about it). Other girls were hurrying to and for while the FNC girls stood huddled around the corner.

“And then what would I have done?” Dahee demanded. "There was only room for one rap break!"

Sungsook crossed her arms in that way that would suffer no disagreements. “We all agreed it would be best to give Dahee the rap break since you already have your dancing skill to show off and your singing is better than hers. It’s not her fault that you didn’t stand out. There is plenty more time to show off your dancing and rapping, anyway, stop pouting."

Yoonseo was mostly kicking herself. She’d almost asked for a chance to show off her dance moves but then she’d started thinking what if that made her look greedy? She knew she could wow them with her dancing but the trick was coming out at the other end looking good, not looking like someone hogging the spotlight, so she hadn’t asked in the end. Now she had a C. Then, a couple of performances later, some other girl had asked to show off her dancing and the judged had been so excited about it and Yoonseo had realized she'd made a huge mistake.

Maybe she could dance in her chair while the music is on and it'd be wacky enough to show on tv? Or maybe just having good reactions could do the trick. She briefly considered what the bribe rate of Mnet would be, but realized that the 400 won and the pocket of gum that she'd accidentally left in the pocket of her jacket probably wouldn't cut it. What if she snuck out of the studio and found her way to one of the upper levels where she could sneak like Black Widow around the cameras and steal some sensitive information and blackmale Mnet into giving her all of the good screentime and probably the center position for the theme song too....

Dahee put an arm around Yeji, the only one of them all who’d gotten a D. “Are you okay?”

Yeji nodded. “It’s just a first grade, right? I still have time to move up.”

Yoonseo suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, even now Yeji had no personality. A normal person would be upset, disappointed, maybe even cry a little. Not Yeji. She briefly entertained the idea, and not for the first time, that Yeji was secretly a robot, a prototype created to become the perfect idol except they'd messed up the face a little and the emotions programming was completely glitched out. Either that, or she was hiding some deep dark twisted secret and was a really good actress trying to be as mundane as possible so nobody would come sniffing all of the very bloody decomposing skeletons in her devious little closet.

Miyoung nudged Yoonseo. “Cheer up, did you see Chanhee and Yikwang up close?!” she fanned herself. “Worth all of this.”

“Not sure about Yikwang, but Chanhee is so handsome I could die!” Xiaoyu sighed. “Hold me before I faint!”

Yoonseo jumped to embrace Xiaoyu and the Chinese girl dramatically let herself stumble. “I’ve got you, milady, have no fear.” At least Xiaoyu would be in C with her, it wouldn’t be just her and Dahee. That would’ve even more.

"Thank you, brave knight, and know not what I would have done without you," Xiaoyu returned.

"Careful you don't actually fall, Soyu," Sungsook said. "'FNC trainee snaps neck on Produce 99 floor,' is a headline, but not exactly the one we're hoping for."

Xiaoyu got up. "Party pooper."

"That's party pooper unnie for you." Sungsook said it seriously but Yoonseo could see the small smile on her lips.

Jaeeun stretched and draped her arm over Sungsook. “At least they recognized skill when they saw it.” Yoonseo noticed the way Jaeeun’s eyes shot to her when she’d said it. Ah well, whatever, all Jaeeun had had going for her was a more eye catching part and definitely eye catching looks. Not that she minded that Jaeeun had gotten higher than her. The more any of them caught the limelight the better it would be when they all debuted together, right? Well hopefully not all, and she couldn't help glancing at Dahee as she said it. 

Miyoung nudged her arm. "Cheer up, unnie, you'll get screentime for sure, Mnet would be crazy to forget you."

Yoonseo smiled. "Oh, I already know how."

Miyoung laughed. "You're going to break into their office and find blackmail material?"

"You know me so well!"

Sungsook gave a smile before clapping her hand. “Okay, enough hiding in the hallway, let’s get back inside before they start up again without us.”

