Eleuthernemis System

Chapter Nine

The next morning, Park Junho woke me at 6AM.

“No,” I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes.” He yanked the blanket away. “If you want to pass this audition, we start now. Get up.”

Woo rim was already in the living room setting up his laptop. He looked so full of life it was annoying.

“First things first,” Park Junho said as I shuffled out in my borrowed sweat pants. “We need to hear you sing.”

“But first,” Woo rim said, handing me a cup of warm water with a little honey. “Drink this. It helps clear out the throat. Also take it slowly.”

I took the cup from his hand and drank slowly. It was refreshing actually and I could feel my throat clearing up.

“Thanks.” I said, handing the cup to Woo rim.

“No biggie.”

“Now that that's over, let's hear you sing.” Park Junho said.

“I can't. I mean I can't sing to save myself.” I said.

“Oh please, everyone can sing, the difference is just some people are born with natural talent while some train like crazy and even those born with it still need to train.”

I sighed. Maybe I should believe in myself more but how could I? I’ve been treated like a failure all my life. “So, what should I sing?”

“How about Happy birthday?” Woo rim suggested. “Everyone knows that.”

So I sang happy birthday.

It was terrible. I was so out of pitch that I wondered how Park Junho and Woo rim could stand listening to me.

When I finished, both of them were silent.

“Okay.” Park Junho finally said. “It's not that bad, I mean, you have a pretty decent voice but you have no control over the pitch and your voice keeps cracking. That's fine.”

“It's not that bad.” Woo rim lied. “You just…need practice. A lot of practice.”

“I told you…”

“Sit down.” Park Junho said, pushing me down on the couch. “Woo rim, pull up those vocal exercise videos you found.”

What followed was four hours of one of the most painful moments of my life.

They made me do breathing exercises, counting how long I could hold a note and practicing inhaling from my diaphragm instead of my chest.

Then vocal warm ups, running through scales that made my throat hurt.

“You're singing from your throat.” Woo rim kept saying. “It needs to come from your stomach. Feel the vibration here.” He pressed his hand against his abdomen.

I tried but I kept going off pitch but at least my voice didn't crack as much.

“Better,” Park Junho said. “Again.”

By noon, I wanted to die. My throat was raw, my head hurt and I was pretty sure I sounded exactly the same as when we started.

“Take a break.” Woo rim said, handing me water. “You're getting tense. That makes it get worse.”

I drank the entire bottle in one go.

“This is hopeless.” I said.

“No it's not.” Park Junho sat down beside me. “You're actually improving, your pitch is getting more stable.”

“i sound awful.”

“You sound like someone who's never had vocal training,” he corrected. “We just have to find the right song for your range and drill it until it's muscle memory.”

“What's my range?”

“You seem more comfortable in a low key so we'll work with that.”

Woo rim was already pulling up music.

“How about something from Nexion? They have songs with varying vocal ranges.”

“Or Lucent.” Park Junho suggested. “Some of their songs have simpler melodies.”

They spent the next hour playing songs and making me try to sing along. Most were disasters. A few were merely terrible.

Finally, Woo rim played a song I’d actually heard before. The song was really nice and emotional and I personally liked it.

“Try this one,” he said.

I did. And for the first time all day, I sounded pretty decent.

“That's it.” Park Junho said. “Your voice suits this style, I can actually hear the emotion in your voice.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Woo rim played the song again. “Let's break it down line by line. We'll go through this until you can sing it in your sleep.”

Two days later…

My throat was still sore from two days of vocal training when Woo rim declared it was time for ‘theoretical education.”

“Meaning what?” I asked suspiciously.

“Meaning you need to understand what makes a good performance,” Park Junho said. “You can't just copy other people blindly. You need to know how it works.”

They set up the laptop on the coffee table and pulled up performance videos, idol groups on music videos, award ceremonies and variety show appearances.

“Watch this,” Woo rim said, playing a video of a group called ‘Ravix’, performing a synchronized dance routine. “What do you notice?”

“They're in sync?”

“Beyond that. Look at their eyes, their expressions. They make you invested every second of the dance.”

We watched video after video, Park Junho paused them constantly, pointing out details: how someone's gaze drew attention, how a slight smile changed the mood, how energy shifted between aggressive and playful.

“You need to make people want to watch you.” Park Junho explained. Some performers are technically perfect but boring. Others make small mistakes but you can't look away.”

“You can out-technique people who’ve trained for years.” Woo rim added. “But you can out-charisma them if you commit fully.”

I thought about my stats. Charisma: 8/100. Great.

“There's something else we need to work on,” Park Junho said. “Stage names.”

“What?”

“Most idols use stage names. Something catchy and memorable.” He pulled out a notebook. “What do you think suits you?”

“Seo Ireum is fine.”

“Seo Ireum sounds like a government name.” Woo rim said. “We need something catchy.”

We spent an embarrassing amount of time brainstorming names. Most were terrible. A few were absurd. In the end we were stuck.

We decided to come back to it later. We could figure it out another time.

If I even passed the audition.