Should've Realized Sooner We Could Pull This Off
Invasion from Seoul
"I should've realized ages ago that we could pull something like this off...!" Myeongjeon thought, stomping down hard on the pedal. The network had insisted they'd punish any intentional sabotage harshly. But what about a "mistake"? Of course, it wasn't a mistake at all. It only looked like one to outsiders who didn't know better. Still, the world was full of idiots who thought, "No one will notice," like ostriches burying their heads in the sand. To stop those fools, they should've prepared from the start—made it impossible for such antics in the first place...
No, that's not the point. Even if they prove it was deliberate, am I supposed to just throw in the towel and beg that bastard to replay because he cut the string on purpose?
In the split second before the sticks crossed for the fourth time, Myeongjeon wrestled with the dilemma so intensely it felt like time itself slowed. They could skip the rhythm guitar and go straight into a normal solo. That would preserve the original song's vibe even better.
But it wouldn't have the impact.
Myeongjeon had rearranged the whole track with double guitars in mind. They'd layered doubles in the intro and midsection, and built the back-half solo assuming a rhythm track underneath. Over solid drums and bass, the rhythm guitar would beef up the mids and lows... then top it with a piercing high-end solo for a "full-bodied sound" unlike any standard lead. Playing a plain solo now? It'd come off way too lightweight.
...Loop station!
The fourth stick crash signaled solo time. Myeongjeon zeroed in on the Boss RC-2 loop station effector they'd brought just in case. Record your playing, play it back, infinite overdubs—this thing could do it all. They'd never used it seriously live before... but no choice now.
The first blast from the speakers was strong but safe, standard guitar fare. As the crowd started to deflate at the end of the rhythmic phrase, Ha Suyeon stomped the pedal again.
And then the magic happened.
No one was playing guitar right now... yet the exact same phrase from moments ago started layering in the background. Suyeon piled on another line atop it.
"Ooooh—!"
The audience erupted like kids seeing soap bubbles for the first time, clapping wildly. But she didn't stop. Suyeon kept stomping and strumming, stacking sounds endlessly.
What started as a mere dirt mound on the stage floor grew. Two looping phrases at first, repeating a bar or so. But as patterns multiplied, it transformed from barren void into something epic.
Infinite tones and layers building over eight bars. Lows filling out, mids stacking up. The more it dubbed, the richer and grander the sound—hill to mountain.
A massive wall of noise now loomed over the stage, overwhelming the crowd. As the tension peaked and the audience felt crushed by the sonic weight, Suyeon finally lifted her foot from the red pedal... and clicked a couple others.
Drums filled in once more.
And the real show began.
Ha Suyeon's mentor team, Dohwa-seo. Guitarist Kim Jinseo—the "Seo" in the name—watched with trembling hands gripping his own axe.
Theoretically possible, and plenty of folks do it. Nothing special.
The main PD had said mentors wouldn't have much to do this round—just dish advice to teams begging for it. So the mentors had slacked off. Meanwhile, these kids whipped up this?
Loop stations were common for solo acts, leveraging infinite overdubs. Anyone with the gear tried it once. Not revolutionary.
But knowing it's possible doesn't mean you can nail it. Live, on an audition stage with elimination on the line, building tension without boring anyone—in front of a live crowd, no prep? How many could pull that off?
Even Kim Jinseo, a grizzled vet, wouldn't bet on himself.
Buildup complete, Suyeon stepped off the looper. Next: Boonar and Wah-wah. Delay for reverb depth, and the pedal named for making sounds go "wah-wah."
The solo hit Jinseo like his eardrums might burst.
Clean highs screamed out, threatening to shred the tweeters—like David Gilmour's signature tone dominating the stage. Solid bass and drums below, guitar mids/lows like an orchestra. Over that bedrock foundation, high-end leads slashed mercilessly through the sky.
Bends and hammers flew free; fingers danced the neck. Who said it? "Players who reflect their emotions endure to the end."
By that logic, this kid was going all the way. Overflowing confidence, vowing to get everyone on their feet with this music, making them dance.
The passionate, furious guitar shifted rhythms into the back half, ratcheting tension higher. Speedy runs and picking harmonics wailed, then Wah-wah flipped the vibe again.
"Woooah!!"
A guitar howl rare for most ears. True to its name, "wah-wah"-ing nonstop, whipping the crowd into frenzy.
Drums and bass fills filled the fading background guitar void... and with the final notes, the performance ended.
Somehow wrapping the show, Myeongjeon eyed the rhythm guitarist. Still swapping strings furiously, signaling "Hey, I tried my best!" The snapped one had vanished onstage long ago.
What to do with this punk.
As Myeongjeon pondered, scoring wrapped and staff halted the contest. The band got ushered to the main PD's office. Only the string-snapper went in; the others grilled Myeongjeon outside.
"What was with the string break?"
"Uh..."