 

kim dohee

wm
 

 

 

Here Dohee was, sitting on her seat in the pyramid at the first recording of Produce 99. It was a little surreal that she was really here, though she would never admit that she felt butterflies of nerves. Come on, Dohee, you’ve trained too long and too hard to be nervous for a performance, even if it’s televised or in front of serious idols.

She tried not to think about the other two groups of girls in the exact same type of outfits either. That was… unfortunate. She knew they shouldn’t have dressed so basic but nobody had asked her opinion. All they could do now was do their best to wow the judges with their performance.

Sitting on one of the higher numbers was all good and well, but it was a little hard to see everything going on so far below. Thankfully the screens that had announced the companies previously now showed close-ups of the girls performing so Dohee could still see them, even if it was through curated shots..

So far there had been some good and there had been some very bad, which was to be expected for a show like this. 

The girls sitting in front of them kept exaggerating their reactions, gasping and exclaiming and laughing unnaturally for any chance at screen time. It was so desperate and fake, Dohee saw right through it. She probably shouldn’t judge them so harshly, they were just trying their best, too. Dohee knew very well that without some sort of narrative potential or gorgeous looks or influential company, reactions were all the screen time that was left. But man, if it wasn’t really annoying anyway, she shivered every time she heard one of those over the top GASPs.

Dohee cringed at the foreign girl currently butchering So Hot. “How do you ruin So Hot?” she whispered to Seulgi. She knew she shouldn’t comment too much since it could be caught on camera but she couldn’t help herself, this was too ridiculous! “It’s one of the easiest dances there are, how is she still so bad?”

“Oh, her voice is pretty good,” Seulgi whispered back. “Maybe she can learn?”

In, what, 4 months? Right. Jisun had been training for months and she still took ages to remember a dance, this girl didn’t stand a chance. Ah well, there were 90 girls who weren’t going to make it, she shouldn’t mourn the definite elimination of another, especially such a pretty one. That was just being realistic, right? Culling the competition?

Speaking of competition... Dohee glanced at a girl sitting all the way at the other end of the row. She hadn’t expected to see Lexi here. They’d trained together for a couple of years at JYP, Dohee had totally put her money on seeing the girl debut in Twice, she’d been that good and that favoured, a better dancer than Momo if anyone asked her, but nope. Nothing. Now she was here with Brand New Music. Dohee frowned. Lexi would be dangerous for sure.

Somewhere way below her was Hwang Jiho, too, another face Dohee had never thought she’d see again. Jiho only trained at JYP for a few months before she’d left but she’d been one of the more noteworthy vocalists or so Dohee had heard. Even when JYP wasn’t competing, it still had a presence, and Dohee herself was a part of that. JYP recycling.

She sighed and shook her head. Keep your head in the game, Dohee. The cameras were on, she had to remember that. The cameras were always on, always looking for a reaction. She sat up straighter. She had to be on, too.

Produce 99, it was a real thing and she was really sitting here. All the months of working towards it, the nerves at the audition, the endless hours of practice, it all culminated in this and every minute of the competition that followed. No pressure or anything. But if there was one thing Dohee could handle it was pressure, or so she liked to think, anyway.

The foreign girl was gone now, sent to F where she belonged, probably. Dohee had been too lost in thought to follow along. The big screens switched on again, showing the next trainees who had to get ready to perform.

Pledis. WM.

Well, .

Seulgi grabbed her hand and reached out for Jisun’s and gave a little squeeze. “Let’s give it our all, shall we?”

Dohee nodded. “Now or never. Are you ready?”

Jisun’s other hand was shaking but she balled her fist in an attempt to hide it. “Yeah,” she said, very unconvincingly but Dohee appreciated the effort.

Here goes!

 

 

kim yeeun

ct
 

 

 

So. Now she was sitting on this #1 chair, this grand pink monstrosity towering over everyone else, but at what cost? The shiny plastic pink cushions felt like concrete under her , Yeeun was pretty sure the little wobbly plastic chairs below were more comfortable than the fancy throne she was sitting on. She shifted her cheeks again, trying desperately to alleviate the soreness, but to no avail. Her was suffering and there was no end in sight yet.

