Our Eyes Locked
A face filled nothing but eyes blinked at him. A woman whose entire face was hidden behind a black mask.
"What the fuck got screwed?"
"Nothing."
"Noth~ing? Hmm~ Something feels off~?"
In a normal conversation, the next line would be some corny cliché. Who are you? Boom, smack. If someone flexible asked who I was in response to my flexible words, it'd only be right to answer. I'd toss out a hackneyed line while replying, but I already knew she was Yu Yeon-ha.
Still, I wasn't in a position to know her real name right off the bat.
"You're DigDagan, right?"
"Huh, what? You know me?"
"Of course."
She was the one who'd be throwing one-two punches alongside Won Ji-min from here on out. No way I wouldn't know her.
Yu Yeon-ha yanked down the mask she'd been wearing and slipped off the straps.
"Guess it's all pointless. I figured you wouldn't recognize me, but where'd you see me?"
"Where? At the rehearsal."
"Oh, right."
Eureka! Yu Yeon-ha snapped her fingers wide like she'd grasped some profound truth of the world.
"Makes sense. I first saw you at Falcon's rehearsal too. Fair enough."
Yu Yeon-ha grabbed a rolling folding chair and plopped her butt down. Her snapped fingers rubbed her chin.
"We've already skipped the introductions since we know each other. So, composer, what got fucked?"
Your existence? But I couldn't say that honestly.
"I forgot."
"Pardon? You need to say it now."
"No, not that. I forgot what I need to do now that I'm sitting in this chair."
"……."
Yu Yeon-ha stared at me blankly. It was a perfectly plausible answer, but she didn't buy it. Or rather, she wouldn't.
She stared straight into my eyes before nodding and straightening her hunched back.
"Hmmm. How about carrying a notebook around?"
"Pardon?"
"So you can jot down thoughts right away and not forget them."
Yu Yeon-ha nodded toward my phone on the desk.
"If that's too much hassle, noting it on your phone works too."
She didn't come all the way to this corner of the studio just to give tips like that.
"Yeah. Thanks for the advice."
What was Yu Yeon-ha thinking? The tournament, which I'd assumed would drag into semifinals and finals, had merged without wasting time.
Beyond stage order, they had to play mind games over what concepts each team was prepping. No overlapping stages, especially not weaker or less emotional ones than the competition.
Preparing the same stage after getting bumped back was as good as forfeiting.
Secretly checking rival teams via managers was tacitly okay, as long as it wasn't blatant enough for them to notice.
Yeah. What we needed to watch for here was blatant spying. Wasn't this way too obvious for spy work?
"Uh……."
I asked.
"What exactly are you doing right now?"
Yu Yeon-ha grinned cheekily.
"Recon."
"Pardon?"
Her brightest smile tugged at my lips. With the smile came her bold voice.
"Black Label track check!"
Was it okay to be this bold? My vision went dark.
***
My name is Yu Yeon-ha. I go by 'Yonha Daniel Yu,' shortened to Lily. Call me whatever here.
"It's DigDagan anyway."
No big meaning. Stage name from a cartoon I watched as a kid—I loved it, cheering every time DigDagan appeared.
Watching DigDagan, Yu Yeon-ha dreamed of multiplying herself too. Living in this world alone was too harsh.
There'd be a money-earning Yu Yeon-ha, a separate one for exercise and health.
Oh, inputs matter for making good songs. So a Yu Yeon-ha for love, breakups, all experiences.
The main body controlling these other Yu Yeon-has was busy playing every day.
Hence DigDagan.
Once more: no deep meaning to the stage name.
"Hmm…… And now I'm spy Yu Yeon-ha!"
She put on and took off her oversized glasses covering half her face. With the mask, they'd fog up. Hard to walk straight.
She set aside the disguise glasses, kept the mask, and scanned around.
Yu Yeon-ha folded her fingers.
"Rockwon’s out, so the rest are nobodies. Nah."
Of the four teams, the strong ones were Jang Hana and Black Label.
"Kickkick Band's obvious."
Singing youth with noisy melodies, wordplay like Youth hurts, that's love, Choi Jeong screeching.
Kim Won-sam would just do that. Producers too—no expectations. Their climb so far was a miracle.
Yu Yeon-ha headed to the auditorium.
Time to check Black Label.
"They've been working here from the start. Advertise what song they're doing?"
Perfect timing. Like PD Jo Young-soo editing out chit-chat, she moved toward Black Label—and Falcon stepped out.
