Chapter Text
Karaoke rooms are meant to be noisy.
You holler and hoot with the people you hold close to your chest.You let your voice crack on purpose, just to make everyone laugh and boo.You are supposed to sing songs off-key in disastrous harmonies and you're supposed to sing loudly, even when you’re out of tune.You’re meant to pass the mic around, to cheer and tease and sing along to songs everyone knows.
The wrong notes are part of the fun.The joy comes from being together, not from sounding perfect.
Karaoke is meant to be messy and loud, full of voices layered over each other.It isn’t meant for one person sitting in the corner, singing softly to an empty room.
It isn’t meant to carry the sound of loneliness.
Kim Dokja doesn’t give a damn.
He’s here, alone in the karaoke room he paid for with what little money he had. It doesn’t matter that he’s by himself. He’s used to it.
Still, when loud laughter spills through the thin walls from the next room, his heart aches for something he’s never known.
It makes him feel pathetic.
A grown man in his early twenties, living off of expired convenience store kimbap and lollipops. Barely scraping by, paycheck to paycheck.
No one listed under 'emergency contact.'No one to come running if something happened.
When his cramped apartment started to feel like it was closing in on him, he left in a hurry, remembering at the last second to grab his wallet and keys.
He didn’t know where he was going. He just walked.
Then, by pure coincidence, he saw a group of high school girls laughing about karaoke plans for the weekend.
He didn’t think twice.
Music has always been his only escape from the wreckage of his life.
When he hid in the closet as a child, waiting for the storm that was his father to pass, he’d hum quietly to himself, drowning out his mother’s screams.When the beatings rained down on him at school, he’d sing under his breath to forget the pain.
To anyone listening casually, his melody sounded haunting. But it was a cry for help, filled with loneliness so heavy it nearly choked him.
He could lose himself in the rhythm and beat of a song, in the meaning behind each word. No one could find him there.
Music meant the most to him on what he now calls a wretched day.
It's a wretched day for him, not because he tried to put a full stop to his story, but because he failed to do so.
Instead of ripping out the IV lines and trying again, he searched “ways to survive” in his browser like a coward.
It should have led him to a helpline.Instead, a video popped up.
[Ways of Survival – Performance Version]
He had stared at it in disbelief.This was supposed to be his salvation?
A choreography video?
Maybe it was the meds. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline. Whatever the reason, he clicked on it.
It showed a boy, probably around his age. He wore casual clothes, but they looked effortlessly sharp on him. He stood still at first, waiting for the music to begin.
Dokja was seconds away from closing the tab-
-and then the beat dropped.
The boy moved.
And Dokja was mesmerized instantly.
There was violence in that boy's steps. Not reckless, but controlled. He danced like a challenge hurled at the heavens, like he did not have anyone to prove to except himself. His eyes were scathing,hidden under his ever shifting bangs, daring the viewer to look away.
Kim Dokja did not dare.
There was a quiet strength in his movements. Kim Dokja watched and leeched onto that strength like a parasite.
He memorized every lyric, every beat of the song the boy danced to. In the privacy of his room, he tried to follow the same steps, humming softly to himself all the while. But it never felt the same-his movements were too hesitant, his conviction too fragile.
Still, something that should have ended inside him kept going. Because of that boy, a life that nearly slipped away grew stubborn roots.
Dokja watched as the world began to notice him - the boy with fire in his steps and steel in his eyes. He watched him grow into a man, one performance at a time, until his name echoed everywhere; until awards and legendary performances weighed heavy under his belt.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
The undisputed Supreme King of the stage.
Dokja chuckled, pulling himself away from thoughts of a certain performer. Its already been 15 minutes since he'd rented the room. What was he thinking, planting himself from one suffocating room to another?
The mic laid heavy in his hands.One or two songs won't hurt, he thought.
Quickly selecting a song, he settled down, waiting for the instrumental to welcome his voice.
Then he began to sing.
It was a simple ballad, nothing too complicated. There is no one else here to shout and interrupt his singing. There is no need to include mock in his voice, for there is no one to laugh at his antics. So he sang genuinely, letting himself dissolve in the rhythm and flow of the music.
He's never sung in front of anybody. So he doesn't know how breathtakingly beautiful he sounds. He doesn't know how effortlessly he's singing through the hills and valleys of the song, how his voice resembles the tinkling of wind chimes. He doesn't know how unforgettable his voice is.
