“Mr. Seo Hoyun! Over here, over here.”
“Hello.”
Since rehearsal wasn’t until 12:30 and the actual shoot started at 1:30, I’d holed up in the practice room all morning before heading out at a relaxed pace. As I stepped into the public hall of the national broadcaster, the set looked exactly the same as I remembered.
‘Wow, nothing’s changed.’
The general participants had already arrived and were rehearsing, pressing the buttons as staff instructed.
“To think a star like you would join us, Mr. Seo Hoyun—it’s truly an honor.”
“On the contrary, thank you for inviting me. I heard today’s recording is for the New Year’s special, is that right?”
“Yes. It’s the New Year, and the higher-ups really want us to boost ratings, haha.”
The one speaking was Yang Juri PD, who had become the main producer of David and Goliath a few years ago. I hadn’t met her in person until now, but I had heard about her.
They said she was flexible and kind. Maybe it was because I was a fairly famous guest, but she certainly seemed like a pleasant person.
We chatted lightly as I moved to the waiting room.
“—Normally, we only reveal the guest right before shooting, but somehow word leaked that Mr. Seo Hoyun would be appearing! I thought the homepage was going to explode! Too bad it was already too late.”
“Oh? Applications were closed by then?”
“Yes, the preliminary rounds had already finished. If someone applied and came along with others to wait on-site, then maybe... Sometimes when participants don’t show up, the companions do rock-paper-scissors to pick an extra slot. That’s how a few people sneak in without prelims.”
I knew.
No matter how many backups you select, there are always no-shows.
When David and Goliath first started airing, even with preparation, they sometimes ran short of contestants. Back then, I’d been buried in edit after edit as a junior, but a senior dragged me out to fill a vacant spot.
I’d been so pissed I just wanted to snatch the prize money and run. But the thought of the department head’s nagging and seniors’ glares later made me decide to play along and bow out mid-game.
Even so, I kept solving the questions in my head—and nailed them all easily.
And yet I’d only gotten a measly participation prize of 20,000 won.
‘Not even enough to buy Seo Hojin a proper meal.’
Worse, I’d barely been on camera, but my personal info and photos leaked and floated around SNS for a while.
As I recalled those headaches, Yang Juri’s voice cut back in.
“—You’ve been briefed on the rules, right? As the guest, you’ll play David, challenging the Goliaths, and your goal is to survive as long as possible. Even if you win the final prize as the last one standing, the Goliaths also get their own pool, so you don’t have to worry about hurting your image by taking the money!”
“Haha, do you think I can win?”
“Mm, that I can’t say... but please survive as long as you can! I really want to get a lot of footage.”
Even if her demeanor was soft, a PD was still a PD. Yang Juri’s eyes gleamed like a predator with prey in sight as she wished me luck and left.
After a brief rehearsal, I killed the remaining time in the waiting room, skimming through past questions the staff had given ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ me. Nothing seemed particularly hard. Most of it I already knew.
As I calmly reviewed, someone else was strangely more nervous than me, constantly flashing across my vision.
Ding!
[Mr. Seo Hoyun]
[Oh gosh]
[Aren’t you nervous??]
I didn’t bother replying, but the blue-lit window kept blinking insistently.
[What if you use me as your chance?! I’ll answer whatever I know!]
“Forget it. Just stay quiet.”
At that, the fidgety system window suddenly buzzed with static.
I narrowed my eyes—something felt off. Lines of text appeared in a rush.
[Wait a second, uh...]
[...why...]
[...um...]
[...let’s talk later.]
And then it vanished.
‘What the hell?’
The uneasy feeling lingered, but before I could think further, a staff member came to summon me. Priority was the schedule. I stood up and headed to the set.
Waiting behind the central VCR screen, I soon heard the familiar voice of Gwak Seojeong, long-time MC of David and Goliath, as he finished his opening and called my name.
“Right now, one of the hottest idols! A global star from The Dawn, Mr. Seo Hoyun—please come out!”
The screen split open, revealing a row of cameras and a sea of contestants. With a slightly awkward smile, I stepped forward. The cheers swelled.
“I imagine this is a rare sight for our program. Personally, I often listen to The Dawn’s songs, but I never thought I’d see a member here. What a surprise, what a pleasure.”
Facing the red recording light, I bowed politely.
“It’s an honor. I’ve always enjoyed this show, and I’m grateful to appear.”
“Hahaha, I think our viewers today will get both the satisfaction of correct answers and the joy of entertainment.”
He gave a quick rundown of the rules.
“...Multiple choice questions. When a question appears, the Goliaths choose first within 30 seconds. Then David gets to talk through his answer. David also has two phone-a-friend chances, so use them wisely.”
I half-listened—it was all familiar. But then I felt a sharp sting along my cheek, as if pierced by a needle.
‘What’s that?’
Someone’s gaze—too sharp, too insistent to be simple curiosity.
“We now begin David and Goliath!”
Before I could look around, Gwak Seojeong announced the first question.
