02:54 PM
Practice Room 3-B
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The atmosphere felt different.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just…
Quieter.
Nobody said it out loud.
Nobody needed to.
The waiting was over.
Two days of preparation.
Two days of practice.
Two days of pretending they weren’t constantly thinking about the same thing.
Today somebody would take the Killing Part.
Jiwon pushed the door open.
The conversation inside immediately stopped.
“…”
“…”
“…”
Jiwon blinked.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
Minseok stood up.
Walked forward.
Then slowly circled him once.
“What are you doing?”
The basketball-player-level confidence instantly disappeared from Minseok’s face.
“No.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means something happened.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
The dancer pointed at his face.
Again.
For some reason, people had been doing that a lot lately.
“You look expensive.”
“…What?”
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I can.”
Everyone looked toward Doyoung.
The notebook was already open.
Of course it was.
Some things never changed.
“That’s somehow concerning.”
Doyoung ignored him.
Also as expected.
Then he looked at Jiwon.
“The first thing I noticed wasn’t your face.”
Jiwon paused.
“…Okay.”
“It was your posture.”
Silence.
Doyoung tapped the end of his pen.
“You look like you expect people to look at you.”
The room became quiet.
Noticeably quiet.
Because everyone immediately understood what he meant.
Even Jiwon.
Especially Jiwon.
A small smile appeared on Minseok’s face.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing.”
“What thing?”
“You stopped looking like you’re apologizing for existing.”
“…”
“…”
“That sounded nicer in my head.”
Somehow, everyone believed him.
Hyunwoo finally looked up from his phone.
His eyes settled on Jiwon.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then—
“Better.”
Jiwon blinked.
“…That’s it?”
Hyunwoo shrugged.
“That’s a compliment.”
From Hyunwoo…
It probably was.
Minseok looked personally offended.
“That’s all?”
Hyunwoo glanced at him.
“What?”
“That’s your reaction?”
Another pause.
“I spent two days watching him have an existential crisis.”
“…Okay.”
“He comes back looking like the reboot version.”
“…”
“And all you have is ‘better’?”
Hyunwoo thought about it.
Then nodded.
“Good point.”
Minseok straightened.
Finally.
Recognition.
Validation.
Justice.
Then Hyunwoo added:
“Much better.”
The room burst into laughter.
“Wow.”
Minseok looked genuinely wounded.
“Thank you for that extra level of detail.”
“You’re welcome.”
The room laughed.
Even Jiwon.
For a moment, the tension eased.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Then Doyoung closed his notebook.
The sound was soft.
Yet somehow everyone looked over.
A rare achievement.
The analyst adjusted his glasses.
Then looked around the room.
One by one.
The laughter faded.
Naturally.
Because everyone remembered why they were here.
The Killing Part.
Minseok was the first to groan.
“Damn.”
“What?”
Jaehyun asked.
The dancer pointed toward Doyoung.
“He did the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The serious thing.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It means we’re back to reality.”
Unfortunately.
Everyone understood exactly what he meant.
The joking stopped.
The smiles faded.
The room felt quieter again.
Hyunwoo put his phone away.
For the first time since Jiwon arrived.
That alone said enough.
Jaehyun stepped forward.
Immediately, everyone’s attention shifted.
Leader power.
Still unfair.
“We agreed on the process.”
Nobody objected.
There was nothing left to discuss.
The rules had already been decided.
One performance each.
One vote each.
Majority wins.
No arguments afterward.
No complaints.
No second round.
Simple.
Fair.
Terrifying.
Minseok raised a hand.
“I’d like to officially complain before we start.”
“No.”
Jaehyun answered immediately.
“See?
This is oppression.”
“It’s really not.”
“It is in my heart.”
Nobody acknowledged that statement.
Mostly because they had learned from experience.
Jaehyun glanced toward the center position.
Then back at the others.
“Order?”
Minseok immediately pointed at himself.
“Obviously me.”
“Of course.”
Doyoung didn’t even look surprised.
The dancer grinned.
Then walked toward the center.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.
Which he probably had.
Jiwon watched him go.
Then toward Hyunwoo.
Then toward Jaehyun.
Then back to the center.
A familiar blue notification appeared.
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Killing Part Evaluation
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Current Winning Probability
27%
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Audience Focus Estimate
37%
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Primary Rival
Kang Hyunwoo
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Objective
Become The Focus
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Jiwon’s eyes lingered on the final line.
Become the focus.
Not the best singer.
Not the best dancer.
Not the most talented.
The focus.
For some reason…
That felt simpler.
Across the room, Minseok rolled his shoulders.
The music queue was already loaded.
Ready.
Waiting.
Just like the rest of them.
