The Tyrant and the Clown
"One last question."
I clapped my hands lightly.
"Any of you have a part you want?"
In answer, nothing but eyes rolling my way. Everyone was just sizing each other up. Not one of them lacked something they wanted to sing—every face simply said they didn't have the nerve to speak first.
No wonder their spirits are completely dead.
I could see why this team had fallen apart before my regression. They'd walked in already convinced they were 'the team that can't win,' and so that was exactly what they became.
The only one to break the silence was Ji Dongseok, hesitantly raising his hand.
"Honestly, I don't care what part I get! But, wait—does that mean you're the leader, Seongwoo?"
"Leader?"
"Deciding who gets which parts is the leader's job, isn't it?"
The three who had kept their mouths shut the whole time chimed in with voices barely above a whisper.
"...I think you could do it, hyung."
"We don't mind either way."
"M-me neither."
Had they already given up? Ironically, the reaction from those three struck me as almost bold.
Aigo, kids—that's a death flag on a survival show.
"Fine. Then I'll be the leader."
I'd come to this team intending to lead anyway, so this actually worked out. With members this passive, it was better for everyone that someone took the reins.
As long as they don't go getting contrary over nothing.
They were still miles better than a bunch of prideful brats with attitude problems.
I played the song right away.
"You all know the song, right?"
All four nodded.
Our mission track, Going to Meet You Is Always Sunny, was a hit song by WithUs, the male idol group that practically defined the 'refreshing' concept. It was also famous for its crisp sound and the way its styling showcased each member's individuality on stage.
"Then let's have Dongseok and Gihyeon try this part together."
The intro has to hook the listeners' ears right away, so vocal timbre is everything there—and those two had exactly the distinctive colors the part needed. The difference between them was that Ji Dongseok's voice was 'refreshingly powerful,' while Kwon Gihyeon's was 'surprisingly adaptable.'
A 'surprisingly adaptable' timbre is one that seems unremarkable at first, yet somehow blends seamlessly into any song.
"I'll go first!"
Ji Dongseok belted out the intro without a trace of hesitation.
Considering stage presence, Dongseok might actually be the better pick.
It was refreshing, sure—but a little too aggressive for an opening line.
Kwon Gihyeon, on the other hand, shrunk into himself from the start.
"...I'm not really good at singing, though."
"It's fine. Just give it a try."
After much agonizing, Kwon Gihyeon finally opened his mouth.
[Hey you!
What a strange coincidence—
On the road to meet you,
a blue breeze always blows]
...I'm making him sing this.
It would be a waste to let that voice rot. Clear and light, it seeped naturally into the melody—the perfect voice for setting the song's mood from the very first line.
They used one line of this and threw the rest away?
Before my regression, Kwon Gihyeon always ended up with only the shortest of parts.
And then he became the first one eliminated.
"Let's give the intro to Gihyeon."
Kwon Gihyeon's eyes went wide.
"Um, hyung, maybe you should think it over one more—"
"No? I think it should be you."
Thankfully, Ji Dongseok was the type to accept results gracefully.
"Oh! Gihyeon-buddy—congrats! You've got a really nice voice, you know that? Why'd you never sing before?"
Kwon Gihyeon waved his hands in protest.
"D-don't make fun of me."
"Alright—next part. Let's assign it."
I moved on immediately. Say any more and he'd just retreat back into his shell.
"Wooju and Junwoo, you two try this section."
"But I'm a rapper?"
"Then you should have said you wanted the rap part, Wooju."
...
Song Wooju just pouted his lips slightly, having nothing to say. What are you going to do about it, sulking because you don't like what you heard?
...Wait a second.
A sudden realization sent a chill down my spine.
This is exactly what Seong-ah would do!
Yu Seong-ah's inner tyrant had installed itself in my head without me even noticing.
I gathered myself and tossed out a carrot.
"You know how rappers who are really good usually sing well too, right?"
Song Wooju lifted his head slightly.
"That's why so many rappers turn out to be great singers. Honestly, with your level, I think you'd do fine at singing too."
"..."
"Oh, not quite at that level? Weird. It sounded really good to my ear—"
"...I'll try it."
Song Wooju coughed for no reason at all.
Knew I'd hook him. Boys that age fold the instant you poke their competitive streak.
Sung Junwoo's breathing was a little shaky, but his pitch was spot-on. If he could keep that stability while dancing, it'd be a massive advantage.
When his turn came, Song Wooju loosened up his throat.
So he does want to do well, after all.
[Hey you!
Even on gray, overcast days,
one smile from you
makes me fold my umbrella again]
"Whoa!"
This time it wasn't me—Ji Dongseok was the one gasping in admiration.
"Hey, Wooju! Forget rapping—be a vocalist! You're good at this!"
"I still like rap better, though."
"Ooooh. Your preference, your choice, respected."
Ji Dongseok played his role perfectly. His over-the-top reactions were exactly what the team needed to lift the mood.
Which made the two of us a tyrant-and-clown duo, basically.
Rappers usually come in one of two flavors: those who are genuinely great at rap, and those who pick it because they're mediocre at both dancing and singing. Song Wooju had probably started as the latter. He'd wanted to stand out in the rap lane, where competition was thinner, and ride it to the debut group. Unfortunately, he simply had no gift for rap.
He's better off competing as a vocalist.
Song Wooju's shoulders were standing noticeably straighter than before.
There we go.
