The Hit Song of This Life Is Revenge - Chapter 27

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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This Life’s Hit Song Is Revenge
27
“Let’s see what’s possible.”
Choi Du-o set down the microphone, leaving a smile in its wake.
In that instant, the expressions of her teammates shifted entirely.
The camera caught that smile, but Lee Jae-i’s heart gave a single, sharp thump.
A new team. An entirely different stage.
There were no guarantees now.
Everything that would be broadcast from this point forward would be utterly different from what she had seen.
Beneath her small smile lay a steely resolve.
In the tremor of anticipation, Lee Jae-i found herself almost savoring the tension, pressing her lips together.
‘Possibility isn’t proven with words.’
The judge selection for all teams had concluded.
“Over the next week, each team will prepare the stage you’ll showcase in this mission. I’m Your Singer Season 3. We await your singer!”
As the host’s polished closing remarks ended, the camera began its slow retreat from the stage.
“Cut!”
Once the full ensemble shot had been captured on screen, the stage recording wrapped.
* * *
The spacious Practice Room.
Choi Du-o handed out the assignment and then withdrew quietly.
Lee Jae-i and her teammates sat in a circle, eyes meeting across the space.
“It feels like we’re doing auditions all over again.”
“I know…….”
Even knowing the camera was rolling, the complaint tumbled out.
She had expected them to discuss concept and song selection first, but Choi Du-o had instructed them to identify the team’s strengths and weaknesses first.
And on top of that, choreography corresponding to whichever song they selected.
“I get the songs we’re confident with, but what about the ones we’re not? And when do we even work on the choreography?”
Kim Se-jin tilted her head in confusion.
The instructions included genres difficult to pull off and dances to match.
‘There’s barely any time….’
Building a stage in a short window meant prioritizing what you did best.
What they were doing now bordered on wasted effort.
That was when a forgotten memory surfaced in Lee Jae-i’s mind.
‘That’s right!’
The screen showing trainees lamenting and blaming themselves.
The comment sections flooded with encouragement and mockery flickered past as well.
Even the viewership ratings, stark against the frustrated trainees falling short of expectations.
‘The Production Team made them do it.’
It was clear they were being steered toward stages built only on their weak points.
Now she understood why Baek Song-ha’s dictatorship had gone unnoticed.
‘It was the only one that actually looked good.’
Among stages overflowing with talent show spectacle, she had provided a sight for sore eyes—viewers couldn’t help but go wild for it.
Only now, thanks to the revelation of editing as a tool, could she see the reality that had been hidden.
The frustration that had been choking her released in one long breath.
‘In that case.’
Clap—!
Lee Jae-i drew her teammates’ attention with the sound of her hands coming together.
“Why don’t we focus on what we can actually do something about?”
Her teammates lifted their heads at her words.
“Since time’s short, let’s solve it all at once.”
“How?”
Lee Jae-i surveyed her teammates carefully, looking around the circle.
She gripped the microphone clipped to her chest and leaned forward, drawing closer to them.
“Maximize each person’s strengths while never revealing their weaknesses. Everything’s being filmed.”
Exclamation marks seemed to materialize on her teammates’ faces.
Lee Jae-i straightened at once and continued.
“Se-jin, what genre do you feel least confident singing?”
“Honestly, ballads I’m fine with, but hip-hop is a bit…….”
Lee Jae-i paused to think.
If they actually showcased hip-hop she felt that insecure about, they might end up with a street dancer concept stage.
That would defeat the whole purpose of this team composition.
But she couldn’t completely ignore the instructions either.
“Then let’s pick a song where the verses are drastically different. Ambiguous between ballad and hip-hop.”
Kim Se-jin’s eyes widened.
Yeon Eun-soo, who had been standing with her arms crossed, slowly nodded.
“But what about the choreography?”
Lee Jae-i leaned in a little more.
“Once we pick the song, could you arrange the choreography, Eun-soo? I’d really like you to take the lead on dance.”
“Will do!”
Confidence bloomed across Yeon Eun-soo’s face.
“Alright! Shall we get moving?”
The chill that had settled over the practice room floor grew warm again.
Her teammates moved with newfound drive, offering heartfelt suggestions and sharing ideas with one another.
This was the moment Lee Jae-i’s judgment seeped into the team’s very soul.
The camera captured the concentration on her teammates’ faces and every small gesture.
In the Judge’s Waiting Room, Choi Du-o fixed her gaze on the screen.
“Mm.”
