Falling Through the Ranks
“Yes! At last, the day has finally come.”
July 9th. The ranking announcement that would decide the final stage had arrived. At the center of the stage extending from the tiered seating, the MC began the broadcast. The faces of the contestants gathered in the studio had gone stiff with tension.
“One last reminder: any contestant who fails to place within the top twenty-one will be eliminated, unless they hold a Pass.”
There were forty-one people seated now, but no one could say how many would still be here once the ranking ceremony was over.
Twenty-five at most.
It felt like a lifetime ago that nearly a hundred people had packed this same stage.
“To make position switching easier, this ranking will be announced in ascending order.”
At the MC’s gesture, the monitor displayed the rosters for Alpha, Beta, and Gamma teams. Names written in gray.
“In the order you are called, you may either lock in your current position or move to a new team and a new position. Priority goes to whoever is called first, and once a name is set, it cannot be undone—so please! Choose carefully.”
Ascending order meant they would start from first place. With no intention of dragging things out, the MC called a name without hesitation.
“In first place—Lee Han-hee! Congratulations! Please choose your position!”
A ripple of reaction followed—that he had somehow held onto first place despite the whole Lee Han-hee Gate controversy. As I lifted the microphone, a writer waved her hands frantically. The MC immediately followed up.
“For reference, we’ll be conducting separate interviews later for your thoughts on this ranking! Contestants, please keep that in mind!”
Reading the room, it was clear they wanted us to move straight through without acceptance speeches right now.
“Thank you so much. I’ll keep my position as is.”
“Yes! Contestant Lee Han-hee keeps his spot as Alpha Team’s main vocal!”
The cameras were rolling, but the whole process was far more streamlined than usual.
I handed the microphone back and sat down. On the monitor, my name was rewritten in a deep blue. That must have been the confirmation mark.
“All right, next up—second place.”
Keeping up the brisk pace, they moved right along. Second place. I’d assumed it would be Lee Jae-jin or Kwon Do-ha again. It wasn’t.
“Contestant Han Sang-jin! Congratulations!”
Han Sang-jin rose from his seat looking startled, eyes wider than usual, and bowed. There was a slight tremor in the voice that offered his thanks.
“Truly… thank you.”
Second place. The forum reactions I’d seen last night had definitely been explosive. His ranking, which had been climbing little by little all this time, had seized the opportunity and taken flight.
“I’ll keep my position.”
Han Sang-jin’s position was main dancer 2. He could have switched to main dancer 1 if he’d wanted, but main dancer 1 was a rap position rather than vocal, which carried risk. Sang-jin handled both rap and vocals decently, but his vocals were stronger.
After Han Sang-jin locked in his existing position, the announcements continued—third place Kwon Do-ha, fourth place Song A-seong, fifth place Lee Jae-jin. Song A-seong had climbed one spot; Lee Jae-jin had dropped two. Jae-jin didn’t seem particularly bothered. I remembered him saying that as long as he could debut, the ranking didn’t matter much.
“Yes, in sixth place—contestant Han Min-hyeok! Will you be changing your position?”
“No, I’ll keep mine too.”
Han Min-hyeok’s ranking had risen as well; he was now settled comfortably in the upper tier. At this point, it was fair to call it debut territory. Sixth place, and still no changes to the team compositions.
Looking at the rankings as they came out, I felt a measure of relief—Jang Seon-woo’s little games didn’t seem to have left as much of a mark as I’d feared. If anything, it felt like the results of the third-round stages had carried far more weight.
Through seventh place An Do-hyeon, everyone kept their positions. Then, at eighth, Woo Cheong-hee’s name was called.
“Thank you!”
Unlike previous rankings, Woo Cheong-hee’s name had been called ahead of Lee Won-yeong’s. From ninth to eighth—Cheong-hee’s ranking had been climbing steadily too.
Still not enough to be certain of a debut spot, though.
If he truly wanted to debut, Woo Cheong-hee needed to land a real hit in the finals. In that sense, this moment might have been the most critical turning point of all.
