Who Are You?

The first thing I checked when I came to was my braces.

"Hahk...!"

I shoved my fingers into my mouth in a panic. Hard metal. That familiar, foreign sensation.

They're there!

Only then did the breath I'd been holding come rushing out. What if it had all been a dream? What if I woke up and I was back on the day I killed Kang Yiyul?

"Ha..."

I hadn't gone back. Not to that hellish moment.

After panting like that for a long while, my surroundings finally came into focus. A blinding white ceiling. The faint hum of machinery. An IV needle taped into my arm.

"...A hospital?"

My head still felt like it was about to split open, but even that was a relief. It was pain you could only feel because you were alive.

The doctor said it was overwork—went so far as to insist I rest completely for the next several days.

Is there really no item for raising stamina...?

Still lying in bed, I stared at the empty air and murmured, "Item Creation."

The familiar window floated up.

"A watch that restores stamina."

The response was immediate.

"Wow, you are truly petty."

The answer came right back.

Charitably, you could call that a well-executed balance patch. Honestly? It was flat-out cheap.

"Excuse me, I'm about to die here??"

"Wow, that was curt."

It seemed the system could only be used in limited ways, strictly for succeeding as an idol. In the end, there was only one answer.

"Ha..."

I closed my eyes. I'll just have to tough it out with my body.

Fortunately, the recovery ability of a nineteen-year-old exceeded my imagination.

The day I got discharged, Han Sangyoon came running the moment I opened the dorm door.

"Seongwoo!"

His face was noticeably haggard.

"...How did this even happen?"

"I've just been waiting for you to get back."

The reason became clear the second I stepped into the room.

"Whoa—"

I was speechless. The sheer filth of those two wasn't something even Han Sangyoon's tidying could fix easily.

"You must have had a rough time alone, hyung."

"Yeah. A little."

'A little,' my ass. I burst out laughing.

"How's the body? Feeling okay?"

"Yep. Been lying down so much I'm actually getting stiff."

The moment I absently began to mimic the signal song choreography—

"Don't push it."

Han Sangyoon grabbed my wrist at once.

"It's only just beginning."

He had a point. But still...

'I don't have time.'

I had to do everything I could, while I could.

'You say such terrifying things so casually...'

If it had told me about the side effects in the first place, I would have used it in moderation.

...That thing never backs down, not for a single word.

The next day, the trainees gathered in the practice room again. The atmosphere was strangely heavy, likely because of the newly issued code numbers following the signal song shoot. The lower-ranked trainees crossed their arms to hide the numbers pinned to their chests, or pointlessly buttoned up their outer layers.

On a survival show, rank isn't just a number. Attention, screen time, pride—everything gets converted into digits. A place where that number starts to feel like your own worth. That's what a survival show was.

"How was the signal song shoot for everyone?"

Kang Sejun appeared today in blinding form as well. Him showing up as the sole host, with no judges—there was only one reason for that. The first mission announcement.

"It was fun!"

"I was so nervous!"

Kang Sejun smiled warmly, then dropped a bomb as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

"For the record, your conduct on set was also part of the evaluation."

The practice room went dead silent in an instant.

"Unfortunately, it seems a few trainees didn't catch on."

"..."

Gazes shifted all around. Everyone was probably replaying their own behavior in their heads right about now.

"On the other hand, some trainees gave it their all right up to the end."

His gaze landed squarely on me.

"Code 4 trainee—you're feeling better, I hope?"

"Yes...!"

I'd been worried they might cut it from the broadcast, but thankfully not. For better or worse, I'd secured my screen time.

"The reason I've come to you all today is to reveal your first mission."

'Here we go—'

The screen lit up.

The moment the words appeared, the practice room erupted.

"What is this—"

"Like a self-introduction or something?"

"But it says stage, though."

Confused reactions everywhere.

"Anything is fine. Please prepare a stage that explains you best."

That was all the explanation we got.

But the meaning of this mission was anything but simple. Idols don't survive on singing and dancing alone. The real key lay elsewhere.

Self-objectification.

What you're good at, what you're bad at. What image you need to show for people to like you—and what you must hide at all costs. The one who figures that out fastest survives.

In that sense, this mission was designed to split the trainees from the idols. That was why Nyx had made it the first one: they didn't want members who simply swallowed whatever the company fed them; they wanted members who could cook on their own.

Maybe that was why, before my regression, the biggest beneficiary of this mission had been Go Jaeseong.

'The only trainee capable of producing.'

That was the position Go Jaeseong had claimed back then. He'd reworked a beat himself and done his own rap-making, earning extravagant praise from the producer on the judging panel, Jack P. That was the moment it started—the moment Go Jaeseong became a permanent fixture of the debut group.

Of course, by the standards of an actual producer—me—he was hopelessly lacking. But a survival show isn't an absolute evaluation; it's relative. The one holding a weapon nobody else has wins.

So that's why he ate it up. 'Not this time, though. Because I'm here.'

"The preparation period is exactly one week."

Kang Sejun flipped his cue card.

"One word that expresses you best."

