Chapter 8
Min Jae hadn’t performed for a live audience in years.
The ranking performance didn’t really count since it was only the mentors and the other Dream Boys.
His last true live performance happened at a festival on Jeju Island with his trainee group.
They’d drilled for months on a three-song set only to get tepid applause from a disinterested, vacationing crowd way more focused on Cherry Squad’s upcoming performance.
A few months later, he blew out his knee.
Despite all that time, the muffled roar of the two-thousand-strong audience pulsing through the Vision Center studio walls electrified Min Jae with a buzz he remembered all too well.
Energizing and soothing in a way that the steroid shots the doctors still gave him for his knee could never fully manage.
Min Jae cornered his team in a space just outside the viewing room away from the small army of production staff scurrying about and spouting into their headsets.
They didn’t need the distraction. He wanted them focused.
Woo Jin, his de facto assistant, had already started prepping the rest of Team One with a preamble before their leader’s address.
He’d already grown into a capable leader, too.
Privately coaching Chul Min on his dance steps.
Coaxing Oh Jin Hwan out of his shell to explode through his dance parts.
He’d done as much with each member of the team, attacking Min Jae’s strategy with a hunger that said he was ready to win it all, too. With Min Jae’s direction, of course.
So, Min Jae waited until he got Woo Jin’s nod before stepping into the circle.
“Listen to me,” he commanded, immediately drawing everyone closer.
“You all know your parts well enough to perform them in your sleep. But there’ll be no sleepwalking through this performance.
I want you powerful. I want you sharp. I want everyone out there screaming right now and everyone watching at home to be spellbound.
I don’t just want them to love you. I want you to own them. ”
Just like I own you, he didn’t add.
Min Jae paused, meeting every gaze one by one, wordlessly transmitting his unspoken commands. No weakness. No sloppiness. No wasted energy. Only perfection. They wouldn’t just win. They’d set a bar so impossibly high that no one could hope to clear it.
“We’re Team One,” Min Jae continued. “They gave us this song because they expect greatness from us. So, let’s show them greatness.” He thrust his hand forward, holding it until everyone laid theirs atop his. “Who are we?” he snarled.
“The Kingmakers!” everyone shouted.
“Who are we?”
“The Kingmakers!”
Min Jae’s eyes narrowed as he aimed his deadly grin at his teammates. They were Kingmakers. And they’d make him the king.
A quiet five-note chime sounded backstage.
Five minutes until showtime, so Min Jae followed his team into the room set up to view the performances.
A pair of camera teams were stationed on either side of a large monitor, with corner-mounted ceiling cameras to catch anything they missed.
His team's seats were in the back row, across the aisle from Andy and Team Two.
Andy had hardly said two words to Min Jae since he’d witnessed Andy’s struggle with the killing part.
Min Jae absolutely related. It was a killer sequence that had tested even his limits.
But something about Andy’s dedication, giving up precious sleep to drill himself over and over, had snuck through Min Jae’s thick, frosty walls.
Touching him in a way he never expected.
Min Jae didn’t agree with Andy’s methods.
His strategy. But couldn’t deny the American’s dedication to his craft.
His relentless drive. A dull ache in Min Jae’s knee reminded him that he related to that, too.
Was that why he’d broken his silence, intervening and offering advice when he should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut?
No. Andy was his rival, yes. But Min Jae needed his rival to be in his top form, too.
There was no joy in winning a battle against a hobbled opponent.
Min Jae wanted a proper victory. It had to mean something.
The monitor flashed to life, the glowing Dream Boy Project logo splashing across the screen.
Si Woo stood before it, revealing the actual scale of the giant screen behind the main stage.
A proper stage with thousands of excited fans ready to cheer for their favorites.
The view shifted, a camera panning across the crowd as they held up their signs.
Min Jae smiled and cheered as he saw dozens of Dream Makers holding his name or picture aloft.
