Yoon Eden’s first song choice was an alternative pop song with an impressive, fluid rap flow.
Contrary to fans’ concerns, the song was clean—devoid of hip-hop’s chronic issues like excessive profanity or objectifying women.
[Wow, I was really worried he’d go for hardcore profanity-laced rap, but this is a solid pick.]
[Eden, please, let’s get you on DTB. If you join, winning is a sure thing.]
[Does anyone know the song title?]
[I’m not fine, Thanks.]
His husky, low-toned voice blended perfectly with the rhythmic melody and punchy beat.
Moreover, the chorus was not a rap but a melodic section, allowing fans to appreciate Yoon Eden’s vocal skills. The song was within a comfortable vocal range rather than a high-pitched one, making his voice color stand out and giving the illusion that he was quite the capable singer.
Objectively speaking, his vocal ability was just slightly above Kim Dobin’s. However, his voice itself was on another level.
The next song was a sentimental hip-hop track, a classic in Korean hip-hop. It had been nearly a decade since its release, featuring a gentle melody paired with singing rap.
[Whoa, this is such a throwback!]
[Oh, I remember hearing this in my dad’s car.]
[Can’t believe this song is now one of those dad’s car songs…]
The fan, Kim, who had requested both songs, let out a triumphant cheer while watching the stream—but let’s just move on from that.
For the slightly high-pitched chorus that pushed beyond Yoon Eden’s vocal range, Gyeon Hajun subtly stepped in to help. Yoon Eden, instead of straining for the high notes, harmonized along.
[LMAO, look at this guy’s tricks.]
[Honestly, a duet or feature-style performance for the next stream doesn’t sound like a bad idea.]
With Yoon Eden finishing his requested songs smoothly, it was finally Jaehee’s turn.
His first song was a rock track known for its powerful high notes.
Grabbing the mic and standing up from his chair, Jaehee stormed around the studio as if he were performing on a rock festival stage, belting out high notes while his hyungs watched with satisfied smiles.
[This is the true power of the main vocalist.]
[Wow, those high notes are soaring. So refreshing!]
[A band concept for the next theme might actually work!]
And then, the second song…
As the MR (music recording) played, Yoon Eden’s expression subtly shifted. Before Jaehee could even get through the first line, Eden abruptly stopped the track.
“Huh? Hyung? What’s going on?”
Jaehee, bewildered by the sudden halt, turned to Yoon Eden, but he seemed too focused on urgently searching for another MR.
[What’s up with Yoon Eden?]
[Wow… if he wasn’t the leader, this could’ve gone south real fast…]
[Seriously, even if this is just a fan live, did no one review the song beforehand?]
[Let’s just move on—Jaehee didn’t even sing a full line.]
[Is this really something that could cause controversy?]
[If people wanted, they could definitely turn it into one.]
[Wait, what? What even happened?]
Jaehee was about to protest further, but Gyeon Hajun quickly gestured to cut it off after noticing the chat’s tense atmosphere.
Catching on that something was wrong, Jaehee kept his mouth shut.
Soon after, the MR of a song from a foreign band Jaehee liked started playing. Thankfully, it was a song he knew by heart.
[Ah, our little maknae is having the time of his life.]
[His pronunciation is so ridiculously precise, LOL.]
[Look at Yoon Eden’s face—he looks like he just aged ten years.]
[Let’s not bring it up anymore~]
Like a fish in water, Jaehee launched into his rock band concert: season 2 mode. Thanks to Yoon Eden’s quick response, what could have turned into a serious controversy ended as a minor incident.
***
“Goodbye, see you again, Daydream!”
“Dream of me!”
The moment the fan live ended, I spun around with a scowl, glaring at Jaehee.
“You idiot! What the hell were you thinking, singing a 19+ rated song on a live broadcast as a minor?!”
Jaehee blinked, his mouth falling open. It finally dawned on him why I had reacted the way I did.
“It was 19+? I saw it on a YouTube playlist, so I thought it was fine. Oh, no wonder Sungjin-hyung kept asking me if I was sure about this song…”
That Sungjin guy—if he knew, he should’ve told him it was 19+ instead of just asking vague questions!
Sure, I had listened to 19+ songs since before I was even 19, but a minor publicly singing one in a live broadcast was an entirely different matter.
At least the YouTuber who uploaded it had labeled it as explicit—damn it.
“You seriously didn’t know? Even when searching for the MR?”
“I outsourced the MR edit to a hyung. He usually finds the MRs for me too…”
My head throbbed. I had thought he was more reliable than Kim Dobin, but now my own maknae had stabbed me in the back.
“Seriously, it didn’t even occur to you to check an audio platform—or at the very least, Google it?”
“But YouTube had all the lyrics in the subtitles…”
…Is this a generational gap?
I let out a deep sigh and pressed my fingertips against his scalp in an impromptu head massage.
“From now on, you must get everything pre-approved before any live stream. I swear, I think I lost ten years of my life because of you.”
Jaehui, realizing just how close we had all come to disaster, nodded obediently.
“I mean, it’s already bad enough that we almost sang a 19+ song in an all-ages live stream. But the one singing it was a minor? That’s nightmare fuel.”
Kim Dobin shook his head in disbelief.