As the song ended on a high note, Kim Dokja let out a satisfied smile; he always feels better when he finishes a song perfectly. He was about to select the next song, roving his hands around the remote when he felt it.
Eyes on him. He was being watched.
He stood up abruptly, all the good he gained from the song draining out of him, replaced with paranoia. As he whirled around,he met his eyes with another, who watched him from the small gap of the door.
He yanked open the door only to be met with a neatly dressed woman. Her countenance screamed elegance and professionalism, the scent of money wafted from her clothes. Her eyes scrutinized him from under her shades, looking up and down his frame and all around his face. Kim Dokja wanted to go back inside the room, shut the door tight and never come out.
Deciding otherwise, Kim Dokja slowly asked, "Um.. can I help you?" He slipped into his customer service smile even though he wasn't going to offer any services here.
"...You're perfect." She says at last. Perfect? Perfect for what? "You have a stellar voice, lithe body,pretty features and a disarming smile. Those eyes of yours are particularly captivating. Hmm, we'd have to do something about those eyebags though."
"Excuse me?"
She pranced around him, inspecting him from all angles, like he was an exhibit in a museum. Pretending not to notice his increasing confusion, she continued, "So perfect for the 'soft boy' type. A little training and you're good to go."
"I'm Lee Minsyob, by the way." Kim Dokja dazedly reached for the offered card.
'Lee Minsyob
Talent Scout | Rookie Development Team'
He read on the card. He was being..scouted?
Looking him right in his eyes, she continued, "So.what do you say?"
"Huh?"
She tsked, annoyed at him for not catching on," An Idol. Do you want to be one?"
"No." The answer was simple and immediate. An idol? Him? Pfft.
She stared silently at his answer. Then sighed, as if he was a particularly difficult child. "You have the potential - I can see it. And I am never wrong, when it comes to picking gems out the rubble. You should take this chance while you can - and you know you're not content with your life as it is." She said, a knowing look in her eyes. "You've got to put yourself out there young man; I am sure it is going to get you to great heights."
Kim Dokja felt his nerves blaze in anger. Even if all she said is true, who does she think she is, entitled enough to make decisions for him? He's a grown ass man with dick and balls who's definitely not going to go along with her plans.
"Since you're on the older side," Dokja scoffed, thinking about how early twenties is the middle age equivalent in their fucked up entertainment industry. She sighed,"Since you're on the older side, manual introduction to the industry is impossible for you. What I am proposing is a survival show - you'd have to participate as a trainee in the upcoming idol survival show by star stream. Its aiming for a mixed-gender lineup to debut. You just have to come up at the screening -"
"Madam, I’m not interested. I don’t sing for crowds. I don’t want to be famous. And I have no intention of joining your idol project."
Again returned that odd silence as she dissected him like a lab rat with her eyes.
"Free food. Three meals per day. Free accommodation. A small remuneration for everyday you survive on the show."
Free food?
He shook himself from his stuper. No Kim Dokja,this is a trap.
"I know what your free food entails - a couple of beans to chew on in the name of diet, right?"
"Better than what you're having right now.Expired kimbap and lolipops, I assume?"
How did she know?!?
She smirked, seeing him falter.
"Besides, Star stream just got off the heat for dietary restrictions on idols. They're gonna play it safe this time."
"That's supposed to comfort me?"
"Listen," she said, her voice turning sharp, "The industry is hard to survive and often times it's unfair. But it's a rewarding industry if you know how to play along it's seams." She looked at him appraisingly, "I think you're more than capable of surviving this industry. You've got the guts for it, I can tell." Why is she so persistent? What was she after?
Seeing him hesitate, she changed her tactics, "You were singing along to Sun wukong's song earlier weren't you? He's going to be a star judge of the show." That gathered no reaction. Huh." Not just him, but ABFD, Uriel and the Supreme King-"
"Yoo Joonghyuk?" The question slipped off of his tongue before he could stop it.
She smiled like a shark smelling blood.
"Yes, the supreme king is going to be a star judge of the show. You can see him, ask for his autograph and be mentored under him if you last long enough. So, what do you say?"
There was a long silence.
Then Kim Dokja said, quietly,
“Where do I sign up?”
