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’sSynapse, 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’sKingmaker!” 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 introduceour 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.
They shifted again, the dancers surrounding the sub vocal line for the pre-chorus. Clean, powerful, and perfectly on pitch,it was a flawless ramp-up to the explosive chorus, and Min Jae’s first chance to shine. He found the camera sliding toward him on its downstage track and attacked it with the full force of his vocals. His team surrounded him like vassals, supplicating to him in a powerful, synchronized dance sequence that was all sharp lines and controlled power. This was the machine fully functional. Every part doing its job exactly as designed.
Woo Jin stepped up for the second verse, his rap flow smoother and more controlled than Chul Min's. But he sold the part with his cool, confident swagger. Nothing like years of professional training to show everyone how it's done. Min Jae took the second half of the verse, giving it a sultry, almost dangerous tone. A warning shot for what was to come. The team moved through the second pre-chorus and chorus, Yi Kun on the mic as the energy kept building, the machine operating at peak efficiency. Then came the moment of truth.
The bridge. The killing part.
Min Jae shifted to the center as the bassline thumped a pulsing, minimalist beat. Then the stage exploded in icy blue and white light. Narrow spots painted a trail that followed him through the dizzying footwork sequence with controlled, off-balance grace. He took a single, perfectly timed breath, closed his eyes, and sang. “Loyal!” Boom. “Royal!” Boom. “Noble!” Boom. “Global!” He commanded each note perfectly—powerful, sustained, and absolutely stable. Effortless. Flawless.
The final chorus exploded back in, the full team rejoining Min Jae, their energy now at a fever pitch. They hit their final, commanding pose as the song crashed to an end. Min Jae held his position, his expression a mask of absolute power, his chest heaving, as the camera briefly focused on his face, splashing it three stories tall on the screen behind him. Undeniably, he’d become their king.
Min Jae signaled for his team to assemble in a neat and tidypost-performance row when Si Woo reappeared on stage. The cheering quickly began to sputter and die out.
“The Kingmakers! Let’s take a moment to meet our team,” Si Woo said.
“Two, three!” Min Jae called out.
The team immediately snapped to attention. “We’re the Kingmakers, here to rule your hearts with our boundless love!”
Si Woo chuckled. “An impressive display indeed. As was your, dare I say, flawless performance. Tell me, Kwon Min Jae. What inspired your team’s style today?”
An expected question. Min Jae was ready. “DAZ3 is a group of amazing performers. AndKingmakershowed us all how impressively they command their stages with complex choreography and powerful vocals. We wanted to honor that by elevating the look and making this stage our own.”
Si Woo nodded. “I can’t speak for DAZ3, but I would definitely feel honored by such a performance.” He turned back to the audience. “One more time, everyone. Show your love for the Kingmakers!”
The team performed deep, formal bows before filing off the opposite side of the stage in the same neat and tidy row. Min Jae’s controlled smile hardly touched his inward elation. Everything had gone completely according to his plan. Everyone had performed just how he’d drilled them, producing the kind of smooth precision that even tenured idols would admire.
Once they were offstage, the other guys immediately fell out of formation, jumping around and congratulating each other with unbridled excitement. Min Jae silenced them with a quick shh.
“This isn’t over yet. There’s one more performance before the voting begins, so keep it together.”
Woo Jin quickly jumped in to support Min Jae, directing the guys to the viewing area in the wing as Si Woo announced thefinal performance, introducing Andy’s team as the Kings of Heart.
The stage lights shifted from cool blue to a fiery red as Andy’s team walked onstage and took their positions. Min Jae watched intently, finally seeing their full stage in all its glory. Where his team had been a unified front of rigid, military blue, Andy’s was a curated collection of individuals, bound only by a shared color story of crimson, gold, and an earthy olive green. A sleeveless camo utility vest on one of them, a crimson silk shirt on another. Distressed olive cargo pants, and the constant glint of burnished gold chains. Andy shared his soon-to-be trademark grin at the center, looking surprisingly regal and undoubtedly hot. His crimson satin bomber jacket was a bold, almost arrogant choice, the gold embroidered lion on the back a clear statement. The Kings of Heart. A foolishly sentimental, but undeniably powerful, approach.
The same pounding drum beat, the same thrumming bassline battle cry, but the feeling was completely different. Where Team One had attacked the stage, Andy’s team flowed across it. Their intro was powerfully fluid, their expressions not the hard, focused masks of royal soldiers, but the passionate, emotional faces of storytellers. It was almost musical theater. Min Jae would have laughed at the concept if someone had described it to him. A fatal misinterpretation of a battle song.
But the performance unfolded, and Min Jae stopped wanting to laugh. The audience pushed closer to the stage, completely captivated. Team Two had taken the exact same choreography and reimagined it, turning a declaration of war into a story of charismatic, heartfelt rebellion. Andy absolutely blazed at the center, dialing his easy charm up to an eleven. He was a magnetic sun, drawing his teammates into his orbit with beaming smiles, playful nudges, and even a shared wink with Leo during the rap verse. Min Jae had enforced his team’s loyalty as their supposedking. Andy earned it as a beloved leader. A completely different kind of power that looked effortless in his hands. Min Jae felt his first cold spike of fear for the day. His team's victory might not be so assured after all.
Then came the bridge. The killing part. The section Andy had failed, over and over, in the dead of night. Min Jae held his breath, the memory of his own advice—If it's not working, change it—echoing in his head.
Andy didn't just change it. He destroyed and remade it, flowing into the intricate choreography like falling water, gracefully chaotic. The precision was still there, every move as it was designed. But he’d altered the rhythm of his footwork, timing his steps a syncopated half-beat behind the vocals. A ridiculously audacious, musically brilliant choice that should’ve been a train wreck. But, somehow, it worked. And it was breathtaking to behold.
And then Andy sang. His teammates rallied around him, heads held high in joyful collaboration, not supplication, as his voice filled the hall. His strained effort was a memory. Only a smooth, clear, and resonant power that was even better than his ranking performance.
