Surviving in The Idol Game (10)
〈Idol Survival〉’s main theme song, “Sunlight,” is a classic dance track with a catchy hook that gets stuck in your head.
The hook anchors the entire song, making it easy to sing or dance along to. However, getting to that hook required overcoming some very complex choreography and melody, making it a paradoxical piece.
Only the hook was easy.
In short, it was a difficult song pretending to be easy. You could sing or dance to it half-heartedly, sure—but doing so would drastically lower the quality. The more you watched it, the more obvious the shortcuts became.
Anyway, to sing and dance this song simultaneously, you had to be highly skilled. The choreography included segments that didn’t give you a moment to breathe.
“Anyway, just the choreography for now. Verse 1 and the dance break.”
I shrugged off my tightly zipped padding jacket and moved to the very end of the line.
Last in line, last spot. I took off my mask and shoved it into my pocket. Looking straight ahead, all I saw were the tense backs of others’ heads.
They were the contestants I had to beat to make it through.
I dusted off my slightly crumpled top from under the padding and took a deep breath. It was time to begin.
— “I’ve waited too long just to see you”
— “Just looking at you dazzles me, it’s so typical”
From the very first beat, the choreography kicked in fast and sharp. My hands and feet moved busily to match the rhythm.
Each move had to be snappy yet fluid. It sounded contradictory even to say it, but I’d drilled the movements so many hundreds of times that they were now ingrained in my body.
— “You’re often—no, always—being bratty”
— “But you’re the only light that makes me dream”
— “This is the chemical action between us”
This part required you to switch between head and falsetto voice, while also keeping your lower body rhythmic and your upper body smooth. The difficulty of this choreo was enough to make you curse.
I’d shredded my muscles trying to regain lost flexibility just for this.
While training my dance stats, I’d reshaped my body under the trainer’s guidance to the point of near reconstruction—but it paid off. My movements now flowed naturally, almost like I actually belonged on stage.
— “Sunlight, I can’t escape”
— “Sunlight, I don’t even want to”
— “You make me breathe, you make my dream”
— “You’re the one who builds my world”
The hook section was less about rapid movements and more about continuous flow. Since the movements were simpler, the focus had to be on clean execution and line quality. The lyrics could’ve been portrayed seductively, but going overboard would be off-putting.
‘I’m 19, after all.’
Keeping it understated didn’t mean I could neglect the finer details. Otherwise, it’d just look bland. I also paid attention to my facial expressions. Since the choreography here was calmer, the camera was likely to zoom in, making my expressions and gaze even more important.
My interpretation of the song was sunlight and a cat. Like a cat basking in warm rays on a lazy day, you couldn’t hide the contentment that seeped out from within.
“Hah—hooh—huff—”
I heard some weird breathing noises from beside me but ignored them.
— “Grab my hand, pull me up”
— “So I can move toward you”
The tempo slowed, but keeping centered was key—because right after the spin came the dance break.
‘This part almost made me puke.’
People who thought the song was easy just from the hook were probably all knocked out here. The choreography was intense and powerful. This section had eaten up my stamina for the past two weeks.
The moves had to be big, fast, and precise. But between those, you also had to maintain balance—otherwise, you’d just look like you were flailing. If you relied on momentum due to lack of strength, it’d be obvious you weren’t in control.
In conclusion, Sunlight required sharp, flexible, smooth yet powerful movements—making it a hellishly difficult choreography.
[“Thank you. The passing contestant from group 100 is number 3000.”]
I performed well enough to be satisfied.
‘If this ends up in a behind-the-scenes video later, I think I won’t get flamed.’
I decided this was good enough for a first step. I just had to do better from here.
There was still a long road ahead.
***
“Phew…”
“Whoa, damn…”
“…”
The waiting area, now only occupied by the successful contestants after the last group’s evaluations, had fallen into silence. The person on the screen—was just, well, that kind of person.
“That person was actually here…?”
Black hair, black shirt, black pants, black canvas shoes.
Covered in black from head to toe, but with their skin tone and fit, it looked like a complete fashion statement. No accessories, no flashy hair color—yet still stood out.
“That face is a work of art…”
Since camera one had been focused on him the entire time, every move was visible. When the mask came off and the face was revealed, people forgot to breathe. And watching him dance—it was breathtaking.
