Walking in Their Shoes (1)
In front of a monitor set up off to one side of the filming floor, Kang PD cocked his head and scratched at the rough stubble on his jaw — the kind you get when overtime has eaten every free minute you might have used to shave.
"Why the hell do those two look so warm and fuzzy?"
On the screen, Han Jiyoung and Yoo Sia were wrapped in each other's arms, murmuring comfort. It looked for all the world like a moving scene from a youth drama.
The assistant PD carefully chimed in from beside him.
"Right? Looks like they completely cleared up whatever misunderstanding they had after this training camp."
Kang PD's brow tightened.
"This is a problem."
He already had the broad editorial architecture for episodes three and four locked in his head. He had been carefully elevating Yoo Sia as the venomous, empty-headed villain from Round Two, building a razor-edged rivalry against the overwhelming talent that was Han Jiyoung. The plan was to let that conflict peak, settle it on stage, and watch Sia get thoroughly crushed — the most visceral, ratings-bait narrative money could buy.
But if the two of them hugged it out like that during a rival match, every scrap of conflict he had spent weeks building would float off into the air.
Kang PD clicked his tongue.
"How's the training-camp edit coming?"
The assistant PD scratched the back of his head with a helpless look.
"Well… there just isn't much spicy footage we can actually put on air…"
Kang PD let out a rough, headache-laden sigh.
The training-camp mission. The truth was, the whole thing had been slotted in as pure window dressing so they could deliver the product placement that came with free venue and catering sponsorships. This was a music show at its core, so the camp sequences had been thrown together like a side story. He had never planned to give them real runtime — twenty or thirty minutes of light sketch material at most, then fill the rest with other contestants' stages and the judges' critiques.
But with things the way they were now, that plan was dead.
Kang PD folded his arms.
"Well, the picture changed, but we can just paint over it. We're re-editing."
No matter how brilliant a performance was, if two people who had been snarling at each other yesterday suddenly clung together and cried today, the audience would only be confused. A sudden reconciliation and a hug. He would have to rebuild the entire narrative so viewers fully understood what psychological shift had happened between Han Jiyoung and Yoo Sia.
Then something flickered through his mind — a half-second of footage.
"Hey. That interview from the last wild-card round. Didn't Yoo Sia say something about Han Jiyoung?"
The assistant PD blinked, then slapped his knee.
"Oh — yes! She said she wanted to learn from her, wanted to be recognized by her, something like that."
Kang PD dragged both hands down his face in a dry wash. Exhaustion pressed in, but at the same time he felt a producer's instinct snap sharp and electric.
"Good. Let's start by looking at that."
The ten defeated contestants left the stage. Once their backs had fully vanished, only the ten remaining winners stood in a single line at center stage under a cascade of brilliant lights.
My gaze went straight to one person.
Kang Minhyuk, the musical actor. The man who had beaten Naeun and earned this spot fair and square.
He was incredible.
I thought of the overwhelming vocal power and stage command that had stolen the audience's hearts in a single stroke. Losing Naeun still sat sour in my gut, but his performance had been flawless.
I turned my head and let my eyes drift lightly over the other survivors' faces. Han Doyun, the one who had worked a miracle with country music. Lee Seojun from the R&B team with that polished tone. Every face was tight with the same mix of relief at having survived and the sharp, venomous pressure of the stage still ahead.
So what are they going to do with these ten of us now?
Tension hung thick inside the studio. All ten contestants' eyes locked onto the MC's mouth as he held the microphone. Everyone was waiting for him to speak.
He broke the silence in that clear, ringing voice of his.
"To the ten contestants who have survived Round Three — congratulations from the bottom of our hearts!"
A roar rose up. Applause thundered from the seats and the judges' panel alike. We dipped our heads in a light bow of thanks.
When the clapping finally settled, the MC lifted his cue sheet to chest height again, his expression turning grave.
"The ten of you who remain…"
He let the pause stretch, looking at each of us on stage one by one.
"…will advance to the final round."
"…!"
A sudden murmur broke out among the contestants standing on either side of me.
"The final…?"
Someone's dazed whisper slipped out.