After a brief hesitation, Woo Cheong-hee set his expression firm and changed his position.
Lead vocal 1—Lee Won-yeong’s seat. A position with a little more weight than the one Cheong-hee had originally held.
“….”
Lee Won-yeong’s gray name was erased, and Woo Cheong-hee’s was rewritten over it in blue. Then, ninth place.
“In ninth place—contestant Cha Ji-heon. Is there a position you’d like?”
“I…”
From tenth to ninth. Looking disappointed that he hadn’t climbed as much as he’d hoped, Cha Ji-heon opened his mouth.
“I’ll switch to Gamma Team main vocal.”
From Alpha Team to Gamma Team; from lead to main. Kim Yo-han’s name was wiped from Gamma Team, and Cha Ji-heon’s was carved in its place.
Had he intended to switch from the start? Thinking about how he’d sometimes gone looking for other practice rooms, it seemed he’d prepared for this to some degree.
From what I’d seen during practice, Cha Ji-heon’s speed at picking up choreography was genuinely impressive. I’d heard he’d been a trainee for a long time, but catching every point almost on the spot was pure talent.
At that pace, he might have been practicing both—maybe even all three—over the past week.
We were standing at the end. Right now, everyone needed to make strategic, selfish choices.
From Cha Ji-heon’s perspective, better to be the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon. When he’d been on the same team as Kwon Do-ha and Lee Jae-jin last round, his presence had ultimately been buried.
He’d want to avoid a similar result in the final, too.
Once Cha Ji-heon’s position change was complete, tenth-place Kim Seong-min kept his position. Then the next name called was eleventh-place Kim Yo-han.
Kim Yo-han looked deep in thought.
“I…”
As a main vocal, Kim Yo-han’s options were essentially fixed. Every other team’s main vocal position was already filled.
“I’ll go to Gamma Team main vocal 2.”
“….”
Since Kim Yo-han and Seo U-ri had been holding Gamma Team main vocal 1 and 2, Cha Ji-heon’s move into Gamma had effectively pushed Seo U-ri out. Coincidentally, the very next name was Seo U-ri’s.
“Twelfth place—contestant Seo U-ri. Which position will you choose?”
Seo U-ri’s ranking had risen from before, and yet he had still been pushed out. Swallowing a sigh, he spoke.
“Alpha Team, lead dancer.”
From Gamma Team to Alpha Team. The position Seo U-ri chose was the one Woo Cheong-hee had originally held. Only one seat remained on Alpha Team. Through it all, I had been watching Lee Won-yeong, whose face had gone deathly pale. He had originally been eighth, but his name still hadn’t been called for a long time after that.
“Yes, next—seventeenth place is contestant Yu Sang-hyeon! Congratulations!”
Yu Sang-hyeon, who had been climbing steadily in his own right, pulled off a triumph this time—jumping a full six places from his previous rank. Playing scene-stealer on the Rose Team must have paid off.
“Alpha Team, lead vocal 2.”
Yu Sang-hyeon made no effort to hide his delight. After all, he had just claimed Alpha Team’s final position. But one person’s joy was another’s despair.
“Next, eighteenth place—contestant Lee Won-yeong.”
“….”
Like a fish gasping above water, Lee Won-yeong’s mouth opened and closed before his head dropped low. From eighth to eighteenth. A clean break. It was the kind of freefall that felt like going off a cliff.
“I…”
In a trembling voice, Lee Won-yeong tried to speak and couldn’t quite find the rest of the words. Alpha Team’s roster had just been completely filled; if he chose Alpha Team now, he would have to enter as a sub.
“I…”
He panted a little, then forced the words out through a voice that had gone tight and blocked. The frustration on his face was something no one could rush.
“Beta Team, lead vocal 2, please.”
His eyes were dead black, heavy with exhaustion.
“All right, that concludes the ranking announcement.”
Alpha Team: Lee Han-hee, Han Sang-jin, Kwon Do-ha, Lee Jae-jin, Woo Cheong-hee, Seo U-ri, Yu Sang-hyeon.