His skills weren’t necessarily fancy. The techniques used were mostly basic, textbook stuff.
But even if someone technically better danced beside contestant 3000, they wouldn’t be as captivating.
Hard to explain, but the one clear realization was: This is what a star looks like.
“If he had come out mid-round, I would’ve mentally collapsed and messed up for sure.”
“Holy sh—damn…”
Among the dumbfounded murmurs, Lee Jaejin thought: This is fate.
The more he watched Lee Hanhee, the more he couldn’t resist the growing urge.
‘I want to dance with him.’
He’d actually stopped going to street performances long ago. When he was busy, he had no time. When he was free, he lacked the passion.
After leaving the dance crew he’d been with for years, his blazing passion had vanished. He even began having dreams of his teammates accusing him of burning them out—he was in a slump.
Then one day, he heard the hype from friends. There’s someone really famous at a university—come see.
Wrapped in a white padded coat like a gimbap1, stood that person. The outfit wasn’t ideal for dancing; apparently, they usually sang.
He watched from afar as they held a mic and chatted with the crowd while sipping water. Just as he lost interest and turned to leave, the song began.
— “I feel broken and empty inside…”
He usually didn’t pay attention to lyrics in pop songs, but for some reason, they were crystal clear that day.
A typical message about someone broken and aimless reaching out and being saved by someone else.
— “I can reach, reach out my hand…”
The lyrics weren’t just saying I’ll save you—they seemed to say I know you’ll save me, and oddly enough, that hit harder.
It was oddly comforting.
So he went again. And again. Eventually, he was showing up every day. Around three weeks in, he finally saw them dance, shedding the heavy padding.
It was a gift he hadn’t expected. Since they were singing, the dance segments were small and a bit rough—but still, his heart pounded watching.
He hadn’t felt that way since leaving the crew. It was strange, but they just had that pull.
And with every visit, their movements were noticeably more refined. It reignited something inside him.
He remembered when every day felt like progress. When he wanted to dance better, to create the perfect performance.
‘I used to love it that much.’
And now, he felt the thrill again.
He thought they might show up for this audition—but didn’t expect to see him, on the same day, same stage. The full performance blew past expectations.
‘Now I get why he always covered his face.’
He didn’t want his performance overshadowed by looks. Despite having more attention-grabbing options, he pulled his hat low and chose to be evaluated purely on voice and dance. Hanhee was more sincere and passionate than even he had expected.
Lee Jaejin felt his dead passion and ambition begin to come back to life.
***
“Wait, why is this…?”
[Dancer]
Name: Lee Jaejin (21)
Singing: 80 (C+)/89
Dancing: 92 (A0)/100
Charisma: 88 (B+)/95
Trait: We Shine Together (S), Ambition (R)
Back in the waiting room after his evaluation, I couldn’t stop my growing unease.
[Ambition (R)] – Activates when driven by desire for improvement; grants random stat boosts.
He was definitely ace material—but why did he end up with Ambition?
“What the hell…”
“Hm?”
“Oh… it’s nothing.”
I couldn’t exactly complain aloud about how my team’s future main dancer just got assigned a notorious trait.
‘No, no. This isn’t Beginning, it’s Step-Up, right? Maybe random traits are better here?’
Still, Ambition (R) was infamous in the Beginning version of the game for being near useless—frequent, random, and offering little benefit.
Random doesn’t always mean good—what if the trait tiering is different depending on the context?
‘No, maybe the random traits were globally improved. It might not be all bad.’
I just hoped that Ambition had been patched into something more useful. With a relatively low singing stat of 80, it could maybe balance out somehow.
“Okay, let’s do our best from here.”
He reached out with a sudden handshake. His face was bright with excitement. Seeing that expression made me question my overly strategic thoughts.
“Yeah, hyung. I’m counting on you.”
Well, if he’s happy, that’s enough. So what if the trait’s good or bad? Life can’t be all about efficiency.
‘One efficient life is enough—mine. I don’t need to pull others into it too.’
Anyway, Lee Jaejin’s trait was set, and it wasn’t my place to judge.
More importantly, I had to think about surviving this survival show. With contestants like him around, the competition was tougher than expected.
