Chapter 60: How It Blows Up

“Please check the mic stand position.”

“Are the spotlights set correctly?”

“We’ll redo the ending shot.”

It was a bustling rehearsal scene.

Chun Hanyeong playfully asked someone,

“What brings such an esteemed guest to this humble place?”

The guest was none other than the Variety Show Director, Shin Chunho.

His sudden, unannounced appearance had turned the atmosphere into thin ice.

Director Shin Chunho laughed heartily as he replied,

“This is a special episode PD Chun has been sharpening his teeth for. How could I not come? I was curious, that’s all.”

“What about the kids’ feelings?”

Chun Hanyeong quietly looked at Shin Chunho before letting out a short sigh.

“You know how flustered PDs get when the director comes down during rehearsals.”

“Do they?”

“No one knows it better than you. Haven’t you made mistakes yourself back in the day?”

“Hey now, when was that… ahem.”

The director couldn’t finish his sentence.

A quiet chuckle slipped out from among the staff.

Someone muttered under their breath,

“PD’s screwed…”

Shin Chunho —

He was once the very PD everyone called “screwed.”

Back in the day, he had shouted without lowering the mic, “What? The director’s coming down? Suddenly? Ah, we’re so screwed,” an incident that’s still remembered as a legendary blooper.

And now that very same PD had become a director, making other PDs “screwed” in turn — the irony was not lost on anyone.

“…Fine.”

“A whole director, coming down here just to monitor a weekly music stage?”

“Well…”

There was plenty he wanted to say.

But under the barrage of stares, he fiddled with his tie for no reason and turned away.

Once Chun Hanyeong confirmed the director had walked off,

he picked the mic back up.

“All right, let’s keep the rehearsal going.”

The staff huddled together, whispering.

A director coming down to the music stage? Never happens.

“Why do you think the director came down?”

“Probably because of Signum?”

“Hmm…”

The rumors had already made their way around.

The kids who escaped from us —

They had nearly lost their chance to appear for various reasons, but then miraculously made a comeback by setting up a “rival band” concept with Signum!

“Poor kids, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re just here to make Signum look good. Haven’t you seen them?”

“They were damn handsome though. And I think the stage is live? The setup’s crazy intense. They’ve poured in a ton of money too.”

“I heard the UTAR kids are coming out wearing masks.”

“Kinda childish if you ask me.”

The staff listening nodded.

The woes of small-to-mid idols.

It can’t be helped — that’s just how this industry works.

If you hate it, debut with a major agency.

Not that it’s easy.

“It’s Manny Entertainment’s rookie debut stage. Of course he’d be interested.”

“Even the chairman dropped by, remember?”

Murmur, murmur.

The staff perked up, eager for the juicy story.

Hearing fresh behind-the-scenes gossip from the entertainment world —

That was one of the few things that kept them going through the grind of company life.

The conclusion was simple:

They were going to sacrifice UTAR to make Signum shine.

As the rumor gradually solidified into “fact” —

“I don’t think that’s it.”

A familiar voice suddenly cut in, and everyone turned their heads.

It was the sound director.

A man who never joined in on trivial gossip — what was he doing here?

The youngest from the lighting team asked,

“Oh, Director. Did you hear something?”

“No need to hear it. You can tell just by looking.”

All eyes were on him.

The sound director —

His job was to run the sound check.

He wasn’t listening — he was judging just by looking?

What was that supposed to mean?

“Why are you all staring like that? This isn’t your first day on a music show, is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Just look at the stage setup. It’s obvious.”

The next rehearsal was Signum, and right after that, UTAR.

He smirked as he went on,

“Look at the live setup. You can tell right away who the real star of this stage is.”

No one could say a word — they just listened to him.

“Check the speaker arrangement too.”

“…Sorry?”

“Signum? Modeling amps — clean and stable. But UTAR? Tube amps. That’s a whole different game.”

He pointed toward the stage.

“Modeling amps have a consistent, pre-set tone, but tube amps reveal every bit of the player’s skill. And then what happens? The sound depends entirely on how your fingers move.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Which means it’s a nightmare to control on stage. In a concert hall, it can be moving — but on a broadcast? One slip and it’s a disaster.”

