Chapter 871: Answer (24)

After the stage by Wooju and Cold Brown ended—

The commercial break finished, and the TV broadcast resumed.

[Here at the Pasadena Convention Center! Today, the stage of boys chasing their dreams unfolds before you!]

Cheers erupted at the MC’s words.

The contestants of Group 1, waiting below the stage, licked their lips.

‘Damn.’

Their clenched fists were drenched in cold sweat.

It wasn’t just that they weren’t used to broadcasts or audiences yet—there was another reason today.

‘That stage earlier keeps bothering me.’

No matter how much they shook their heads, the afterimage of Wooju’s performance wouldn’t fade.

It had been that shocking.

The very ideal of what an “idol” could be.

A stage worthy of pure admiration—but the problem was that after seeing it, their confidence dropped.

There was something the judges had always told them behind the cameras.

Your real competition isn’t the contestants here. Your true rival is NewBlack.

Producer Terry Austin emphasized it every time.

K-pop is still a minor genre. Once you debut, you’ll surpass them easily. You can definitely win.

They had believed it.

Top talents from across the English-speaking world—America, Canada, the UK, Australia—over 400 million people.

Some were former b-boys with exceptional dance skills.

Some vocalists were praised as being on par with established singers.

But—

‘There’s no way we can beat that.’

How were they supposed to compete with that?

Talent might not differ that much.

But matching a performance built from nearly ten years of doing nothing but preparing for the stage—that was another matter entirely.

Their breath caught.

The constant pressure from the judges—“Beat NewBlack”—only made it worse.

‘Shit, shit, shit....’

As Group 1 forced awkward smiles in front of the cameras—

Their stage finally began.

And—

The public reaction was similar.

“Hmm... something’s lacking with Group 1.”

“They seem kind of stiff today? Maybe they’re really nervous.”

“Still cute though.”

The audience’s eyes were sharper than expected.

The contestants’ tension showed clearly on stage, and the viewers picked up on it.

The judges smiled awkwardly and tried to smooth things over.

[Looks like everyone’s nervous today.]

[It’s an elimination round. I’d be nervous too. They’re adorable though...]

The judges and regular viewers brushed it off as just Group 1 being tense.

The problem was what came next.

Group 2.

Group 3.

Group 4...

As the stages continued, the judges’ expressions hardened, and the viewers’ interest cooled.

‘They’re not that good today...?’

What was the core appeal of the show?

A skill-based boy band.

The production team had focused on “strong performance,” one of K-pop’s biggest strengths, aiming to create a completely different kind of boy band.

We don’t need shy pretty boys winking at fans anymore. We’re going for a performance-driven boy band.

The old image was gone.

That was why even general viewers had been drawn in.

But today—

The stages felt lacking.

Reactions from casual viewers on social media:

Looks like the contestants didn’t prepare properly

Do they already think they’ve debuted?

Sean’s fans need to wake up. That stage just now was bad

Wow. Literally wow

I’ve been positive until now, but today is the worst. That was terrible

Immediately, the show’s toxic fans attacked.

I don’t see any problem??

Fucking Souffles. Just stan your own artists and stop trashing ours

Today’s stage was legendary? So fun

Haters should just die

Naturally, the general viewers fired back.

Do I look like a NewBlack fan? Yeah, I am. But your stage still sucked

Can’t I express my opinion in a free country?

If you hate opposing opinions, go to North Korea. Call it NK-pop instead of K-pop

Honestly, Light It Up fans are too extreme. It’s exhausting

“Aiming to be the world’s best boy band” (laughing with tears emoji)

As a massive online war broke out—

Back at the venue, Terry Austin pressed his forehead.

‘Damn it.’

He understood exactly what was happening.

‘The contestants’ skill hasn’t changed.’

Some teams failed to show their full ability due to nerves, but others did well.

For example, the team with Colin and Hunter.

The so-called “golden team” had actually performed better than usual.

The problem was—

‘It’s because of Wooju from NewBlack.’

Because the opening stage had been too good, the amateur contestants now looked worse by comparison.

Judge Noah Tate, seated beside him, whispered.

“I don’t get it. We’ve had professional performers before, but this never happened.”

“It didn’t.”

“Then why...?”

“Different category.”

The previous professionals were in different categories.

Singer-songwriters, rappers—they weren’t directly comparable to the contestants.

But Wooju belonged to the same category: “boy band.”

When categories differ, comparisons don’t happen.

Like comparing steak and pasta.

But if the world’s best chef serves steak at the very start of a steak competition?

What kind of evaluation will the aspiring chefs receive afterward?

‘...Was this what Mr. Ham meant when he warned us about NewBlack?’

Too late, Terry recalled the advice.

The production team rubbed their necks.

Because they realized—

The root cause was themselves.

A next-generation boy band to compete with NewBlack!

K-pop? We’ll show real American pop without that label

If you’re American, support Light It Up!

They had built a rivalry narrative so aggressively that viewers automatically saw it as:

NewBlack vs Light It Up.

So the comparisons became inevitable.

While fans at the venue still cheered—

General viewers reacted strangely.

‘This is a nightmare.’

Disappointed gazes from viewers.

The producers’ minds raced, trying to fix it.

It was as if Wooju had walked into enemy territory and detonated a bomb.

“......”

“......”

In the devastated atmosphere—

Suddenly, bright laughter was heard.

Come try a bite~

Once you taste it, you can’t escape!

Try it~ try it~

Taking advantage of the moment, the Souffles handed out “promotional flyers” to casual viewers.

‘Damn it!’

The contestants’ fans fumed.

Beside them, the Souffles danced cheerfully as they promoted.

The response to the American survival show appearance was overwhelmingly positive.

