Chapter 5
Andy stared at his reflection, a stranger looking back at him from a wall of brightly lit mirrors in the backstage dressing area. The person in the mirror was an idol. Polished. Packaged. Ready for his close-up.
The signal song uniform was a work of art.
A charcoal gray bomber jacket, perfectly cut to fit his frame, with a row of heavy, shiny silver snaps running up the front.
The hangul spelling of his name was embroidered in clean, simple silver thread over his heart.
He ran his fingers over the letters, the reality of it still not quite sinking in.
The collar, cuffs, and waistband were trimmed in a soft, heathered purple.
Most of the other jackets in the chaotic dressing area were trimmed in blue, making the other foreign trainees, like Kenta from Japan and Alex from New Zealand, who he’d met on the bus ride back to the Vision Center, much easier to spot.
A reminder of their outsider status, for sure. But also another chance to stand out.
Andy tugged the simple black shirt underneath a little lower, tucking it more into the waist of his matching, slim-fit cargo pants. They were hella comfortable, made from some kind of high-tech fabric that moved with him. His chunky black high-tops felt solid, grounded. Ready for battle.
“Damn, Sacramento.” Leo’s voice floated over Andy’s shoulder before his grinning face appeared in the mirror. Effortlessly cool, as expected, in his own matching uniform. “We sure do clean up nice, eh?”
Andy scoffed, playing the fashion victim. “Speak for yourself, dude. I feel like I’m playing dress-up at my very first fashion show.”
“Hey, it’s a good look for you, too.” Leo clapped him on the shoulder. “Way better than that jet-lagged zombie from yesterday. You look like you maybe even got some sleep last night.”
Andy grinned, the easy banter with Leo a welcome distraction from his simmering nerves.
He must’ve slept at some point during the chaotic settling into their new room at Sky Village, even if he didn’t exactly remember falling asleep.
He’d chosen his other two roommates purely on vibes, picking Yoon Tae Oh, an energetic maknae who looked older than his eighteen years, and Park Si On, a guy with a smile so bright it could probably generate its own electricity.
They’d all totally clicked, sitting on the matching twin beds in their new room, sharing a family-sized bag of CheezyFish Leo had snagged from a snack table Andy had missed.
For a brief, surreal moment, it had felt less like the onset of a brutal competition and more like what Andy imagined the first night in a college dorm would’ve felt like.
“Have you talked to him yet?”
Andy’s grin slipped as he shook his head.
“No, not yet.” Connecting with Min Jae had been Andy’s number one priority that morning.
He tried catching him at breakfast, only to discover that the number one contestant had already been to the cafeteria and gone.
He tried catching him again on the bus ride back into Seoul, but had somehow ended up on the other bus.
He tried again before they were called in to record their interview and intro packages, but the top four contestants were shown to separate tiny interview studios to record at the same time.
He was starting to think that Min Jae was avoiding him. “I think he might be a ghost.”
Leo smirked and nodded toward the far corner of the dressing area. “Well, don’t look now, but our ghost is haunting that corner over there.”
Andy leaned over enough to see to the far corner in his mirror. Sure enough, Min Jae was running through a series of basic stretches, all alone. “Alright. I’m gonna head over. You watch the exit in case he makes a break for it.”
“You got it,” Leo agreed, chuckling. “See you on stage.”
After a final check on his hair–the show’s stylists had somehow managed to achieve a subtle wave in his bangs that he’d always dreamed of–Andy turned and casually strolled toward Min Jae’s corner.
A more confident march might’ve spooked him.
On the way, he mentally debated the best greeting to use.
A bow would acknowledge Min Jae’s superior rank, but was probably too formal.
They were the same age, anyway. So, a handshake then?
A high five? Andy quietly sighed. A simple “Hey, how’s it going?
” would’ve worked fine back home, absent all the complex rules of respect and propriety.
He glanced at the purple cuffs on his jacket, labeling him as a foreigner.
The American. Hell, may as well lean into it.
Andy stopped close enough to be heard, but far enough away to avoid startling Min Jae. “Hey. How’s it going?”
Min Jae gave his ankle a final tug as he stretched his thigh, then let his foot drop to the floor. “What’s that?”
