Lee Cheonghyeon’s rap style was quintessentially K-pop.
No profanity, no harsh or jarring tones—ducking in and out for a moment when the melody shifted.
He didn’t try to bulldoze his presence; he aimed to blend with the music naturally.
At least, the Lee Cheonghyeon I knew had never rapped in any other style.
He didn’t drop mixtapes like other idol rappers, nor did he try on radically different styles.
And now that same Lee Cheonghyeon was rapping in an all-black slim-fit jumpsuit with a harness and even a muzzle?
Honestly, I couldn’t picture it. I was worried he’d gone for one of those off-putting concepts an idol shouldn’t touch.
‘Did I pay too little attention because he’s good at everything?’
I couldn’t drag a kid off the stage once he was already up there. My misgivings deepened.
“Rip the stage,” Lee Cheonghyeon had said—his words kept looping in my ears like a last will and testament.
While I sat there on pins and needles, the stage, indifferent as ever, began.
Red smoke billowed up from black LED walls.
From the very front of the stage, crawling up from the floor, Lee Cheonghyeon lifted his head, red eyes gleaming.
"Can you hear it? That sound when I bark
Bowwow, wow!"
The instant I heard a line, I got the concept.
Cerberus.
The three-headed watchdog guarding the gates of the underworld ruled by Hades.
‘Did they pick Cerberus because there are three of them right now?’
I couldn’t tell if it was simple or just intuitive. More than that, this wasn’t ripping the stage—it was barking on it.
"I only lock onto one
They call me a mongrel
Can’t help it—that’s how I was born"
Compared to the impact of the outward performance, the lyrics had some mania to them but sounded like standard rap.
"Give up and change your mind
Escape? Screw that
That’s how this game is"
...Okay, no, that was a bit strong.
If they’d given that part to the underage Lee Cheonghyeon, I would’ve stormed the stage mid-broadcast and thrown myself down on it.
Then I would’ve screamed for them to perform over my body. Thankfully, we avoided that disaster.
The bigger issue was that the overlapping concept and those blunt, simple lyrics... pointed at a very specific place.
Not just any myth—an animal from the same Greek myth—and a vow to maul “just one.”
To anyone listening, that meant he planned to bite only Parte’s team.
And with two opponent teams, he was aiming at just one?
In other words, you could take it as declaring the remaining team beneath notice. A two-birds-one-stone moment played out before my eyes.
Is this the world of rap? Is this what competition... is?
Thrown into hip-hop for the first time, I floundered.
Leaving me to my confusion, Lee Cheonghyeon tore off the muzzle.
"Don’t yap with your snout—use your mouth
I’m the only one who can bark
Bullshit is mine
Don’t you dare the stage—
I’m the only one who can rip it
Wowed everyone!"
The bars blasted from the wall speakers fast and unmistakably clean.
Between us—frozen by Cheonghyeon’s shocking transformation—cheers erupted from both side greenrooms.
Someone next door kept shouting, “He tore it up!”
It did look like he tore something—maybe a sack of hot peppers, not the stage.
My ears burned. For the first time since becoming an idol, I was scared to watch the monitor.
"How was I?!"
"I thought you were born and raised in the underworld."
"Ha!"
Cheonghyeon was deeply moved by my line.
"You were seriously cool, Cheonghyeon. You shocked me."
Jeong Seongbin grinned and heaped praise.
That’s how you compliment someone. I should take notes.
Maybe he felt properly unburdened—Cheonghyeon even went around hugging members one by one.
His body was running hot. Endorphins must’ve been flooding.
Meanwhile, Choi Jeho—who needed to get ready to head out—wore a face cold as ice.
Maybe the threat “if you don’t smile on camera, you’re sleeping in the doorway” was working, because he looked passably docile, but I’ve watched him for years. I could tell.
That bastard wanted to go back to the dorm more than anyone.
He’s not the type to get overshadowed, so if he’s like this...
I found myself looking forward, perversely, to how outrageous a show Allover would put on.
Jeho’s unit went second.
Sticky and Parte had just pulled off a rich partner-dance performance and gotten a strong reaction.
If the previous stage drew focus early with a small number of original members and then wowed the crowd with a swarm of backup dancers and a big formation later, Jeho’s team chose the opposite: fill the stage strictly with members.
And that was not a good choice.
There was no need to wait till the end to judge it. The balance was a mess.
Even within Spark, Jeho is famous for holding your eyes from the moment he gets one hit of spotlight until the stage ends.
What do you think happens if the people beside him can’t carry their weight?
There’s only one answer. The audience sees nothing but Jeho.
Even a dance illiterate like me understands the comments about Jeho’s masterful control of tension and release.
But when he slides to the side and tries to let up, and he still hogs the gaze, how are you supposed to take in the stage as a whole?
When he said he’d just do his job well, I expected something like this.
‘Still... this is rough.’
The atmosphere Cheonghyeon had yanked to a boil sank out of control.
The Spark boys already know Jeho’s skill inside out, so this must feel even more frustrating to them.
At least Jeho returned wearing a refreshed expression after finishing a stage with zero balance.