Praise really does change people.
"I'll take the high notes here."
"..."
"Anyone actually want it?"
All four heads shook at once. Vigorously.
The sight of them reminded me, unmistakably, of myself reflexively agreeing with whatever Yu Seong-ah proposed.
Noona, you doing okay out there? I ended up becoming a tyrant myself.
Just then, Sung Junwoo started glancing at me intently. He was probably wondering what part he was going to get.
"Junwoo, let's have you try a rap here."
"Huh?"
The sudden spike in his voice made Ji Dongseok cover his ears.
"Whoa, my eardrums almost burst."
Sung Junwoo bit his lip and asked again.
"You mean Wooju, not me, right?"
"No? Your names are similar, sure, but I definitely called you."
"It's just, I've never actually rapped before..."
Song Wooju's expression had stiffened awkwardly too.
"Wooju hyung could take the rap, you know."
"Just try it once."
Sorry, but this is payback. Who told you to keep your mouth shut for a full hour? This is the karma of someone who gave up his freedom voluntarily.
"Come on, Junwoo. Give it a shot~ We only found out today that Wooju can sing too, remember?"
Crafty little punk.
From now on, I'd have to forgive even Dongseok's nonsense at least twice.
Sung Junwoo fidgeted, then finally surrendered.
Though it still took him ages to actually get the words out. If I'd stalled like that in front of Yu Seong-ah, I'd have been slapped sideways on the spot.
See, I'm different from Seong-ah. I don't use violence.
"Ssss—"
Apparently having finally steeled himself, Sung Junwoo—who had spent a long while just inhaling—began to rap.
[One Two, follow my step
Want to be your lover]
I knew it the moment I heard him.
That tone is gold.
Crisp enunciation, real sense of rhythm.
This was a case I'd seen countless times in my producer days—talent trapped inside a position the agency assigned them, never getting the chance to use what they actually had.
Sung Junwoo could absolutely sing. But that voice shone even brighter in rap.
Not rapping with a tone like that? That's a waste of talent. Rap skills can be trained, but tone is something you're born with.
I reached my conclusion immediately.
"Perfect. You and Wooju have completely different rap tones, so if you split the rap parts together, you'll complement each other really well."
Song Wooju's eyes went round.
"I-I get a part too?"
"Of course."
Short compared to Sung Junwoo's, sure—but Song Wooju accepted it more readily than I'd expected. He seemed more satisfied that he still got to rap at all than concerned about the size of his part.
The mood began to thaw, little by little.
Minutes ago everyone had worn 'let's just get this over with' faces; now they were actually poring over their own lyric sheets.
I didn't let the momentum slip. I marked out each person's parts on the lyric sheets with a pen.
"Alright, parts are settled. Let's start practicing."
Kwon Gihyeon, who had been quietly studying his lyric sheet, spoke up carefully.
"...Are you okay, hyung?"
"With what?"
Not sure what he meant, I asked back—and his voice grew a little louder.
"It's just... you barely have any parts, hyung."
At that, I looked down at my lyric sheet. He was right—mine was by far the smallest.
Practically nothing but belting the high notes in the chorus.
Ji Dongseok piled on with his usual theatrics.
"He's right! You're basically just the high-note shuttle. You okay with that?"
Thanks, Dongseok. You said it perfectly. Because of you, I distributed the parts exactly the way I wanted—I feel so reassured.
My role on this stage was 'high-note shuttle.' The real highlight of this song was the ten-second high note that detonated at the climax. So I planned to win on quality, not quantity.
Besides, dragging out long stretches of mid-to-low register—the very range where my current skills were shaky—was far more dangerous.
My breath control was unstable, and if I had to dance on top of that, the odds of wavering were high.
High notes were a different story.
Short and powerful, minimal movement—yet they could command every eye in the room.
It's the decisive killing blow, in other words.
And right now, that was the most efficient strategy I had.
"You think having lots of parts is what matters?"
I shrugged.
"First, the team has to win."
If it had been an hour ago, they'd have brushed the words off. This time, their expressions were different.
Kwon Gihyeon glanced at me guiltily; Sung Junwoo's lips twitched, then pressed shut.
Apologetic faces, all of them.
Good.
Exactly the reaction I'd wanted. There'd be no complaints over part assignments from here on.
"Everyone good with this?"
Four heads nodded in unison. The atmosphere had completely transformed.
Song Wooju still wore a puzzled look, but there was nothing I could do about that. I'm no mind reader—how am I supposed to know if you don't say anything? If you have an opinion, learn to voice it.
...Man, that really did sound just like Seong-ah.
Parts assigned, it was time to step down from the tyrant's throne.
"Shall we start on the choreography now?"
Thankfully, the moment dancing came up, everyone got a bit more engaged. They began reconstructing the original choreography from memory, each to the best of their ability.
The problem was—
It's boring.
There's no duller kind of stage than one that simply reproduces familiar choreography.
"Since it's frustrating, I'll run ahead"—I reflected, anew, just how arrogant those words had been in my past life.
Choreography was never my domain.
"What do you say we try some different choreography?"
All four of them looked at me at once.
"I'll rearrange the song from top to bottom myself. In exchange, let's build some fresh choreography—you four come up with something new."
Sung Junwoo asked cautiously.
"Hyung, can you keep up with us?"
What's that supposed to mean?
While I'm shattering the glass with the high notes, you four are the ones who need to tear the stage apart.