“CEO, it’s ti to attend the midterm evaluation.”
“Oh, is it already ti...!”
Heo Gangmin smiled warmly and rose to his feet. Then he headed toward the auditorium where the trainees and ntors had gathered.
‘I wonder how they’ve changed?’
Two hours had passed since NewBlack arrived. He was curious to see how the trainees would have transford after two hours of ntoring. What kind of stage would they present?
“How’s the atmosphere in the auditorium? Do their expressions look brighter?”
“They looked brighter, sir.”
Heo Gangmin chuckled at the staff mber’s reply.
“NewBlack, though.”
“.......”
He turned toward the staff.
“Not the trainees, NewBlack?”
“Yes, the NewBlack mbers looked so radiant their faces practically glowed.”
“They glow when they work. When they rest, they look dull; when they work, they shine—that’s what I’ve seen on NewBlack TV.”
He asked again,
“And our trainees?”
“Um......”
“Do they look exhausted?”
He wondered if ntoring by NewBlack had been too physically taxing. The staff mber answered,
“No, not that. It’s hard to explain, but... the trainees have changed oddly.”
“Oddly?”
“You’ll see. It’s difficult to put into words...”
The staff trailing off looked to a colleague, who likewise fell silent.
“What is it, then?”
Heo Gangmin entered the auditorium. Forty-nine trainees turned their heads.
“Good afternoon, CEO!”
“Oh, uh... you all... uh?”
They stood in five neat rows. The formation was the sa, but the sight baffled him.
‘What is this... a lineup of kimbap rolls?’
It looked like assorted kimbap rolls arranged side by side: Uju-kimbap on the left, then the foot-soldier kimbap extending outward. The trainees and ntors standing in line appeared like cross-sections of sliced kimbap.
“Ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha ha.”
When Junghyun laughed like a kimbap end piece, the others in line echoed the exact sa laugh. It was as if the rolls were all trembling in unison.
“......”
Biju, watching nearby, shook his head in bemusent, and his team mimicked him. Ri Hyuk’s team steeled themselves over their lyric sheets with chilly expressions. Jiho’s team cheered, “Fighting~” Sun Wooju’s team—serene and gleaming—stood proudly. Heo Gangmin, staring in a daze at the surreal scene, was approached by Uju.
“Sir.”
“Ah... uh?”
“How was the ntoring...?”
Uju searched his face anxiously. Heo Gangmin opened his mouth, then couldn’t say a word: a rare speechless mont in his life.
“No...”
He’d asked for ntoring, and they’d produced clones. It was like telling a barber to cut hair “just like the picture,” and ending up with a square, book-shaped haircut.
His gaze swept over the trainees. ‘They’ve not only learned from the ntors—they’ve imitated every habit, every expression.’
As Uju laughed, the staff called to Heo Gangmin.
“Sir, you should take your seat at the judges’ panel. The production team has so instructions.”
“Oh, yes... of course.”
He snapped back to reality, forcing a smile to Uju.
“Good work, Uju. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, see you soon.”
He turned to leave, then glanced back one last ti. Sparkling: Uju and his mini-s, Junghyun and his mini-s... His wish for the trainees to absorb NewBlack’s know-how had utterly backfired.
“This... this isn’t the ntoring I wanted.”
“Sir.”
“They were supposed to learn strategies, but they’ve beco possessed....”
Heo Gangmin, gaze misty, stared into space as the staff stifled laughter.
“Even ncius’s mother moving three tis for his education wasn’t in vain.”
He could almost understand why she’d relocated so often. If ncius’s mother lived in modern tis near NewBlack, she’d wear floral slippers and chew jelly all day.
“Ha ha!”
“Ha ha!”
Uju’s spaceship, the foot soldiers, and their foot soldiers—the junior soldiers—all laughed: the original NewBlack laughter and uncanny imitations echoed in the auditorium as rain poured in Heo Gangmin’s heart.
A shiver rippled through the trainees stretching and straightening their bodies.
“Nervous?”
“Yes......”
Even their “yes” trembled. The Masquerade Team, first up in the midterm evaluation, looked anxiously ahead, on the brink of performance.
“Don’t be nervous. Just do what you practiced.”
Trying to ease their pressure, he offered advice. A trainee raised his hand.
“Senior, it’s not that... but performing in front of you...”
“Oh.”
That was the reason. They sighed,
“We worry you’ll be disappointed by our performance...”
“We’ve never perford in front of the original artists. We’re so scared.”
“Performing for NewBlack with their song feels... embarrassing, overwhelming.”
He understood. He’d felt similarly singing for senior Jang Sowon or performing for Mr. Noh Jaehyun. It was like a monkey entertaining a professor.