She’d been sitting here for hours and, god, it was boring. She’d counted on it being a whole pile of pompous bull (which, mind you, it totally was), but she hadn’t counted on it just being critically dull.  

First it had taken age for everyone to be properly seated. Then everyone had to stand up and bow to the camera and do the whole “oooh national producers you have so much power please love me and take care of me blargh” schpiel (which was a small blessing for her cheeks but gone too soon), and now it was a constant wait for the new bunch of trainees to get ready, then come on stage, then perform, then the trainers deliberated, then they were ranked, and then they left and the whole thing started again and in the mean time her felt like the Ring must have felt tossed into the lava of Mount Doom.

It had been fun at first. Yeeun had leaned back and enjoyed the first couple of performances, having fun picking on their vocal technique or just seeing their energy. The FNC trainees had been great, very well practiced to hide their weaknesses, and she liked the voice of their main vocalist. It would do very good for rock type songs. Too bad the girl would probably have to sing super high bubblegum pop for the rest of her career.

She’d been impressed with one of the independent vocalists too, the one with the short blonde hair (so many blondes! She took some sarcastic pleasure from the fact that her company had insisted on the dyed hair to make her stand out but with so many blondes much good that would do! Should’ve gone with pink like that Cube girl or the Plan A girl, but even they were a set. Blue, maybe?). She’d shown skill in vocals, rap, and dance and that kind of skill buildup was commendable.

Then there were a few of the young ones who weren’t very good at anything yet but their energy was infectious and it was kind of adorable to watch em anyway. There’d been this one super young girl in the group of 8 who’d stumbled when she got on stage, planted right on the floor, but she’d had this beaming smile on when she got back up again and it’d made Yeeun’s heart go doki doki. It had reminded her a bit of her sister Yoorim, back before Yeeun and Yerim had packed their bags and gone to the SM dorms. She’d been about the same age, then, 13 or 14? Always the clumsy one.

Mnet probably wouldn't even air it. Who cared about Urban Works? A small company like that didn’t line Mnet’s pockets, Yeeun wondered why they even bothered to send so many. Maybe they were just throwing a bunch at the wall and seeing if anything stuck. Dumb, in Yeeun's opinion. Better to stand one standout than a group of nobodies with maybe one diamond.

Yeeun shifted in her seat again. The wait between was the worst part. It took so long for them to be ready for the next group, and there were so many companies to go. She didn't even know when CT would be called up. She wished there were more companies who sent 8 or 7 trainees, it’d make this whole ordeal go faster. After something like 3 or 4 hours of this it was really hard to get excited even by the best of trainees. It was hard to hear the commentary from all the way up, too, despite the sound system in place.

Seriously, was there anything good about this stupid chair?! It wasn't even pretty!

Whatever. It’d be over soon, probably, then she could get back to waiting until her trainee contract was over.

She leaned forward in her seat and leaned her head on her hand, perfectly aware that she looked completely disinterested this way. Let the camera catch her. Let them use it, she dared them.

 

 

amano midori

sony japan
 

 

 

Amano Midori had no idea what was going on. Everything was flurries of Korean that were like gibberish to her and nobody stopped to explain anything to the Japanese girls. The girl beside her, the one with the cute pink hair, was too busy not meeting her eyes and fidgeting with her white dress and the girls next to Yuki only talked amongst each other.

One after the other amazing girls performed and got mediocre grades and she didn’t get it. All the ones who’d done that American song had looked amazing to Midori. She couldn’t imagine being that in sync and on point and some of them had gotten C’s and D’s! She’d thought for sure they’d all get an A. The pretty girls who’d gotten F’s all seemed okay to Midori, they’d be pretty good dancers in their sister group AKB for sure, and popular too, pretty as that.

