Chapter 32 - The Conditions for Becoming a Kind Idol Leader

The dim stage came alive under a soft red glow, and the sound of a bitter winter wind seemed to sweep across it.

Instead of a flashy backing track, Pyo Jae-ho sat alone at the center of the empty stage, head bowed low, and began to murmur the lyrics in a deep, subdued voice.

For this song, Zero One had sharpened its usual dark, miserable atmosphere with an eerie edge, determined to make the group’s color unmistakable.

The lyrics, too, matched the music’s mood: bleak, but filled with a desperate hunger for victory and a restless unease buried deep inside.

With his face barely visible as he whispered those ominous lines, Pyo Jae-ho’s appearance could have seemed sinister at a glance.

When his part ended, the low bass and electronic keyboard began to blend with the mournful piano line, and at the same time a bell rang—ding—before Pyo Jae-ho snapped his head up.

Through the strands of his disheveled hair, those sharp sanpaku eyes fixed straight on the camera, and the real performance began.

His styling had been deliberately left messy to suit the song, so he looked almost like a madman. That had been the point, anyway. When a bunch of mad bastards dressed up like mad bastards on purpose, it somehow worked.

The unsettled, almost deranged quality of his gaze and the unstable, swaying choreography fused together in a strangely compelling way.

As the bass throbbed and the drums hit with a heavy, booming force, the song slowly swelled.

Then, with the same dark and heavy atmosphere still hanging over everything, the sharp crackle of rapid hi-hats was added, shifting the entire flow of the song; the members who had been dancing vanished all at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once, as if they’d been sucked out of the frame.

In the empty stage the camera had been showing instead, Pyo Jae-ho suddenly appeared, kicking off the floor with one foot as if propelling himself forward.

The wolf-tone sound of the strings locked into the beat at intervals, tightening the tension in the song, and the choreography continued in a series of broad, forceful motions.

Following Pyo Jae-ho, Lim Se-bin took over the melody in a near-murmur that matched the rhythm, while Kyeon In-woo’s rough voice scraped over the keyboard line.

For the dance break that followed, Go Young-in, who had been waiting on the side, surged toward the center as if pulled by an invisible force, fixed his gaze on the camera, and slowly lowered his body.

The other members moved in behind him, each settling into position, and the group dance began.

* * *

When the stage ended, the studio lights came up again.

Fortunately, the studio reaction was not bad. If anything, it was quite good. Everyone reacted enthusiastically, clapping hard and showering them with overblown praise.

They’re really working hard to get reactions. Guess I’ll have to return the favor later.

"All right, Zero One. That was an incredible stage! Please take your seats again!"

At the MC’s cue, they thanked everyone as they walked back to their seats. On the way, a few contestants threw out more compliments and friendly remarks, and he answered them in kind, but Go Young-in’s mind was elsewhere.

At that part, the shoulder line and eye line were supposed to go in the same direction... I was slightly off.

From the moment the stage ended, Go Young-in had been replaying the performance in his head. He hadn’t made any mistakes, but if there was even one detail he couldn’t live with, he hated letting it slide. At least when it came to the stage, he had to get it right.

Once the performance was over, the two weeks of song production and practice came rushing back to him in fragments. One thing was certain: they had pulled good broadcast material out of this. Whether it would actually get used was another matter.

If the broadcast came together well, it would probably help Pyo Jae-ho’s image too. Compared to the other members, Pyo Jae-ho had a higher chance of causing trouble on air, so the more positive an image they could build for him in advance, the better.

In a way, it also confirmed once again that Pyo Jae-ho was a bastard with more talent than anyone had a right to possess.

In truth, this performance track had been a collaboration between Go Young-in and Pyo Jae-ho. That, too, was thanks to the system’s meddling. Originally, he had never taken part in writing songs.

Go Young-in had only learned to compose because the status window kept nagging at him, insisting that being able to write songs was part of an idol’s basic education. Up until now, even when he made songs, he had never shown them to anyone or intended to release them. They had been nothing more than exercises, so he’d never had a reason to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠use them.

He had simply shoved through the system’s relentless prodding, laid down a rhythm and chord progression to fit the tempo he’d imagined, and recorded a few instruments.

