Kang Giyeon’s performance won Spark the sixth slot.
The glasses we ordered sat perfectly on Park Juu, and Mr. Jeong Seongjun’s clothes had such a fine finish that they were ideal for styling.
‘How on earth are you supposed to secure a newsboy cap?’
‘You’d need, like, twenty bobby pins.’
Aside from the part where Jeong Seongbin got forced into wearing the newsboy cap and nearly had his hair ripped out by my hands.
That was a new kind of TMI. If Spark had come onstage in hats, maybe it would’ve made sense.
Even Yu Hansu’s barrage of texts finally quieted down, so we prepped in real peace.
Of course, not everything went smoothly.
Spark’s greatest treasure, Lee Cheonghyeon’s face, had lost its glow to fatigue.
‘Cheonghyeon, I need about twice your talent this time.’
‘Why?’
‘We need sampling.’
The concept for this stage was a nerd scientist lost in the night sky.
Styling, too, was planned to evoke a research obsessive, doggedly digging into the beauty of the galaxy and stars.
The snag lay in the image of a “scholar who quietly immerses himself in research.”
Unlike a lively rookie idol or a hot-blooded athlete, this leaned closer to a static vibe.
But going full mad scientist would stray from the plan and drain the youthfulness, so we decided to raise the musical polish instead.
‘Sampling? From what song?’
‘You get to decide.’
‘Huh?’
‘Classical is your specialty.’
We’d sample classical music.
The Hellas track we chose to cover, “Starlight,” is a ballad B-side, a song that feels like whispering love under the night sky.
It isn’t flashy, but the melody is good and the lyrics decent, so it’s quite well-known for a B-side.
My goal was to layer on musicality that would amplify a sense of classical beauty, an almost obsessive precision, and a dreamlike atmosphere. If the sampling landed, we could catch three rabbits at once.
I don’t know classical, but Lee Cheonghyeon does. The guy once lived on piano alone.
He didn’t switch genres because he hated classical either. All the more reason not to hesitate.
‘You know the plan and the concept. The cover song’s set. Do you need anything else?’
‘No, I just thought you’d already picked what to sample. You hate variables.’
‘You’re the arranger. You know best. Whatever you choose will be the best choice.’
What did Lee Cheonghyeon say to that? I can’t remember.
Anyway, from the very start of prep he threw himself into the work.
Thanks to that, his face was a total funeral mask. I told him to keep that face in shape.
No matter how handsome you are, with life in you you’re a sunshine prince; drawn and gaunt, you’re a tragic beauty—but not like that. If only the song and choreo are beautiful and the face isn’t, what’s the point?
I shoved a glucose candy into Lee Cheonghyeon’s hand.
And under my breath I chanted a magic spell.
Become beautiful... please.
“Oh, Sticky are going East Asian too!”
Watching Sticky’s set being recorded, Jeong Seongbin reacted. On screen, Sticky opened the intro with a flourish of fans.
That made this the third East Asian–style stage today. Concepts ranged from a fight for the throne to sword dances by martial officials. I guess on survival shows, hanbok (traditional Korean attire) is practically the default.
Parte’s stage was excellent today too.
They all came out in hanbok embroidered with gold, delivering tight action acting and group choreography, the kind of charisma that made your jaw drop.
Maybe he got a decent share of the parts—Han Gaun’s vocal lines landed exactly where they should.
The memory of holding Song Minil back under the Han River bridge didn’t even come to mind.
And those swords were really real. The way they threw blue steel in the stage lights looked great.
Right. If you’re going to perform, do it like that.
I admired it inside, but kept my voice calm.
“When you strip it down, we’re East Asian retro too.”
“I’m not so sure. At this point it’s practically steampunk.”
Kang Giyeon didn’t agree. Still, it all suited them, so fine.
And we can’t help it. We’re not military officials—we’re civil officials.
“Sticky’s stage started?! I want to see it too!”
Lee Cheonghyeon, getting a touch-up at the end of the waiting room, yelled and ran over.
His face was glowing.
I mean, literally glowing.
“What happened to your face?”
On that pale skin, glitter sparkled like scattered gems.
