Outside, Chaos and Destruction
“…Hyung, hyung—so from here I stretch my leg out like this, take the one-two steps, then go like this and this, right?”
I nodded at Nam Hye-seong’s question and demonstrated the move myself.
“Yeah. From here… try saying it: I, at the end of the road, what, is there—break it up like that. Then connect it?”
“Like this?”
“Good!”
It was choreography that started with a kicking stretch of the leg, then held the center of gravity while the pelvis rolled with the waist slightly arched, the upper body locked steady so the singing would stay clean, and handwork layered on top. Because the section demanded stacked harmonies and razor-sharp synchronized formation at the same time, the beat had to land dead-on—which meant we were repeating this stretch alone dozens of times a day.
When Nam Hye-seong landed it smoothly and held out his palm, I gave him a light high-five.
Practice was still running deep into the night, same as always, and yet Nam Hye-seong was bouncing around like he had batteries to spare. Kid’s got energy, I’ll give him that.
As the trait trial for I’m the Producer (U+) advanced step by careful step, the first team mission was stacking progress right alongside it. With the stage less than two days away, the other members kept breaking the beat into smaller and smaller pieces and checking every motion; my job was mostly watching traffic and formations, flagging anything off in timing or placement.
I barely know the terminology, so I’ve been filling the gaps with my body.
Explaining things in words never came easily, so I ended up demonstrating everything myself over and over—and somewhere along the way my own stats had climbed hard. These days the angles in my dancing actually felt sharp.
Nothing’s ever one-way, huh.
From the outside it might look like I was the only one helping, but I was getting plenty of help myself.
“We’re almost there, so let’s push through and finish strong!”
“Yes~.”
“Fighting, everyone! In that spirit—one more run!”
“Okay~.”
Practice clicked forward with no one dropping out, and a pleased smile rose on its own. If we kept going like this, we could build a stage worth watching.
And so, while the contestants stayed locked inside the Idol Survival Lodging, grinding their craft raw for the first team mission, the world outside after Episode 3 of Idol Survival aired was nothing but chaos and destruction.
Friday, April 29th, 7 p.m. A perfectly ordinary fan named Hee-jeong, waiting for Episode 3 of Idol Survival, drifted into the community and clicked open the Episode 3 fireboard. People were still pouring admiration all over the production team’s ruthless cut-and-run after they’d dropped last week’s closing bomb named Kwon Do-ha.
Even in the short stretch of waiting for Episode 3, the board couldn’t hide its anticipation. Hee-jeong whispered a desperate prayer for Lee Han-hee’s screen time against the Idol Survival logo, then locked her eyes on the program as it began.
After the judges’ awed praise for Kwon Do-ha’s stage rolled past, the TOP 100—who had finally clawed through two-hundred-to-one odds—were introduced. From the very first shot, Hee-jeong’s eyes nearly left her skull.
It opened cold on a profile shoot and interview, but the face of the contestant in a clean black suit, fussing with his collar, was unreal. What the hell. Why is he that handsome.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Han Sang-jin.”
A textbook handsome man with clean, decisive lines. Hee-jeong ignored the comments stampeding in and sank into the screen. That T-zone. What is going on. Sharp enough to match my future.
“My younger siblings love idols so much I ended up getting interested too. When I told them I was going on this show, they were thrilled all over again.”
That solid, almost plain face shifted into a shy smile. The gap punched a scream-like sound out of somewhere deep in Hee-jeong’s chest.
“Huuuuuh…”
So good. Uncontrollably good. In crude terms, she got wrecked on the spot. A domestic, quiet, gentle pretty boy. Is this a unicorn? She could already see her future self licking the monitor in full stan mode, and she had to press a hand over her startled heart. There was still so much left to watch.
And when the flood of faces truly started pouring, Hee-jeong wiped away tears she hadn’t even noticed gathering. So this is what I’ve been living so hard for.
“Hello. I’m Kwon Do-ha.”
She’d thought his image was frozen at seventeen. Seeing Kwon Do-ha again after four years, you could plant him as a landmark specimen of “grew up well.” Keep going exactly like that.
“It’s been a while. I’ve really missed all of you.”
Hee-jeong, who had once loved Kwon Do-ha fiercely, felt a thin wash of nostalgia and a strange guilt at the same time. His shoulders were broader, he was much taller—like a boy she’d known forever had suddenly become a man.
“It’s really good to see you again.”
Some things hadn’t changed, though. The smile was the same. Looking at that gentle smile, Hee-jeong nodded. Whatever his circumstances had been, she was glad to see him too. Kwon Do-ha as an idol—in an internet culture that loved tearing people down, of course some people cursed the choice—but Hee-jeong wanted to send him support.
After that, a few more profile shoots and tightly cut interviews flickered past. Hee-jeong was already sorting out the standouts. Whoever debuted with Lee Han-hee later would need faces that actually fit together.
Fortunately the contestants’ looks were strong across the board, and genuine standouts kept turning up without trying. Still, this one was the knockout.
“Hi, I’m Han Min-hyeok. Just a regular college student.”
