The Shadow Turns on Its Master

Go Jaeseong's sabotage didn't end there.

His head came up a half-beat late. A soft, deliberate flick — and then his foot slid forward.

Up to that point, it was a move I already knew. The problem was what came next.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

His body bent once more, fingertips grazing his jaw to carve out a razor-sharp angle.

"……What the hell?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. That move hadn't existed in the mid-term evaluation. He'd taken a choreography that had already earned Iyul lavish praise and pushed it one step further.

What was truly absurd was that even that was stolen. It was the exact move Joo Han had performed as his killing part on the Round 4 stage before my regression — the very move that had cemented his grip on first place.

The two flowed together seamlessly, as if they'd been a single piece of choreography from the very beginning.

"Whoa—"

A gasp rippled through the judges' table.

That—

Could that even be explained away? It was no longer possible to write it off as coincidence. My suspicion that Go Jaeseong was a regressor hardened into certainty all over again.

Bitter as it was, Go Jaeseown soared across that stage. Even if he'd stitched it together from other people's work, the way he'd fused the two into something that looked like his own was shocking enough to me.

So what must it have looked like to everyone else? The moment this aired, his ranking was guaranteed to climb.

Ha—

It seemed the time had come to reassess exactly how I dealt with Go Jaeseong.

The Blooming Team's stage drew strong reviews. Choi Woonjo and Go Jaeseong anchored the center, and the remaining trainees followed their lead without stumbling.

"It was mostly trainee Jaeseong who contributed to the arrangement, correct?"

"Yes!"

The answer sprang out as if he'd been waiting for it.

"Your producing skills keep improving."

"Thank you!!"

The more praise rained down, the more something curdled in my gut. Before my regression, Go Jaeseong had been handed the killing part and still failed to draw a single eye — which made this all the harder to swallow.

"The mid-song fan sweep was much better executed as well."

"Agreed. That part was genuinely incredible."

"Overall, it was a harmonious performance. That said, trainees Choi Woonjo and Go Jaeseong — the other three of you were completely overshadowed."

Song In-hyuk's cutting assessment dragged the mood of the room straight back down.

"Which is all the more disappointing, because they're boys with real potential."

"……Yes, sir."

"Good work."

"Next, Team Stop! — please come up to the stage."

Song Wooju was trembling, and his teammates were trembling even harder.

Oh, dear…….

"Presenting the stage prepared by Team Go! — 'Stop!' Code on—"

Their stage, a reimagining through an old-school lens, could be summed up in a single line: Song Wooju's human victory.

"Trainee Wooju, it seems you've pivoted entirely toward vocals?"

"Th-there was a trainee who raps better than I do, so I focused on singing."

"It was the right choice."

"Thank you!!"

Strangely enough, I felt proud of him.

"Next, the team that chose 'Shadow Play' — please come up to the stage."

Before the afterglow of the previous stage had even faded, it was our turn.

"……We're not going?"

"Y-yeah."

I snapped out of it. "We're going."

My heart slammed against my ribs. At long last, my first stage with Iyul had arrived.

Robin of Wind Boys, the special evaluator, leaned forward in his seat.

This was the team that had nailed the mood of the original demo — a version of the song no one else had ever heard. That alone had raised his expectations sky-high, and now the team was walking onto the stage.

"The styling is completely different too?"

Every one of them appeared with jet-black hair, whether for this stage or by coincidence. Their outfits, split evenly between black and white, caught the eye at a glance.

"You even matched your hair colors?"

"Yes. We thought unifying the hair would suit the stage concept, so we tried it."

"Your mid-term was memorable, so I have especially high expectations."

At Jack P's words, the trainees' expressions stiffened almost imperceptibly. Everyone knew it was a compliment wrapped around a burden.

"What's your team name?"

"Our team name is Black & White."

"Ah, so that's why the outfits—"

We nodded vigorously.

"A brief introduction, please."

Han Sangyoon took the microphone.

"We've reinterpreted Wind Boys' 'Shadow Play' as a story of twisted obsession. We've prepared something with a completely different atmosphere from the original — please look forward to it!"

Robin's eyebrows rose a fraction.

It was, without question, a bold choice.

"Then, please get ready."

The five of us formed a circle and shouted a short round of fighting.

"The 'Shadow Play' stage by Wind Boys begins now — code on."

At Kang Sejun's cue, the lights cut to black.

A low, smothered narration — and then, a violin.

Perhaps because the previous stages had been an unbroken wall of electronic synths, the antique string sound seized the audience's ears whole.

"Oh—"

Robin's eyes drifted half-closed. It was far better than he'd anticipated.

When the lights came back up, only two figures were visible.

What — did the rest of them vanish?

They hadn't. The trainees in black had melted into the darkness like shadows themselves.

"Ha."

A short laugh escaped him. Even the staging alone was entertaining.

Yuseongwoo's voice, carrying the opening, rang through the hall.

The same lyrics as the original. Lines he must have sung hundreds of times — and yet they sounded completely different.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't the cute petulance of the original. It was an inexplicable strangeness, an emotion somewhere on the edge of danger.

The same sentences, but the meaning had shifted.

Good.

The corner of Robin's mouth curled up. The image he'd only heard described in words during the ambush evaluation was now taking vivid shape before his eyes.

His schedule hadn't allowed him to attend the mid-term evaluation, which made the reversal all the more striking to him.

The once-sweet violin melody tore apart, twisting on itself.

Crash—

The judges lifted their heads in unison.

There wasn't a single moment to get bored. Not in the music, not in the choreography — they kept throwing something new at you.