The whole concept seemed strange to her, why would they categorize people like this and shame them for not dancing completely synchronized? With enough practice anyone could follow a choreography and what did it matter if they weren’t synchronized as long as it looked like they were having fun? She’d done some pretty tricky choreographies for Nogizaka46 but she wouldn’t consider herself a good dancer, just a hard worker willing to put in the hours, and as long as the feeling of the choreography was transferred to the viewer then she was doing a good job. Not according to these Korean standards.

“How are they all so good?” Chiyo whispered. “They haven’t even debuted yet! Remember how bad I was when I debuted?”

“I keep thinking they’ll give an A and then they get a D or a C,” Midori whispered back.

“What does that mean for us?” Chiyo asked. “There’s no way we’re getting a good mark, we never worked on synchronization and Yuki-chan barely knows the steps.”

Midori glanced at the young girl sitting on the other side of Chiyo. She was leaning forward, seemingly enraptured by the big group of girls dressed in pretty black and white outfits that was talking to the judges in front. Neither she nor Chiyo really knew Yuki at all before now, she was being groomed for the next generation in Nogizaka46 but they hadn't even launched yet. All the other girls here were presenting such a unified front and here she was with a 'labelmate' she didn't even know. She hoped the company knew what they were doing and that Yuki could handle the pressure.

“We’ll just have to do our best and if we get an F then we’ll have to work hard to show that there's more to us than that,” Midori replied to Chiyo. 

Chiyo nodded, she opened to say something but the music for the girls suddenly cut in and an Ariana Grande song started playing, one that Midori knew well and she was pulled back to watch. The girls were amazing, singing very well, rapping very well, and there was even a dance break! And yet two of them got Cs and one of them got a D. What more did they expect from them? Midori was having a hard time keeping her chin up and her spirits high, seeing all of this effort go unrewarded.

The next person who was asked to get ready was the SM girl and Midori perked up. She knew SM well, home to two of her favourite groups: Shoujo Jidai and SHINee. She had high expectations of this girl. After some time the girl came out, and she looked so chic in the sheer blouse and the little black bow and the pleather pants, Midori felt ridiculously dressed in comparison (why did almost all of the Korean girls dress in cool casual outfits?). More rapid Korean was spoken, Midori had listened to enough kpop to pick up some phrases, but half of the songs she listened to were already in Japanese and she really couldn't follow any of this. She’d definitely underestimated how disorienting it would be to sit here and not understand a thing of what was going on around her.

As if she’d read her mind, Chiyo leaned in again. “I’m starting to think we should have studied more Korean.”

Midori stifled a giggle, it wouldn’t do to show that on camera. “We’ll study hard from now on, okay?”

Chiyo slumped a bit in her seat. “Work hard, study hard… why did I let you drag me with you?”

"Because it's an adventure?" Midori suggested. 

The music started and both of them quieted to watch the performance. It was, in Midori's opinion, absolutely flawless but that didn't mean much apparently. She could get an A or she could get an F for all Midori would know. She couldn't even discern the grade from the gibberish this time, but the girl seemed to be happy about it. It didn't take long for another to come out, also with a black bow.

"We're so totally screwed," Chiyo sighed. 

“Shhht,” Midori nudged her. “We’re on camera and I want to see this!” Leave it to Chiyo to manage to be unprofessional within their first filming. Midori loved Chiyo, they’d both auditioned together and were in the same generation, but there was a reason why Chiyo had never been featured in a main single.

“Diarrhea diarrhea diarrhea,” Chiyo quickly chanted.

“What are you doing?”

Chiyo rolled her eyes. “First rule, diarrhea, of reality shows, diarrhea, if you don’t want them to, diarrhea, air something then, diarrhea, say things they can’t broadcast! Didn’t you ever learn that?”

“No!” Midori sputtered.

“Right, you always do exactly what you’re told,” Chiyo said. “That’s why they like me better on NogiBingo.”

“Chiyo-chan!” Midori gave her a light shove. "Don't say that!"

