TBC Ilsan Studio.
The recording hall was so crowded with staff running around that there wasn’t a single place to set a foot.
“Hey! Soone move that light rig off the truss, please!”
“What about the perforrs? Who’s arrived so far?”
“The Apple team showed up first and is warming up. The other teams should be here any minute....”
The actual recording wouldn’t start until evening, but even beginning preparations now felt tight on ti.
This was a high-budget competition show for TBC.
And since it was the very first recording, there was a lot to obsess over.
“All right, once the setup’s done, let’s jump into rehearsal.”
The show’s main PD—Director Kim—took a deep breath as he relayed instructions while circling the stage.
‘Preparation is perfect.’
He had spent the past few months pulling all-nighters for this day.
He’d sifted through hundreds of films to pick , analyzed its story, and secured the right perforrs for a dance-based competition.
They’d even invited a director renowned for musical staging.
“Sir, you’re here?”
“Good morning, Director Kim.”
The stern-faced director—rigid with nerves—cracked a small smile when he saw Kim’s tension.
“You look pretty jittery.”
“You have no idea. Feels like a baseball bat’s pounding my heart.”
“Why worry? You’ve seen the contestants practice—you’re just putting on airs.”
Embarrassed, Kim forced a laugh.
True to those words, everything was perfectly rehearsed.
The crew had given their all, and the perforrs had practiced like crazy.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling nervous.
“I guess I just want this show to succeed so badly... I’ve been desperate for a chance like this.”
In college, he’d danced in an amateur crew and once dread of a dance career.
Though lacking the talent, dance had always been his passion.
He’d vowed that if he couldn’t be a dancer, he’d beco a PD who produced a dance-centered show—and today’s first recording of I MOVE was the fruit of that effort.
‘I just want people to appreciate dance...!’
From terrestrial to cable, there were dozens of music shows, but very few dedicated to dance.
As I MOVE’s main PD, he hoped this program would shift those perceptions—even if only a little.
“Don’t worry so much, Director Kim.”
The musical staging director said.
“I’ve seen shows for nearly forty years, and this one’s got sothing special.”
“Is that so?”
“There’s always a reason a show flops—bad acting, poor timing, weak music. But every hit show has one thing in common: it’s just plain fun.”
Quoting the opening of Anna Karenina, he surveyed the stage.
“I’ve watched these young folks rehearse, seen the run-throughs—it’s entertaining. Seriously, relax.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Kim smiled at the praise from the gruff director.
As they talked, commotion broke out and the door swung open.
“Hello!”
In small clusters, today’s contestants filed in.
Fifteen entertainers in all, and their arrival filled the set with vibrant energy.
“Good morning, everyone~ haha!”
“We’re here to spread good vibes! Who’s ready to soak it up?”
“Director!”
The smiling dancers bowed cheerfully, and the crew returned their greetings.
While observing that heartwarming scene, Kim’s gaze locked onto one team that stood out.
‘What’s that?’
The Apple team.
Beside the radiant, fair-skinned Biju stood Ran and Ha ru—both in stark contrast.
‘Does Ha ru always look like that? And Ran, too?’
It was a dramatic black-and-white contrast.
Biju’s bright smile against Ran’s dark circles and Ha ru’s somber face—and both of them staring with fierce intensity.
With over ten years in the industry, Ran looked like a rookie on the brink of debut.
‘They really did practice way more than anyone else.’
Their practice-session footage from the observation cara had been double the length of other teams’.
Ran tearing up the floor without a watch, Ha ru in his twenties pushing himself to the limit.
“They look half-dead,” the staging director said, patting Kim on the back.
“I never bother watching other teams rehearse, but I can’t stay away from theirs.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they’re killing themselves out there.”
Kim laughed, but the director was serious.
“You don’t know how ruthless that guy is. Polite, sure—but the mont he digs in, he’s like a storm.”
“Biju’s got passion, I’ll admit that.”
“After his last run-through, I almost couldn’t pull him off the stage.”
Despite the teasing, the director’s eyes shone with fondness as he watched Biju, and Kim smiled before shifting his gaze to the stage.
The contestants stretched, rolled their shoulders, and limbered up.
“Did everyone sleep well?”
At Kim’s question into the mic, the dancers laughed.
“No!”
“I didn’t get a wink last night. Too nervous.”
“We did the math—average was like three hours per person.”
Kim flipped through his script to calm their nerves.
“All right, let’s start rehearsal. This is the opening: ‘Background of Eratria’ scene.”
It was an adaptation of the puppet show from the beginning of the 1950s film .
The epic duel between a wicked dragon and the king.
Then, after their battle ends, the heirs of the kingdom scatter—setting up the next conflict.
“Get ready.”
The dancers ford their opening formation, hands on each other’s shoulders or striking poses.
They wore beat-up tracksuits you might see in a neighborhood park, but you could feel the strength in their dancer’s physiques.
Smiling at one another, they mouthed encouragent.
“Music, please. Three, two, one.”
At Kim’s signal, their gentle smiles transford instantly into fierce stage personas.
