Flex: The Idol Crushing It with Overwhelming Talent
The popular idol group Flex was drawing offers from composers left and right, thanks to their overwhelming skills. Their visual member K had lines snaking out from the stadium like a concert venue.
Snagging Flex would lock in a stable spot in the rankings until the end of the show, at least. Who knew what curveballs might come, but top three for sure. Composers who'd normally have too much pride were throwing it all away to pay homage to Flex.
Frogs in a well, indeed. If you peeled back the Korean idol tier list from the outside world, they were first-tier, second-tier—no, barely scraping the bottom of third-tier, bouncing between the end of second and third. Who could've guessed they'd get this kind of treatment here? Life's unpredictable, right?
"People's lives are unpredictable."
If our show blew up and became a massive hit, Flex—stuck in third-tier—might rocket past second-tier and flash into first-tier stardom. There's no rule saying a breeze can't turn into a gale. Even if it's just a flash in the pan, once they catch fire, the momentum is insane. That's why even the stubborn composers were bending over backward for Flex. All for the money.
Yeon Mi-yeon pursed her lips.
"Fine, the emperor character with overwhelming power is set. So the remaining slot is for a growth story."
Someone with skills but who doesn't flaunt them from the start—because outright "I'm talented" types are boring. Those characters always die early. They needed a clear rival to Flex, someone hiding their true power.
So who plays the villain?
"You're thinking too far ahead. We don't even know if that hidden powerhouse exists."
Yeon Mi-yeon hoisted her camera without another word.
Just film and see what sticks.
She trudged forward, her footsteps heavy with exhaustion that made her look like she'd collapse at a nudge. And soon enough, one figure entered her frame. Yeon Mi-yeon flashed a cryptic smile whose meaning no one could read, and trailed after the man.
Ah, maybe we could make this emperor our Goliath after all?
Followers were swarming. Unlike major players with big names ripe for the picking, unknown composers had nothing easy to latch onto. So they jabbed their cameras in like trying to snag a forbidden persimmon—if it didn't feel right, they pulled back fast. That was the daily grind.
In a sea of composers, getting face time meant grabbing eyes. No matter how killer your track or stage, this was still a viewer-participation survival show. Like it or not, more airtime meant more recognition, more votes turning into rankings, and rankings into cash.
Composers and players alike were gunning for that exposure. Even top judge praise only counted for 30%—decent, but with 70% from audience and online votes, it wasn't dominant.
So how to stand out here?
"Alright, among our many brave warriors, some teams are already prepping stages, but plenty are still partnerless!"
Joo Seong-hwan belted out his hype lines.
"For those falling behind, we've got a terrifying time that chills you to the bone just thinking about it—Wave Time!"
He spun around.
"Judges, come on down! Head to your zones and pressure these warriors!"
Damn... I knew it was coming, but this bad? Never dreamed they'd name segments like that. The main PD twisting this show was a total perv.
I was in B Zone. Luckily—or unluckily—my judge was Bitboy, Kim Min-hyuk.
"Hm..."
Should I run over and play buddy-buddy now? Might score something, and keep those followers filming me. Nah. I shook my head.
Anyone could see that'd backfire. Fake familiarity turns into a networking contest, and with my shitty scores, it'd drag Bitboy down too. He'd want me to climb on pure merit anyway.
Easier said than done when no one had full stats...
"Huh?"
"What's up? Problem?"
The VJ couldn't hold back curiosity and asked.
"No, it's... over there."
I pointed up. The assistant director, done scouting majors, chimed in.
"Oh, you know them too? Yeah, Black Label."
"...Why the hell are they here?"
"Well..."
Everyone knew the truth but couldn't say it outright. Even as G&X idols, they were done for. The AD expressed it with a grimace, but that wasn't my point.
As far as I knew, Black Label didn't appear in season 1 of Supreme Beat Contest. A year later, fan demand turned it regular, and they joined season 2—acing stages all the way to the final four.
"Bl-Black Label, why..."
Even with G&X backing, most composers steered clear. My steps toward them quickened unconsciously.
The closer I got, the more it felt like a galaxy of stars.
"First time on a show like this, right?"
Jay-Q asked, peering down at the milling crowd from the judges' seats. Bitboy Kim Min-hyuk nodded.
"Yeah. No clue how to judge... ugh."
Kim Min-hyuk couldn't hide his swirling unease, clutching his chest as he spilled.
"No feel for what advice to give."
"Mm... yeah."
Jay-Q, veteran of idol debuts, national auditions, and countless survivals, nodded sympathetically.
"First time I got roped in as mentor, my head was spinning."
He chuckled dryly, reminiscing.
"Am I qualified? What if my 'realistic' advice hurts them? Will the station edit me like a villain? Endless worries."
And right now, the station was filming this exact chat. Jay-Q called out to his trailing VJ.
"See? Still rolling. Nervous?"
"Uh... a bit."
"Can't be helped. One slip-up, and our PDs will milk it for spicy previews. Right, PD?"
Over their shoulders, the PD—who'd been playing statue—chimed in.
"Come on, would I?"
"Saying that seals it—100% making-of material."
"Ooh!"
The writers around the PD gasped, spotting the edit gold.
"But after four years of these... my takeaway? Swear like hell, but slips are fine."
"Slips are okay?"
Kim Min-hyuk blinked; Jay-Q shot back quick.
"Yep. Nice or harsh, viewers will twist it into a 'gaffe' anyway."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
Jay-Q leaned in.
"Heard you're hot shit producer. With idols or rappers—gentle guide or tough-love drill sergeant?"
"I set standards but allow some improv."
"Feedback intuitive?"
"Yes."
Jay-Q snapped his fingers.
"Exactly. We think it's straightforward, but viewers see 'brutal critique.'"
"...Oh."
"The performers get our style, but audiences don't. They have context on stars; we don't."
True. We're not frontliners.
Jay-Q clapped Kim Min-hyuk's shoulder, easing the load.
"Relax. Controversy finds you if it's there. Faking nice just tires you out—and bites back."
"Wave Time, now."
Jo Young-soo PD checked his watch and radioed. Then to them:
"Judges! Thirty minutes each. Hit your zones—pressure those prepping warriors!"
Pressure, my ass. It was encouragement hour. Tips for teamed-up groups, matchmaking for loners. Wave—demons harassing heroes before the demon king descends. Pure lore fidelity; name made sense.
Standard survival setup.
Hyun-woo doing alright?
Kim Min-hyuk wondered about Falcon, hoping he was in his zone.
Jay-Q asked Jo Young-soo PD:
"Why keep hammering demon king?"
"Fun, right? Not like begging votes in an election. Keeps viewers hooked. And you know."
Jo Young-soo PD flashed his ace.
"We've got the level system."
He actually pulled cards from his pocket, handing to Jay-Q and Kim Min-hyuk.
"What's this?"
"Items. Give to teams killing it, per your judgment."
"Items?"
"Don't peek—random draw."
"Aigoo, total lore nerd!"
Jay-Q facepalmed, but props for the prep.
"This immersed? Change our title too. We're just judges."
"Thought about it—for new viewers, no confusion. Plus, older folks watching?"
Jo Young-soo PD cleared the path downward.
"Couldn't think of anything better."
With AD help, they headed to B Zone.
Viewing from above was one thing; down here, the vibe shifted.
"Uh..."
Seo Hyun-woo locked eyes, then hustled over. What the—? Begging like last time? Nope. Misread; he breezed past Kim Min-hyuk with cold speed.
Heading straight for a group, acting like old pals, schmoozing smooth. Kim Min-hyuk turned, curiosity pulling him—and his VJ—after.