Chapter 150: Saving private Jo A-Young, Part 5

Hayoon thought, surely their hard work wouldn’t be wasted.

That thought vanished eight seconds later.

The intro played, giving Jo A-yeong a moment to prepare.

The problem began the instant her part started.

“Ah…”

Hayoon groaned, transported back to Jo A-yeong’s earlier struggles.

“Hmm…”

The studio owner frowned.

“Huh…?”

The others were speechless.

Baek-seol and Seo Ji-woo stared at Jo A-yeong, their faces asking, “She’s… in our group?” Hong Seo-hyun’s expression said, “That’s… an idol?”

Their reactions, while understandable, were damaging to Jo A-yeong’s confidence.

Fortunately, she was staring at the floor, but if she looked up, it would be disastrous.

Hayoon didn’t know how to salvage the situation.

“Faces.”

“Ah…”

“…”

“Sorry…”

Hayoon turned and glared, silently warning them to control their expressions.

Their reactions were pure shock, but Jo A-yeong couldn’t see them.

“Hmm…”

Managing their expressions was one thing; fixing Jo A-yeong’s performance was another.

“What now…”

Hayoon’s own muttered worries didn’t inspire confidence, but she couldn’t panic.

The priority was getting Jo A-yeong to sing.

Hiring another coach wouldn’t provide immediate results.

They needed a quick fix, something to distract her from the audience.

“Haa…”

She couldn’t just cover the booth…

“Huh?”

Cover the booth… block the view…

“Oh…?”

“What is it, Min Hayoon? Suddenly…”

The studio owner, noticing Hayoon’s sudden shift, looked at her quizzically.

“Owner, we have other recording booths, right?”

“Uh…?”

“Right?”

“Yeah…”

They had grown accustomed to using the main booth, with its professional setup, but…

They also had smaller, simpler booths.

“But we weren’t going to use those…”

“We have no choice! The concert’s in December!”

“Oh… right…”

They had considered the smaller booths as a temporary fix for Jo A-yeong’s stage fright, but decided against it.

Now, they had no other option.

“Disconnect the headset and audio. We’ll record in another booth. No live mixing, just a raw recording. You can record the others here; it will save time.”

“Okay, I guess you know how to use the other equipment.”

“Yeah, I remember enough.”

Hayoon had used the smaller booths before, so she knew the basics.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Holler if you need me.”

Hayoon entered the main booth.

“Come with me.”

“Uh-huh…”

Jo A-yeong, startled, pouted, fearing a scolding.

Jo A-yeong knew she was prone to stage fright.

After the first line, she knew:

‘I’m screwed.’

People didn’t choose to choke.

They tried to avoid eye contact to focus.

But for Jo A-yeong, eye contact only amplified the pressure, making her freeze up.

She had looked down at the floor, hoping to cope, but it ruined her posture and vocals.

The moment she sang the first line, she knew she was doomed.

Her voice wavered, she avoided eye contact, her posture worsened, and by the end, she had forgotten the lyrics.

A complete disaster.

And then…

“Come with me.”

“Uh-huh…”

Hayoon had barged in.

She was truly screwed.

Hayoon might be supportive, but she was still the boss.

All the expenses came from Hayoon’s pocket.

She braced herself for a scolding and followed Hayoon, head down, avoiding the others’ gazes.

She focused on the floor.

Finally…

Click

A door opened. A recording booth.

“Go inside.”

“Uh…?”

“Just go in.”

“Is… is this…”

A tiny recording booth.

Jo A-yeong panicked, near tears.

“…solitary confinement? Am I supposed to stay here and reflect? Are you going to lock me in…?”

“Huh?”

Hayoon stared at her, dumbfounded.

She knew stage fright could damage self-esteem, but this was extreme.

Solitary confinement?

“Unnie, think. What is this place?”

“A recording studio… so, recording…?”

“Yes. You’re here to record, not to be punished. And you’re older than me.”

“…”

“…?”

“Just in case…”

Jo A-yeong looked at her, as if genuinely believing this could be a punishment.

“You’d actually stay here if I told you to?”

“I messed up… I thought… maybe until dinner…”

“Oh, dear…”

Did everyone with stage fright think like this? Hayoon sighed, then refocused.

“You’re here to record.”

“Huh?”

“Seriously…”

Her self-deprecation was almost comical.

Hayoon shook her head and entered the booth to set things up.

It was a basic setup: a laptop, headset, and microphone.

A tiny space.

Hayoon opened the “Omnibus” inst file, then addressed Jo A-yeong.

“I’m going to the other room. Everything in here will be recorded. Play the track and sing your part. Mess up all you want. Keep practicing, then call me tomorrow. I’ll take the recording to the owner.”

“Is… that okay?”

“I’ll pay him to clean it up and extract your vocals. Think of it as private practice. Understand?”

“O-okay…!”

Finally, a positive response.

“I’ll try my best…!”

“Good. Close the door, go in, and…”

“Start recording…!”

“Yes, start recording. Fighting!”

“Fighting…!”

It felt like pep-talking a child, but it worked.

Now, the challenge was getting her to perform in a motion capture studio…

“I’m so screwed…”

Hayoon collapsed onto a lobby sofa, cursing her judgment.

“She’s pretty, busty, and she can sing! Why does she freeze up?!!”

She needed a solution.

The recording could be fixed, but the live concert… if Jo A-yeong was like this during recording, the live performance would be unusable.

“Hmm…”

Returning to the main booth, Hayoon decided to check Jo A-yeong’s recording.

While selecting usable takes wasn’t her job, she could offer some guidance, marking the good sections.

Besides, she didn’t have much else to do.

“The beginning’s probably rough. Where should I start listening? I only want to hear the good parts.”

She tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but…

“All of it…”

“Huh?”

“I think… it’s all good…”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

Hayoon was taken aback. She hadn’t expected that response.

“If it’s so good, why did it take so long?”

“Well… I was surprised at how well it turned out… at first, I thought it was just okay…”

“But?”

“But I kept getting the same result… I didn’t know how to stop recording, so I just kept singing, and it all sounded the same.”

“So you kept singing until you were sure it was good?”

“Yeah, but after hours of singing the same few lines, my throat started hurting…”

Jo A-yeong didn’t trust her own judgment while singing.

With her sore throat, she decided to have Hayoon listen.

Hayoon entered the small booth and played the recording.

-Finally, it all begins!

“Oh…”

It was actually good.

Her vocalization, the biggest problem earlier, was now stable.

Jo A-yeong’s vocal skills and tone were weaker than the others, so Hayoon had given her powerful, belting parts for the intro.

“Her vocalization is stable…?”

As if defending herself, Jo A-yeong’s recording matched the guide vocals perfectly.

“See? I told you.”

The same intro played six more times.

Jo A-yeong, realizing she was doing well, had practiced the intro repeatedly.

But…

“Her tone is better too? And her breathing is more natural towards the end…”

“I did well on my own. It’s definitely different.”

“Wow…”

Alone, Jo A-yeong had transformed from a struggling singer to a surprisingly competent one.

While her technique wasn’t perfect, her performance was now above average.

“This is good…!”

With Seo Ji-woo and Baek-seol as her fellow vocalists, the overall song quality would be high.

While Jo A-yeong’s part might be slightly weaker, BGG Company always prioritized easy listening, and her performance was more than sufficient for that.

“Why… why can’t she do this in front of others…?”

“You have to be in my shoes to understand. My heart races like crazy…”

“Unnie, seriously, don’t look at the YouTube comments. Or any comments on social media.”

“What if… I want to?”

“Tell me, and I’ll filter the comments and give you only the positive feedback.”

“Hmm…”

“It’s not ‘hmm’! Seriously!”

While relieved by the improved recording, Hayoon now worried about another aspect: online negativity.

Stage fright and handling online hate were different issues.

2022 was a time of rampant, often unfounded, negativity towards Vtubers.

Hayoon worried about Jo A-yeong’s fragile mental state.

The internet could be a toxic place.

“Let’s keep Jo A-yeong, Vivian, away from online communities. I don’t want her to have a meltdown and quit.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Whether you believe it or not, our contract has a clause about unapproved absences within the first year of debut. You have to repay the Vtuber avatar production costs.”

“How much is that?”

“Around 15 million won for a basic model. 30 million won for an original 3D avatar.”

“Oh,.”

Even if it was playful banter, Hayoon repeatedly emphasized avoiding online communities, mentioning the contract and penalties.

“Seriously, stay away from online communities. I’ll assign at least two chat moderators, so focus on interacting with a smaller, controlled audience initially. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Her concern wasn’t just about the money. She didn’t want anyone to suffer mentally because of her. As for the “Omnibus” recording…

“Honestly, this is good enough.”

“Really? You’ve only heard the first part.”

“The first part is enough. She’s fine when she’s alone, right?”

“Of course! You heard the recording.”

“So, we’ll address the stage fright later. This is good enough for now.”

“Phew…”

They would proceed with this method.

The recording quality was all that mattered.

“Instead of focusing on the stage fright, we’ll do some other training.”

“Like…?”

“Practicing walking blindfolded.”

“Huh…?”

This confirmed it.

Jo A-yeong’s stage fright was severe, but manageable with a bit of trickery.

As long as she could sing, the concert could proceed, regardless of how she looked.

“I’ll talk to the dance instructor. I want her to be able to perform basic hand and body movements, even blindfolded.”

“Wait… blindfolded? For the debut concert?”

“Yes.”

“Uh… so…”

“You understood correctly. She’ll be performing blindfolded.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Let me ask you this: can you perform like you did earlier, in a studio with fifteen technicians and cameras pointed at you?”

“No, I’ll practice singing blindfolded.”

“Exactly.”

Jo A-yeong had to become a penguin.

“A penguin? Why?”

“Like a penguin that evolved to be chubby and resilient to falls instead of developing strong feet to avoid falling in the first place.”

“Uh… well…”

The blindfold was a workaround, not a solution. Hayoon wasn’t sure it was the best approach, but it was necessary.

“Should I expense the blindfold? It’s a business expense.”

“No, I’ll buy my own…”

Hayoon patted Jo A-yeong’s shoulder, sensing her slight dejection at the penguin comparison, and returned to the main recording booth.

“Crisis averted, for now.”

Hayoon returned to the Igloo after a long day of recording.

She hadn’t had time for her own work lately, focusing on the Trinity members.

Now, she had to design a blindfold for Vivian’s 3D avatar.

Finding someone to create it within a month wouldn’t be easy, but she preferred commissioning the original avatar designer.

She planned to contact them as soon as she turned on her computer…

“Ugh…”

“Unnie?”

Choi Arin, with dark circles under her eyes, sat at a desk littered with empty energy drink cans.

“I’m so… tired…”

“Oh…”

Hayoon had left Choi Arin alone with the art book design and merchandise revisions while she focused on Trinity.

It seemed Choi Arin had reached her limit.

“I’m… broken…”

“No one’s broken…!”

Hayoon, seeing Choi Arin’s indignant reaction, was relieved she wasn’t seriously ill.

It was time to give her a break.

“Hehe… I know those energy drinks are making you feel sick, so how about some barbecue when you feel better? Dinner’s on me.”

She would properly compensate Choi Arin for her hard work.