Beta Team: Song A-seong, Han Min-hyeok, Kim Seong-min, Min Ho-su, Park Beom-gyu, Lee Won-yeong, Im Yun-seong.
Gamma Team: An Do-hyeon, Cha Ji-heon, Kim Yo-han, An Jae-seo, Im Su-han, Nam Gyu-hyeok, Seo Ji-ho.
As if nothing would change now, the gray letters vanished, and a roster glowing in blue rose onto the monitor.
And with the twenty-one-name list complete, what came next was elimination—the disposition of the remaining twenty whose names had not been called.
“Anyone among you who holds a Pass, please choose a team and move over.”
At the MC’s request, two people shifted seats. From Sunflower—the first-place team of the third round—Yu Min-seong and Jo Min-jun. They joined Alpha Team and Beta Team respectively. That left only eighteen.
“Among those of you who hold two or more Passes, if anyone wishes to transfer a Pass, please come forward.”
I took a step. The moment my foot left the floor, I could feel desperate gazes locking onto me.
Among them were people like Choi An-seong and Lee Tae-su, who had been on my team during To Myself—but I already knew who I would give the Pass to, so I fixed my eyes carefully ahead.
“I’ll transfer it to contestant Nam Hye-seong.”
Nam Hye-seong, who had been clutching his trembling hands together, snapped his head up. Then he came running, and I didn’t dodge—I caught him. With that solid weight against me, I had to plant my center carefully.
“Hwaaaaaah—”
Hanging off me like a koala with his whole body, Nam Hye-seong burst into tears. I patted his back as he buried his face and swallowed sobs, until the MC asked that we return to our seats once the transfer was done.
I carried Nam Hye-seong back to Alpha Team, and hands reached out from every direction. The hair of the boy still buried in my shoulder was instantly ruffled into a complete mess.
“Kheung…”
Nam Hye-seong, who still couldn’t quite lift his head, squirmed and made a wet, sniffling sound. We were definitely going to need a change of clothes.
I lightly smoothed out his wrecked hair. His face was covered in tear tracks.
I didn’t think he’d cry this hard.
I’d given him signals several times; I’d assumed he would have expected this.
“You didn’t know I was going to transfer it to you?”
“No, hyung… you take care of so many people…”
Still sniffling, Nam Hye-seong scrubbed at his eyes and slid down to the floor. Apparently deciding he’d freeloaded enough cuteness for one day, his face had gone bright red.
“Let’s do well.”
“Yes…”
While other people transferred Passes or exchanged them for special stage entry rights, I took a wet wipe someone handed me and passed it to Nam Hye-seong. He scrubbed his face diligently. He looked exactly like a hamster washing up.
“Yes—with that, the formations for Alpha Team, Beta Team, and Gamma Team are complete.”
Before I knew it, everything had been sorted out, and MC Cheon Tae-rim began the closing remarks.
“Those of you who have advanced to the final—there’s truly only one step left. So work just a little harder, give it everything you have, and show us your potential.”
“Thank you!”
Lowering the cue cards as if going off script, Cheon Tae-rim met the contestants’ eyes as he spoke, then turned to address the eliminated as well.
“Those of you who were eliminated—this is by no means the end. I hope you will use this program as a springboard to find even greater opportunities in your lives. You’ve all worked so hard.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice. Soft sounds of crying began to spread through the studio.
Elimination. The contestants who would have to leave without ever setting foot on the stage they had practiced for broke into a grief more raw and bitter than at any previous cut.
Turning my head to avoid their eyes, I found Lee Won-yeong, still staring at the floor, covering his face with trembling hands.
“….”
Most of the stories Jang Seon-woo had slowly assembled and spread while his own standing crumbled had been treated online as nothing more than rumors. Even during his live streams, the chat had been full of mockery and ridicule.
So I had expected that the fairness controversy he’d launched would have little real effect on the voting results. That prediction seemed roughly correct—except, apparently, for anything involving Lee Won-yeong.
The difference, of course, came down to whether there was actual evidence or not.
A heavy, dark gloom. It felt as though our eyes had met.