Code 4's Stage

The judges' standards turned out to be far colder than I'd expected. As if on cue, they unleashed a barrage of harsh critiques.

"Honestly, I found it a bit frustrating."

Song In-hyuk sighed.

"This was supposed to be a stage showing what you do best. Is that really so hard?"

"Why does everyone overestimate their own abilities like this?"

The mood in the waiting seats grew heavier by the minute. Well, fair enough — it would soon be our turn, and nobody could afford to sit there grinning.

Only from the single-digit Codes onward did the praise start trickling in.

"Next up, the stage from Code 6."

In truth, this was the moment everyone had truly been waiting for.

Go Jaeseong appeared to have overhauled his stage entirely since the mid-term evaluation.

"The arrangement is far more polished than it was at the mid-terms."

"Thank you!"

Of course, the actual production quality was still on par with pre-regression Go Jaeseong's mixtapes.

Before the regression, talent at that level probably would have been enough.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case anymore.

"Did you re-choreograph this yourself?"

"Yes, that's right!"

Maybe that was why he seemed to have poured extra effort into the choreography.

"Wow, this is incomparably better than the mid-term performance."

"I studied the feedback you all gave me and worked hard on it."

He had built his stage around choreography entirely different from both the mid-term evaluation and his pre-regression performances.

What the hell….

It was well-made. No — to be precise—

This is way too well-made.

The structure was clean, and the signature moves leapt straight into the eye.

Especially the hook section. That move where he cut in half a beat late on the downbeat was practically lifted from the style that had been trending before my regression.

Am I imagining things?

But even through my eyes — eyes that despised Go Jaeseong — it looked good, so a positive evaluation was only natural.

Katin, the dance trainer in particular, showered him with rave reviews.

"It reminds me of choreography from a famous overseas dance crew. That's how polished this was."

"I'd almost like to try dancing it myself."

"Then why don't you dance it with me right now!"

Down to that audacious closing remark, Go Jaeseong's evaluation wrapped up in a warm, cozy atmosphere.

Was he always ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that good?

It didn't feel like simple improvement — the texture was different somehow.

So my joining this survival show made Go Jaeseong grow too? The uneasy question circled in my head.

Next came Code 5. Choi Woonjo's stage was like a hip-hop festival brought to life — fitting for a guy who had already secured his spot in the debut zone.

And then, at last, it was my turn.

"Code 4, please come up to the stage."

Perfunctory applause, and gazes that watched me like a test.

I climbed the steps slowly.

"Hoo…."

One deep breath.

"Code 4 trainee, please introduce the stage you've prepared."

I adjusted my grip on the mic.

"Yes. The stage I've prepared this time is a self-composed song, and the title is 'Yuseongwoo.'"

Jack P, one of the judges, spoke up.

"Your training period is short, and this kind of stage is a first for you. How does it feel?"

My mouth went slightly dry.

"More than I expected—"

I smiled honestly.

"the stage is really big."

A voice anyone would recognize as nervous.

"The mid-term might've been a fluke."

"No matter how good he is, if he has stage fright it all goes out the window."

And beneath it, the low murmur of the judges' conversation.

"Still—"

I gripped the mic tighter.

"I'll show you everything I prepared, with no regrets."

Kang Sejun nodded.

"Then the Code 4 stage will now begin. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Code, on."

The lights came up slowly.

Beneath a blinding white spotlight stood a boy holding a single guitar.

A loose checkered shirt, tousled dyed-black hair, rough horn-rimmed glasses.

Far too ordinary an outfit for a stage. No — frankly, it looked downright country.

And that was exactly what made him stand out.

Like the other trainees, his name was revealed for the first time since the show began.

Three syllables floating on the screen. Jack P's mouth curved up without him realizing — he couldn't tell whether the word was the song's title or the trainee's name.

Did he intend even this?

If the staging was calculated too, his instincts were no joke.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, the guitar strings rang out softly.

Ting—

One clear, light note. The studio fell silent in an instant.

The first line.

The boy's voice trembled, ever so slightly.

"Huh?"

The air on the judges' panel shifted.

The fingertips gripping the guitar quivered faintly. His breathing was uneven, too.

The particular awkwardness of someone standing on a big stage for the first time.

"Oh dear."

Jack P's eyes narrowed. This was a different animal from the mid-term evaluation.

He's nervous.

But something was off.

The raw, unfiltered sound of his breath was strangely not grating at all.

Why?

Jack P's fingers tapped slowly against the table.

Tap.

……Tap.

His head, primed to judge the performance, had somewhere along the way started following the song instead.

The boy closed his eyes.

"…Ah."

Only then did Jack P understand — the reason Yuseongwoo's clumsiness didn't grate on the eye.

This song — no, this entire stage — was one that was never meant to be perfect from the start.

It had to be anxious, unpolished, trembling.

Only then did the song become real.

Little by little, things began to change.

The frozen shoulders loosened, and his gaze stopped dropping to the floor.

Strength steadily gathered in the fingertips strumming the guitar.

The boy smiled for the first time.

Looks like he's finally found his groove.

No — he was growing. Right now, this very moment, in front of the audience.

Power flooded into the voice that had been shaking.

Jack P found himself leaning forward without meaning to.

And a face that had begun to enjoy the stage.

Holy….

Jack P swallowed a short curse.

Stages like this were dangerous.

