Dawn Breaks
Morning had dawned. Life was truly cruel—I never imagined meals would differ by rank. I chewed mechanically on bread that didn’t sit well first thing in the morning, glancing at the teams assigned A-grade or lower. No matter how you sliced it, this was too much. Discriminating over food? What the hell was a packed lunch? A packed lunch. After a few bites slathered in strawberry jam, I dumped my tray in the return slot and left the cafeteria.
As I stepped out, the other teams started eyeing the A-grade tag around my neck with envy. It was like the military all over again. Forget how popular you were out in the real world. In the Supreme Beat Contest, the grade dangling from your neck was your rank. They’d plastered that catchphrase everywhere shamelessly.
Once outside the cafeteria, the slogans covered everything from staircases to walls, even the stall doors in the bathrooms.
—Sleep brings dreams, but pulling an all-nighter makes them real.
—Your effort knows no limits.
Motivational phrases everywhere. No wonder, just two days in, my fellow contestants looked wrecked as they shuffled around, dark circles under their eyes, muttering to themselves. Washing my hands in the bathroom, I overheard it—lyrics. Of course. A name from this place could change your life; a month of hell was nothing. They’d all come with that resolve.
As I headed back to the dorm, an announcement blared: filming would follow assembly. The Black Label group chat—exchanged after our first stage—instantly lit up with messages hunting for me.
Hye-soo, you little... I didn’t peg you for the type to troll on purpose. Changing clothes, I fired off a reply.
At the assembly point, staff and players alike wore the same exhausted faces, chewing over their fatigue. Black Label was no exception. What? Did I seriously get the only good night’s sleep?
“Oppa, did you do your makeup? Your skin’s glowing.”
“Yeah, it’s got that shine.”
Hye-soo and Ray teased half-jokingly, half-seriously. I rubbed my cheek. “Makeup? Just lotion, that’s it.”
“Ooh la la, oppa’s got good skin.”
Even Won Ji-min, who I wouldn’t have expected, landed the finishing blow. Ji-soo finally rushed in, panting about oversleeping, and we gathered together. A camera started tailing us. Already locked in as a key angle for the early footage? Not just the cameraman—Bitboy Kim Min-hyuk was watching from afar too. All the attention felt good but burdensome.
Right on cue, Joo Seong-hwan took the stage to kick off the broadcast filming.
“Hello, everyone.”
I’d always wondered—what did this guy eat to be this hyped at dawn?
“Congrats to all who passed Round 1 and advanced to Round 2, the real start of our Supreme Beat Contest.”
The name tag handed to Joo Seong-hwan by assistant director Jo Young-soo. The scoreboard that had shown time limits now filled with his face for the back-row viewers.
“Many of you have probably guessed, but this name tag isn’t just for show.”
Joo Seong-hwan pointed to the blank beside his name. “This letter? It’s your grade. It’ll impact the Supreme Beat Contest big time from here on. You know without me saying.”
He recapped the breakfast disparities from that morning. The production team never called it discrimination till the show ended. Nah, they framed it as perks for top grades.
Before he finished, the screen displayed a table of grade-based benefits. Right now, the rehearsal room I desperately needed—and A-grades got first dibs over others.
“Grades won’t stay fixed. It’s fair every time. No caps or floors. Every time!”
Joo Seong-hwan gestured to the judges watching us. “They update based on stage evaluations.”
He snapped his fingers, and grades animated shifting. “A to D, D to A. It all feeds into your total score.”
The grade chart flipped to team totals so far. Out of 100+ teams, we ranked 13th. Solid top tier.
“Grades are just for lifestyle perks, but total score? That’s different. Low enough, and you’re out of the dorms.”
Next slide. “Totals update every two rounds.”
Joo Seong-hwan paced the stage, explaining rules. “Teams will rise and fall. Some drop off from the bottom. Round of 64.”
Tournament proper from 64-strong. Scores wouldn’t matter then—just stages. Didn’t hit home yet.
“How to earn total points? Today!”
He shook his head. “Wait, no—videos started uploading online at midnight last night.”
What? Already? Bullshit. I yanked out my phone, but too late. Everyone checked theirs; teams with buzz hit rankings fast.
The hall full of people fiddling with phones at Joo Seong-hwan’s line cracked him up. “Yeah, yeah. You’re all dying to know.”
Weird. I’d scoured the net late—why’d I miss it?
“Because only pre-registered National Producers on Snet got the secret link—without tipping off everyone here!”
Online voting a week early? What? Black Label in Season 1 as Season 2 champs messing with the timeline? History adjusting around me?
No time to dwell. Hye-soo shoved her phone screen at us. “You see this? Our vid’s up.”
“Check it out.”
The video had spread like wildfire; limited links or not, shares were easy. Teams with fanbases would dominate votes. That’s why we placed a bit low despite A-grade 10%.
Online voting this early? A wrinkle. Black Label’s views topped 400k. Clips everywhere, but still solid—broadcast hadn’t aired, so only diehards knew. 400k was great.
Comments too.
The unexpectedly positive pile-up had Black Label dazed, scrolling yellow emojis endlessly. Not the time, kids. I shot Won Ji-min a look; leader-like, she reined them in.
“Ahem. Guys, we’ll check later. Camera. Camera.”
Phones down, Black Label casually turned back to Joo Seong-hwan. What next?
“Got sidetracked? Ways to rack up points: online votes—strong. Judges’ scores. Audience.”
Another finger snap. The screen shifted from grades to an epic stage.
“You’ll perform here with crowds. Tears or cheers await.”
Catching Jo Young-soo PD’s cue, Joo Seong-hwan sped on. “Rough rules covered. Now Round 2 details.”
The grade animation flipped to game-like cards turning over. A black hand picked one. The screen card materialized in Joo Seong-hwan’s hand.
“Players—not composers—pick from these. Come up and draw.”
He flipped his. “This one’s love.”
Player picks keyword; composer makes a matching track. Teamwork test with mismatched roles. Obvious keywords: love, friendship, spring, summer—emotional staples.
“Keywords are limited. We grouped easier ones sparingly.”
‘Easier’ probably love.
“Up to the stage now. Black Label!”
Unknown order, but we were first at bat.