“If it had been a Korean song, I probably would’ve thought, ‘Huh, these lyrics seem a bit much…’ and stopped. But since it was a pop song and I didn’t understand the lyrics…”
“That’s exactly why you should’ve checked the lyrics. How could you just assume?”
I was about to scold him further but held back at the sight of Jaehui’s crestfallen face. With a resigned sigh, I lightly patted his head.
Of all of us, he was probably the one most shaken up by what had happened. He had definitely learned his lesson by now.
At least we walked away with a valuable takeaway.
Live streaming is dangerous. There are way too many unpredictable variables.
From now on, I need to rethink our approach. Instead of streaming as part of the Weekly Quest OA app’s required content, we should explore different quest options.
No matter how often we go live, just one mistake could send us back to square one.
***
“We’re finally going to Achaedae, huh.”
Kim Dobin sighed heavily as he flipped through the papers handed to him by our manager.
At least the filming was set for July 30, before our promotions began, so unless we got seriously injured, it wouldn’t affect our activities. That was some consolation.
“When will we be able to coolly turn down offers like this?”
I muttered, remembering that we had participated up until our sixth year in my previous life.
Our manager responded, “When you guys reach top-tier status, where missing a public broadcast music show like this won’t hurt you.”
“Wow, so we really wouldn’t have to go?”
“Then only two or three members would participate.”
So he’s not saying we wouldn’t go at all.
The events we would be competing in were relay race, basketball, archery, and wrestling.
As someone who had been part of a soccer club and played soccer with friends every lunch break, I was a bit disappointed that soccer wasn’t included.
Esports wouldn’t be added until later, so it didn’t exist in the lineup yet. It was a shame—I could’ve just sat and played games.
Now, we had to decide who would participate in each event.
“Eden, you’re doing basketball, right?”
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t particularly drawn to any other events. Besides, I had tried archery a few times in my past life and was terrible at it.
If I remembered correctly, my highest score had been 5 points. I had even been edited out of the broadcast because of it.
“I’ll do wrestling,” volunteered Gyeon Hajun, the biggest and tallest among us.
If we put Seo Yehyeon in wrestling instead, he wouldn’t just be taken down—he’d be lifted and thrown.
Seo Yehyeon had a lean, muscular build rather than a bulky one.
“Archery requires three participants per team. Let’s all try shooting at an archery range and decide based on our performance.”
That meant I would automatically be excluded. Even in my previous life, I had been the weakest in archery.
Whenever I participated, I ended up lowering our team’s overall score.
“Who’s running the relay race?”
“Eden, I saw you running during the MV shoot—you’re fast.”
“I’m not doing more than one event.”
“But putting Dobin in is risky… He’s the center for this comeback, and if he sprains his ankle badly…”
I groaned and ran my fingers through my hair. My health was the priority, but I couldn’t ignore our promotions either.
I couldn’t afford to play it too safe and end up resetting my life again.
“Then the youngest, you’re running.”
I refused to run the relay. If the runner before me was slow, it would drive me crazy.
“Are we actually going to practice for this? I heard other groups even go to sports academies to train.”
“Seriously? Why do people take this idol sports event so seriously?”
Of course, excelling at it could get us attention. But unless we did something spectacular—like a dunk in basketball or three consecutive X-tens (perfect archery shots)—we wouldn’t make an impact.
“There’s no need for a sports academy. We’ll practice archery at a range and work on our basic fitness.”
With that, we headed to an archery range for our selection process.
“Leader goes first!”
After putting on the protective gear, I picked up the bow, grabbed the handle, and lightly pulled back the string.
I nocked an arrow, pulled the string back hard, and released it. The arrow shot forward toward the target.
“Wow, your form was like a national athlete’s.”
“Shut up.”
I looked at the arrow, which had barely landed on the border between 2 and 3 points, and picked up another.
“Well, Eden has officially been eliminated from the selection!”
As I stared at the arrow now lodged in the 1-point zone, my mischievous teammates burst into laughter.
Fine, let’s see how well you all do.
I stepped aside, took off my protective gear, and crossed my arms, watching them take turns shooting.
“Did you see that? 8 points! I must have a talent for archery!”
“Oh yeah! 6 points! I already beat Eden’s score in one shot.”
“Hajun got 5 points. It’s okay. At least you did better than Eden.”
“Why am I the baseline?”
“Whoa, 10 points! You can actually get a perfect score? Yehyeon, your form is insane!”
I didn’t want to admit it, but they were all better than me.
After a fierce selection battle, our archery representatives were chosen: Seo Yehyeon, Kim Dobin, and Ryu Jaehee.
“That means, Jaehee, you’re running the relay by default.”
“Ugh, I wanted to do archery.”
He grumbled but accepted his fate without much resistance.
Thus, our final lineup was:
Relay race – Ryu Jaehee
Basketball – Me
Wrestling – Gyeon Hajun
Archery – Kim Dobin, Ryu Jaehee, Seo Yehyeon
“Yehyeon, you have to show off an X-ten at Achaedae!”
“That 10-point shot was a fluke. Don’t expect too much.”
Yeah, well, my 1-point shot was a fluke too.
I usually averaged around 4–5 points, but today just wasn’t my day.
***
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