Jaehyun looked around the room one final time.
Making eye contact with everyone.
Then nodded.
“Let’s begin.”
The music started.
And suddenly—
Nobody was joking anymore.
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The music started.
And Lee Minseok moved.
Not danced.
Moved.
Like standing still had never been an option.
The opening beat barely lasted a second before he stepped into it.
Shoulders loose.
Body relaxed.
The familiar groove of the choreography flowed naturally through him.
A step.
A turn.
A quick shift of weight.
Nothing looked forced.
Nothing looked rehearsed.
Yet every movement carried more energy than the choreography actually required.
Jiwon immediately understood the problem.
Minseok wasn’t trying to fit inside the performance.
The performance was trying to keep up with him.
The verse continued.
His arms cut through the air sharply before relaxing a moment later.
His body followed the rhythm effortlessly.
Every bounce of the shoulders.
Every shift of the hips.
Every step felt connected to the music.
More importantly—
It felt connected to him.
The Killing Part approached.
Minseok stepped forward.
Not because the choreography told him to.
Because he looked like he belonged there.
The first line arrived.
A small grin appeared.
Confident.
Almost challenging.
As if he already knew everyone was watching.
The choreography wasn’t particularly difficult.
A simple step forward.
A turn.
A hand movement timed with the lyrics.
Yet somehow the room felt smaller.
Minseok filled it.
The energy pouring out of him almost seemed excessive.
Almost.
Jiwon watched carefully.
Trying to find the flaw.
Trying to identify the weakness.
The thing that would stop him from winning.
And eventually he found it.
The same problem as before.
Everything was big.
The gestures.
The expressions.
The energy.
The confidence.
Sometimes…
Too big.
The song wanted warmth.
Nostalgia.
A bittersweet memory.
Minseok gave it excitement.
Charisma.
Impact.
The performance was impossible to ignore.
But occasionally it felt like watching Minseok perform Love Scenario.
Rather than watching Love Scenario itself.
The final movement landed.
The music stopped.
Silence filled the room.
For a second nobody spoke.
Minseok looked around proudly.
Then pointed at Jaehyun.
“Beat that.”
“…”
A pause.
Then Jaehyun sighed.
“I was literally next.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not how intimidation works.”
“It should be.”
As expected.
Minseok looked completely satisfied with himself.
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Jaehyun stood.
No dramatic entrance.
No jokes.
No unnecessary comments.
He simply walked toward the center.
Yet somehow the room grew quieter.
Jiwon noticed it immediately.
Nobody had told them to pay attention.
They just did.
The music started.
And Park Jaehyun moved.
The difference became obvious almost instantly.
Minseok overwhelmed the choreography.
Jaehyun disappeared into it.
Every movement connected naturally to the next.
Nothing felt forced.
Nothing felt rushed.
A step flowed into a turn.
The turn flowed into the next formation.
Each motion ended exactly where it was supposed to.
No wasted energy.
No visible hesitation.
The opening verse passed smoothly.
His expressions shifted with the lyrics.
Not exaggerated.
Not understated.
Just enough.
Watching him felt strangely reassuring.
As if nothing could possibly go wrong.
Jiwon finally understood why everyone listened whenever Jaehyun spoke.
He inspired the same confidence while performing.
The choreography wasn’t the most impressive.
Neither were the vocals.
Yet somehow—
Everything felt complete.
The Killing Part approached.
Jaehyun stepped forward.
The transition was so natural that Jiwon almost missed it.
One moment he was part of the formation.
The next—
He was the center.
The lyrics arrived.
His voice remained steady.
The choreography remained steady.
His expression remained steady.
Everything remained steady.
And somehow that was the impressive part.
No fluctuation.
No instability.
No unnecessary risks.
No mistakes.
Jiwon watched carefully.
Searching for weaknesses.
Eventually he found one.
The same strength that made Jaehyun so reliable…
Made him slightly predictable.
The leader performed exactly the way everyone expected him to perform.
Perfectly.
And because of that—
There were very few surprises.
The performance felt safe.
Extremely safe.
Comfortable.
Reliable.
Like a bridge you crossed without ever worrying it might collapse.
The final movement landed.
The music ended.
Silence followed.
Not because they were shocked.
Because there wasn’t much to say.
It had simply been good.
Very good.
Jaehyun stepped back from the center.
His breathing remained perfectly controlled.
Naturally.
Minseok immediately pointed at him.
“I hate you.”
Jaehyun looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because you make everything look easy.”
“It isn’t easy.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
The room laughed.
Even Hyunwoo smiled slightly.
Doyoung glanced down at his notebook.
Then made another note.
A pause followed.
Then Minseok pointed dramatically across the room.