“I just came over to say hello. I see you’re stretching, but I thought we should talk before today’s rehearsal. You know, since we’re the center pair.”
Min Jae frowned. “I know we’re the center pair. Are you not prepared?”
Andy pushed his grin a little wider, ignoring the jab.
They’d all been sent the signal song choreography video weeks ago.
He already knew each part by heart. “No, I am. It’s just, we haven’t really talked at all since the ranking yesterday.
” He paused, hoping that was enough to draw Min Jae into an actual conversation.
Nope. “I mean, our parts are supposed to sync, so I thought we could work on our chemistry.”
Min Jae’s stoic expression refused to thaw. So far, they had all the chemistry of ice water. “How do you propose we do that?”
By taking the giant stick out of your ass, for starters.
“Like this. Chatting. Getting to know each other.” Another beat.
No reaction. “Okay, I’ll start. My name’s Andy.
I’m from California. I’m a dance instructor, and a huge Cherry Squad stan.
Min Ji’s my bias.” He forced his grin even wider. “Your turn.”
Min Jae stood frozen in silence for long enough that Andy started to wonder if his brain had gotten stuck.
Then he finally nodded. “I’m Kwon Min Jae.
I live here, in Seoul. And, as long as we both know our parts, our chemistry will be fine.
” He turned away, lifting his other leg to grab his ankle. Conversation over.
Andy turned back to see Leo watching them intently. He shrugged and walked away. Hopefully, the stick up Min Jae’s ass wouldn’t fuck up his performance too much.
A sharp, three-note chime echoed through the dressing room's speaker system—the official summons from the producers.
Leo let out a long, theatrical sigh and met Andy in the middle of the room.
"Showtime, I guess." Around them, the nervous chatter in the dressing room died as everyone started grabbing their water bottles and heading for the door.
Leo blew out a low whistle as he and Andy followed the crowd into the soundstage.
The space had been completely transformed.
The risers, removed and replaced by a colossal, tiered structure of pristine white, curving platforms, stacked like the layers of a sci-fi wedding cake, ringed in pulsing blue and purple lighting strips.
A mammoth, curved screen flowed behind them, displaying a looping video of undulating neon stripes as the world’s largest screen saver.
Sharp, intense light beams swept the stage from the mounted rack high above as the lighting techs did their final system tests.
In all, a stage meticulously designed to showcase all one hundred of them in a single, breathtaking shot.
Andy was highly impressed and deeply intimidated, immediately mapping out the best camera angles, the spacing, and the marks he’d need to hit.
The dance mentor, Hwa Young, struck a commanding pose at the base of the structure, hands on her hips, assessing each of the contestants in turn with a single, impeccable eyebrow raised. She held her place until the last contestant was in position before raising the microphone in her hand.
“Listen up,” Hwa Young said, her crisp tone echoing through the space.
“For the duration of this rehearsal, you’re all mine.
I created this choreography. It’s my art.
If you make a mistake, if your angles are sloppy, if your energy is weak, you’re not just failing yourselves.
You’re disrespecting my art.” Her eyes narrowed.
“I demand perfection. Do not disappoint me. Positions!”
The sound hit first. The sharp, percussive thump of a hundred pairs of high-tops slamming the floor at the same moment, a small army marching to an electro-pop beat.
Andy listened with his bones, executing each move with laser precision, always wary of Min Jae mirroring his motion three feet to the left.
All the while, Hwa Young forged them into a multi-dimensional machine.
She drilled them without music, calling out the counts like an army officer.
"Five, six, seven, eight! One! Hit! Two! Hold!" She’d stop them mid-motion, striding through the ranks to adjust the angle of a wrist by a single degree or the height of a knee by an inch. Then, the music would explode, and the machine would roar back to life, until Andy’s quads were on fire.
For the first time since he’d landed in Seoul, he felt at home.
Finally, Hwa Young clapped her hands, the sound ringing out like a gunshot.
The music cut off. “Good,” she announced, the single word of praise landing like a blessing.
“That’s enough for the group formations.
” She paced in front of the stage, her expression intense.
“Let’s move on to the killing part. Light up the center pair. ”