Though he’d watched rehearsal tapes dozens of tis, the added lighting made it feel fresh.
“Wow....”
The writers behind him murmured in awe.
The opening centered on Ran from Twinkle and Rina from Scarlet.
Rina, playing the dragon, threw her hands back, creating the illusion of a flapping cape.
It felt like crimson wings unfurling.
Every step darkened the lights, then burst the stage into red sparks.
Her graceful yet nacing presence, poised to swallow her foe, made Kim beam with satisfaction.
‘Yes. Love this choreography!’
Countering her, Ran—as the king—strode with regal poise.
As the red lights receded, a white spotlight bathed the stage.
The two royals faced off.
The dragon engulfed the sky in flas; the king’s sword shone like light itself.
Under the thrilling music, the dancers’ hands intertwined like clashing blades.
The supporting dancers waged war in military formations.
Advantage shifted back and forth in a breathless ebb and flow.
Swoosh.
Silently, Biju slid in and delivered the decisive blow that felled the dragon.
‘He’s incredible.’
He looked like a noble white knight, waist-length hair flying, drawing every eye.
Though he retreated imdiately, Biju’s {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} dance stayed in Kim’s mind.
With the dragon defeated, the king appointed the knight as the new pri minister.
‘Okay, that’s it for this part.’
Next ca the neighboring kingdom dispute over the dragon’s lair.
Wild’s Usan would beco the opposing king, sparking conflict.
The kingdom’s twin heirs were torn apart, and the pri minister lost his wife.
By the final segnt of the opening, the stage split into three sections.
On the left, Rina stood as if the dead dragon, observing with a mocking smile.
Center stage held the distraught king.
On the right, the pri minister, broken by grief and hinting at corruption.
anwhile—
‘And here...’
The youngest dancers of I MOVE—male and female—rose from their crouch, spinning softly.
Like a sprout unfurling from a seed.
It was a montage of the royal twins growing from infants into adults.
That concluded the background introduction of .
Then—
Watching the blend of ensemble and solo work on stage, Kim nearly applauded before catching himself.
‘Got it...!’
It was a formation that would captivate viewers.
Hiding his excitent, he spoke calmly.
“All right, great work, everyone.”
When the music cut, the dancers exhaled in relief, high-fiving each other.
“Thank you. Please head to the waiting room. We’ll call you by team.”
“Okay!”
The perforrs left the stage.
Laughter and chatter drifted back—evidence that bonds were already forming during rehearsal.
Kim turned his head, needing to confirm a few things.
“Saw that?”
He asked his colleagues seated in the audience.
“How was it? Did the story co through?”
“Yeah. Not hard to follow. Dragon fights king, then dispute over land, kingdom falls?”
“Completely clear and entertaining.”
A smile spread across Kim’s face.
Since the story relied solely on dance—no lines or music lyrics—it was crucial that audiences could understand it imdiately.
‘That issue is solved.’
Next question.
“How was the pri minister?”
“The role Biju danced?”
“Right. Did you feel his fall into corruption made sense?”
In the original, the pri minister was pure evil, but this competition aid to show a more three-dinsional arc—sothing to keep viewers engaged.
They all nodded.
“Yeah, it resonated.”
“I’d wage war on those who made him cry. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for that face?”
The main dancer from NewBlack secured narrative heft through visuals alone.
As they praised that success, the assistant PD called out.
“PD!”
“What is it?”
“The perforrs we were going to call are here—NewBlack just arrived at the station.”
“Already? They ca quick.”
“Shall we start filming early?”
Kim laughed and nodded.
Biju cocked his head in confusion.
“An interview?”
“Yes.”
“Can I go now?”
“Please.”
He glanced back toward Ran and Ha ru, who lay slumped with patches on their muscles.
“I’ll be right back!”
“Ugh... wah.”
“Okay—just a mont!”
Ran and Ha ru, too exhausted to speak, communicated by gesture, making the writers chuckle.
Once the door closed behind him, Biju asked the writer,
“What’s the interview about?”
“Uh, your reasons for joining the show, your thoughts before going on stage... stuff like that.”
“I see.”
Biju smiled brightly and asked in passing,
“But didn’t we do an interview before?”
“...Yes?”
“At the pre-eting—I think there was a cara on the table then.”
The writer fell silent.
He was right.
That angled cara had fild their “Why I wanted to join” segnt in the conference room.
As Biju’s instincts flagged sothing odd, the writer recalled soone’s advice:
“Our child’s quick to notice things. He knows when he’s easily fooled, so he isn’t fooled that way. In that case...”
The writer pulled an apple pie from his pocket.
“Hungry?”
“Ah!”
“I brought this for you.”
“Thank you!”
Like dangling a carrot before a donkey, the apple pie bait worked perfectly to lead Biju here.
“Nice tablecloth. Is this sponsored?”
They stood in the conference room, where a prettily patterned cloth covered the table.
As Biju leaned in to admire the pattern, the writer waved the pie urgently.
Seated at the table, Biju pointed at the set cara.
“Do I look over there when I answer?”
“Yes.”
“All right, let’s start.”