100 minutes vs 3 minutes—the victory of 3 minutes

NewBlack’s Wooju and Cold Brown stole the show

Terry Austin criticizes contestants in disappointment... “This won’t do”

It seemed our impact had been so strong that the following stages felt weaker.

I scratched my cheek awkwardly.

“I didn’t intend for that...”

“Well, that’s how it turned out.”

Seokhwan hyung chuckled.

“They fell into their own trap. You just showed your stage.”

I had gone in determined to prove myself after all the downplaying—

But the result had gone further than expected.

It meant the public had been disappointed by the others’ stages.

Of course, not all articles were negative.

Some defended the show, shifting blame elsewhere.

“It’s basically a proxy war between record labels.”

Said our American agent, D’Angelo.

“Media aligned with us versus media aligned with them.”

The good news was that neutral parties were leaning in our favor.

And after this stage, it would likely be harder to drag us down for a while.

Satisfied with the results, I smiled.

“Then let’s wrap things up.”

We finished the remaining schedule in the US.

Interviews.

Music video filming.

“The music video will be released a bit later.”

According to Cold, the US handled music videos differently.

Instead of releasing them immediately, they were dropped later to boost chart performance again.

“When the song starts slowing down, that’s when you release it.”

“Sounds like a good strategy.”

“I think we’re guaranteed Billboard No.1. It’ll last at least a month. We release it when it starts dipping.”

Since I wasn’t familiar with the US market, I left that to Cold and the agency.

With the MV shoot done, the US schedule was complete.

All that remained was picking up producer Frank Chow for Sun Myungju’s film and heading back.

Then—

“Sunny, since I had such a great time in Korea thanks to you, I’ll show you something fun too!”

Cold grinned and handed me a ticket.

“I’ll show you what it’s like to watch an NBA game courtside.”

The Staples Center in LA.

A concert venue we had toured—and home of the Los Angeles Lakers.

[Los Angeles Lakers vs Chicago Bulls]

As I stared up at the massive scoreboard—

“How is it?”

“It’s fascinating. Watching basketball in a place we performed.”

Cold smiled.

“I love this atmosphere.”

“You must like basketball.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned.

“This team carried me through my school years. Back when the Chicago Bulls were at their peak.”

Even I knew that team.

“Then we’re rooting for Chicago today?”

“Of course.”

Looking around—

Bright lights.

A polished court.

Fans in jerseys eating snacks.

Commentators shouting into cameras.

“Cold!”

Fans greeted him, and he casually waved.

I waved back at kids calling my name.

“So... are the Bulls good?”

“They last won a championship 20 years ago...”

“Ah...”

“The front office is... sigh...”

Then he leaned closer.

“When I hit a trillion won, I’ll buy this team.”

“...Not yet?”

“I need a few more businesses. Still far from billionaire.”

As he played with his gold chain—

The players entered.

The arena erupted.

“Yo, Cold!”

Chicago players greeted him.

“That guy... are you close?”

“I funded him through my foundation. That scholarship put him there.”

“I see.”

“You’ll understand why I supported him.”

Giants over two meters tall warmed up.

Then—

The game began.

“Wow...”

Watching an NBA game up close for the first time—

The immersion was unreal.

Shoes squeaking.

Bodies colliding.

The smell of sweat.

Fans jumping, cheering, booing.

I tried to match the energy beside Cold.

How should I explain this to Souffles on Y-app?

Souffles, NBA feels like ten Junghyuns running around... except they’re all two meters tall.

That should work.

The speed was insane.

Before you knew it—score.

Then again—score.

“Wow...”

It reminded me of watching NBA clips back when I dreamed of playing.

The younger members would’ve loved this.

Especially Junghyun.

After halftime, I tried messaging them.

“...Huh?”

No replies.

Usually instant.

Biju.

Ri Hyuk sending [ㅗㅗ].

Jiho chatting nonstop.

Junghyun ignoring messages.

I called Biju.

[The phone is off...]

...Were they filming something?

But as far as I knew, they had no schedule.

At the same time—

Back in Korea—

The younger members were grinning mischievously.

“Hehehe!”

“Woohoho!”

Jiho’s eyes sparkled.

“Hyungs. Our moment has finally come. A perfect chance without Wooju hyung.”

“Agreed.”

Junghyun nodded solemnly.

“We’ve lived in his shadow. We were ‘Wooju and the followers.’”

“True for once.”

“But now that changes! From today—it’s ‘the followers and Wooju!’”

Cheers erupted.

Jiho turned to the camera.

“No more relying on our eldest! Today, we prove it!”

Ri Hyuk nodded seriously.

“New Universe viewers. Today, we pass the driving test.”

“That’s right.”

“We didn’t have much time to prepare... but we’re strong in real situations!”

Behind the camera, the staff suppressed laughter.

They were just here for a driving test—but looked dead serious.

“Still...”

Biju raised his hand.

“Wouldn’t it be better with Wooju hyung?”

“No. This is our chance.”

Jiho snapped his fingers.

“And if we pass first, we can tease him.”

“...That’s tempting.”

Soon—

The test began.

Ri Hyuk first.

“Stay calm.”

[Headlight violation. Points deducted.]

“....”

He failed.

Biju failed.

Jiho—

[Disqualified for exceeding start time.]

“....”

Silence.

Then whispers:

“Shortest failure ever.”

“Historic moment.”

The three returned—

Then suddenly—

“Hyungs!”

“Jiho!”

“We did it!”

“...We did it!”

They hugged and jumped.

The staff blinked.

‘What did they accomplish?’

Jiho pointed at the camera.

“Wooju hyung! See this? We can create content without you!”

“....”

“We’re funny even without you!”

Cheers erupted among them.

The staff blinked again.

‘...That’s what they meant?’

If Wooju had seen it—

He would’ve grabbed the back of his neck in disbelief.