Stia Ryu Geon woo awoke, and rehearsals went smoother than ever.
“Then let’s start with this song. Is that okay?”
“We’re grateful for that....”
Without a word of complaint, Ryu Geon woo quickly learned TeSTAR’s newest track and their hits, the members having carefully selected them. He was so proactive—more than merely teaching him the song and choreography—that Keun Sejin was taken aback.
“Hey, hyung. It’s fine if we slow the tempo and rest a bit—we’re on break from touring as soon as we land, anyway!”
“I see.”
But Ryu Geon woo held to his pace. He neither bristled nor let pride get in the way. He asked for exactly what he needed and pressed on with steady, rapid practice.
Hmm.
He didn’t stop there. He even began monitoring original TeSTAR stage videos and various other TeSTAR footage.
“If you need it, I can explain in more detail...!”
“Oh. That’s alright.”
Despite Seon Ah hyun’s nervous offer, he calmly continued reviewing the monitors.
His reason was simple.
“In my memory, this is a song I’ve never done before, so I need to make up for my lack of stage experience this way.”
“.......”
“If necessary, I’ll shamelessly ask more questions.”
“Ah, no...! Please feel free anytime...!”
And sure enough, Stia Ryu Geon woo began to replicate Ryu Geon woo’s original style on the new song almost perfectly....
“They’re almost identical, right?”
“Yeah.”
It took exactly three days—like watching extreme rehabilitation.
That evening.
[Just roll the dice-]
I saw Ryu Geon woo in his room, reviewing stage videos on a large monitor. I turned to Cha Yoo jin, who was raiding the kitchen.
“Have you figured out why he’s like that?”
Cooperating is good, right? Of course it’s convenient for work, and I’d been bracing for disaster, so relief was natural. But was it normal?
Waking up in a changed world and accepting it so quickly?
When I woke as Park Mundae, I tumbled out of bed. I only accepted reality once the status window popped up—I could have died not understanding. Yet he remained calm, even with former TeSTAR members and ex–member Bae Sejin around.
Can a human be like that? No matter their medal count?
This seemed odd. In that situation, I might have held someone hostage to extract blunt truths. Even run-away Cha Yoo jin seemed more typical.
So I asked someone who’d been there.
And got this response.
“Umm... yeah. It’s weird. But I can’t be sure.”
“.......”
Cha Yoo jin only remembered broad events and feelings, not specifics, so he couldn’t analyze the cause. Yet he shrugged, earnest-faced.
[One thing I’m sure of is, I don’t feel like that mysterious hyung is just pretending to cooperate.]
Hmm. I agreed—if he were just faking it, fatigue would eventually show, no matter how hard he practiced. One’s composure comes from stamina; if priorities differ, it shows.
But Stia Ryu Geon woo remained consistent, genuinely preparing his stage part with care.
If so...
I could ask directly. Unlike Stia Cha Yoo jin, he was communicative. And he’d been observing us, so he could sense I meant no harm.
“Give me one.”
“Uhh.”
I grabbed a bag of popcorn Cha Yoo jin had bought, then headed to Ryu Geon woo’s room.
“Hyung.”
“Ah.”
He tore his eyes from the monitor and offered a gentle smile.
“Anything you need to tell me?”
“No, nothing like that.” I perched on the edge and held out popcorn. He seemed surprised but took some without a word. I tossed one in my mouth and chose my tone carefully—light, not too serious.
“I just wondered if we were putting too much pressure on you. It’s okay if you take a break; missing a group activity won’t suddenly cause issues. You can stay comfortable until you adjust.”
“.......”
“If it’s urgent, we could push you, though.”
“Hmm.”
Ryu Geon woo chuckled softly—as if the offer deflated like air. Sure, it was a joke.
‘But it’s genuine.’
He massaged the back of his neck, then offered a faint smile and spoke.
“No, I don’t feel pressured. This group seems to be doing well, so I thought each member should perform at their best.”
“.......”
“After all, I’m part of the group now.”
His words carried an odd sentiment—perhaps he was projecting his old group onto us. Stia had fallen apart, but TeSTAR was thriving and renewing contracts. While Cha Yoo jin felt dissonance, Ryu Geon woo seemed to carry a sense of responsibility for maintaining the status quo.
Hmm.
Despite everything, it was clear he harbored no ill intent. I nodded inwardly.
‘But he might still have motives beyond what he says.’
And since I didn’t know his thoughts exactly, I steered the conversation to ease tension.
“Thank you. And please, drop the honorifics—you’re older than me, after all.”
“Hmm... haha, shall I?”
He paused briefly, then cheerfully switched to casual speech—some habits persist.
‘Right.’
As I prepared to talk about other topics and test his remaining wariness...
“Hyung Mundae, I’m actually older than you.”
I nearly flung my popcorn. When did he sneak up? I turned to Cha Yoo jin, who was staring at my snack.
‘Help yourself.’
He had a full box, so no reason to cling to mine. Once I offered it, he happily munched, and in that moment...
“Older?”
He eyed me curiously.
“Hyung Mundae, you were always an adult.”
“You’re an adult too.”
“You know what I mean! Mentally, Mundae hyung—older than Geon woo hyung. Yep!”
“.......”
Okay.
I’d already summarized my bizarre experiences, so Ryu Geon woo wasn’t shocked. But he wasn’t happily convinced—he was still startled.
‘Why would Cha Yoo jin bring this up... fine.’
I seized the chance for a deeper trust-building reveal.
“Strictly speaking, it’s true, but...”
Massive chance to dissolve his wariness. I rubbed my neck and continued.