That bastard Pyo Jae-ho... Go Young-in had asked Baek Geon if he could just rough out the sound he’d heard in his head, and ever since then he’d been glaring at him like he wanted to murder him. Go Young-in had wondered what that was about, until he realized—

I thought he’d just look at it and throw it out.

He never would have guessed that Pyo Jae-ho would add a melody on the spot, right over the top of it.

Melody—what people usually called the topline. In simple terms, it was the part the vocalist sang. And unlike arrangement or other production tasks, it was an area where talent mattered far more than effort alone.

For Go Young-in, it was only natural that he could do this after repeating the same things through countless resets. If he couldn’t, that would have been strange.

For everything else, if you kept working and built up enough experience, you could make up for it and reach a decent level. Instinct mattered here too, but...

As for melody, the one he had sweated over and barely managed to build up from scratch and the one Pyo Jae-ho hummed a few times were about on the same level. It was infuriating, but it was true. What a rotten talent-driven society.

If Go Young-in’s skills had been things he’d acquired later in life, then Pyo Jae-ho was the real thing in this area. Go Young-in couldn’t even imagine what kind of monster he’d become if he’d repeated this process as many times as Go Young-in had.

In other words, he hadn’t been confident he could make something better than the melody Pyo Jae-ho came up with in time, so they’d simply ended up working on it together.

Lay down a heavy synth bass here. Don’t cram too much in. Keep this part simple...

So you want to leave space and emphasize the vocal line.

Right. We’re going to perform live anyway, and the members aren’t exactly people who can’t sing, so let’s leave the MR empty here.

What had been truly unexpected was how well their musical tastes aligned. He had assumed that working with Pyo Jae-ho would either end with nothing matching at all or with Pyo Jae-ho hounding him over every little mistake.

But their ideas about the order of composition, their stylistic preferences, and even the way they approached the work were surprisingly similar, which made the process go smoothly. In fact, it went so smoothly that it felt strange. Why was this so easy? Weird.

That kick track there. And the bass.

Yeah. I’ll compress it. But first let me adjust this part like this...

They didn’t even need many words.

Not that it mattered. When they were making music, there was no other answer anyway. A person couldn’t spend their whole life talking only about music.

He decided to think of the work itself as a success because it hadn’t dragged on. Besides, they hadn’t been building the whole thing alone, and Pyo Jae-ho had already come back with a guide vocal in no time.

Go Young-in could also turn things out quickly once an idea clicked, so they finished the song fast. Thanks to that, they were able to secure plenty of time for choreography practice.

On top of that, there hadn’t been any major problems during dance practice either. Judging by their skills, they were the sort of people who would fix things on their own without anyone even having to point them out if they weren’t satisfied.

They were exactly the kind of people who cared more about their own standards than anyone else’s opinion.

If only their personalities had been perfect too...

They had plenty of strengths, yet each of them carried one massive flaw, and because of that flaw, the strengths hardly ever stood out in daily life.

Finishing his brief recollection, Go Young-in let out a silent sigh.

It was time for the second team to take the stage. He was watching to see who would step forward first when the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠MC turned toward Zero One’s side and began to explain.

"Since Zero One opened the show with the first stage, we’ll give them the right to choose the next group! Please select the team that will go up next!"

The first team was granted this little advantage. After that, things would go on randomly again.

The moment he heard the MC, he noticed Cheon Sa-yoon laughing with a look of delighted surprise, and he understood at once that this was exactly what Cheon Sa-yoon had wanted to confirm.

He had clearly guessed there would be some benefit to going first and had thrown his name in before anyone else. Even if he’d waited, he would have had to do it eventually, so it wasn’t a loss either way.

I may have already known, but that guy really isn’t normal when it comes to reading a room. Creepy bastard.

Then again, maybe Cheon Sa-yoon was aiming for something else entirely. He was the blackest-hearted one in the group, so there was no predicting what he was thinking.

He always spoke in circles anyway. Nothing that guy did could ever be taken at face value.

First, he should figure out who to go with next. If the concept was too similar, they’d be compared side by side, but if the next act performed worse than Zero One, that gave them an advantage.

Or he could choose a group that seemed likely to bring an entirely opposite concept. If they were positioned on either side like that, Zero One might end up squeezed in the middle, which could become a problem—but there was no one ahead of Zero One right now.

Looking at the other members, none of them seemed like they cared who got picked.