Rough going performing with them, huh? Don’t worry—you won’t have to see them again.
"Wow, my voice is going to crack...!"
"Drink some water, Cheonghyeon."
As recording dragged on, voices started to go one by one. Cheonghyeon also quenched his throat with the bottle Seongbin handed him.
‘The vocal-stage folks are going to have it rough.’
Right then, Kim Iwol had just stepped out of the greenroom. Cheonghyeon’s gaze drifted to the door without thinking.
"I’m curious what song they picked."
"Same."
Echoing Kang Giyeon, Cheonghyeon claimed an empty chair.
"Anyone hear what Iwol picked?"
He asked, but no one raised a hand.
All that “top secret, top secret,” and for what. The man is a vault.
"Still, I’m excited. He practiced a lot."
Seongbin smiled as he said it.
Of the three Spark members competing in Round 3, Kim Iwol’s practice hours were the longest.
He’d slip in right before dawn, mutter about how great it was that Greenline’s practice rooms were open 24/7, catch a quick nap, then head to UA for solo practice—that was his recent routine.
I wish people would recognize how relentless he is.
Things like that always left Cheonghyeon a bit wistful.
Even if his college-exam score—of all things—ended up proving his grit.
Their chatter about what kind of stage Iwol would put on died down as the vocal position stage began.
First up: Kim Iwol with Verion, framed on the screen.
"Every time I watch the monitor, I notice Iwol stands so upright, doesn’t he?"
"Yeah."
At Cheonghyeon’s comment, Jeho nodded.
Iwol always kept immaculate posture.
They’d lived together for over a year, but none of the members had ever seen him lean on one leg or sit with his legs crossed.
Maybe that’s why he always stood out in a lineup.
No wonder dance teachers harp on opening shoulders and straightening backs, Cheonghyeon thought to himself.
On screen, the four finished a breezy interview with Yuru and got set for the stage.
When the four of them lined up and took handheld mics, a clean white light came up on the LED wall.
At the same time, a backing track everyone in the greenroom had probably heard at least once began to play.
"The wind that’s blowing
Beckons to me
Saying it’s time to set out"
"That’s the song from ‘New World.’"
Kang Giyeon murmured the title of the animation that once defined an era.
Now that he said it, the costumes had that vibe. Realizing late, Cheonghyeon clapped and said, “Right!”
The simple, bouncy drum pattern and rhythm-guitar backing were almost identical to the original.
‘Did they deliberately leave the arrangement nearly untouched?’
The exact opposite approach from Round 2, when they’d boldly rebuilt the song. Cheonghyeon’s upper body leaned forward.
Kim Iwol isn’t the type to slack off because something’s a hassle.
So there had to be a reason for this choice.
And figuring out that answer was both homework and a game for Cheonghyeon.
‘What’s the reason? To spotlight the harmonies? Or...’
Even as he pondered, the song went on.
The parts kept rotating, but nothing grated. The original had a single singer, yet now four people were sharing one song with surprisingly little dissonance.
After Yeoseongchan opened brightly, Kim Iwol carried the rising energy cleanly up to the pre-highlight.
The all-sing-along highlight went to Chas Sehan.
Moon Yeongyu didn’t stand out much in the first verse, but from verse two the harmonies and ad-libs thickened, and he made his presence felt.
In particular, Moon’s ad-libs in the third chorus shone.
But Kim Iwol drew the eye most.
He doesn’t like to step forward, but with fewer vocalists and weaker teammates, you could see him quietly taking this and that part.
"In my heart
I must have a map
A map that leads to dreams
My heart is pulling me
I end up running with no time to stop"
On top of that, the firm yet gentle tone of his voice had a knack for conjuring the OSTs of that era.
Even when he wasn’t front and center, just laying harmonies brought the original’s feel back to life.
At the same time, Cheonghyeon realized why Iwol had staged it close to the original—and why, for all the rough circumstances, he’d willingly shouldered extra lines.
For the public who don’t want their memories altered.
In other words, respecting the feeling the original gave.
Match the story to the kind of cartoon we would’ve watched back then—costumes and song alike.
Focus not on showing something new, but on stirring the nostalgia that’s passed.
Keep the delivery and tone close to the original, crafting the least alien sound.
So listeners can «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» reminisce without interruption.
‘If you’re shoring up for a big high note inside and the arrangement suddenly swerves, it’s maddening.’
Cheonghyeon snickered to himself.
If they’d just copied the original, people could’ve dismissed it as coin-karaoke tier.
But they didn’t stop there—Kim Iwol’s team magnified the original’s strengths.
When the original paired with flashy animation, the four stacked harmonies to the max to enrich the music; when that electric-guitar solo so many call the heart-pounding moment hit, they pushed the guitar louder than the original for extra impact.
"Let me dive in
To a heart-pounding
Brand-new world"
Within that, the members sang as plainly as the original—or plainer.
Not trying to overlay anything on the memory, just serving as a conduit to summon it.
"He really does a stage that’s just like him."
Cheonghyeon propped his chin and smiled.