Final. Exactly what the word said — the last stage. With ten of us left, I had assumed there would be another semi-final cut or something similar. Instead, they were sending us straight into the championship.
So this is really the end?
Something small and tight fluttered in my chest. But the solemn silence did not last long.
"…Of course," the MC added with that trademark mischievous smile, "I mean the semi-final."
At that sly little line, shoulders that had been wound tight collapsed all around me. Hollow sighs and dry laughs leaked out from every direction.
"God, my heart—"
"I really thought that was it."
The MC casually adjusted his grip on the mic and continued.
"If today's stages were the Top Ten deciding battle, then the next round — the semi-final — will once again be a one-versus-one death match, just like before."
"…I'm sorry? One-versus-one again?"
"We just climbed out of a blood-drying death match and now you're cutting more people?"
Shocked reactions erupted among the contestants.
These network people are ruthless. Truly ruthless.
I clicked my tongue inwardly as well. Clearly they meant to put only five of the ten of us on the real final stage.
The MC raised a hand toward the restless room, calling for quiet.
"Settle down, everyone. The match format is the same one-on-one structure as previous rounds… but this semi-final comes with a special additional element."
Additional element. Every contestant's gaze snapped to the MC's mouth. I narrowed my eyes and waited for the next words.
"Until now, you have either reinterpreted existing masterpieces or performed original songs of your own. The semi-final is different."
His voice climbed to a peak.
"In this round, the judges themselves will become your producers and work with you on brand-new songs. And the tracks performed on that stage will be officially released as digital singles at the same time as the broadcast!"
New song releases. The chance to receive tracks from top-tier artists and producers. For a heartbeat, the contestants' eyes flashed with raw hunger.
But the joy was short-lived.
"There is a rule, however. Two contestants will be matched with a single judge and prepare one song together."
"…One song?"
"Yes. This is not a duet with divided parts. Both of you will rehearse the same part of the same song, each completing it in your own way. And on the day of the semi-final stage…"
The corner of the MC's mouth curled upward like a devil's.
"…right before you go on, the judge-producer will hand the microphone to only one of you — the person who will actually take the stage. The contestant who does not receive the mic will be eliminated on the spot without singing a single bar."
"…!!"
"Are they insane? Eliminated on the day of the show?"
"If you're going to cut someone, cut them before we practice! We kill ourselves finishing a whole song and then they snatch it away right before we walk on?!"
"What kind of soul-crushing garbage is this…!"
These network people… they crossed the line a long time ago.
In the middle of that atmosphere of pure shock, a strange sense of wrongness brushed through my mind. I tilted my head.
Wait a second.
There were ten of us left, including me. If two people matched with one judge to perform one song, that meant five songs. Which meant five producers.
But the judges currently sitting in front of me were Kim Taesung, Kang Soyoung, Terry Oh, and Park Jinwoo.
Only four.
I quietly raised my hand and cut across the MC's words.
"Excuse me."
At my calm voice, every eye in the studio swung toward me.
"The rule seems a little off. If two people pair with one judge, that should make five teams."
I jerked my chin toward the judges' panel.
"But we're short one judge for that, aren't we? The numbers don't add up."
My sharp observation finally made the angry contestants realize the headcount was wrong; puzzled looks replaced the fury. The MC, far from flustered, smiled as if he had been waiting for exactly this question.
"An extremely sharp point, Han Jiyoung! You're right. There are currently four judges in their seats."
He spun and pointed toward the massive LED gate sealed shut at the back of the stage.
"Which is why we have invited… for this semi-final specially… the fifth and final producer! Come on out!"
A deep, floor-shaking boom rolled through the stage as the giant LED doors slowly parted left and right. Blinding white light poured through. A man's silhouette stepped out through the dense fog with an unhurried gait.
Neatly combed white hair. Sharp eyes that still burned bright inside a deeply lined face.
"…!!"
The moment the lights fully revealed him, the contestants and even the four seated judges all rose to their feet in the same stunned motion. I stared at him with my own eyes wide.
In the Korean music industry, not knowing this man was practically an act of treason. A living legend. A hit-song factory called the number one in the country, every track he touched lining up on the charts.
The white-haired middle-aged man came to a stop in front of us, an easy smile on his face.