He was weighing the pros and cons when someone suddenly shouted in a booming voice and sprang to their feet.

"Pick us!"

It was DTD’s Na Woori, waving his hand with a goofy grin. The other members looked already used to his antics. Apparently, that was just how he always was. What kind of wind had blown him into doing that?

"Don’t pick them, pick us first instead!"

That was Triple Shot’s blue-haired leader. Was that group incapable of choosing their words, even in a broadcast? They didn’t seem to have the slightest intention of speaking properly. They couldn’t have been on TV only once or twice, and yet their sense of delivery was absurdly bad.

At the words of that cocky blue-haired idiot, DTD’s Kang Ji-ho gave a dry laugh.

Looking over at Jeong Hae, he saw the latter sighing, as if it hadn’t been arranged beforehand. They must really not listen to him. For a moment, Go Young-in almost felt a sense of kinship with Jeong Hae. Damn it...

Choosing DTD made him worry they’d get tangled up and end up edited into something weird again. Even if they had briefly acted friendly at the start, that only made it seem more likely they’d be paired together. It would be the perfect setup for a headline like, What Was the Mission That Led Former Friends Into Division?

But choosing Triple Shot was also awkward, because of Jeong Hae’s fake friendliness. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Jeong Hae seemed like the type who wanted to gain something from this too. He had no idea how they’d be linked up, and that hesitation held him back.

A bit of chemistry between groups was fine, but too much obvious fraternizing wasn’t good either.

Looking at the other groups, it seemed like none of them wanted to push their luck now that two acts had already gone up.

As for Zero One’s members, they really didn’t care either way, and Cheon Sa-yoon, perhaps because the camera was on them, handed him the microphone and told him to decide on Zero One’s behalf. What an infuriatingly polite bastard.

This wasn’t some popularity contest, and there wasn’t much advantage in going earlier than second place anyway.

If he was going to choose, he might as well choose in a direction that would benefit him.

In other words, something that would benefit Zero One.

Anyway, he had more or less made up his mind. Truthfully, there wasn’t much difference between one side and the other.

"We’ll go with DTD, since they raised their hands first."

If he didn’t pick them and then tried to spin it later as a form of pressure or rivalry, that would be worse. Better to choose them now and be called rivals. Their musical styles were completely different anyway, so it wasn’t a bad choice.

"I knew it!"

Even Na Woori seemed weird. What exactly did you know? If he hadn’t already been aware that they’d be positioned as rivals, he wouldn’t have picked them in the first place.

The blue-haired leader muttered in disappointment as he returned to his seat. Guess he’d left his manners at home.

"Has it been decided? Then DTD, please head down to the stage. This is your second performance!"

The members of DTD went down and took their places.

Since the show would be cutting between the remaining groups’ reactions and using them as broadcast inserts, they couldn’t afford to look too half-hearted. Even if they didn’t overreact, they still had to seem focused. Focus. They’d already done a good job on the stage, so there was no point undermining it now.

DTD was wearing bright, clean outfits, standing out among the mostly drab-colored groups.

A retro-style piano and a plucky, bubble-like sound that bounced like droplets of water announced the beginning of the song.

It’s a dance track, but...

For a competition like this, you’d usually expect music with a strong, powerful performance angle, but they weren’t going that way. Still, the song itself seemed to be very well made.

Didn’t they say the original was composed by a member? Not bad.

Hearing it this way made him think that if this hadn’t been Zero One’s comeback album, there would never have been any chance of their concepts overlapping.

DTD itself was a group whose strength lay less in high-powered dance and more in trendy, addictive choreography and melodies. It definitely felt like they were trying to focus more on the music and the story than on giving the dance too much weight.

In the group choreography sections, the electronic synth bass and the zinging static combined to create a rhythmically catchy mood that suited the dance track well.

If he had to choose the most striking thing about DTD’s stage apart from the song, it would be DTD’s leader, Park Ha-un.

Park Ha-un’s skills were so much stronger than the other members’ that no matter how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard he tried to blend the choreography, his presence still grabbed the eye.

He had seemed as quiet as a stone wall earlier, so Go Young-in hadn’t expected it, but he was the kind of person who fit the term “hexagonal”—above average in singing, dancing, charisma, and visuals, with a well-balanced overall package.

And Na Woori... he was trying hard, but he didn’t stand out.