Chapter 149: Saving private Jo A-Young, Part 4

“Min Hayoon, you’re here already?”

Back in the main recording booth, the owner greeted Hayoon, asking about Jo A-yeong and implying she shouldn’t have been left alone.

However…

“You know I can’t fix that, right?”

“Well… yeah…”

Both the owner and Hayoon knew stage fright wasn’t something you could simply “fix.” If it were, even Ronaldo would score in World Cup knockout games.

‘Okay, bad example.’

Hayoon’s mind wandered as she sat on the sofa behind the mixing board.

Hong Seo-hyun joined her. Seo Ji-woo was recording, and Baek-seol was too engrossed in her lyrics to notice Hayoon’s return.

“You okay?”

“I’m… fine…”

“Really?”

“Do I look fine?”

“Ahaha… I didn’t think so.”

Hong Seo-hyun chuckled awkwardly, but the situation was serious.

“What are we going to do?”

“Is it that bad? I mean… it was bad, but…”

“If she’s like this with just five of us watching, imagine what will happen in the motion capture studio with dozens of people and cameras.

If she freezes up, we won’t even have a usable recording.”

“Oh… right…”

Hong Seo-hyun’s realization sobered her.

“Is this even broadcastable…?”

“Unnie, do you know what I’m considering?”

“Uh… no…?”

“I’m thinking of hiring a bot farm to spin the disaster into a meme if she bombs on stage.”

“Oh…?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like that idea… This is driving me crazy.”

“Um…”

Hong Seo-hyun, chastened by Hayoon’s sharp tone, fell silent.

But her suggestion had solidified Hayoon’s concern.

Jo A-yeong’s stage fright was severe and could derail the entire concert.

Going viral for the wrong reasons wouldn’t help.

“Should I warn her against searching for herself online…?”

She had a few ideas for damage control, but the main problem was the filming itself.

If Jo A-yeong froze up completely, they wouldn’t have anything to work with.

“Should we have her sing blindfolded? Maybe she’ll perform better if she can’t see the audience.”

“She won’t perform ‘better,’ she’ll perform perfectly. Want to hear something?”

“Huh? Ooh…”

Hayoon played Jo A-yeong’s cover of “Crimson Sky” for Hong Seo-hyun, the original singer.

Hong Seo-hyun listened intently, her initial curiosity quickly turning into serious evaluation.

“This is good! She’s above average. Her technique is solid; she’s clearly had training. Was that really her earlier?”

“I couldn’t believe it. She sings perfectly fine, then I put her in a professional recording booth with a glass window, and she completely falls apart…”

“Maybe we should blindfold her.”

Hong Seo-hyun sighed, reiterating her suggestion.

“Unnie, we’re Vtubers. If she’s blindfolded, how will we capture her facial expressions?”

“Oh, right…”

Hayoon dismissed the idea.

A blindfold would prevent facial tracking, a critical element for Vtubers, and restrict her movement on stage.

Such a significant drawback…

“Huh…?”

…but…

“Could it work…?”

A thought sparked in Hayoon’s mind.

Memes were powerful tools for Vtubers.

Short videos of their avatars dancing or short animated skits were popular content formats.

Successful memes could significantly boost their visibility.

Even if the concert itself was a disaster, a well-crafted meme could generate views and revenue through reaction content, helping to grow Vivian’s struggling YouTube channel.

A meme like “Vtuber Debuts at CEO’s $30,000 Concert, Chokes, and Sings Blindfolded” had potential.

It could go viral, boosting Vivian’s channel.

They could even build her initial content around this meme.

It was a way to make Jo A-yeong more comfortable. However…

“Right? It could work.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“It has a 30% chance of working.”

As much as she wanted to agree with Hong Seo-hyun, she couldn’t fully commit to such a drastic measure.

“Hey, 30% is still pretty high.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

The fact that [Having a Vtuber sing blindfolded and motionless at her debut concert because of stage fright] had a 30% chance of working was shocking enough.

But it was too early to commit.

They needed to observe and wait.

“Woohoo! I’m done!”

“Already?”

“Yeah, Ji-woo’s fast. She finished her part.”

After about two hours, Seo Ji-woo emerged from the recording booth.

There had been a few rough patches, but after two hours, her recording was good enough.

“This should be fine for her solo part. Min Hayoon will have the final say, but I think this is usable for the final version.”

“Well, if you say so.”

“Thanks. I’m on a tight schedule, and I don’t want to waste time getting from 95 to 99.”

“Understood.”

A 95 from the experienced studio owner meant it was a pass in Hayoon’s book.

“But this is just her solo part. We still have the harmony and chorus sections to record, so don’t slack off.”

“Of course not. I always trust the CEO.”

“Hehe…”

The studio owner, brimming with passion, chuckled and called for the next singer, energized by Hayoon’s praise.

“Baek-seol, fighting!”

“Thanks, I’ll do my best.”

Baek-seol entered the booth and began recording her solo part.

They had already spent an hour on Jo A-yeong’s part, with decent results, so Baek-seol might be able to finish today.

“Hmm…”

The owner’s standards might have risen after hearing Seo Ji-woo’s excellent performance, making it a bit more challenging for Baek-seol.

“You have to listen to my recording after the first mixing. It’s amazing! This is why I have 200,000 subscribers as an utaite. I always get comments about my pronunciation when I sing J-Pop, but this is in Korean, so no more pronunciation police! You have to listen to it.”

Seo Ji-woo, fishing for compliments, bragged about her recording. She was clearly confident.

“Of course, I have to listen. It’s your recording.”

“Hee hee…”

Hayoon stroked Seo Ji-woo’s hair, showering her with praise.

Seo Ji-woo was easily pleased.

Praise her when she wanted it, and especially when she was feeling insecure, and she would become cheerful and compliant.

Consistent praise was key to preventing her meltdowns.

“But I don’t really need to listen to know it’s good.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because it’s your recording.”

“Ehehe…”

Hayoon’s sugary words made Seo Ji-woo giggle with delight. Just then…

“Hayoon.”

“Huh…?”

The recording booth door burst open.

“I’m… done recording.”

Jo A-yeong, looking determined, entered the room. Three hours alone in the amateur recording booth had seemingly yielded results.