Star Maker Chapter 19

The owner of the voice seemed to be an entertainment industry insider who had been present during the last studio recording.

His name didn’t come to mind.

He had been sensing it for a while now, but from the moment Yoo Ayeon appeared, the surrounding industry figures had been subtly gathering around her.

Is she really the president’s daughter?

Seon-ho didn’t know it, but Yoo Ayeon was a highly influential figure in the entertainment industry.

A golden hand that turned anything she touched into success.

A pillar supporting UU Entertainment, the apex predator of the show business world.

Of course, Yoo Ayeon’s casting success rate wasn’t a perfect 100%. There were certainly singers she had chosen who had failed.

However, the number of successful artists she had picked far outweighed the unsuccessful ones.

Even a 50% success rate in casting was considered overwhelming.

Yet, Yoo Ayeon’s success rate easily exceeded 70%.

There were even rumors that some broadcast producers would ask her for a casting list whenever they were looking for fresh new talent.

With someone like Yoo Ayeon present, it was only natural that entertainment industry insiders would desperately want to catch her eye.

Many believed that Yoo Ayeon would eventually start her own company, and joining it would guarantee a path paved with success.

Yoo Ayeon accepted the greetings directed at her with a smile.

Very kindly, yet in a way that made it clear the conversation wouldn’t continue further.

She’s skilled.

She almost seemed like a celebrity—one constantly in the public eye.

As Han Seon-ho had that thought, the first team stepped onto the stage.

The final rehearsal followed the exact order of the actual competition, and Hye-mi’s turn was sixth.

The team of Goo Se-hee and Ryu Chanyeol, who had placed first in the Team Chemistry Mission, had chosen the eighth performance slot.

The second-place team, Kang Mireu and Shin Wooyoung, had chosen the seventh.

And after some deliberation, the third-place team, Hye-mi and Su-rim, had picked the sixth slot.

While the later slots were generally considered advantageous in audition competitions, there were too many teams this time.

So, the participants regarded the sixth to eighth slots as the ideal range.

That was precisely why the top three teams from the Team Chemistry Mission had taken the 8th, 7th, and 6th slots.

The order is important, but the song matters more.

On stage, the contestants finished discussing something and signaled their readiness.

The first rehearsal began.

The first team consisted of the only rapper from Season 2 and an R&B vocalist from Season 3.

For Seon-ho, rap without melody was an unfamiliar and unappealing genre.

So, he focused solely on the vocalist’s singing.

Perhaps because the goal was to highlight the Season 3 contestant, the rap portion wasn’t very long.

And just like that, the four-minute performance, completed after two weeks of preparation, flew by in an instant.

“Tomorrow K-Star’s first live broadcast performance! Ryu Hail and Oh Hanbit’s stage has come to an end! Viewers who wish to support Ryu Hail and Oh Hanbit…”

The moment the performance ended, the host of the final camera rehearsal, Song Hanmin, spoke as if it were a real live broadcast.

After explaining the voting method at length and encouraging votes, Song Hanmin suddenly turned toward the judges’ panel.

“Judges, what did you think of Ryu Hail and Oh Hanbit’s performance? Please share your evaluations!”

However, there was no one at the judges’ table.

The judges were absent from the rehearsal so they could deliver their raw, unfiltered critiques during the live broadcast.

Still, the rehearsal proceeded as if the evaluation was happening.

It imitated the average five-minute judging period that would take place during the actual broadcast.

Even the singers on stage clasped their hands together and gazed at the judges’ seats.

It was the director’s attempt to maintain the live broadcast’s tension, making the final rehearsal feel as authentic as possible.

Thus, five minutes of silence began.

During that silence, someone spoke to Han Seon-ho.

“What do you think?”

It was Yoo Ayeon, who had somehow returned to his side. Just moments ago, she had been surrounded by entertainment industry figures.

“…Pardon?”

“What did you think of the performance?”

“It was a good stage. The rap was solid, and the singing was impressive.”

A safe answer.

Right now, a swarm of people surrounded Yoo Ayeon.

And most of them were entertainment insiders.

Some kept their distance out of politeness, but even they made sure to stay within earshot of her voice.

Because a singer favored by Yoo Ayeon had a high chance of success. Because one word from her could create a star.

In this situation, Han Seon-ho wasn’t foolish enough to reveal his true thoughts outright.

He had no way of knowing how a single comment might be twisted and spread.

Perhaps sensing his wariness, Yoo Ayeon took a step closer and whispered in his ear.

“If you answer properly, I might be able to give you what you want.”

An action that appeared overly intimate to onlookers.

At first, Seon-ho thought she was trying to seduce him.

It wouldn’t have been an unfamiliar situation.

“And what is it that I want?”

“Who knows?”

“I don’t particularly want anything.”

“Really? But there is something you want to do for Hye-mi, isn’t there?”

So it wasn’t seduction.

She’s impressive.

Han Seon-ho was purely in awe of Yoo Ayeon.

A moment ago, he had assumed she had reached her position thanks to strong connections, but he realized he had been wrong.

In a low voice, he asked, “Are you offering your hand? Or are you saying you’ll take mine?”

“Both.”

“Can I take that as genuine interest?”

“Of course.”

“Great.”

After a brief moment to gather his thoughts, Han Seon-ho took a step back and asked, “What did you think of the performance, Director?”