The writers read from a rough cue sheet for the hidden-cara bit.
As the crew asked questions and Biju answered earnestly, their eyes flicked to the table.
The cloth’s edge fluttered—and they shook their heads.
‘Not yet!’
They planned to film Biju’s reaction alone after the interview, once the others texted “Can’t make it! haha!” and Biju “waaah.”
Then they’d burst in for a heartwarming reveal.
‘I still don’t know why they’re hiding over there.’
They’d suggested hiding behind partitions or walls, but the team insisted that spot would be funnier.
Imagining the four mbers giggling in there, the writer smiled, then read the final question.
“Everyone who knows you says the sa thing: you’re talented, but you practice like there’s no tomorrow. I used to be called ruthless, but next to you, I’m nothing.”
“Ahahaha....”
Biju chuckled, scratching his cheek as the writer asked,
“Why do you practice that hard?”
“Um....”
Biju paused thoughtfully, then smiled.
“Because I love my mbers.”
“You love your mbers...?”
“Yes.”
As the crew looked puzzled, he explained,
“I always think I need to work hard to support these great people.”
Biju, still smiling gently, then grimaced.
“Was that a bit cheesy?”
“No, not at all.”
“My mbers are all talented in their fields. Ri Hyuk sings, Junhyun raps, Jiho acts. Uju hyung....”
He trailed off.
“Huh? They all do well.... Anyway, that’s why I focus on my specialty, dance. If nothing else, I want to be the best dancer for the team.”
He bead.
“So this show ans a lot to . A program that shows only dance—I love it.”
“You seem happy.”
“Yes. eting everyone who loves dance is wonderful.”
Satisfied with his honest interview, the crew smiled.
‘This is gold!’
Under the table, the hidden cara probably captured NewBlack twisting and turning in excitent.
The crew, wrapping up, nodded.
“Um, excuse —Biju. Could you wait here a bit longer?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Just hang tight.”
They gathered their cara and left.
In the next room, hidden monitors showed the scene to his waiting teammates.
Below the table, NewBlack giggled, bouncing their feet, while Biju pored over a TBC map, morizing the facility layout.
A producer spoke into NewBlack’s comm,
“All right, send them the ‘can’t make it’ text now.”
They grinned in anticipation of the reveal.
Under the large table.
‘Hehehehehe....’
‘Hehehehehe.’
We tapped our phones in muted laughs.
: [Biju]
: [Hey, just so you know...]
We sent the careful ssage that he couldn’t attend the upcoming competition.
[Bell sound!] A cartoon-like cat ringtone blared on Biju’s phone.
Tap. Tap.
His sneakered foot, bouncing lightly, froze, then resud its rhythm—tap... tap...
“If they’re delaying the sitcom shoot, it can’t be helped....”
To avoid suspicion, we staggered our texts.
When Ri Hyuk and Jiho sent theirs, the tone buzzed briefly.
“Ri Hyuk’s busy with OST... Jiho’s got a drama... wait, what’s today?”
His bouncing foot stilled.
Finally, Junhyun sent his silent ping.
“Huh? Kim Junhyun?”
While Junhyun alone reacted to the silent text, we burst out laughing.
‘He’s on silent mode!’
‘Only he’s on silent mode~! Hehehe!’
‘Silent? Pfft.’
We heard Biju’s voice.
“Kim Junhyun—you don’t have to co.”
“.... “
“I wasn’t expecting you anyway.”
As Biju muttered, we exchanged amused glances.
‘Shall we make our move?’
‘Yeah, let’s do it.’
Every ti he muttered, we’d send another ssage, like we were watching him from sowhere.
And then, we’d reveal ourselves with a ta-da!
‘He’s going to love it.’
‘One hundred percent.’
Whenever he returned from I MOVE shoots, he always seed a little lonely.
People at the set treated him well, but without us, he missed ho.
We were just about to send the next burst—
Click.
Two pairs of sneakers appeared, and Ran and Ha ru’s voices rang out.
“Biju!”
“Oh, seniors.”
“Been looking for you. What are you up to? Didn’t you eat breakfast?”
“The crew said to wait here a bit. Are there sandwiches?”
“Yeah.”
Ran peered around.
“Wow. Nice room. Is the interview still going?”
“No, it’s done. They just have a few more things to discuss.”
“Ah.”
“So I’m waiting here.”
At Biju’s words, Ha ru and Ran said,
“Shall we eat here?”
“That sounds good—the vibe’s nice.”
While we mouthed “No, no,” Ran and Ha ru slid into seats at the table.
‘....’
‘....’
Awkward, but it was Biju’s team after all...
Click.
“Biju’s here! Let’s eat together!”
“Oh? I’m bored—mind if I join?”
mbers of another team peeked in, then sward in all at once.
Under the table, we bead.
‘He’s not friendless after all!’
‘That’s our youngest.’
Just as we clapped in delight at his popularity, we realized a critical problem.
‘Wait a sec.’
I whispered,
‘How do we get out of here?’
‘...’
We exchanged looks, blinking.
‘Uh...?’
Are we done for?
User Comments
0 comments from readers