Falcon left the auditorium. Not the bathroom.
He turned right instead of left.
Definitely toward the studios.
Yu Yeon-ha held her breath.
"From now on, I'm a dark templar."
"From now on, I'm an assassin."
"From now on, I'm an assassi—"
Self-hypnosis set, she tiptoed after Falcon.
Worried if he went to private dorms, but he headed to the communal studio.
Creeeak.
Door closed, but she slipped in as he donned headphones.
Quietly scouting from behind for a chance to peek.
Main body powered on ages ago, but Falcon muttered.
Like a lifelong solo black mage chanting spells—in audible whispers.
She considered sneaking her phone's recorder, but that wasn't fair.
So Yu Yeon-ha thought: if we're playing dirty, go bold.
She'd never properly introduced herself to Falcon.
Sitting at a communal seat, she checked her masked face in the black monitor.
Falcon might not recognize her.
Black Label and Jang Hana had never clashed stages.
Yeah. Yu Yeon-ha figured: glance at Falcon's monitor casually, he'd think she was just an assistant director checking the communal studio.
Good. Plan set, she stood.
Exactly as plotted, she moved toward Falcon's front monitor.
Eyes darting fastest, but nothing to see. Monitor black.
Did he notice her? One more step—and she knew.
Just screensaver sleep mode.
Wha? Means he wasn't working.
Then why come here?
"……Fucked."
Falcon muttered.
What got fucked? Black Label's song didn't matter now.
What fucked Falcon did.
Yu Yeon-ha couldn't hold back. She never could with curiosity.
"What got fucked?"
She'd find out direct. If he vented, she'd help sincerely.
Falcon turned with dazed eyes, said he forgot.
"Hmm……."
Yu Yeon-ha pulled out her ever-present notebook.
Jot inspirations down—sincere pro tip.
Silence fell. Couldn't drag it.
She declared boldly.
"Here to check Black Label's track!"
Proud confession, but booted anyway.
"Hiiiing~!"
Yu Yeon-ha squatted by the communal studio door, turned back.
Door shut tight. Peeking through the gap at Falcon—no glance back.
Sweeping the floor with her oversized hoodie sleeve.
"Too bad. Could've found out."
"Found out what?"
Someone who'd pressed Yu Yeon-ha like she'd pressed Falcon—Jang Hana.
Back from workout for stamina? Wiping sweat with a sports towel.
"What could've you found out?"
"Black Label's song."
"Pardon?"
Sweat beads on her forehead hit her eyes? Jang Hana winced.
"What do you mean? Finding out Black Label's song?"
"Well, uh……."
Yu Yeon-ha explained the whole thing to Jang Hana.
Pouring in her opinions, the more she detailed, the wider Jang Hana's mouth gaped.
Her face screamed all-time epic. She grabbed Yu Yeon-ha's wrist and dragged her far from the studio, scolding.
"Unnie, what the hell were you doing?"
"What? I didn't find out anyway……."
"No, not that……."
Jang Hana trailed off.
Yu Yeon-ha not grasping the severity—like Jang Hana not grasping Black Label's importance.
The farter gets mad. Alone in the hall.
Yu Yeon-ha bellowed.
"Black Label's our biggest threat now. Kim Won-sam, Kickkick Band—whatever. They're small fry."
"Kickkick Band?"
Yu Yeon-ha squinted.
"Obvious. Just screaming, weird nonsense. Yoo~ all our love~! We'll repay your love!"
She air-guitared down.
Then waved it off.
"Predictable. Totally."
Black Label was the unpredictable one.
Yu Yeon-ha believed the winner hinged on their song.
Her worldview sharpened. Voice steadier, she prophesied.
"If Black Label sticks to their usual, we can compete."
"Pardon?"
"But if they pull a new genre like with Rockwon, who knows."
"Wh-what? Black Label's song decides the winner?"
Yu Yeon-ha thought: Not us now—her solo-prepped track, idol K-pop focused, near Black Label copycat.
She could mimic. Or write better.
Tailor to what Black Label sings well, improve—odds good.
Like Black Label's Rockwon strategy: always +1 better than rivals, sells.
But new genre? Unknown.
"What do you mean, unnie?"
About to explain strategy—stopped.
Creeak. Men's room door opened. Choi Jeong smirked slyly.
"I'm curious too. What? We're small fry, Black Label's above us? Why? Why's that?"