The setup wasn’t done yet.

He flipped through his notes and summarized,

“Put simply, a tube amp is something only a real live band can handle.”

It was rare for singers to set up their own amps, but it wasn’t impossible.

Requests about amp choice and setup methods were totally doable.

Of course, it required consultation with the sound engineer and sound director.

And the cost… well.

In the fast-paced world of music shows, the unspoken rule was to keep it simple.

The staff murmured among themselves.

“The chances of that working perfectly live? Honestly, I’m not sure. In the studio, you can mic the amp and adjust it, but on stage? Who knows.”

Madness — this was pure madness.

“Yikes…”

“Isn’t that a huge hassle?”

“What’s gotten into you, Director…?”

It wasn’t strange that the other staff were staring at him with wide, rabbit-like eyes.

He’d seen countless bands over the years —

But this was the first team to make such meticulous requests.

Why? Simple.

They’d made enemies at the station.

And when everyone’s already swamped, nobody likes troublesome requests.

But Sound Director Lee Haengseok was different.

Yes — he was just as much of a hardcore otaku as Chun Hanyeong.

“Ahaha, I see now.”

The otaku trait —

When they start talking about something they know, they don’t stop.

If someone shows interest? They talk twice as much.

“At first, I thought they were crazy. This isn’t a solo concert, and they’re asking for setup details like some kind of pervert? I was ready to say no.”

Some people gasped quietly.

Others just shook their heads and walked away, thinking, Here he goes again…

Lee Haengseok’s words sped up.

“In short, UTAR are kids who actually play live. Just look at the setup — that’s not for broadcast, that’s for a concert. And they’re asking for that setup in a TV rehearsal? Normally, they’d get told to ‘get lost’ right away.”

“But you didn’t tell them to get lost, Director.”

“…Truth is, I wanted to hear it too. I’ve never matched settings this delicately before.”

It didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon.

Lee Haengseok kept speaking in an excited voice.

“They even asked for separate in-ear mixes. And that’s not all — each instrument’s monitoring setup is completely different. Oh… and the craziest part? They brought their own exclusive sound engineer!”

Lee Haengseok looked up at the stage again.

Then, with an unreadable expression, he murmured,

“I’m looking forward to seeing how a real band blows up on a music show.”

The staff’s movements grew urgent.

The camera director adjusted his angles, and the sound team finished the final sound check.

“Check the lighting.”

“Is the keyboard sound ready?”

“Guitar, drums — one more sound check, please.”

PD Chun Hanyeong crossed his arms and watched the monitor.

Signum’s rehearsal was about to begin.

On one side of the stage,

their manager spoke to the tense Signum members.

“It’s just a rehearsal in name. Don’t be nervous — just do it like you always do.”

But those words only made the tension worse.

The members nodded, but their slightly trembling fingers gave them away.

“Signum rehearsal starting.”

The cue was given.

The drummer raised his sticks high.

Boom boom—

The first beat burst from the giant speakers.

But in that instant —

What’s with the pitch?

The main vocal’s note went off-key.

The startled guitar sound lagged behind, and the drum kick landed late.

The staff exchanged glances.

This is shaky.

Don’t even have to say it.

The early stumbles kept piling up.

The guitar missed the beat slightly.

The bass sounded dull, and even the drums lost their strength.

Studio microphones catch everything —

Even the tiniest mistake can’t be hidden.

The sound director’s expression slowly hardened.

From the PD’s section came a low murmur.

Whispers passed between staff members.

“Is this for real?”

“Is this a band live or a thriller movie?”

“Doesn’t it sound a bit awkward? Or is it just me?”

PD Chun Hanyeong’s face hardened as well.

“Hm…”

The first verse ended.

If he had to score it, he’d give it a 70.

Not bad.

But this was a band idol.

An artist whose performance should be centered on the instruments.

The viewers would know it — this was a sloppy stage.

As a director, he couldn’t let the audience see a sloppy performance.

What’s more, pushing ahead like this would be reckless even for Signum.

“Hold on.”

PD Chun Hanyeong raised his hand.

