9
Despite all thetime Andy had spent filming Dream Boy Project, he’d been completely unprepared for Chart Masters. It wasn’t until he walked into the show’s sound stage at the Vision Center that he’d realized his error. He’d been filming a reality show. Loose. Organic. Free-flowing. Chart Masters was none of that. Every second was accounted for on the rigid shooting schedule, right down to the amount of time the Kings of Heart were allowed to do their ending fairies for the audience after their performance.
Not that things went badly. Far from it. The stage, while smaller, was amazing, wrapped in LED screens down to–and including–the floors. And the audience, also smaller, was at least twice as rowdy, some of them screaming Andy’s name as his team walked out onstage. Andy soaked it all up, pumping every ounce of charm he could into his performance, reveling in the unbridled attention.
But the best part of the experience was undoubtedly the post-performance dinner with Director Choi–no mics, off camera. He’d taken them to a private room at Palate, an upscale Korean-French fusion restaurant in Cheongdam. The food was divine. “Order whatever you like,” Director Choi said, chuckling, whenAndy asked about the wagyu. And the team of waiters assigned to the table moved around them with the same, effortless grace and efficiency as the best K-pop groups. Director Choi sat at the head of the table, naturally, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled up, a completely different person away from the mentors’ dais. Relaxed and expansive with an easy laugh. But his eyes never lost that sharp, assessing gaze. The man missed nothing.
“So,” Choi said after sipping from a glass of cabernet so dark it was almost purple. “Were you surprised you won?”
Leo, ever the smooth talker, jumped in first. “We were very confident in our performance, sir, but Team One was so perfect. We knew it would be close.”
Choi nodded with a knowing, almost fatherly smile. “Perfection is a strong tool,” he admitted. “But heart is an even stronger tool. And you won because you showed them your heart.” He turned to Andy. “What was the biggest challenge you faced as a leader?”
“Honestly?” Andy grinned. “Getting ten guys with ten different styles to trust each other and move as one. Then everything just clicked when we did.”
Choi nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He offered them encouragement, praising their individual strengths he’d noticed during rehearsals, and offering advice when asked. Andy, emboldened by the Director’s openness–and maybe a little by the wine–decided to take his shot.
“What’s the best thing we can do to make sure we debut with Pr1ze?”
Choi smiled. “I was hoping someone would ask me that.” He picked up the wine bottle beside him and refilled Andy’s glass. “Tonight, you performed as trainees hoping to win. If you want to debut, you must start performing as if you’ve already won. The stage is not a test. It’s your throne. Act like you belong there.”
Andy respectfully bowed his head before lifting his glass totoast the Director’s generosity. But he couldn’t help recalling Min Jae’s surprisingly similar advice the night he’d almost given up trying to work out the bridge.You’re the leader. Act like it.
Andy probably would’ve shared that insight with Min Jae, if only to cheer him up a bit after his loss. But the ice king had pulled his vanishing act again. No one answered when Andy knocked on the door to his room that night. And no one was there when Andy stopped by the next morning. That’s why, when he finally ran into Min Jae, back at the Vision Center to film the first elimination ceremony, he stepped into his path to force a conversation.
“I would like to thank you,” Andy said, slipping into the formal, polite language his grandmother always insisted upon. “For your advice that night. It really made all the difference.”
Min Jae silently glared at him hard enough that he wondered if his hair would catch on fire. Understandable, considering everything. Then Min Jae’s gaze finally relaxed, his expression softening frommust killtofine, let’s get this over with. “You’re welcome. Congratulations again on your win.” He moved to step around Andy, who caught the edge of his sleeve to stop him.
“I mean it,” Andy continued, dropping the formal speech. “I owe you, so if there's any way I can repay you for that, just let me know.”
Min Jae tugged his sleeve from Andy’s grasp, but didn’t immediately walk off. “Alright. In that case, I will.” He held Andy’s gaze a moment longer before walking away, leaving Andy wondering what hell he’d just volunteered himself for.
Shaking his head, Andy wandered off, exploring the backstage green rooms until he finally found Leo talking with Min Jun and Sang Chul. He caught Leo’s eye as he stepped into the room.
“Hey, Sacramento!” Leo exclaimed. “Where’ve you been?”
Andy shrugged and plopped down onto the open seat besideLeo. “Oh, you know, just making my rounds. I finally ran into Min Jae.”
Sang Chul frowned. “Is he still upset about last night?”
Andy shrugged again. “Hard to say,” he lied to protect his rival from further scorn. He was many things, but never a gossip queen. “He seemed okay, I think.”
“He should be,” Min Jun offered. “That was easily the second best performance of the mission. He’s got nothing to worry about today.”
“Except his number one spot,” Leo countered, slapping Andy’s shoulder. “We all know who’s getting the big chair today.”
Andy grinned, ignoring the rising warmth in his cheeks. “You’ll all definitely move up, too. I bet you’ll hit the top ten, Leo.”
Leo jokingly scoffed. “Top ten? I’m gonna take over the top rank for sure.” He leaned in close to Andy, playfully poking his chest. “Next time, I’m gonna be picking YOU for MY team.”
Andy laughed. “As long as we’re still on the same team, I’ll take it.” The speakers chimed, followed by an announcement calling all contestants to the main stage.
Leo grinned. “Guess we’re about to find out, eh?”
The four of them joked and playfully roughhoused in the corridor as they wandered toward the main stage entrance. Andy gasped when he walked in. The giant studio where they’d first done their ranking performances had leveled up. The original risers were gone, replaced with two brand-new sets. The first was a stark, white gallery, five levels tall with 100 simple, numbered chairs. But the real show was the other structure. A sleek, multi-tiered platform of gleaming blue, purple, and white decorated with flashing, multi-colored lighting strips like the ultimate VIP section, even down to the velvet rope strung across the base. And only set with 50 numbered chairs. Not everyone was gonna make it past the bouncer today.
An icy chill settled in Andy’s stomach as a pair of PAsdirected the contestants to the appropriate seats. He thought he’d properly readied himself for the day’s culling that morning in the shower–he’d made sure to get in before Tae Oh after that one time made him late. Yes, he’d won the group cover mission. Yes, he’d performed at Chart Masters. But nothing was ever guaranteed in the cut-throat world of Korean survival shows. He probably wouldn’t be eliminated, but he still could be. Seeing the 50 numbered seats really drove the point home. Half the guys there, many that he’d already gotten to know, would be headed home soon.