‘We don’t even know how many will debut.’
With little information, the only thing to do was give it my all.
In that sense, the second round of auditions, which followed right after the first, was brutally cold.
‘So this is what they mean by ‘adult circumstances.’’
Contestants were told to go onstage, alone, and fill the allotted time with a performance that left an impression. The rule sounded simple enough.
Like before, they had just about two minutes. How they used that time was up to them.
But there would be no rehearsal, no re-dos. The recording would be sent to the judges—one take only.
Since they still had to record 100 more performances, it was understandable. But couldn’t they have planned a more relaxed schedule?
‘They’re asking too much of these kids.’
Only one hour was given before Round 2.
Faces turned pale from nerves and hunger. Some were lucky enough to eat their lunchboxes, but many couldn’t even lift the lid, too busy choosing and rehearsing their piece.
Even those who had picked their song were in distress over the time constraint.
Who would’ve expected to do both rounds in one day?
Hands clutching phones visibly trembled. Most of the contestants were teens—of course they were stressed.
For many, this was their first stage ever. Now they were expected to perform a flawless 2-minute set under full scrutiny—utterly alone.
‘They’re expecting too much polish.’
Even the choreography for Round 1 had only been released two weeks ago. Maybe the whole point was to limit preparation time?
Still, unpredictability doesn’t guarantee authenticity. It could just lead to mistakes.
Take the first contestant, for example—clearly panicked.
Even being one of only 30 selected, standing alone in front of hundreds of participants and staff with no rehearsal was overwhelming.
‘What’s worse is knowing someone out there can still pull it off.’
If there’s someone who effortlessly pulls off absurdly high expectations, no matter how much you protest, it only ends up highlighting your own lack of ability.
‘In that sense, Lee Jaejin being second must’ve been partly the producers’ intention.’
They say the performance order for both the first and second rounds was random, but it was hard to believe that completely.
Lee Jaejin, standing on stage, clearly looked excited. I had only checked his stats before, and this was the first time I actually saw him dance. And sure enough, that Dance stat of 92 was no joke.
Honestly, at A0 level, it’s the kind of skill you’d expect from someone already debuted and several years into their career. It wouldn’t be strange if he was already building a serious career.
On top of that, it seems like his random +3 stat boost went to Singing, because his vocals were pretty stable too. Despite the very fast tempo of the beat, he kept moving nonstop while delivering the lyrics sharply.
‘Did his singing stat go up recently?’
That’s how good he was. For some people, this might be the level they hit during their career high.
‘Although for Lee Jaejin, he’s still far from his actual peak.’
He’s already great, and he still has unlimited potential to grow. Truly fitting of a future main dancer—even if we can’t say for sure we’ll be in the same group.
‘So then, what should I do?’
Whether it was the producers’ intention or just a coincidence, I didn’t know. But since I was last in line again for the second audition, just like the first round, I had plenty of time to prepare.
I calmly organized my thoughts while watching the performances of those who went before me.
Even though the theme was “free choice,” most of the contestants still chose the official theme song from the first round, Sunlight. Aside from Lee Jaejin, practically everyone did.
‘In this situation, it’d be weirder if a completely different MR (music recording) popped out of nowhere.’
Lee Jaejin is an exception because he obviously has a lot of stage experience, but if you don’t have stage experience or a song prepared like he does?
Then it’s natural that Sunlight keeps playing nonstop. After all, it’s probably the song most contestants have been practicing hardest lately.
Plus, with the same 2-minute time limit as the first audition, there’s no need to edit the MR either.
The only difference is that in the first round, they evaluated 30 people at once, so they only looked at dancing. But in the second round, since you’re up there alone, they judge both dancing and singing.
You could hear people here and there frantically trying to memorize lyrics, likely because they only practiced the choreography and didn’t fully learn the song.
‘Still, even if they asked us to perform Sunlight, they gave us a ‘free choice’ round for a reason. That must mean there’s some advantage to picking a different song, right?’
If that’s the case, there’s no reason to give up that advantage. As someone who’s been training to become an idol for 75 days, of course I had some songs prepared.
It had only been a short time, but I had a decent amount of stage experience. Two months of busking had trained me well. The only question was—which of those performances would leave the strongest impression?
***
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