Vocalist's question. Spill that it seemed deliberate? Or what? A firm accusation might help, but better to play it by ear—pick the path most benefiting Group Sound.
"Dunno, honestly."
"Wasn't it on purpose?"
"No way... Kinda suspicious, though."
"Looked like he was up to something."
Mid-chatter, muffled roars leaked from the office door. Someone bellowing.
Myeongjeon figured it was the PD.
"Man... Whatever it is, it's ridiculous. A string snapping right then? Anyway, that solo—how'd you even?"
"Eh, just winged it."
Myeongjeon told the truth. The other three gawked like he'd lost it.
What's the issue?
Even if they said, "Knew that idiot might sabotage, so packed the looper!"—the solo itself was just muscle memory. Spot-on.
The office noise died down. Main PD Yoon Dong-wook poked his head out.
"Ha Suyeon-ssi, mind coming in?"
"Sure."
As the PD led her in, Myeongjeon slyly powered on the returned phone, hit record, and pocketed it. Better safe than sorry.
Dong-wook eyed the incoming Suyeon. Victim of this mess. But leaving it at that got complicated.
"Have a seat."
The Muzaku string-snapper, Jeong Jaehoon, first denied intent—called it a fluke. But confronted with rush footage and circumstantial evidence, he admitted solo action. Motive? Hated "Ha Suyeon," wanted her out. Simple as that.
Makes no sense. How does anyone act that basic? In a sea of cameras, thinking they'd get away clean?
Least that's what Dong-wook thought. And that sparked deeper suspicions.
What if it was all staged? That'd make more sense.
If pre-planned, the guy would've claimed it. So probably not. Reverse-engineering, then?
String snaps at the highlight, yet she stays cool as ice. Points to foreknowledge...
Myeongjeon's feat stemmed from past-life chops, superhuman grit, and raw talent... but Dong-wook opted for a simpler narrative suiting his tastes: Suyeon anticipated the sabotage and flipped it.
Leading to... she might blab to others or online. That's why he called her in. Shut that down.
"We'll investigate deeper, but the footage makes it clear—this guy's deliberate. Looks that way."
The guitarist's head drooped lower.
Suyeon asked, "Why'd you do it?"
No answer. Dong-wook explained more to the stone-faced Suyeon, then handed the guitarist to staff.
"Sorry this happened. Once this round ends, Muzaku voluntarily withdraws— that's the plan."
"Why?"
"Pushing too hard looks bad."
Broadcast "custom" meant no public dogpiling, even for scum. Blacklist 'em quietly—rumors spread to other networks. Plus, Dong-wook planned to leak online for aggro: frame it juicy to tank Muzaku's rep, hype Invasion from Seoul. Like his pre-audience "Tier List" stunt.
"Just tell the truth, no?"
"Need some leeway there. Optics..."
But Suyeon seemed... different. Like Jeong Jaehoon was prey in her trap, harvest time.
"What's wrong with the optics?"
Public execution? Dong-wook chilled. Dead serious? Fair if she'd been eliminated, but this'd ruin the guy's life.
Scary kids these days...
He talked her down. "Muzaku will apologize as a group. Hash compensation with them."
Suyeon was just curious, really.
After the grueling PD chat, then the belated Muzaku band huddle...
Myeongjeon trudged back to the set, exhausted.
"Suyeon! You missed our show—where'd you go alone?! Hey!!"
Filming nearly done. Ignoring Iseo's pouty gripe post-performance, Myeongjeon flopped into a chair.
"Exhausted. So tired."
"Something... happen?"
Myeongjeon nearly spilled to Hyeona's question, then caught himself: "Yeah, something."
PD mentioned it anyway.
Dunno what they'll do, but... Owe us one, right? Recording secured, at least.
"Grabbed food solo?"
"Huh?"
Seoha's casual weirdness. Myeongjeon glanced at her, then the final band wrapping up.
Post-expert scores: audience + pros + mentors blended... 74 points. Plummeted below 12th on the board, out of top 18.
"You guys got 92, right Suyeon?"
"Yeah."
"We're safe~ Everyone killed it. Except Hyeona. Oh! Our teacher Suyeon missed it wandering off. We slayed, right guys?"
Iseo poked Myeongjeon with an elbow, a tad salty.
Myeongjeon started to retort, then just chuckled.
"Gotta catch the broadcast."
"We were so good~"
"Bet you were. Who taught you?"
"Right! Who? Practiced till our fingers rotted. Too much, huh? Asked around during mission prep—no one drills that hard. Unfair, right?"
Praise boomeranged into complaints. Shouldn't they be grateful for the gains?
As they bantered, the contest wrapped. Empty seats now; MC grabbed the mic.
"Down to 12 bands! Round 3 done! Round 4... it's here: band vs. band! 1-on-1 showdowns!"
Finally, a normal mission. Myeongjeon muttered.
1v1 was tough... but after the prior insanity, it felt like heaven.