Invasion from Seoul: Overmistake

Overmistake. The character for "over" as in excessive, combined with "mistake" as in erring, to form overmistake—a term referring to errors or faults stemming from carelessness or negligence. Or it can mean errors arising from flawed judgment.

She looked at Suyeon, who had swiftly reverted to her emotionless expression. Standing before the mic with her guitar slung aside, Suyeon gazed out at the audience with distant eyes. The stage was plunged in darkness, filled only with white spotlights and swirling smoke. The four girls stood at their positions, waiting for the cue.

Four sharp signals rang out. The intro piano reverberated deeply. Over the solid foundation laid by bass and drums, the guitar played stroke-focused rhythms... then burst forward, unleashing the melody.

Overall, it was a color Group Sound had never shown before. Classic "Korean modern rock." Jangly guitars pouring over a foggy, cloudy atmosphere—the genre dominating contemporary Korean indie rock. The addictive easy-listening melody drew cheers from the crowd.

They knew these kids had insane skill and a wild backstory... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but up until now, enjoying Group Sound's songs had required real effort. Not anymore. The melody hit hard and stuck clean in your ears. As the guitar melody faded, the vocals kicked in.

The guitar filled that space again, richer now in contrast, ramping up the crowd's energy.

The main guitar melody kicked back in. Amid the roaring cheers, she captured Suyeon's impassive face on camera, sharp atmosphere intact. The other three girls moved with bright smiles, engaging the crowd. In stark contrast, Suyeon strummed on with a blank expression.

Even in the brief solo that followed, Suyeon just tapped her foot to the rhythm, head down, playing steadily.

...I see.

This was a song of reflection. An autobiographical tale of her life. A confession of past wrong choices.

She thought as she watched Suyeon. No scenario could be more perfect. From what she'd dug up on Suyeon's life, it all fit.

The legendary session guitarist Seo Myeongjeon's final disciple, taken on about a year before his death. For some reason, this delinquent kid harbored ambition deep down amid her wild life... until she met someone on the brink of death. They became master and student.

A prodigy squandering her talent, and a master who saw her potential and nurtured it. Then they both fell around the same time. The master passed away; the disciple crashed due to her own recklessness.

What followed read like literature. Finding her master's belongings, the disciple bid farewell to her old ways. Apologized to everyone. Faced smears in the contest but pushed toward victory... and now confessed her flights of folly, atoning to the world.

That must be why she wouldn't look up, she figured. How could tears not fall?

Glancing around, she spotted others like her—enjoying the music but shedding tears now and then. They'd started with the catchy easy-listening vibe, but chewing on the lyrics hit hard. Understandable. She was doing the same, wiping away tears she pretended weren't there.

The repeating chorus drew soft singing from the crowd. First-time listeners joining in.

"Tomorrow's you kneels down..."

"But yesterday's you didn't..."

"Tomorrow's you kneels down..."

"But yesterday's you was different..."

The sing-along swelled. Each repetition made it clearer, bolder. Given time, they'd sing forever. But the frenzy cooled under descending silence.

As the stage quieted, Suyeon's soft voice closed it out: "Today's you... where did you want to go?"

Thunderous applause followed the song's end.

"The grand winner is... Group Sound!!"

Confetti exploded amid cheers. Iseo grabbed the panel with the 100 million won prize and roared, hoisting it high. Seoha snatched it next, dying to try. Hyeona panicked, unsure if she had to join the antics. Suyeon just gave a wry smile at the farce.

"One word on your winning thoughts!"

Suyeon took the mic at the MC's prompt.

"In less than a year, we've been through so much—it's all a blur. We'll work harder to make songs and sing them better. Please keep supporting us."

Iseo, Hyeona, and Seoha's comments followed. Then second-place WEKIDS and third-place remarks.

"We're saved."

Watching the scene, Dong-wook muttered it. WEKIDS had done decently, but Group Sound, blades sharpened to perfection, crushed them. The live reaction showed the overwhelming gap. Close enough, and he'd have room to tweak—but this? Any meddling would've sparked instant rigging scandals for WEKIDS.

So Dong-wook sighed in relief. He'd canceled the rigging prep before broadcast, after all.

Better take the heat from Director Park than... anyway, the one who'd catch hell from Clear Sky's Executive Director Im is Park, not me.

He might get slapped by Director Park. Maybe dislocated joints. But pulling rigging now? Producer career over. Blacklisted from the industry after the whispers.

Better just eat the slaps from Park, let him deal with Im... and bask in the title of PD who hit No. 1 in cable ratings. That'd do.

A throat-clearing beside him snapped Dong-wook from his thoughts. PD Choi stood there, face anxious.

"Shouldn't you be out there? Why here?"

"Uh... well, it's like..."

Dong-wook eyed the fidgeting Choi, puzzled. Not like him.

"Nothing to do? Round up the kids and wrap up. Time to clear the audience. You bring pajamas? We're pulling an all-nighter."

"About that..."

"Spit it out, man."

Choi kept twitching like he might speak, frustrating Dong-wook. Say it or don't.

"PD Choi, no need. I got it."

Dong-wook froze at the voice. Section Chief Jeong. Not his line, bad blood. Opposed Dong-wook's return to the end.

Why here? Unrelated to the show. Here to stir shit after the No. 1 win?

"Chief, to what do we owe? Benchmarking our ratings?"

Dong-wook tossed it casual, smiling. Jeong didn't flinch, stepping close.

"Dong-wook. Even sucking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up Park's line that hard, you crossed the line this time."

"...Pardon? What're you on about?"

"Kid, if I'm here, it's done. You know that."

Jeong's words hit heavy. Caught? But he hadn't even executed. No evidence—how?

Impossible.

"You tried rigging. I heard it all. Told your underlings to make WEKIDS win? Ballsy. After that stage, pushing agency kids over them?"

But Jeong's claim shattered expectations. How'd he know?

"Never happened."

"Bullshit. One of your guys spilled to our PD Kim—exactly what you said, how. Dumbass."

Jeong laughed at frozen Dong-wook. Always a prick, but getting caught after his Park lackey rant? Sweet.

"PD Kim's already reporting to the boss. You think with him around, you can ride Park's line and rig? Pack for some nice countryside gig. Or switch careers. Yeah, that. I'll spread word far and wide who tried rigging."

Dong-wook paled staring at Jeong. Mouth opened, then head dropped.

Jeong got it. Demoted once after a screw-up, barely back—now permanent exile. Plus rigging rumors? No network would touch him.

Not his problem.

'So that's why?'

Myeongjeon sipped coffee, scrolling his phone. The guy's antics made no sense before, but this article clicked it all into place. The initial beef, the sudden compliance after a night out—all instigated. Yet they played dumb and ousted him. Even Myeongjeon felt the revenge burn.

"Nooo, Suyeon!!"

"Yah, my ears. Quieter."

"Focus!!"

Hyeona slammed the cafe table. Myeongjeon frowned: "People are staring."

Hyeona glared, apoplectic.

"We gotta decide what to do on the trip...! Just sit around?"

"No need to plan every detail. Go, have fun~ snap pics, rest sore feet. Done."

"Then stay home and..."

Iseo's words shot Hyeona's head up in fury, then she faceplanted like a puppet with cut strings. Iseo laughed it off—ahaha!—patting her.

Myeongjeon thought: Anyway, it's over. Audition, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all the drama. Back to daily life.

A bit different now, but yeah.