Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Talking was nice.. this was better, he walked toward the stage while the camera quietly followed him. The microphone stood waiting beneath the lights, but the coach stopped him before he reached it.

"No microphone yet."

Park nodded.

"Basic warm-up first. Don’t perform. Don’t embellish. I want clean notes and exactly what I ask for."

"Understood."

The coach played the first sequence.

Park repeated it.

’Keep it simple for now.’

Another.

Park followed.

The coach shifted upward but Park followed again.

Up.

Again.

Again.

The older man’s expression remained neutral for perhaps the first thirty seconds but his eyes began moving away from the keyboard.

Park noticed.

Another sequence; higher now but Park matched it cleanly... the coach changed the vowel and Park changed with him.

Descending scale.

Done.

Back up.

Done.

Sustain.

Park sustained.

{Cut}

Park stopped exactly with the gesture; the producers had stopped casually checking their file, the A&R executive’s attention was now fully on him.

The coach shifted again, testing chest voice first, then moving upward and listening for the transition.

Park simply went; no ugly break or grabbing for the note without any little facial strain he could hide from ordinary listeners but not someone who had coached professional vocalists for decades.

The coach played another.

Park copied it.

Higher.

Copied.

Another.

Park felt almost nothing; he knew exactly what was being asked of him. Pitch did not feel like reaching blindly toward something anymore. He heard the note and his voice simply understood where to go and there was no nervous first attempt.

No almost or let me try that again.

If the note existed, Park performed it. The vocal coach’s professional irritation had completely vanished now; another pattern but faster.

Park followed it; when the coach increased the speed, he followed again without losing the placement, and that was apparently enough to make the man’s eyebrows twitch. One of the female producers glanced sideways at the A&R executive, but the woman didn’t return it.

She was still staring directly at Park.

The coach changed direction without warning and dropped him downward through the scale. Park followed. He took him lower, then lower again, and although the resonance changed naturally with the register, the sound stayed clean. A second later the pattern turned upward again and Park went with it just as easily.

By then, the producer who had joked earlier about Park embarrassing himself had stopped smiling.

Park kept going as the coach threw another key at him, then another sequence, then a sustained note meant to expose whatever weakness the earlier tests had somehow missed... Park held it, released when instructed and waited for whatever came next.

Instead, the vocal coach stood.

That was the first thing that made Park wonder if something unusual had actually happened.

The man stepped away from his chair and came closer to the stage, his attention changing with him. He wasn’t listening to Park the way someone evaluated a promising rookie anymore. He looked like he’d found something that didn’t fit where it was supposed to and had decided to investigate personally.

"Again."

Park repeated the phrase.

"Lighter." Park lightened it. "Don’t carry the weight upward."

Park adjusted immediately, and the coach’s eyes narrowed.

"More." Park gave him more. "Head voice."

Done.

"Back down." Park followed. "Mix it."

Done.

The man stared at him for a moment before returning to the keyboard and playing another set. Park repeated that perfectly too, while one of the producers leaned toward the composer beside him and whispered something Park couldn’t hear.

’Probably rude.’

Or flattering.

With Cursed Presence and Cursed Attractive Presence running at the same time, the odds were wonderfully divided by gender but when talented individuals gathered, petty emotions were discarded.

The coach pushed him higher again. Park followed, then copied the next sequence and stood there waiting for another instruction.

None came.

The coach looked at him. Park looked at the keyboard, then toward the people sitting behind the table.

"Are we still warming up?"

Nobody answered immediately.

One of the female producers slowly covered her mouth. The A&R executive lowered her eyes toward her tablet for a second, although Park was fairly certain she wasn’t reading anything... she was trying not to laugh.

The senior vocal coach, meanwhile, looked almost personally offended.

"No."

Park blinked. "Oh."

"Gods," one of the producers muttered.

The coach finally returned toward his seat, though he didn’t sit immediately.

"How are you doing that?"

Park frowned. "Doing what?"

