translation by mourningmoor
At the end of the second round, the production team of <Survival, Music Genius> gathered the 21 remaining contestants and had them draw lots using a machine.
The numbers drawn formed three teams, with each team of seven members performing the same mission song for the next round.
Having to listen to seven versions of the same song could have been a tedious format.
But surprisingly, it received positive feedback from viewers in Season 1.
All the contestants had a solid foundation of skills, and those who made it to the third round were undoubtedly above-average talents.
Additionally, the desperation to survive until the third round, where opportunities would arise, created something special.
As a result, even though it was the same song, each contestant showcased completely different charms, and viewers found it entertaining to compare and contrast.
However, for the contestants, their joy or sorrow depended on who they were teamed up with.
Even though they were grouped together, their teammates were also their rivals, so they couldn’t let their guard down.
This season’s “group of death” was undoubtedly Team C.
It included the first and third-place winners from the second round.
Namely, Kang Ichan and Kwon Taei.
This meant the other team members had no choice but to work even harder.
First, Ichan’s skills were undeniably outstanding.
Taei, on the other hand, had an enormous fandom.
Since only four members from each team could advance to the next round, the remaining five members had to compete for the last two spots.
Naturally, some expressed dissatisfaction.
They complained about why the voting system, unlike in Season 1, was introduced, forcing indie artists to compete against idols with established fandoms.
It was indeed unfair.
Pitting indie artists, who relied solely on skill, against popular idol members in a popularity contest was like playing on an uneven field from the start.
Still, no one really held any grudges against Ichan.
His stage performances were so unique that it was hard to argue he won first place just because he was an idol. Everyone was captivated by his performances. As they say, a musician must speak through their music, and he proved that himself.
The problem was Taei.
Taei, who had secured third place in the second round with subpar skills, was barely hanging on, relying entirely on his fandom.
It was no surprise that the atmosphere in the waiting room was tense.
“What’s his deal? He’s acting all high and mighty, not even greeting people properly.”
Taei, who had just arrived, greeted a few noticeable contestants, but they all gave him lukewarm responses. They smiled awkwardly and quickly averted their eyes.
Taei interpreted their reactions like this:
“They’re trying to keep me in check, huh?”
Thinking it was a natural response, Taei smirked and took his seat.
He already knew what the other contestants thought of him.
It was because he had been too nervous during the first and second rounds and hadn’t been able to showcase his true skills.
But this time was different.
He had prepared thoroughly and was ready to show something incredible.
And Kang Ichan would be flustered.
Since the performances were scheduled in reverse order of the second-round results, the last two performers in Team C would be him and Kang Ichan.
“Since my performance is first, that guy is doomed.”
Thinking about Ichan’s shocked and panicked face made him feel oddly pleased.
Even if the other contestants ignored his greetings, he could generously forgive them, feeling magnanimous.
Just then, the waiting room door opened, and Ichan walked in.
He was with Sniper’s Seokwoo.
But amusingly, the contestants who had given Taei lukewarm greetings all warmly greeted the two.
In response, the two bowed at a perfect 90-degree angle, giving the classic idol greeting.
Taei’s expression twisted. His magnanimous mood suddenly felt cramped.
“How tacky.”
While it was understandable for L.I.T., a two-year-old group, to act like that, it was embarrassing for Sniper, a five-year-old group, to do the same.
“Well, what does five years even matter? Their popularity is worse than a two-year-old group.”
As he sneered at the two, Ichan suddenly approached him.
“Hello, sunbaenim.”
Ichan bowed deeply, his face bright.
His confident smile, as if he were the top contestant, was irritating.
Taei wanted to ignore him and walk away, but he couldn’t—cameras were rolling.
“You’re here? First place?”
Taei forced an awkward smile and looked Ichan up and down.
Black slacks and a slightly sheer black blouse.
It was the outfit he had expected.
Smirking, Taei continued with a more relaxed expression.
“Looks like you and I have similar outfit concepts today? All black, huh?”
Ichan smiled slightly and nodded.
“Seems like it.”
“Don’t tell me our arrangement styles are similar too? That wouldn’t be good for comparisons.”
Taei casually dropped the hint while gauging Ichan’s reaction, and Ichan responded quite well.