Seriously, the things he'd do to get a glimpse of that man's face.
-------++++-------
He regretted it the moment he stepped into the building.
The place smelled like floor polish. Bright lights buzzed above his head, too white and too clean. Rows of chairs were filled with hopeful boys and girls dressed in bright colors, their hair already styled, eyes wide with either confidence or fear.
Kim Dokja stood out instantly.
He hadn’t even tried to fit in. His hair was unstyled, his oversized hoodie too plain,his expression unreadable. He held a form in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Someone had written a number on a sticker and slapped it onto his chest - #215.
He sat in the farthest corner of the waiting room, pretending not to notice the glances.
Some people whispered. Others simply stared. It wasn’t clear if they thought he was someone important or just completely out of place.
He wasn’t sure either.
"Kim Dokja, you're up."
A staff member gestured toward the recording room.
He stood up slowly. His hands felt colder than they should have. As he walked past the other trainees, someone muttered, “He doesn’t even look like an idol.”
He didn’t flinch. He had heard worse.
Inside the audition room, it was darker. Cameras lined the walls.There were a few judges seated behind a long desk, watching as he entered. Most of them had neutral expressions, but one woman raised an eyebrow.
He bowed politely. “Kim Dokja, applicant number 215.”
“Talent?” one judge asked, flipping through a clipboard.
“Vocal,” Dokja replied. He didn’t elaborate further.
“…Alright then,” another said. “You can begin when ready.”
He nodded and walked to the center. A soft instrumental began playing. It was a simple ballad again, nothing too flashy. Just something he knew he wouldn’t mess up.
He began to sing.
No gimmicks nor any high notes meant to impress. He just let the words carry him. His voice was clear and steady, not loud, but full of feeling. He didn’t try to be emotional - he simply was. The song flowed through him like something old and familiar.
For a moment, the room forgot to breathe. Even the judge who had been scribbling notes looked up.
He reached the final note, let it fade gently, and then stood still.
Silence reigned.
Then the judge in the center asked, “Did you ever train before?”
“No,” Dokja said. That gained a surprised reaction across the panel.
“Acting experience?”
He shook his head.
"Do you dance?"
".....a little."
One of them leaned forward. “You don’t want this, do you?”
That caught him off guard. But he answered honestly. “Not really.”
More silence.
“Then why are you here?”
He hesitated for a beat. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he said-
“To.." 'To see yoo Joonghyuk' ".... survive." He finished. Technically, he's here for the free food as well - that counts as survival, right?
The judges looked at each other. They whispered and their pens scratched on white sheets. One of them nodded.
“Thank you, Kim Dokja. We’ll be in touch.”
He bowed again, turned, and walked out. Only when the door closed behind him did he let out a breath.
-------++++---------
The lights were blinding. The stage was a whirlpool of nerves, sweat and flickering screens. Cameras moved on silent wheels, catching every flicker of expression, every tremble of hands, every tear and every triumphant fist pump.
A hundred contestants. Fifty would be selected.
Only fifty.
The tension in the air was so thick it could be bottled and sold.
Why was he here again? More importantly, how was he here again? Between the talented and charming trainees who've dedicated their whole life to this art, what was he doing?
He'd nearly walked into a pole when the call arrived, congratulating him on being selected to the next stage. He was cent percent sure when he left the auditioning room that he'd blown all chances of meeting Yoo Joonghyuk in real life away with his blabber mouth, but it seems like they, for some reason, found his honesty refreshing.
Whatever. He's not going to look a gift horse in its mouth.
So here he is, in an outfit that screams poverty (it's the best of his outfits), trying not to combust before he got a good look at his idol's face.
He was going to meet Yoo Joonghyuk! Him!
He was going to perform infront of Yoo Joonghyuk! Him!
To perform before the man who saved you from the clutches of death - it is equally nerve racking and exciting.
He's probably going to get eliminated afterwards. Good. Not like planned to be an idol. He's here to simp and leave.
It would be nice, if he could keep those eyes on him for a little while.
Grabbing him from his musings, the light dims across the studio. Cameras on standby, then on rolling - then an explosion of stage lights, focusing on a person he doesn't recognise. Must be the MC.
"One hundred dreamers-One stage-One chance at glory." He started, his voice booming.