It wasn't a performance that overwhelmed through technical mastery. And yet, somehow, it reached in and touched something emotional. At some point, nobody on the panel was taking notes anymore — it made you forget you were supposed to be evaluating at all.

The guitar strumming quickened. The light in the boy's eyes came alive with it.

Even the camera director instinctively zoomed in — wanting to capture that expression more closely.

A soaring, open high note.

So this is what he was capable of?

At the mid-terms, they had been stunned by his composing skill; now his vocals were beginning to press against their ears.

Not just lyrics — a promise made to the people who would someday become his fans.

And Jack P suddenly realized.

The most terrifying thing about this stage wasn't his composing, nor his vocals.

It was that it made you want to root for the boy in front of you.

That was the greatest talent of all.

The climax burst forth like a dam breaking.

It was almost an illusion — as if a real meteor shower were raining down onto the stage.

Because the beginning had been so awkward, this moment shone all the brighter.

"Waaaah—"

The cheers they had been holding back erupted.

And at the very center of it, Yuseongwoo was laughing as he gasped for breath. It was the first time he'd smiled so widely you could see the inside of his mouth, and even Jack P let out a small, involuntary sigh of admiration.

The stage lights met his braces and glinted, exquisite.

"…Pfft."

Even that was dazzlingly, brilliantly radiant.

Honestly, at first I'd planned to fake a reasonable amount of nervousness. But the moment I stepped onto the stage, I understood.

Acting? Yeah, right—

Pretend to tremble, pretend to be clumsy, to make the stage more immersive? What a joke.

All that rehearsing alone in front of a mirror was almost laughable in retrospect.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My heart pounded like mad.

Whoa, this is no joke—

The fingertips holding the guitar were shaking uncontrollably.

And why were there so damn many cameras?

Forget finding the red recording light — just keeping my eyes open was a miracle in itself.

The instant the first line left my mouth, I knew.

I'm screwed….

Acting? I didn't even have the luxury to try.

It was as if I'd been thrown back to those days when my noona ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dragged me up onto stages. Not bursting into tears right then and there would count as a victory.

But strangely, the moment that memory surfaced, my breathing eased a little.

Right. Might as well show them everything.

If I trembled, then let me tremble; if I was scared, then let me be scared.

No more putting on an act.

Third-grader Yuseongwoo, sobbing his eyes out while still nailing the choreography, and somehow seeing it through to the ending pose — that kid was still living inside me.

From the moment I made up my mind, my body began to loosen, bit by bit.

The instant I stopped chasing the cameras, the cameras started chasing me.

Then a sensation I had never once felt before swept through me.

Wow….

Suddenly I understood why idols were so obsessed with the stage.

That electric thrill of every single pair of eyes in the room fixed on me and me alone, even for just a few minutes.

It was a feeling you could never, ever experience anywhere but on stage.

By the time I came back to myself, Kang Sejun was speaking.

"The way you transformed as the song went on was impressive."

The other judges nodded along.

The direction I'd originally calculated had, in the end, landed exactly where I'd aimed.

Though I didn't know I'd shake that badly either.

I swallowed a bitter laugh.

"I thought the song was good at the mid-terms, but the finished version is on another level."

"Thank you!"

This time, Park Jae-hoon picked up his mic.

"You sing far better than I expected?"

Those words were especially welcome to hear.

The truth was, being good at producing alone wasn't enough to make the debut group.

At the end of the day, an idol is a player on the stage.

"You were pretty nervous in the beginning, right?"

"…Yes."

"But—"

He chuckled.

"that nervousness actually suited the song perfectly. So this is… hard to put into words, honestly."

"Thank you!"

"You have a natural instinct for this. It even feels like you've seen a lot of great performances."

Pros really are pros.

"I loved going to concerts."

"A good hobby to have."

And then, the final one. CEO Song In-hyuk raised his mic.

"Good stage. Fitting for this mission's theme — it was the stage that showed us who you are better than anyone else's."

An even, measured voice. But what came next was what mattered.

"However."

As expected, it wasn't over.

"The parts the other judges praised will be the last of their kind on this stage."

It sounded like a kind of warning.

"You didn't dance at all this time. Deliberate, I assume?"

"Yes. I felt it wasn't yet strong enough to count as one of my strengths."

The corner of Song In-hyuk's mouth lifted.

"Good judgment. But from the next mission on, you'll have to dance. And sing."

"Yes."

"And when that time comes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠today's clumsiness stops being an asset and becomes a liability."

The pressure crashed down on me head-on. And yet, strangely, it wasn't frightening so much as it was fun.

It had been the same in my producer days.

Someone's doubt — and the thrill of the moment you flip it on its head with skill.

I knew that sensation intimately. And God, it had been a long time since my heart raced like this.

"And the image of an even more complete idol — trainee Yuseongwoo—"

Song In-hyuk closed his judging sheet.

Then smiled, ever so faintly.

"I'll be looking forward to it."

I tried to hold it in, but the corner of my mouth crept upward anyway.

"Yes!"

I answered with a grin.

"Please look forward to it a lot."

As I walked back to my seat, my back burned.

Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder — the trainees were all staring at me.

Their eyes were nothing like they'd been minutes ago.

Not the way you look at a rookie. Not the way you look at a trainee who got lucky once.

These were the eyes of men looking at a rival come to steal their spot in the debut group.