A low hum escaped between her lips.
Then, furrowing her brow again, she observed Lee Jae-i’s team.
The moment the leader’s hand signal set the whole group in motion, her eyes glimmered slightly.
As the team began to take shape, Choi Du-o murmured something under her breath, a spark of anticipation.
‘This could turn into something decent.’
The thought that flitted through her mind went undetected by the Production Team’s camera.
[More reaction, bigger.]
The sign the Production Team was holding didn’t enter her line of sight—she was too focused on the kids on screen.
Just as Lee Jae-i’s team was wrapping up their song selection, one Assistant Director approached her with unmistakable intent.
“You remember what we told you, right?”
“Which thing are you referring to?”
For a moment, the Assistant Director’s eyebrows twisted, and ‘Here we go again’ nearly tumbled from her mouth.
But she collected herself and laid out the explanation again, slowly and carefully.
“Stages that show weakness—that’s the point. Viewers like fractures more than perfection, as we said.”
Choi Du-o turned her head.
“That’s asking me to ruin the stage. Give me a break…….”
“Yes! That’s what creates drama.”
In that instant, Choi Du-o’s eyebrows shot upward.
The Assistant Director plowed ahead, listing viewership numbers and buzz potential, as if the look didn’t faze her.
But Choi Du-o had already made up her mind; she rose from her seat slowly.
She drew a breath and tossed her words at the Assistant Director.
“Song selection focusing on weaknesses—that’s as far as I said I’d go.”
“Ha. Yes, fine. I understand.”
The Assistant Director rolled her eyes upward and sealed her lips shut.
A troublesome judge from the moment of casting.
The Assistant Director’s gaze swept up and down Choi Du-o’s retreating back, and she scrubbed her head roughly.
“She’s something else.”
* * *
In the sleek mirror of the practice room, Baek Song-ha tilted her head to examine her face.
‘My left side really is better, isn’t it?’
At that moment, a teammate approached and asked hesitantly.
“But……, you said to pick a song we’re not confident with, so how do we-.”
Song-ha lifted the corners of her lips just slightly in the mirror’s reflection and cut them off.
“Why don’t we nail down positioning first? So the camera doesn’t block anyone’s face.”
As she turned toward the left, her teammates naturally adjusted their formation to match.
And then they moved forward as if the previous conversation had never happened.
“What did you say? About the song?”
The teammate who met Song-ha’s gaze directly seemed to shrink naturally.
She slid her eyes away from the camera and spoke first.
“Should we decide on the center first?”
Her teammates’ words died instantly.
Something entirely different from the instructions they’d been given.
Someone surely swallowed their objection silently, but no one had the nerve to voice an argument.
She smiled and swept her gaze across them.
“You have to look far ahead for the line to be straight.”
It was a line she’d been planning to deliver in front of the camera all along.
As the first scene as leader, it mattered that it looked polished.
Song-ha fluttered the paper with the instructions written on it.
“The most important thing is the stage, right? If we spend time on this, we’ll lose focus, and we all understand that, yes?”
Her teammates nodded.
As if reluctantly going along.
Then one oblivious teammate raised her voice.
“Then shouldn’t we decide the center by having everyone do a short performance right here?”
A thin line.
A subtle crease formed vertically across the bridge of Song-ha’s nose.
She shifted into a slightly more exaggerated smile and slowly turned her head.
“Haven’t we just been doing stages? I’m not sure it makes sense to watch again.”
Baek Song-ha spoke with deliberate awareness of the camera.
“How about we do an anonymous vote? Honest. Whatever your heart tells you.”
Everyone’s heart wanted to stand at center, but the answer was flowing in one direction only.
They’d all realized they were watching each other’s expressions, trying not to let even a flicker of feeling show.
“Here.”
Song-ha promptly distributed pen and paper to her teammates.
Once the rustling sound faded, Baek Song-ha snatched the ballots like catching prey.
As Baek Song-ha unfolded each ballot, she regarded her teammates with an air of appreciation.
“Oh my, thank you. You all voted for me.”
One ballot, then another.
The same name repeated.
What remained was the last slip of paper—her own vote.
All eyes converged.
Her teammates were more curious about that name than anything else.
Who had Baek Song-ha written down for herself?
Song-ha lifted the paper and smiled slowly.
“Ah……. This is the one I wrote.”
She rustled the end of the paper as if embarrassed, rubbing it lightly.
As she unfolded it to show them, her teammates’ eyes widened sharply.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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