“Actually, being your older cousin is probably more important.”
“Huh?”
Family ties trump all, right?
“Back when, my name was Ryu Geon woo. As you might guess, from the Pungsan Ryu clan line. We took a few family trips together—I doubt you remember. Even I only saw the home videos.”
“.......”
No response—strike one?
If he thought I was lying, I’d lose him. Then...
He spoke slowly.
“If you’re older than me... did you wear glasses, read a lot of books?”
“...!”
No way.
“Do you remember?”
Stia Ryu Geon woo creased his brows.
“Well... I can’t recall exactly how you looked or even your name. But I vaguely remember having a cousin like that.”
His face brightened.
“Hearing that, your description must be right.”
“Oh!”
Cha Yoo jin exclaimed, and I was stunned—I hadn’t expected this.
‘He remembers me?’
TeSTAR’s Ryu Geon woo had never needed to recall Ryu Geon woo the cousin—prior to this, I’d blasted the family trip videos on him.
Anyway, to answer clearly:
“Yes. That seems to be me.”
“No way!”
You can stop your astonishment now.
Regardless, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Ryu Geon woo’s face softened into a faint smile.
“Incredible. I never thought I’d meet a cousin like this.”
“Me neither.”
“Haha.”
I realized how tense he’d been until now. His warmth remained, but his gestures grew more relaxed. He really had been on guard.
‘Cannot blame him.’
Meeting strangers—or familiar faces made strange—this must have eased him: a simple, uncomplicated kinship.
“Then should I speak formally from now on? What was it like before?”
“I just mixed formal and casual as I pleased.”
“Hahaha! Great, I’ll do that.”
Thus, the familial bond took hold smoothly.
“Let’s get back to it.”
“Yep!”
From then on, he treated everyone more warmly and soon dropped formalities with all members. And...
“I don’t think we need to postpone this show’s schedule. I can handle it.”
With his firm decision, our participation went ahead as planned.
And so the first stage shoot began.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a survival round right away—it was the promotional pre-release: the self-introduction stage.
The reboot of , newly titled , sparked respectable buzz online despite its lofty name. Thanks to the lineup:
[“Reborn —Grand Cast Reveal... From Daesang Idol to Legendary Vocalist.”]
It was hard to believe this was the remake of a faded show—so many big names had signed on. The production team’s outreach exploded.
“As expected of a prime-time variety—great singer lineup. Can’t wait.”
“MarangDalkom reunion? Must watch live!”
“Honey voice, moodie goddess—hurry up and perform^^♡”
“MBS must be going all out—amazing!”
Even staged comments were overwhelmed by genuine surprise.
Of course, the biggest draw was one name: TeSTAR!
“TeSTAR’s really coming? Is this for real?”
Usually only long-past-their-prime groups enter survival shows—and even then, reluctantly. For a top-tier group, no matter the premise, the risk of devaluing their name outweighs any upside. They become fodder: “the rookie who beat that famous group.” A poisoned chalice.
Producers feel the same—it’s no fun when a big name wins. And since TeSTAR debuted via another network’s survival show, if anyone could rival or surpass TeSTAR’s stage, they’d favor that act.
“If TeSTAR wins here, T-Net > terrestrial will be official—won’t let that happen lol”
“TeSTAR fans already priming for failure—so sad.”
“Why even show up?”
Online, excitement grew—half of it thrilled at the prospect of TeSTAR flopping. But days later, when the opening stage dropped on WeTube:
[“Dreaming a sky-blue dream”]
Viewers sat up in shock.
“Ah lol”
“Of course when they hit the stage”
“They’ll crush it again, OK OK, so confident”
Each act had one minute to perform, passing the baton. TeSTAR closed the opener with a clever remix of their debut and latest songs—short but explosive.
[“Yeah!”]
One minute, no intro, just core beats and wow moments—like a trailer that makes any movie exciting, this rapid-fire stage perfectly fit modern tastes.
“This is it.”
“As you’d expect from a survival group.”
“Can’t wait for TeSTAR; insane.”
Yet there was a downside: TeSTAR was already so well-known that for this show, “doing well” was just baseline. Following an impressive opener, expectations soared further.
Park Mundae and Lee Sejin’s twin home-mas rated it coolly: ‘Better to have been just okay.’ But the die was cast; TeSTAR faced the first survival round under these conditions.
They weren’t without chance: if they wowed so hard that even sky-high expectations were met...
No one could argue with that image. In survival, first impressions matter most. TeSTAR could lock in positive bias from the start—and they knew it.
Immediately after the opener:
“Phew.”
“Great job, everyone~”
Backstage at , I intuited: they nailed it. No need to check reactions.
I wasn’t worried—the only wildcard was Stia Ryu Geon woo, and after days of rehearsals, he looked impeccable. Absolute no-mistake guy.
And he delivered a perfectly synced performance; I almost mistook him for the original Ryu Geon woo.
But...
“He looks zoned out.”
The problem emerged right after stepping offstage: he stood silently, breathing heavily, staring blankly as if in shock.
‘Was it too much after so long?’ It was his first stage since Stia disbanded. I recalled Cha Yoo jin’s similar post-stage glitch.
“You okay?”
I approached with water. He accepted it blankly, then snapped back, grabbed the bottle, and drank deeply.
Gulp gulp. Ahh.
After nearly finishing the bottle:
“Thanks. ...It’s been a while since something like this.”
He smiled brightly and returned behind the monitors, absorbed in watching them.
‘He seems fine.’
I stifled a chuckle. Everything seemed on track—until then.