"Welcome to RISE: The Next Stage - the survival show where talent meets heart, and passion goes head-to-head with pressure!
Over the next few weeks, we’ll see performers from every walk of life - idol trainees, underground performers, even total newcomers step into the spotlight.
But wanting it isn’t enough. To stay in this competition, they’ll need to show more than just skill. They’ll have to stand out and shine. Burn bright enough to become unforgettable.
And to do that? Well, they’ll need to impress these four.
Let's welcome our beloved judges!" The MC clapped and the crowd clapped along.
'Oh he is good.How does a person have this much charisma?' Kim Dokja thought to himself.
"First,let's welcome, the indomitable force of rhythm and fire, known across the industry for his unmatched charisma - SUN WUKONG!"
The man with blonde hair and chiseled body came onto the stage, grinning like he owned the world, tossing finger hearts at the crowd with the ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. His jacket sparkled under the spotlights. He winked at a camera and made a dramatic spin before taking his seat.
"Next - the nation’s sunshine idol, a voice that has inspired millions - URIEL!"
And sunshine she sure was. Uriel entered, radiant and golden in her sunflower - yellow dress.The audience adored her, chanting her name as she bowed in all directions, her smile warm and unshaken. She clutched her mic like it was a lifeline and waved as if she recognized everyone in the room.
"Then - the genius behind the music, the producer who’s created chart-topping hits since the age of seventeen - Abyssal Black Flame Dragon - also known as ABFD!"
That was the most chunni name Dokja had ever heard in his entire life. The audience didn't seem to mind tho, as a teenager with an attitude stepped into the spotlight. He nodded once, barely acknowledging the cameras. His headset was already half on, fingers tapping an invisible beat. He moved like a boy who only cared about the music.
Not willing to judge a book by it's cover, Dokja moved on. Even if the supposed judge is younger than him, it is not right to disregard him nor disrespect him. The younger you are, the closer you are to the title of prodigy in this industry.
"And finally… the storm who needs no introduction. The man whose choreography redefined the stage. A living legend of performance - YOO JOONGHYUK."
Dokja doesn’t clap.
He knows he should. Trainees around him were bouncing in excitement, some were even standing on their tippy toes to get a better look. But Dokja stayed seated, fingers curled tightly into his lap, eyes fixed on the figure walking across the stage.
There he is. In the flesh.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
He’s taller than Dokja expected. Sharper too - sharp in the way glaciers are, in the way swords are. He's dressed in black, his hair slicked back and his expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps over the contestants like they’re insects under glass.
Dokja should look away.
He doesn’t; he couldn't.
He watches Yoo Joonghyuk with something like reverence, something like resentment. The man’s performances had once kept him going. He saved him, really, when nothing else could. But here, now, across this stage and these lights, Yoo Joonghyuk is no longer just an untouchable icon on a screen.
He’s real.
And Dokja feels it, low in his ribs, an ache he can’t name.
“This is ridiculous,” he tells himself. “It’s just a man.” But his throat is dry. His hands feel cold.
He doesn’t believe his own lie.
-------+++++---------
The trainee arena was a low-lit amphitheater - style pit, the giant screen overhead playing the current contestant’s performance in real time. Somewhere, a camera panned slowly across the group. Every so often, the live feed would cut to “reactions” of contestants watching, clapping, smiling stiffly like trained seals.
Kim Dokja was minding his own business, eyes on the stage, calculating the average time per performance and how long he had left before his turn. The contestant on screen was mid-high note, sweat flying.
A girl dropped onto his next seat with all the grace of a collapsing building.
"Ugh," she groaned. "That guy’s been singing for three hours."
Kim Dokja didn’t respond.
"At this rate, we’ll get eliminated before he finishes his bridge."
Still, silence from his part.
She turned to him, brows raised. “you alive over there, pretty boy?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Short hair, sharp jaw and even sharper smirk. A beauty mark lovingly placed under her left eye. Her contestant badge read #87, Han Sooyoung.
Barely pausing, she jabbed a finger toward his chest.“You’re #99, right?”
He blinked. “…Yes?”
She squinted at him. “Late addition?”
Kim Dokja shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Thought so,” she said, sitting back like she’d solved a mystery. “You’ve got that look - like, you wandered in here by accident and no one’s kicked you out yet.”
He smiled faintly. “Is that your way of saying I look out of place?”