Chiyo laughed. “That’s more like it!”

Just then the contestant that had just come in started playing a keyboard she had brought in, big black bow almost spilling over the keys. She opened and started singing and Midori gasped.

“We are so screwed,” Chiyo said. “Diarrhea.”

 

 

kwon girim

mld
 

 

 

“Oh my gosh, did you see Chanhee?!” Girim gushed as they waited for the backstage staff to attach the mic packs to their outfits and get them ready to go out there and perform.

“He’s real,” Yona whispered. “Like really real. They don't feel real when they're only ever in a screen.”

“Super real,” Girim agreed. He looks much better in real life than in the  WOO(HOO) CHANHEE!!! A Y COMPILATION! video series she’d watched in martyr-like preparation for this competition, and boy was he fine in those videos so that was saying something. Yikwang was cute too, of course, but he didn’t really have that je ne sais quois of Woo(hoo) Chanhee, more like the kind of guy you want to bring home to your cat cafe and watch how he’d coo over a bunch of cats almost as cute as he was, ya know? That kind of guy.

. “Could you guys focus?” Jinsil demanded next to them. She crossed her arms next to them, and Girim could tell she was nervous not from the usual sting of her words but from the way she tensed her hands and shifted from foot to foot more than was natural. Silly. As if she could hide such things from Girim.

“Relax,” Girim said, softening her voice just a tad. “We practiced for weeks, if we don’t have it now we won’t have it after a couple minutes of focus.”

“Actually,” Yona said. “What if that’s not enough? What if we mess up anyway?”

Girim held out her hands. “Yona, sweet thing, give me your hands.” Yona slipped her hands into Girim’s as they had done a hundred times before. “Think of us, okay? We’ve practiced this a hundred times, you know and I know and Jinsil knows the song.” She squeezed Yona’s hands. “Remember that we’re right there on stage with you, you’re not alone. You’re performing with us not for them.”

Yona nodded as she had done a hundred times before, giving a nod that must look more certain than she felt, the power of which almost dislodged the little yellow flower in her hair. Girim laughed and secured the little ornament back behind one of Yona’s buns and smoothed the fringe on her forehead.  Yona smiled. “Thanks!” she said with her natural sweetness and aegyo and Girim was hit like a truck of pure unfiltered uwu. Thank goodness you only have one birthday a year or else I'd be so broke.

“We’re ready for your microphones now,” a staff member  informed them, breaking up the rainbows and sparkles that were dancing in front of Girim’s eyes. Way to break the uwu.

Mic packs were attached to their skirts, different ones from the little mics that were already clipped to the collar of her shirt to catch every gush or shade they might have thought to utter. These ones connected to headsets attached to her face, and Girim moved around against the feeling of the foreign object taped to her face. It felt weird and she didn’t like it, and she wondered if all of her carefully applied makeup would come off as soon as the tape did, leaving a tiny little rectangle of TRUE FLESH. She stifled a giggle at the image and ignored the sharp look Jinsil gave her.

The door into the studio opened and she looked out at the studio and the very, very many faces looking down on her, and even Girim felt a skip in her heart at the thought of all of them waiting to judge her. Just one.

"Remember," Girim said, slipping one hand in Yona's and one in Jinsil's. "No match is won on your own, and no match is won if you don't group up!"

"We don't play Overwatch, noona."

"Doesn't matter, it's inspiring! Now let's go. Fighting!"

It was so weird to see a studio from this side, instead of the one inside her screen late at night when she should be sleeping but was stuck with her laptop on her tummy binging performance after performance as youtube’s autoplay fed her addiction. The studio was massive, absolutely ginormous, in a way a screen just cannot convey.

She had a brief but overwhelming longing to be back under that duvet in her own bed, all alone save for a cat or two, trusty weight of the laptop anchoring her in a cocoon of comfort and security.

And then the staff member all but pushed them out the door and in front of the judges and Girim knew it would be a while before she was back in the comfort of that bed.