To sharpen the impression he even put in colored contacts, turning him downright otherworldly. Good job, magic glucose candy.
Still, it’s odd. We’re both wearing the same sparkly colored contacts—why do I look like a snake’s eye while he looks like California sunshine?
Fresh as a just-picked orange, Lee Cheonghyeon framed his face with his hands like a flower and said:
“Isn’t the glitter insane? Today Cheonghyeon’s face concept is Diamond Mine!”
“Hand over the mining rights. I’ll burn it all.”
“Knew you’d say that, so I set aside an exclusive license just for you, boss.”
“Good.”
From afar, Choi Jeho wore a look that said, You two sure are having fun. Coming from a guy in suspender shorts, the impact was nil.
While everyone flaunted their beauty, only Kang Giyeon stayed quiet. With a slightly stiff face, he kept his eyes on Sticky’s stage.
I waited for Sticky to finish, then set my hand on his shoulder. I pressed lightly, kneading his shoulder, and he flinched.
“Don’t worry. We can do this.”
“......”
“As long as I don’t misstep mid-stage and tumble off the front.”
“That would be a massive accident, yeah......”
Kang Giyeon let out a helpless snort.
But I meant it.
Barring a disaster on that level, Spark can take first. For real.
Up to the second round, Lee Cheonghyeon worked with gritted teeth.
Because of the mission I, Kim Iwol, dropped the moment the concept was fixed.
‘We need sampling.’
Original song: ballad. Arrangement direction: light dance. What to express: pure scholarly zeal and rapture. Means: classical.
Everything was clear, but progress refused to move.
A few candidates came to mind, but none hit home. Every piece fell a little short.
He couldn’t see how to arrange any of them.
The “interpretation” of a piece as he knew it was to be free yet never stray from the score.
But now he was about to chop a piece into measures, even notes, and paste them here and there. It felt less like a challenge and more like breaking something.
Maybe this hyung trusted him too much. He thought that a lot.
At the same time, he remembered a family that didn’t trust him at all.
If you love music, do classical, they’d said—willing to compromise only that far.
So for a few years he played piano with joy.
He immersed himself; he savored every moment. He was happy.
As his head grew and his horizons widened, the music within his reach multiplied.
There were songs beyond classical, and some were no worse than the piano pieces he performed—some were more addictive.
The world kept getting bigger.
To his eyes, music was like the sea: endlessly broad and mysterious.
He liked music in the literal sense. All music.
Playing instruments, singing, laying rap over a beat, or just listening in full—every bit of it delighted him.
But to his parents, what mattered was what kind of audience he faced and what kind of music he performed before them.
In that instant, a shipping lane was set across his sea.
Every day at set hours, he piloted a luxury yacht that threw deck parties, tracing the same loop alone. Until the sea lit by spotlights turned black with night.
The day he got off that boat against heavy opposition, he thought it would take a long time before he could return to the sea.
Until one day his roommate hyung announced he was hiring him as a composition machine.
Back then, Kim Iwol even snatched away the map he’d been clutching like a lingering attachment and said:
‘Is it wrong to expect things from someone young and smart?’
It was such a strange thing to hear. His family had always asked how long he planned to keep making stupid choices.
Kim Iwol wasn’t gentle like his parents. Cheonghyeon couldn’t board a luxury yacht or pick only the calm waters.
All he got was a raft that seemed likely to sink ten meters out, and a rough oar whittled by Kim Iwol.
Looking at that boat, he wondered:
Which sea should I head for?
What am I going to sea for?
I...
And, ridiculously enough,
whenever he tried to think even a little deeply like this,
‘Whatever you choose will be the best choice.’
Kim Iwol would all but shove him to set sail, making it impossible not to head for the water.
So he had no choice but to go. In a small boat, with the help of a small oar.
Beyond handing him a new boat, Kim Iwol did nothing else. All he asked of Cheonghyeon was that Cheonghyeon cross the sea.
So Cheonghyeon decided to raise a flag on his shabby boat.
What kind of music he should make.
What he was writing songs to let people hear.
Wherever he set out, he would always carry the answer that could embrace it all.
From the speakers, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 began to flow.