Line-driven choreography locked perfectly into the beat. The trainees in black fell in behind the trainees in white, dancing the same rhythm from oblique angles.

As if the shadows were mimicking their every move.

So this is how they play it?

Before he realized it, Robin's fingers had begun tapping out the beat.

Then — the rhythm broke.

The trainees in black moved first.

"What's going on?"

"They're falling off the beat……"

"Guess the choreography wasn't ready after—"

The judges' table stirred. But their doubts didn't last long.

The very next instant, the positions flipped.

"……!"

The relationship between the two had inverted. The shadow had become the master.

Robin's eyes went wide.

This is……

No explanation was necessary. The staging alone made the blunt metaphor unmistakable — the shadow now ruled its owner.

And at the center of it all stood a single white jacket. Every gaze converged on him, drawn as if by gravity.

Who is that?

Robin heard himself ask Jack P beside him without meaning to.

"What was that kid's name again?"

"Iyul. Kang Iyul."

"……Wow."

The admiration came before anything else.

The choreography was so good it erased the mid-term evaluation from his memory. No — more than the choreography, it was the person who was good.

There are people who draw the eye even while performing the exact same move. Kang Iyul was precisely that kind of performer.

Expressive eyes that wrenched gasps out of you at a stroke, and a dance line as fluid as flowing water. Robin couldn't tear his gaze from a single one of the boy's movements.

"So this is the killing part?"

Robin murmured it without thinking. Then he glanced at the position chart on his evaluation sheet and tilted his head.

Wait, it wasn't?

The trainee assigned the killing part was Jang Hyunjun. A completely different face.

Robin quietly asked the judge beside him.

"Did the killing part already pass?"

"Yes, a moment ago. It was the part where the center trainee was standing."

Ironically, the killing part was the one thing he couldn't remember.

"That kid is really good."

"Iyul's always been skilled, but this concept seems tailor-made for him."

Robin tracked Kang Iyul with interest sharpening in his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes.

And yet, even as his gaze followed Kang Iyul, his ears kept chasing someone else.

Yuseongwoo's vocals, steeped in obsessive, clawing emotion.

That was why the lyrics felt so different despite being identical to the original. He had the youngest, greenest face on that stage, and yet his voice alone felt dangerous.

And it was that razor's edge that was completing this stage.

Main vocal material.

There was no need to doubt it. Perhaps because he'd arranged the song himself, his command of the piece was in a league of its own.

If Kang Iyul had seized the eyes, Yuseongwoo had seized the ears.

But then Robin's gaze narrowed to a slit.

Is dancing just beyond him?

It was undeniably lacking. He'd cleverly plotted his paths across the stage to hide it, but he couldn't hide it from Robin's eyes.

Precise rhythm, clean movement, the steadiness to belt a high note exactly when it was needed. As a main vocal, it was more than enough.

But the way he used his body was fundamentally different. These were not the movements of someone who had ever properly trained in dance.

"Trainee Yuseongwoo is great at everything except the dancing."

"He's only been a trainee a short while, so he's never had the chance to properly learn."

"Honestly, given the timeframe, what he's doing now is a miracle."

If there'd been no potential at all, it wouldn't have been this frustrating. But compared to the other debut-group trainees……

He's clearly falling short.

Robin was an idol himself, which meant he understood better than anyone how brutal the truth could be.

A member who hindered the performance got torn apart by the public for life, main vocal or not. Perhaps because it was the most visibly exposed element, dance carried that tendency even more cruelly than singing.

People would freeze the footage frame by frame for analysis, cut side-by-side comparison videos against the members who danced well, and run them into the ground. In the worst cases, the idol's very sincerity toward the profession got called into question.

Even years later, when their skills had improved, the old footage would be endlessly exhumed.

The past surfaced for a heartbeat, and Robin shook his head.

Such a waste. Such a damn waste.

When the stage ended, Robin was the first to grab the microphone.

"First of all, I really enjoyed the performance."

All five pairs of shoulders straightened at once.

"You've certainly nailed the concept."

"Thank you!"

"Especially me — Kang…… Iyul, was it?"

Kang Iyul, still catching his breath, raised his hand.

"……Yes!"

"You left the deepest impression on me. Especially the choreography during 'Hold me tight-' — that was newly arranged, right?"

"Yes. But—"

"It suited you perfectly."

Kang Iyul smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

After a few more brief comments, Robin turned his gaze to Yuseongwoo at last.

"Trainee Yuseongwoo."

"Yes."

"Your arranging ability is outstanding, and you sing beautifully too? I'd seriously consider poaching you for my own team."

Yuseongwoo's eyes went wide at the compliment, and he bowed.

"But there's one thing."

Gulp.

The sound of someone swallowing traveled straight through the microphone and into Robin's ears.

"Practice dancing like your life depends on it."

"Yes, sir!"

"Truly like your life depends on it—"

The hall went silent.

"That's the only way you'll have no regrets later."

"……Yes, sir!"

"You can't exactly spend your post-debut career hiding behind the mix, can you?"

It was blunt advice brutal enough to crush anyone's spirit, but Robin had no regrets about giving it.

Yuseongwoo was a talent that absolutely had to debut. All the more reason he couldn't afford to look away from what he lacked now.

But soon, he would realize even his worry had been for nothing.

"You're right."

Eyes looking straight up at him, unflinching.

"Being overshadowed — this will be the last time it happens."

No excuses, no wounded protest, no empty humility. In that composed answer there was nothing but conviction.

What is with this kid?

He was clearly smiling — and yet, for the briefest moment, a chill ran down Robin's spine.

He's not ordinary.

That was never the gaze of a nineteen-year-old.