“No,” she said cheerfully. “You look like the kind of nerd who’s going to drop a sob story and then hit a note so high it makes Uriel cry.”
He didn’t reply and she added, more amused, “Come on. Say something funny back.I’m bored.”
“…If you’re so bored, maybe focus on the stage.”
"Tch. You're no fun."
Another contestant finishes a dramatic solo ballad complete with finger hearts and tearful eyes. The vibrato is… courageous. The final note dies a slow, trembling death. Applause is polite. One of the judges rubs their temple.
Han Sooyoung exhales slowly. “That was… something.”
Kim Dokja hums. “He tried.”
She turns. “That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘that sucked.’”
“I mean it,” Dokja says, expression placid. “It takes a lot of nerve to sing like that in front of cameras.”
Sooyoung gives him a sideways look. “You always like this?”
He blinks. “Like what?”
She taps her temple. “A little unnerving?”
“I think they did their best,” Dokja says, serene as ever. “It just… didn’t go well.”
Sooyoung stares at him.
The next contestant enters with flair, performing a solo that includes crawling on the floor, a slow body roll, and a dramatic mic toss that misses and rolls offstage.
There’s a long pause.
“…No,” Sooyoung says flatly. “Absolutely not.”
Dokja murmurs, “He really committed to that.”
“Committed to war crimes,” she says. “That was a hate crime against music.”
He nods solemnly. “It must be nice to live so freely.”
She chokes on her drink. “Did you just-”
He’s still watching the stage. “It’s admirable. Being that confident, with so little to back it up.”
“You-” She turns to him, wide-eyed. “You’re evil.”
He tilts his head slightly. “I’m being supportive.” Then sips from his bottle demurely.
Sooyoung just looks at him. A smile tugged at her lips, equal parts disbelief and amusement.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she mutters. “Just reconsidering everything I thought about you.”
He offers her a mild smile. “I think they’re all very brave.”
“Right,” she says. “Brave. That’s one word for it.”
There’s a lull as the MC announces a break. Contestants shuffle offstage.
Then Sooyoung leans in. “You know, when I first saw you, I figured you were one of those soft-spoken, wholesome types.”
He looks at her with faint amusement. “I’ve been told that.”
“But underneath all that polite nodding and bottle-sipping, you’re actually a little-” she searches for the word “mean.”
Dokja smiles, faint and foxlike. “I prefer ‘Insightful.’ ”
Sooyoung laughs, delighted. “Oh, I’m keeping you.”
------++++------
Han Sooyoung’s performance passed in a blur.
Kim Dokja had been prepared to tear her apart, ready with mental notes and polite insults to throw back at her for all the jabs she'd made about the other contestants. But the second the music started, she transformed.
She stalked the stage like she owned it, spitting bars with fire in her voice and something sharper underneath. Every word hit with precision, like she was carving her place into the competition for herself. The crowd roared back, feeding off her energy like it was electric. Even the judges,jaded as they were,leaned forward, nodding along.
Dokja didn’t mean to be impressed.But he was. He was more than a little annoyed about it.
By the time she landed her final line and tossed the mic like it was too hot to hold, the arena was burning.
Han Sooyoung landed at #17. And she didn’t look surprised.
"Heh.Beat that." She challenged him with a smirk,after reclaiming her seat.
What has he gotten himself into?
------++++------
By the time contestant #98 stepped off stage, exhausted and teary-eyed, the staff was already murmuring about calling it a day. Most of the standout trainees had already gone - trainees from big companies, people with impressive resumes, or just naturally charismatic performers.The judges had leaned forward for a few, nodded for some and frowned at many.
Then came the call:
“Next up:contestant number 99, Kim Dokja.”
Nobody looked up.
Until the screen blinked and the camera zoomed in on the boy walking onto the stage with slow, measured steps.
A few murmurs rippled across the backstage crowd.
“Who?”
“Is he… a solo trainee?”
The lights above the stage dim and the audience falls into a hush. Only a single spotlight remains, casting a pale circle of light on the lone figure standing in the center. Kim Dokja does not move. His head is bowed, eyes hidden behind dark lashes, hands resting quietly at his sides.
Just before the first note plays, he lifts his head. His gaze moves slowly across the judges’ panel, but it doesn’t wander; It lands directly on Yoo Joonghyuk.