Hair set with atmosphere, deep double eyelids and a slightly droopy gaze. Long lean body, big pretty hands. A classic languid pretty-boy—no, pretty-person—walked on and the community ignited. That overwhelming vibe that makes otaku hearts detonate! The feeling of eyes meeting through the screen made Hee-jeong swallow without meaning to.
“Oh my god.”
Presence that burned even through the camera. Her throat went dry. He’s a civilian, not a model?
“It says you’re enrolled at XX University…”
“Yep~ Business Administration at XX Uni.”
And he’s smart, too. Atmosphere, speech, quirks—there was more than enough material to stan from every angle.
“Ah, I shouldn’t diversify my investments like this…”
Hee-jeong shook her head hard without realizing. Stop here. Anything past this is unsustainable.
“Hello, I’m Song A-seong. I’m a rapper.”
But the very next slot—a dry-faced kid in school-uniform vibes throwing up a V, cross-cut with the pretty smile from the photo shoot—and the vow to stop here sailed clean off the map. Stop here? What’s that. How do you even do that.
“Face genius, no notes.”
She was still staring in blank admiration when the pretty features and long clean lines started feeling familiar next to Han Min-hyeok from a moment ago—and then it detonated.
“Oh, Hyuk-hyung? He’s my cousin.”
“Eureka!”
Hee-jeong shot to her feet without thinking. Cousins. No wonder they looked like the same art style.
Cousins! The community screamed in pure joy. Brothers like that left no option but praise.
And then, riding that exact high, the long-awaited Lee Han-hee appeared. Hee-jeong, already burning at maximum, roared with joy so hard that sheer overexcitement made her hurl the remote. The crash snapped her back to reality—but the damage was already done.
Hee-jeong tore her eyes from the cracked screen and logged into the OTT. She was about to hit Episode 3 of Idol Survival on K-plus when her finger drifted sideways and tapped Idol Survival Plus instead. The moment she saw the list, she couldn’t hide the smile climbing her face. Sixty minutes. Still so much left to watch.
She still had to finish Episode 3 first, though, so she queued Idol Survival Episode 3. On OTT she could freeze the frame as long as she wanted, which meant she could stare at Lee Han-hee’s face for hours if she chose—but she decided to put that luxury off a little. Live-adjacent viewing with the fireboard still had its own fun.
Skipping ahead a bit, Hee-jeong found the contestants practicing the second theme song of Idol Survival. The choreographer demoing BLOSSOM moved like a threat.
The camera closed in on faces going paper-white at choreography far harder than Sunlight, then lit up the contestants practicing day and night. The scrape of shoe soles kept landing, and in the next cut the first evaluation began.
“Nice that they didn’t shove a bunch of pointless direction in here.”
Most audition shows would pack a scene like this with forced interviews, music, and explanatory staging; simply dropping the real practice footage made the intensity hit harder.
The evaluation was brutal, though.
“Ho-hyeon. Nobody here isn’t working hard. Just working hard isn’t enough—we’re people who have to produce results.”
A thoroughly shredded contestant sniffling faded into the background as the camera stayed with the ones still grinding—taking lessons, sweating through every motion, sometimes collapsing asleep on the practice-room floor.
Hee-jeong’s chest went tight for no clear reason. The contestants on screen suddenly looked so young.
No music-and-subtitle plaster job—just raw feeling, carried cleanly to what it meant to say. Sincerity toward being an idol.
“This is dangerous.”
Somehow even watching made Hee-jeong want to get sincere herself. And if that happened, real life was in danger. She was already overdrawing from reality as it was. Thinking about buying a new TV for the cracked one made tears blur the front of her eyes.
“Alright—based on this evaluation, the contestants’ music-show formation will be set. Who will take center front? The result—!”
The uneasy drag of the clock made Hee-jeong glance at the time—and she startled. When had it gotten so late? The episode was almost over.
“This Sunday! You can check it on the music show, so please look forward to it! And now—!”
“No! There’s still so much you didn’t show! What about the room assignments?!”
The MC’s cold goodbye and the trailer that followed left Hee-jeong boiling. There had still been so much from last week’s teaser that never aired, and it was already over!
Music-show footage mixed with the MC explaining the first team mission—beeped out—while short clips flashed past. Some contestant singing trot, someone dancing something bizarre; she had no idea what kind of chaos that was.
She was still seething that the room-assignment content promised last week had been cut when, after the trailer she thought was finished, a cookie clip got tacked on like a movie mid-credits scene. A contestant dangling from a high rope before dropping limp—Lee Won-yeong—and below him…
“Han-hee?”
Confirming Lee Han-hee’s face, Hee-jeong went rigid. And under the frozen frame, text rolled:
Curious about what happens next? Join K-plus and watch the Idol Survival contestants’ 1st Room Assignment Boat Sports Festival right now!
Hee-jeong rushed to open Idol Survival Plus, hands shaking. No. What is this. Are they insane? Is this real?
And after sitting without moving through the entire sixty-minute broadcast, Hee-jeong finally couldn’t hold it in.
“Is this for real, you maniacs at the network?!”
The production team was going to need a taste of something spicy.
And so, with no idea that complaint emails and phone calls were already flooding the network, the contestants kept stacking practice on top of practice—until at last the day broke. The first team mission rival match. The day of the showdown.