“My Masquerade Team,” he said gently, lowering his tone, “co here.”
“Yes!”
“Circle up. Closer—so I can hear your breathing.”
They hesitated. One trainee admitted,
“We’re worried it’s unseemly to cover your honored presence with our impure breaths...”
“Co closer. I’m human too.”
The trainees, peering at him, signaled with their eyes that it felt wrong—he laughed, motioning them in. His mini-s finally clustered around.
“Here’s a tip.”
“Yes.”
“No need to take notes. Just listen.”
He scanned them.
“When you’re too nervous, imagine the audience as potatoes.”
“Potatoes...?”
“Cover them in potatoes. That’s Mr. Potato over there, and Trainer Potato here.”
They laughed.
“I know it sounds silly, but it works when you’re terrified. Repeat after : the little potato holding its belly is King Potato.”
“King Potato.”
“The gentle-smiling potato is Dance Potato.”
“Dance Potato.”
“And you are... Potato.”
“I am a Potato.”
“Potato, potato, potato.”
“Potato, potato, potato.”
Their eyes blinked as they repeated “potato.”
“Another trick is to imagine judges picking their noses, but I skip that—can upset your stomach if you haven’t eaten.”
He clapped to draw their attention.
“The point is: think of the audience and judges as people like you. They eat three als a day too—no need to be so nervous.”
“Yes.....!”
“But even with these tips, nerves persist...”
He t each of the Masquerade Team’s eyes, smiling.
“I’ll just say: you’ve been amazing. Thanks for practicing so well.”
He reached out his hand.
“......?”
No hands ca forward. He looked around, puzzled. They whispered “uh...” then placed trembling hands atop his.
Seeing their quivering fingers as they gripped his, he made a fist.
“Rember: you are Potatoes.”
They burst into laughter. After a warm “fighting,” he waved and left for the judges’ panel.
Approaching the seats:
“They’ve grown so much.”
“......ahem.”
“‘Think of them as potatoes~’ Ha ha ha!”
Senior Jang Sowon, who’d watched in silence, now laughed aloud. Heat rose to his face.
“It’s amazing—our little ones ntoring too.”
“Oh, senior.”
“They’re so cute when they’ve grown up like this.”
“They did well, right?”
“Yeah—they’ve even picked up so aegyo.”
As they walked to the judges’ panel, Senior Jang Sowon asked,
“But was I too nice? Maybe being so gentle isn’t best.”
“Worried they’ll get hurt later?”
“Yeah. Pre-giving bitter dicine helps cushion insults in comnts or from the network staff.”
“Could be.”
He replied,
“But they did great today. I doubt anyone could resent this.”
“True.”
He could’ve given harsher advice, but did he need to? Their trainee days weren’t long ago—uncertainty and self-doubt were fresh. They already knew their flaws better than anyone. The harsh world often ted out cruelty first.
Perhaps sotis it was better to leave a single flower in a thorny field.
“Actually, thanks to you all speaking for , I could say this so comfortably.”
“Understood~”
“And with your charismatic expression...”
“Hey!”
He ducked as Senior Jang Sowon roared like a lion. Seated in the judges’ row, his juniors sward around him.
“Aaaah!”
“Hey, give space.”
They dragged chairs over and squeezed in around him. Junghyun shifted to form a balanced two-on-two on his right. The penguin huddle prompted the production crew to ask,
“Is it cramped...?”
“No! This is comfortable.”
Jiho chuckled and leaned in.
“It’s just weird adjusting to ntoring.”
“Like the saying goes: people who eat at enjoy it more. We never lead—always mbers—so this feels unfamiliar.”
“Just call Soldier.”
“Shut up. I’m done with you.”
“Then I’ll be Soldier-cute.”
But the two had little experience reassuring their trembling juniors. Junghyun smiled at their banter,
“So you eased ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) their tension?”
“Yes, we gave them a good thod.”
At that mont, Junghyun’s team passed the judges. They stared ahead, murmuring:
“Jelly, jelly. Jelly. Handso jelly.”
They were followed by Ri Hyuk’s team:
“Dried sweet potato...”
“Dried sweet potato......”
Hyuk’s cheeks flushed red.
“Uh, we... borrowed that.”
“Right. Could imitate it a bit. Did you patent that, hyung?”
“If I had?”
“Well, if you did... guess we can’t help that.”
He laughed at their distant stares.
“Lack creativity, these kids.”
He straightened as the Masquerade Team stepped onstage for the midterm evaluation: it was ti to see how much they’d improved in two hours.
The Masquerade Team, first, took the stage.
He sent them an encouraging look; they bead back, eyes sparkling. Heo Gangmin raised the mic.
“How was practice? A lot?”
“Yes!”
The team leader gripped the mic proudly.