“Hmm. The rapper maintained solid rhyming fundamentals, which gave a sense of stability, and the vocalist had an impressive sense of rhythm. The only downside was that they showcased their individual skills but didn’t create much synergy together.”

“Our thoughts seem pretty similar.”

“That’s not all, is it?”

“Hmm…”

After briefly choosing his words, Han Seon-ho spoke.

“Oh Hanbit’s rap doesn’t match the song.”

“Really? Why?”

Yoo Ayeon showed an intrigued expression, while the manager of rapper Oh Hanbit, who happened to be present, frowned.

Although he didn’t say anything because Yoo Ayeon was there, he was clearly displeased.

Han Seon-ho was more well-known among the managers involved with Tomorrow K-Star than one might expect.

It was due to his striking looks, even compared to celebrities, and his bold actions at Bay Studio.

Oh Hanbit’s manager also knew that Han Seon-ho was a rookie.

That only made it more irritating.

Of course, if Yoo Ayeon asked a question, he had to answer. But there was no need for a rookie manager’s response to sound like a harsh criticism.

While the atmosphere grew tense, Han Seon-ho started answering Yoo Ayeon’s question.

“The key is completely off.”

“What do you mean by ‘key’?”

“The key of the rap, the song, and the instrumental—they’re all fundamentally different. I think this issue came up because the vocalist and the rapper worked separately.”

“Can you explain in more detail? I don’t quite understand what you mean by ‘key’.”

“Well… I mean the melody created by the vocalist doesn’t align with the fundamental key of the rap. It’s not a matter of skill—it’s just, as I mentioned, an issue that arose because they worked separately. The rap and the song ended up existing in completely different spaces.”

“So you’re saying the problem happened because Oh Hanbit and Ryu Hail worked separately?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure they worked separately?”

“Just… I can just tell.”

Yoo Ayeon’s eyes lit up as she turned her head.

“Did they really work separately, with no contact during the process?”

Her question was directed at Oh Hanbit’s manager, who had just been frowning moments ago.

“Uh… What?”

“Did Oh Hanbit and Ryu Hail compose the song separately?”

“Ah, well. This was originally a track that Ryu Hail planned to include in an album when he was still in the underground scene. So, it was already a completed song. Hanbit just added his rap on top of it…”

“Then he must have listened to the song before writing the rap, right? Since it was already completed?”

“Uh, well… That’s where it gets complicated.”

Oh Hanbit’s manager looked flustered.

Han Seon-ho was right.

In fact, they had worked separately.

It wasn’t intentional—it was a mistake.

Ryu Hail had meant to send the completed track but had accidentally only sent the instrumental to Oh Hanbit. Since Hanbit only received the instrumental, he wrote his rap based on that alone.

Yoo Ayeon, who had managed to piece together the manager’s rambling explanation, asked with interest.

“So basically, due to a mistake, they ended up working on the song separately?”

“Yeah, well… That’s the result, anyway…”

At that moment, the manager recalled something Oh Hanbit had muttered to himself.

“Huh? The rap sounds fine on its own, but why does it feel so awkward when it’s combined? Hyung, this is mastered properly, right?”

“Does my rap not match the beat? Should I raise the pitch a bit?”

“Do Ryu Hail’s voice and mine just not go together?”

Deep in thought, the manager turned to Han Seon-ho and asked,

“But if the rap and the song don’t match, why did you specifically point out that the rap was the problem? You could’ve just said they don’t go well together.”

“I’m not too familiar with rap, but isn’t rap a style of music that plays over the beat? Meanwhile, singing happens within the beat. The degree of freedom is different.”

“Then what’s the solution?”

“Well…”

After thinking for a moment, Han Seon-ho took out his phone and opened an app.

It was a piano app.

“Right now, Oh Hanbit’s rap generally stays within this range…”

He tapped four notes on the piano app in sequence. The sound wasn’t perfectly clear, but it was enough to understand.

“If he raises it to this range, I think it’ll sound better.”

“From here… to here?”

“Yes. It’s just my opinion.”

At first, Oh Hanbit’s manager completely dismissed Han Seon-ho’s words.

Not just dismissed—he utterly ignored him.

But as he kept listening, a strange feeling crept in.

He recalled how Oh Hanbit and Ryu Hail had worked separately, and Hanbit’s offhand remark about raising the pitch.

At this point, it was becoming hard not to take it seriously.

A while later, after repeatedly checking the notes Han Seon-ho had pointed out, the manager returned. The people around him asked,

“Hey, why are you grilling that guy like he knows anything?”

“Huh? Isn’t it obvious? A manager is supposed to record everything related to their artist.”

“Since when were you so diligent?”

“Hanbit’s contract has less than two years left. Who knows? Maybe he’ll take me with him when he leaves. I need to build up points in advance.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Hanbit’s a good guy with potential, and he’s nice to work with. Damn, you’re playing the long game.”

“That’s why I asked that rookie. Besides, Yoo Ayeon seems interested in him.”

“The world’s messed up. Now even managers have to be good-looking to get scouted.”

Oh Hanbit’s manager, who had barely managed to maintain his pride with that excuse, fell into thought.

Do I really need to pass this on? The final rehearsal is already over.

Logically, he thought no. But strangely enough, he felt like he should.