"A word...?"

"And a stage that proves it. Please prepare that."

With those words, he left the practice room.

"Isn't that way too abstract for a first mission?"

"What are we even supposed to do—"

It was like handing someone a blank sheet and telling them to paint whatever they wanted. Abstract, sure. But unfortunately, anyone who found this question too vague had already failed on the spot.

"Jaeseong, what are you going to do?"

"I'll produce something and show them."

A relaxed response—the attitude of someone whose answer was already decided.

"Must be nice, not having to think about it."

Go Jaeseong laughed with practiced modesty. 'I need to crush him this round, no matter what.'

The only way to keep Impacter—or more precisely, to keep Kang Yiyul—from becoming Mangdol was for me to take that guy's place and become Impacter myself. And anyway, Yiyul would get through this mission ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without trouble. 'It's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not time for me to step in and change anything for him yet.'

I stole a glance at Yiyul. To my delight, he was practicing his dance—in the spot where the hidden camera was. 'Good. For now, all I need to do is shine myself.'

I settled into a corner of the practice room.

The truth was, the song was already prepared. The very first thing I'd worked on after regressing had been an original track for this mission. Knowing every single round's mission in advance, there was no reason not to prepare.

By the original plan, all I had to do was polish that song a little. It would save time, and I could use the leftover hours for dance practice.

And yet, my hand wouldn't move over the open notebook.

'...No.'

These past few weeks, I'd experienced too much. I'd obtained the Hourglass, practiced myself half to death, even collapsed on a stage. All of it had become inspiration, floating around inside my head.

'I'll make it again.'

A week would be enough. I was confident I could make something better. Without a trace of regret, I wiped the old song from my mind and wrote a single word in my composition notebook.

I stared at that word for a long while.

Every song I'd ever made had always been a song for someone else. Songs that made the singer shine, songs that lit up the stage. I had always stood outside the spotlight—the one who created that light.

But this time, I would stand in the very center of it.

The mere thought made my heart pound.

On the first day, I built the melody from scratch using the composing app on my tablet. Crude sound quality, but who cared. A good song doesn't depend on the instrument anyway.

The melody came quickly. The problem was the lyrics.

I'd write a few lines and erase them. Write again, erase again. Trying to capture a trainee's emotions, every sentence I put down made my breath catch.

Debut. Anxiety. Competition. Impatience.

Just writing the words felt suffocating. 'Too heavy?' My pen stopped.

And in that moment, I thought of Kang Yiyul. How had he endured all this time? I had barely lasted a few weeks before collapsing—and Yiyul had pushed through it for years.

'I expected it, but I didn't know it would be this hard.'

That feeling became the lyrics, just as it was. By the time I'd finished a rough draft, hours had slipped by without me noticing.

Something felt... prickly. I lifted my head, and the trainees were all staring at me.

'What?'

But I figured it out quickly: I was the only one sitting down in this room. Everyone else was drenched in sweat while I was bone dry. When I belatedly turned around, Yiyul tilted his head at me too.

'...Should I at least work out some choreography?'

A pointless cough escaped me, embarrassed for no reason. But I picked up my pen again.

The core of this mission was choice and focus. So I decided to abandon dance for this stage. My dancing was, at best, faithfully following a set choreography—no reason to drag that onto an original-song stage.

What I was good at was more than enough to show.

The moment I was organizing keywords in my notebook—

Tap.

A shadow fell across the paper. 'Yiyul?'

For a second I wondered if this was the historic moment when he'd finally speak to me first—

"The first mission's a lot, isn't it? Hard to know where to start."

...It was Go Jaeseong. He'd approached me with a friendly, amiable smile.

"Want some help?"

I laughed inside. His angle was painfully obvious. 'This bastard wants to play the teacher role.'

One of the time-honored traditions of idol survival: the trainee who takes the teacher role is guaranteed to debut. Chemistry with the student-role trainees aside, it's also the best way to look like a trainee of great character. If the student does well, it becomes "the teacher taught him so well." If the student flops, it becomes "and I even helped him that much..."

'But was this guy ever actually the helping type?'

I racked my memory of the pre-regression survival show. But he had never once been the "teacher" who helped or taught anyone.

'He must have changed because I showed up.'

Come to think of it, there hadn't been a total civilian trainee like me before—a trainee with zero fundamentals who'd clawed his way into Group A through sheer desperation. Even just standing next to me would make good footage.

Somewhat shamelessly—but that role already belonged to our Yiyul.

"You're writing so intently."

"Ah... I'm working on rap-making."

I answered without missing a beat.

"Really? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠So you were the rap position. I didn't know that."

"Yep."

And then I deliberately hesitated.

"But... could you keep it a secret?"

"Why?"

I put on a vaguely sheepish smile.

"...I want to reveal it as a surprise during the mission."

Go Jaeseong smiled along.

"Oh, of course."

The face of a man who absolutely would not keep it. Well, it didn't matter. 'Actually, this works in my favor.' When he believed it was rap and then found out we shared the same position, it'd be all the more satisfying.

I picked up my pen again.