“What does the ‘K’ in K-POP stand for? Choices are: 1. Korean, 2. Key, 3. Kogiri.”
The Goliaths locked in their answer. Then my turn came.
“...I’ll choose 1. Korean.”
I quickly pressed it, then glanced at the MC.
“Don’t tell me choice 3 means elephant?”
“Hahaha! Looks like the writers went a bit overboard, didn’t they?”
He laughed at my puzzled expression.
“Our youngest staffer’s nickname is Elephant, he’d have loved that one.”
That wasn’t just overboard—it was lazy.
Still, not bad for me. A perfect chance for member promotion. I curved my eyes and gratefully name-dropped Jung Dajun.
“Then for round 2: what’s another Korean term for a high-angle shot? 1. Bugam, 2.....”
“Answer, 1. Bugam.”
The MC checked with staff and moved on. With round 2 cleared, I decided to unveil one of my pre-planned moves at round 3.
“Alright, round 3.”
[On a standard 88-key piano, how many white keys are there?
1: 48, 2: 52, 3: 53]
The calm voice of Gwak Seojeong read out the question as it appeared on screen.
“Ooh, tough one. Unless you know piano, this isn’t easy. Mr. Seo Hoyun, do you play any instruments?”
“Haha, sadly, my members are more talented than me when it comes to that...”
I scratched my neck, smiling awkwardly.
“May I use a phone-a-friend here?”
“Already?! You’re quick to use it.”
Better to milk airtime anyway.
I gave the production team the nod, and they connected my phone to Kang Ichae.
After a few rings, a deep voice filled the hall.
[Hello?]
“Kang Ichae?”
[What? Seo Hoyun? He’s not here. Maknae needed whipped cream, so he went to the store.]
“...Whipped cream?”
The voice wasn’t Ichae’s at all. It was Kim Sunghyun. A bit off my plan, but it didn’t matter—the question was piano, and they had one at the dorm.
“Alright, Sunghyun, listen, I need—”
[What? Hold up, Dajun! Stop! Don’t put that in!! Seo Hoyun, I’ve got to stop him—hurry up!]
...Right. Dajun’s disasters came first.
Guess I’d be drinking only water tonight.
“Fine, just the question. On a standard 88-key piano—”
[Uwaaaaagh!!!]
“Yaaaagh!!!”
The screams of two boys exploded through the line, shocking even the civilian Goliaths into stunned silence.
“...Haa....”
Every second was precious. I forced myself to breathe calmly, waiting for the chaos to settle.
[Ugh, sorry! So what was it?]
“I need the number of white keys—”
Before I could finish—
[Hyungggg! Hyung, hyunghyunghyung!!! There’s fire shooting from the pan!!]
[Turn it off! No, get out—argh!!]
“...The leftmost white key note and the right—”
[Sniffle! Sunghyun-hyung, I was so scared!!]
[I was scared too...]
“....”
[Oh, Seo Hoyun, sorry. So what were you—]
Click.
The timer hit zero. The call ended. The hall fell dead silent.
“Pfft...”
“.....”
The MC stifled laughter, his lips twitching.
“...ahem, Mr. Seo Hoyun, that concludes your first phone-a-friend.”
“...Hahaha.”
I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them, reminding myself there were cameras everywhere.
“Didn’t you tell your members beforehand? That was basically wasted. Are you alright with that?”
“I just wanted to make sure we turned the gas off before leaving the dorm...”
“Hahaha! In that case, well done. It really did sound dangerous. Unfortunately, time’s up—you have to choose.”
This was editing gold.
Daepaseong wouldn’t care, but WH cared deeply about image. Still, maybe Lee Jihyun could push for the clip.
Exposing the members was part of my goal anyway.
As one part of my brain calculated the edit angles, another solved the problem.
An octave had 7 white keys and 5 black. An 88-key piano spanned 7 full octaves plus 4 extra keys.
That meant at least 49 whites, plus 4 extras, max 53. But the octave layout made 53 impossible—
“...Answer: 2. Fifty-two white keys.”
“Two, 52! May I ask why you chose that?”
I gave a quick explanation. His reaction was embarrassingly exaggerated.
“Wow, Mr. Seo Hoyun. To work all that out so quickly, that’s amazing!”
“Haha, thank you.”
It was obvious he was just padding footage.
No need—I’d handle it myself.
“Answer, 3.”
“I’ll take 1.”
“Three.”
As rounds went on, the questions got harder. But for me, it hardly mattered.
“Uh...”
Even Gwak Seojeong faltered, clearly flustered at how easily I was sweeping through.
‘Too easy.’
If I were PD, I’d be grilling the writers. Once you knew the show’s format, the scope was easy to predict.
“...Mr. Seo Hoyun, you know children’s songs too?!”
Of course. Rotating through different departments, I’d handled projects like that.
“And foreign word orthography too?!”
That came from hours in the edit room, adding captions, cursing under senior editors’ love-filled abuse.
“Even general knowledge?!”
That was just standard for a variety PD.