Memories of long, lonely days when the image of that man had been the only thing keeping him going flashed through his mind. Now he's here, those obsidian eyes that scalded his heart ages ago were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. His heart thudded with a sudden, breathless joy. Kim Dokja’s eyes screamed a quiet plea-
'-Please look at me. Just this once. Please don’t look away.'
Kim Dokja took a deep breath.
And then,he began.
The first few notes of the song were simple and sweet, but it was enough to garner the attention of the audience and glue it to him. There was something utterly captivating about the man on the stage, that demanded their eyes and didn't let them wander.
He sang and sang and swayed along the practiced steps. It was a rendition of Ways of Survival, one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s earliest and most overlooked pieces. But Kim Dokja performed it like it was sacred. He had learned this choreography at seventeen, copying Yoo Joonghyuk’s steps from an old screen when no one was watching. And yet, this didn’t feel like mimicry. While Yoo Joonghyuk had fire in his steps, Kim Dokja smoothed it along it's edges, gentle and reverent. The violence in Joonghyuk's dance was met with a grateful caress.
It was not a performance to win; it was a homage, meant for one pair of eyes only.
Even the audience felt like they were intruding on something, but they couldn't help but stay rooted to the spot and witness it to the end.
Phones lowered, jaws dropped and eyes wide, the audience realised they were being caressed by the shine of a star. That the man on the stage belonged there.
The moment after his movements stilled and his voice faded, there was a repose. Kim Dokja did not know how to decipher that silence. Then a single clap resounded. And then another. And another. Until the whole arena echoed with a chorus of applause.
Kim Dokja looked up, instinctively seeking one face - only to meet his eyes. The sheer intensity of that gaze burned through him like it meant to leave a mark. Yoo Joonghyuk's gaze flitted around his frame like he was a particularly interesting mystery. Kim Dokja squirmed under the weight of it and hoped to God that his blush wasn't visible to the cameras. He was the first to avert his eyes.
The applause faded.
Uriel leaned toward her mic, brows lifted in surprise.
“That was... unexpectedly beautiful,” she said, sounding almost unsure of her own reaction. “You have a very sincere presence on stage.It didn’t feel flashy, but I couldn’t look away. I think there’s something quietly powerful about the way you perform.”
Sun Wukong gave a short, impressed hum. He was sporting an awed,amused smirk.
“You got guts, kid. That’s not an easy song to pull off and you did it with a calm face like you weren’t even nervous. Your movements weren't sharp, but I think it was intentional, yes? You've got style!” He crossed his arms, grin forming. “Let's see where this goes.”
The teen judge adjusted his clipboard, tapping his pen thoughtfully.
“Technically, your timing and breath control were solid. I’d like to see more.” It was the most he’d said to any contestant after Han Sooyoung.
Yoo Joonghyuk was the last to speak. His expression gave nothing away.
“…You chose an old piece,” he said, eyes lingering on Dokja for a second too long. “Not many would bother with that.”
“Not bad.”
He sat back in his chair, but his gaze didn’t leave the stage. Kim Dokja wanted to run.
He bowed and turned to leave, but Uriel’s voice called out again.
“Hey! Don’t you want to know your ranking?”
Oh. Right. Rankings.
Kim Dokja halted mid-step like a man caught sneaking out. Quietly, he returned to center stage, enduring the ripples of amused laughter from the crowd.
Behind him the screen lit up. It played with the viewer's anxiety for a bit and then,
#12.
Huh?
Wait-
What?
What is he supposed to do now?!
Gasps rang across the arena. An independent trainee in top 15? That too, beating many company trained contestants?
Whispers grew. Kim Dokja bowed once again and retreated from the stage, this time successfully reaching his newly designated seat without any interruptions.
#100 forfeited his performance entirely, refusing to go on stage after that. The MC concluded auditions with brisk mentions of sponsors and upcoming schedules.
Kim Dokja felt a certain judge's gaze following him still. He did not look up.
Unbeknownst to him, Yoo Joonghyuk leaned back on his chair, unknowingly adorning a subtle smile. His pen moved across the names on the participant list, stopping on one particular name: "Kim Dokja."
He circled it once. Twice. Thrice.
Until ink bled through the thin paper and began to tear.
'This season is going to be interesting.' He thought to himself.