The music stopped.

The members on stage froze in place.

Chun Hanyeong ran up onto the stage.

“I’ll give you 10 minutes. Go wash your face or something. You need to loosen up. We’ll take just 10 minutes.”

A wave of murmurs broke out.

A break in the middle of rehearsal, when they were already pressed for time — this had never happened before.

“Isn’t that basically telling them to stop being so stiff?”

“They probably need to make changes now, before it’s too late.”

The Signum members came down from the stage with their lips tightly sealed.

They awkwardly pretended to stretch their shoulders as they headed out into the hallway,

deliberately ignoring the piercing stares.

They felt like criminals.

With heavy expressions, they wandered down the hall.

It felt like every passing staff member was throwing snide looks at them.

At the end of the hallway, near the bathroom,

the Signum members spoke in low, heavy voices.

“If rehearsal’s already this hard…”

“I can’t do this.”

“Didn’t the PD basically mean to ditch the live performance?”

“Let’s talk when Manager-hyung comes back from his call.”

They couldn’t finish the thought as they pushed the bathroom door open.

And there, they met Taeyoon.

Taeyoon stood by the sink.

The Signum members froze like statues, mouths agape, staring at him.

A brief silence fell.

“…?”

Taeyoon looked up.

His damp hair suggested he had just washed his face, and he was shaking it dry.

His face was full of ease.

Hwang Seunghyuk, startled by Taeyoon’s face, stammered,

“W–w–who are you?”

Tall, lanky build.

A cool yet neat face.

There hadn’t been any news of a rookie idol appearing today.

No — there wasn’t a single performer today whose face they didn’t know.

Then was he a staff member? What kind of staff looked this much like a celebrity?

“Me?”

Instead of answering, Taeyoon lifted the rabbit mask in his hand and smiled.

A chill ran down their spines.

Goosebumps erupted all over the Signum members.

This guy — he was UTAR’s DJ, Seo Rabbit.

How could a face like that be hiding behind the mask?

They suddenly remembered gossiping that he must be ugly, and their faces burned.

Why did they feel sorry about it?

“You’re… that rabbit-hyung from earlier?”

“Yes.”

Taeyoon beamed.

He liked hearing the word hyung.

He’d heard bits and pieces —

that there had been a problem, that their performance hadn’t met expectations.

He hadn’t known rehearsal had been stopped, though.

“Shh. Seeing me here — that’s a secret.”

“Huh?”

The Signum members glanced back and forth between Taeyoon and the mask.

“Ah, y–yes…”

Why cover up that face? Why?!

Han Jaeho barely held himself back from shouting, miming zipping his lips shut instead.

Hmm…

Taeyoon slowly looked them over.

They were wound tight with nerves.

Like frightened rabbits.

They didn’t look a day over twenty.

Seeing these younger ones trembling so badly made me feel sorry for them.

Before I knew it, I spoke —

softly, warmly.

“Instruments are really sensitive, you know?”

“…Sorry?”

“They can sense it like a ghost when their owner’s nervous. Oh dear, if you’re already tense, what will you do? The main stage hasn’t even started yet.”

“Ah…”

Maybe the tension had eased.

Their legs gave out and, one by one, they crouched down.

Flashy clothes — but faces that were anything but.

Why do they look so deflated?

I, Taeyoon, helped each of the younger ones back to their feet.

Competition aside —

If you’re the older one, this is what you should do. Just like my own older brother had done for me.

I put the rabbit mask back on.

Patting each one on the back, I pushed the bathroom door open.

Thinking, Man, I was really cool just now.

Then, from behind me, came a trembling voice.

“H–Hyung…”

I turned around.

Signum’s leader, Han Jaeho, asked,

“What would you do if you were me?”

I turned fully and asked back,

“What do you mean?”

“…You know.”

From Han Jaeho’s downcast face, I read the question.

Should we push ahead with the live performance?

“Hmm.”

I scratched my chin, then casually asked,

“Do you want the honest answer? Or the comforting one?”

“…The honest one.”

Without a second’s hesitation, I replied,

“Hand-sync. But make it perfect.”

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