“We spent two hours as if they were five. Removing our watches changed ti efficiency.”
“Is that so....”
“We definitely want to practice without watches next ti.”
He looked at the CEO, who averted his gaze. Noticing the nice lighting, he nodded.
“Alright. Let’s see.”
The trainers nearby watched with keen interest, and the juniors focused. The Masquerade Team began their routine: a masquerade the spiced with angels and demons, perford without costus or props—just choreography. Yet the concept shone through.
“Oh....”
The acrobatic choreography flowed beautifully, and the main vocal’s soaring notes were smooth. The overall balance improved, strengths amplified. Heo Gangmin’s expression shifted.
“Hmmm... oh? Ohhh! Ohhh! Oh... oh ho ho....”
As the performance peaked, his exclamations sounded like laughter, his smile broadening. In the final part, soone leaped off their teammates’ backs like an angel descending, landing perfectly—the stage ended with impact. The trainers exchanged impressed whispers.
“They’ve shot up suddenly.”
“You can see their confidence. Their expressions look so much better.”
He smiled proudly. The trainees, confident and smiling, stood center stage, and the CEO’s face was bright.
“First of all,” he said with a smile, “great job—you’ve improved imnsely.”
“Thank you!”
“How did this happen in just two hours?”
The leader answered:
“Um... Sun Wooju senior did the ntoring, so we focused on that and improved. He pinpointed exactly what we needed...”
All eyes turned to him. He took the mic.
“Yes, I think I did well too.”
Laughter erupted. One trainer whispered, “Spaceship, spaceship,” at his expression. He laughed.
“Just kidding. I only highlighted a few points, but the team’s talent produced this result. You all did so well.”
The Masquerade Team forced polite smiles, one mber’s eyes glistening. Trainer praises for specific parts continued, then the team stepped down. As the next team took the stage, a trainer asked,
“So, what did you think?”
“It was amazing......”
The maknae smiled proudly.
“Performing our song made us feel like top seniors from the All-Star group.”
“It was truly great.”
Though ant to avoid gushing, it was genuine—he felt pride seeing their song reinterpreted by others. Ri Hyuk observed,
“Isn’t it cool? Hearing our song from another perspective.”
“Exactly.”
He too felt inspired by hearing their music rearranged. As thoughts flickered,
“Number two is Biju hyung’s team.”
“Nine, nine~”
Next up was Biju’s Nine Team. They stepped lightly onstage; he heard their murmurs:
“First placent really packs a punch.”
“Yeah—good control: gentle then strong, drawing attention.”
“And that final ending was so impactful.”
He anticipated Nine’s second spot might be overshadowed by the Masquerade’s strong opening—intentional to make number one unforgettable.
“Hu hu....”
At a soft laugh, he turned: Biju lifted his hand, smiling like a noblewoman.
“What’s up?”
“I thought you’d go all-out strong as number one, so we changed things too.”
Biju grinned.
“We practiced for more impact.”
“.......”
Caught off guard, he felt awkward.
“Wow—Biju hyung, indeed. Even NewBlack’s foot soldiers can compose in three years.”
“Good job, hyung. You should be on the receiving end sotis too.”
“You’re impressive.”
Biju chuckled at the praise. He’d devised his own strategy to counter the number one act. His serious gaze brightened as he said,
“If I win, I’ll speak casually to you for a day.”
“Biju.”
“Yes?”
“You could just do that now.”
“Uh...?”
When offered imdiate casual speech, he shook his head: must earn it himself.
“Oh, look—so cute.”
Senior Jang Sowon, hands to her cheeks, smiled like a sunflower. Then regained composure, wearing a solemn ntor’s look.
anwhile, Nine’s performance unfolded.
“Oh....”
“Wow, intense. They’re powerful.”
“Nine’s vibe changed: strong-dium-strong before, now full-power.”
“Very impactful.”
Their choreography dazzled, earning trainer applause. Although their practice ti was short, their impact rivaled the Masquerade. The Masquerade Team, watching helplessly, sighed; he scratched his sideburn.
“Ooh!”
Heo Gangmin exclaid as the trainees wiped sweat, and they struck their ending pose.
A stage full of dynamic dance. Trainers applauded. Then—
“Huh...?”
The trainees, still in pose, lost strength and collapsed backward—unable to get up.
“......”
“......”
One trainee tried to rise with a grunt, then curled over in stomach pain. The scene of them lying like caterpillars, struggling to stand, returned all eyes to that spot.
Soone gasped.
“Hy, Biju.”
“.......”
“They can’t get up...?”
“Uh-oh!”
At the caterpillars’ fumbling, Biju sprinted over.
Hm. Hard to judge stage rankings, but I think I win the moral point.
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