Apparently that was the wrong answer.

The man gestured vaguely toward him as though Park himself had become the technical problem. "Your transitions... your placement; you’ve moved through multiple registers without a meaningful break, changed the weight every single time I’ve asked, and you’re still not showing fatigue or strain in your voice."

Park thought about that for a second. "I told you professional training didn’t explain it."

The female producer who had earlier asked Park to rate himself slowly leaned back in her chair.

"Unfair comparison."

Park looked toward her and found her smiling now, he smiled back and shrugged:

"Told ya."

Cursed Attractive Presence picked that exact moment to make the exchange slightly more dangerous than it needed to be. Her smile lingered half a second too long before she caught herself and looked down at her notes.

The men, meanwhile, had gone from mildly skeptical to that wonderfully human stage where skepticism began mutating into competition with reality.

One of the composers leaned toward his microphone:

"Can you repeat anything he gives you?"

Park looked at the vocal coach. "If I hear it properly."

"That’s not what I asked."

"Then probably."

The composer glanced toward the coach. "Give him something ugly."

The vocal coach almost smiled: "Oh, gladly."

The next sequence was deliberately obnoxious, a wide interval followed by a quick fall, then an unexpected jump and a little run at the end that sounded less like a warm-up and more like the coach had personally declared war on Park’s vocal cords.

Park listened once.

Then copied the whole thing exactly.

The coach changed one note. Park copied the changed version. Then he altered the rhythm, making the phrase slightly stranger and less comfortable to follow, and Park adjusted with him without missing the new shape.

One of the producers sat forward.

"Again."

Park did it again.

He did not care that eight industry professionals were staring at him, or that the camera in front of the stage was quietly feeding his face and voice to executives Park couldn’t even see. Pressure did nothing. Being watched did nothing. Once he was actually performing, those tiny mistakes people usually blamed on nerves, timing, distraction or simply being human seemed to stop existing.

The A&R executive finally looked toward the New Talent Manager.

He met her eyes.

Neither of them said anything, but Park didn’t need to be professionally trained in awkward adult staring to understand that something had changed.

This was no longer the audition NX had expected when Nathaniel Park walked through the door.

The senior vocal coach slowly sat back down and picked up Park’s file again, flipping through it as though somebody might have hidden ten years of conservatory training between two pages as a prank.

Apparently, nobody had.

"You’re nineteen?"

"Yes."

The coach stared at him for a long moment.

Park gave him his most innocent smile.

The New Talent Manager eventually cleared his throat. "All right. Any prepared piece you’d like to perform?"

Finally.

Park stepped away from the warm-up position and headed toward the microphone.

One of the producers looked down at his notes. "Original or cover?"

"Original."

Several heads came up again.

Of course they did.

The A&R executive leaned forward. "Written by you?"

"Lyrics, melody, composition."

"You produced it?"

"Not fully. I already know how I want the arrangement to sound, but what you’re hearing today is mostly stripped."

The senior producer nearest the center tapped his pen once against the table. "You brought accompaniment?"

Park glanced toward the piano, then the keyboard and guitars set along the side of the stage.

"I don’t need it."

The producer looked amused. "A cappella?"

"For the first part."

"For the first part?"

Park smiled.

"You’ll see."

He reached the microphone as the camera adjusted slightly to keep him centered. Somewhere beyond the room, unseen by Park, the red light stayed steady.

He rolled one shoulder, loosened his neck and drew in a slow breath.

Then something appeared in front of his eyes.

Park paused.

Of course.

Perfect timing.

The translucent System panel unfolded across his vision.

[New Mission Assigned.]

Park’s eyes moved over the next line.

[Mission: Show Off...]

His eyebrow twitched.

[Description:Establish yourself as the most talented musician NX Arc has ever evaluated and make the agency consider you the greatest musical talent they have ever encountered.]

Park stared at the panel, then, very slowly, looked toward the eight people waiting behind the table.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Well...

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!