Woo Jin playfully punched at his shoulder. “Look at that. They love you, hyung.”
After opening the episode, Si Woo introduced the mentors, seated in their own backstage viewing area.
Then he explained the process for the show.
Ten teams. Five versus battles. The Dream Makers in the audience would vote for the winning team after each pair had performed, and their favorite Dream Boy from each team.
The winning teams would gain an advantage in the next public vote.
The winning Dream Boy, an even bigger advantage. Min Jae locked in. This was his time.
The first battle of the night, between Teams Nine and Ten, went exactly as Min Jae had expected.
Competent, but shaky. Nerves made them sloppy, their energy unfocused.
But he clapped and cheered along with everyone else seated around him.
They were no challenge for him, and he could still appreciate their efforts.
The next two battles were better. Cleaner.
More professional. The performers had already found their footing.
They were sharper. Focused. The real drama launched during the battle between Team Three and Team Four performing 5alive’s Synapse, a complex vocal challenge.
About halfway through, Team Four’s sub vocalist went painfully flat, a sour note that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity.
A beat later, their center, a guy Min Jae had considered a decent dancer, stumbled coming out of a turn.
A fatal, amateur mistake. The performance never recovered.
A flash of dark memory–crashing down on his knee, a bright, unyielding explosion of pain–made Min Jae’s sympathetic frown completely sincere. No one wanted to go out that way. That’s why you prepared. Terrible things can happen when you’re not perfect.
The broadcast cut out for a commercial break just before production collected the teams for the final battle.
A chilling rush twisted up Min Jae’s spine as he led his team from their viewing area to the wing beside the stage entrance.
Sound techs fit the team with their earsets as Si Woo reappeared to announce the final matchup to a roaring crowd.
“The time’s finally here, Dream Makers!” Si Woo paused for the cheers.
“Our last group cover mission matchup of the day. And I think some of you may have heard the song they’ll be performing.
” The crowd erupted as a pounding bassline played under a spinning DAZ3 logo on the giant screen.
“That’s right! It’s DAZ3’s Kingmaker!” He chuckled and nodded through the impassioned cheers and screams, letting the crowd’s tension near its crescendo.
“And now, it’s my absolute pleasure to introduce our number-one-ranked Dream Boy, Kwon Min Jae, and his team. The Kingmakers!”
The roar of the crowd jumped from a muffled pulse to a physical force as Min Jae’s team marched on stage, bathing in the wash of dazzling blue-white lights.
A crane swooped in low, the camera locking onto Min Jae’s proud, almost regal smile for the giant screen behind the stage.
Team One puffed out their chests, a unified front of royal blue and stark white in cropped, double-breasted jackets–sharp at the shoulder and narrow at the waist–adorned with rows of intricate silver buttons that caught and fractured the light.
A heavy, braided silver cord draped across Min Jae’s chest, the gold star on his epaulet marking him as their captain.
Long, white tuxedo stripes on royal blue pants tucked into tall, black leather boots grandly emphasized their height while grounding them to the stage.
Min Jae raised his fist in a royal salute to thunderous applause.
The moment the stage lights hit, Min Jae’s universe narrowed to the sound in his in-ear monitor, the grid of marks on the stage floor, and the nine other bodies moving around him.
The roar of the crowd, the faces of the judges, the heat from the lights all became distant data, processed but not felt.
He was more than just one person. He was the heart of a machine.
A pounding drum beat dropped in a declaration of war, with a thrumming bassline battle cry. All ten of them moved at once, shifting from their first positions into a sharp, aggressive, angled line that sliced across the stage. Perfect.
They transitioned to the first verse, Chul Min attacking his rap with an aggressive growl.
Still too eager, maybe, pushing the beat instead of riding it, but his raw energy was undeniable.
Min Jae led the rest of the team through the sharp, punctuated choreography, every angle clean, every step precise until Yi Kun’s voice soared to the rafters for the second half of the verse.