“Okay.”
Everyone looked over.
The finger was aimed directly at Hyunwoo.
“Oh no.”
Jiwon muttered.
“Exactly.”
Minseok nodded.
“The final boss.”
Hyunwoo sighed.
Already regretting his existence.
Probably.
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Hyunwoo stood.
No dramatic declaration.
No preparation.
No visible tension.
He simply put down his water bottle and walked toward the center.
The room grew quieter.
Not because anyone decided to stop talking.
They just did.
The music started.
And immediately—
Something felt different.
Not bigger.
Different.
Jiwon narrowed his eyes.
Trying to identify it.
The choreography began.
A step.
A shift of weight.
A turn.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing particularly difficult.
Nothing Minseok or Jaehyun couldn’t do.
Yet—
It didn’t feel like Hyunwoo was performing the choreography.
It felt like the choreography belonged to him.
The opening verse continued.
His movements remained relaxed.
Natural.
Unforced.
Almost casual.
As if he’d already performed the song a hundred times before.
And somehow—
That made it harder to look away.
Jiwon frowned.
What am I even looking at?
That was the frustrating part.
If somebody described the performance afterward, there wouldn’t be much to mention.
No explosive moves.
No impossible technique.
No dramatic expressions.
Yet every time Hyunwoo moved—
The eye followed.
Automatically.
The way people unconsciously followed movement in a crowd.
The way people looked at the loudest color in a room.
The way people looked at a camera when they knew it was there.
Then Jiwon finally understood.
There wasn’t a camera.
But Hyunwoo performed as if one existed.
Not in front of him.
Not beside him.
Everywhere.
A glance lasted exactly long enough.
A smile appeared exactly when it should.
A turn revealed his profile for half a second.
Then it disappeared again.
Each moment ended before it could lose value.
As if he instinctively understood what people wanted to see.
The Killing Part approached.
Hyunwoo stepped forward.
The movement itself was insignificant.
One step.
Nothing more.
Yet somehow the entire room felt different afterward.
Not because he’d taken center position.
Because he’d made center position feel important.
The lyrics arrived.
His voice remained steady.
His expression softened.
Just slightly.
The nostalgia hidden inside the song surfaced naturally.
No exaggeration.
No effort.
No visible calculation.
The performance continued.
And Jiwon made a disturbing realization.
At some point—
He had stopped evaluating.
Stopped analyzing.
Stopped searching for weaknesses.
He was simply watching.
The same way an audience would.
The same way a fan would.
The same way everyone else in the room was.
Across the practice room, Doyoung’s pen had stopped moving.
Again.
Minseok wasn’t smiling anymore.
Jaehyun had unconsciously straightened.
Nobody looked away.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The room belonged to Hyunwoo.
Not because he demanded attention.
Because attention seemed to arrive on its own.
The final movement landed.
The music ended.
Silence followed.
Not an awkward silence.
Not a surprised silence.
A silence that felt almost inevitable.
As if everyone needed a second to readjust.
Hyunwoo stepped back.
Picked up his water bottle.
And immediately looked less impressive.
Which somehow made the entire performance even more annoying.
“…”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Minseok sighed.
“I hate that.”
Hyunwoo blinked.
“Hate what?”
“Your face.”
For the first time that day, Jiwon understood why the System had only listed a single primary rival.
Not Minseok.
Not Jaehyun.
Only Kang Hyunwoo.
And to be honest…
Jiwon glanced toward the center position.
Twenty-seven percent felt incredibly optimistic.
Minseok followed his gaze.
Then looked back at him.
A slow grin appeared.
One that immediately made Jiwon nervous.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“I really wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
“…Thanks.”
“No, seriously.”
The dancer pointed directly toward the center.
“You have to follow that.”
“…”
“That’s terrifying.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m helping myself.”
“How?”
“If you fail spectacularly, people will stop thinking about my performance.”
Doyoung looked up from his notebook.
“That is an impressive level of selfishness.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It sounded like one.”
Jaehyun shook his head.
As expected.
Then he looked at Jiwon.
No jokes.
No teasing.
Just calm.
Steady.
“Your turn.”
The room fell silent.
Again.
Jiwon’s eyes lingered on the room.
Become the focus.
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For a moment, the old Han Jiwon resurfaced.
The version of himself that wondered whether he deserved to stand there.
Whether somebody else belonged in that position.
Whether trying at all was arrogant.
Then another memory surfaced.
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“You keep acting like someone needs to give you permission.”
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Minseok’s voice.
A stupid sentence.
An annoyingly accurate sentence.
Jiwon smiled.
Just a little.
Then stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
The center position waited.
For the first time in a very long while—
He stopped asking for permission.