“Oh no, that wouldn’t do. If our arrangement styles are similar, of course, we’d be compared, and that would put me at a huge disadvantage. How could I dare compare myself to you, sunbaenim?”
It wasn’t a perfect answer, though.
What Taei really wanted was for Ichan to act a bit more arrogant.
That way, when the third round became a topic of discussion, he could point out Ichan’s questionable character.
But a well-trained idol like Ichan wouldn’t do that, and he gave a standard, humble response. That wasn’t bad either.
After the competition, this comment would also be used to criticize Ichan’s “duplicity.”
Satisfied, Taei carefully predicted what would happen today.
The song Team C would perform today was Kim Sungjin’s <Mask>, a 90s dance track.
Regardless of the other team members, his and Ichan’s performances were expected to be almost identical, from the outfit concept to the arrangement style.
The order of performances could create a significant psychological impact.
Fortunately, Taei’s performance was first.
After watching his performance, Ichan would be flustered, and it would affect his stage.
Once the competition ended, everyone would wonder how their performances could be so similar. Then, rumors would start flying that Ichan had been influenced by Taei’s ideas. Some might even accuse him of plagiarism.
The circumstantial evidence he had prepared would start surfacing.
Even if it wasn’t true, the narrative that L.I.T. was influenced by T.I.ONE would definitely take shape.
Just then.
“Kwon Taei-ssi?”
Finally, a staff member signaled him to standby.
* * *
Yoon Jooeon watched Taei’s performance with a surprised expression.
First, the arrangement idea was astonishing.
It was bold yet impressive to think of combining a string quartet with a 90s dance track.
The cheerful funk style was transformed into a classical variation, creating a heavy atmosphere.
Dressed in black slacks and a black blouse with a ruffled design, Taei moved elegantly across the stage.
“He’s not nervous, so that’s good.”
Yoon Jooeon commented, and Lee Nayoung nodded.
“I was a bit disappointed before, but this time, it’s passable. But somehow…”
“Somehow?”
When Yoon Jooeon asked, Lee Nayoung scratched the side of her eyebrow and made a slightly troubled expression.
Then, she leaned closer to Yoon Jooeon and whispered in a low voice.
“Actually, after last week’s competition, I talked to Ichan briefly on the way home. I asked if he needed any mentoring.”
“And?”
“He said he was thinking about a string quartet or an orchestra. He wanted to go for a concept similar to L.I.T.’s last album. He said he wanted to depict the dark side of humanity hidden behind a mask.”
Yoon Jooeon’s brow furrowed.
“Then wouldn’t their performances be too similar?”
“Exactly.”
If Lee Nayoung was right, there was potential for some noise.
If this were a pre-recorded broadcast, they could have avoided such issues, but since it was live, there was nothing they could do now.
Normally, they would do a final check during the rehearsal, but Ichan had missed today’s rehearsal due to another schedule. It seemed he had barely made it in time for the live broadcast.
Still, how could PD Pyo miss something like that?
As Yoon Jooeon pondered, Lee Nayoung smiled.
“But even if the concepts are similar, the arrangement directions are completely different, right? Taei’s song feels more like a youth going to a Halloween party rather than depicting the dark side of humanity hidden behind a mask.”
That was true.
It was a good idea with a great direction, but the overall arrangement felt a bit light compared to the prepared concept.
Still, it was probably the best <Mask> performance so far.
So, they gave him a fairly high score. The other judges seemed to agree.
A brief evaluation was given.
“Impressive. How did you come up with such an idea? To be at this level at 22 years old. I can only say it’s amazing.”
They all gave high marks for the overall atmosphere rather than the arrangement’s completeness.
“The dark mood, heavy string performance, and light EDM overlay created a great party track. Well done.”
“Your vocals have also improved significantly compared to before.”
Roughly like this.
The judges, who had quickly sent Taei off, looked forward to the next performance.
What kind of stage would Kang Ichan, this season’s rising star, show today?
The lights dimmed, and the staff busily moved around the stage.
After clearing all the props Taei had used, a bluish light filled the empty stage.
The color of the sky just before dawn.
As Lee Nayoung had said, the atmosphere of the two performances was similar.
When Yoon Jooeon rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, focusing on the stage.
A mournful daegeum (traditional Korean flute) sound flowed sorrowfully across the stage, accompanied by a chilly air.