The elimination round was over, leaving behind a group of eighteen survivors.
Kang-joon, having secured his position at Rank 7 and earned the trust of the producers, now faced the Concept Stage being the final major challenge before the finale.
This was his critical opportunity to fulfill the Hourglass mandate.
He had to select a theme so niche, so commercially unviable, that it would crash the group's projected market value, thus disrupting the Consortium sale, while simultaneously elevating his own strategic score.
The trainees were gathered in the largest dance studio, the atmosphere less panicked now, and more intensely competitive.
PD Na Ye-eun unveiled the challenge.
"The final eighteen will be split into two teams of nine.
Each team will perform an entirely new, original song produced specifically for this show.
Your task is to select a concept that matches your song and present a theme, costume design, and overall narrative.
The winning team will receive a massive vote bonus."
Two original songs were displayed on the screen.
'Ignition' and 'Ethereal.'
'Ignition' was a high-tempo, aggressive electronic dance track perfect for Min-soo's powerful dance style.
'Ethereal' was a complex, melancholic ballad with layered vocals and a heavy, thematic focus perfect for leveraging Kang-joon's Vocal Team Leader skills, but commercially far riskier.
Kang-joon instantly knew the future of both. 'Ignition' was the original debut song of a massively successful third-generation group in Loop #54.
It was guaranteed to be a hit.
'Ethereal,' however, was a critically acclaimed flop from Loop #18, praised by critics but completely ignored by the public, sinking the group that chose it.
Ethereal is the weapon, Kang-joon calculated. He had to lead his team to perform 'Ethereal,' but he had to ensure the concept itself was so niche and unmarketable that it drove away the global investors, while his personal arrangement was so brilliant it continued to satisfy the System's success mandate.
The team selection began.
Min-soo, radiating arrogance and competitive fire, immediately claimed the high-energy song, 'Ignition,' and selected the best dancers, including Dong-hyun, ensuring his team was the obvious 'Star Team.'
Kang-joon, leading the remaining nine, secured 'Ethereal.'
His team included Jae-hyun (his reliable ally), the liabilities (Do-yoon, Sun-ho), and the anchor (Ji-won).
He also found himself saddled with a new problem.
Hyun Woo.
Hyun Woo was a talented, aggressive visual who had ranked 3rd in the initial ranking but was deeply jealous of Kang-joon's sudden influence, especially after the 'Jazz Swing' performance.
"Hyung," Hyun Woo hissed, pulling Kang-joon aside.
"We need a strong concept for 'Ethereal.' Something powerful.
Dark academia, maybe? We need to look dominant."
"No," Kang-joon said, opening his notes.
"We are going for 'Suburban Gloom.'"
Hyun Woo stared blankly.
"Suburban Gloom? What the hell is that?"
"It's the concept that destroys the market appeal," Kang-joon explained internally, outwardly adopting the persona of a visionary. "Think faded pastels, oversized, shapeless clothing, and set design featuring mundane objects like broken fences and cheap lawn furniture.
The theme is ennui...the quiet desperation of youth trapped by domesticity."
"But... but that's hideous!"
Hyun Woo protested, his perfect visual face contorting.
"The audience wants glamour and fantasy! The Consortium wants global appeal!"
"Global appeal is a cliché," Kang-joon countered, speaking with the authority of 96 failed debuts.
"Our theme will be critically acclaimed for its 'existential commentary' but completely inaccessible to the mass market.
It destroys our commercial value, but elevates our 'Artistic Merit' score."
Hyun Woo was furious, but Kang-joon's logic was airtight and delivered with such conviction that it paralyzed dissent.
Meanwhile, in the production control room, PD Na Ye-eun was reviewing the theme submissions.
Min-soo's team had submitted "Future Warriors of Light."
Kang-joon's team submitted "Ethereal: Suburban Gloom."
PD Na slammed her hand on the desk. "Suburban Gloom? Is he serious? Is he trying to debut a folk band from the 1990s?
This will be a critical darling and a commercial flop!
Why did I make him Vocal Team Leader?"
"Because he's a genius," Manager Kim mumbled, watching the monitor.
"He's making a statement.
He's saying, 'I don't need your commercial success. I have my own artistic path.'"
"It's financial suicide," PD Na said, but she felt a reluctant thrill.
It was a terrible debut concept, but a fantastic reality show concept.
She approved it immediately, knowing the resulting chaos would drive viewer ratings through the roof.
***
Min-soo was training the choreography for 'Ignition.'
But his mind was on Kang-joon.
He watched Kang-joon leading his team through 'Ethereal,' clad in shapeless, beige hoodies.
'He's throwing the challenge. Why?'
Kang-joon's decision to embrace a theme designed to fail commercially was the opposite of the debut game.
Min-soo, driven by his pure desire for stardom, couldn't comprehend intentionally sacrificing marketability.
During a water break, Min-soo approached Jae-hyun.
"Jae-hyun, what's Kang-joon's strategy? Is he trying to get eliminated?"
Jae-hyun, now fiercely loyal to Kang-joon, shook his head.
"No, Hyung.
He says commercial success is fleeting, but artistic integrity is permanent.
...'Ethereal' is about finding beauty in the mundane.
He's making us look deeper than a dance routine."
Min-soo snorted.
"He's making you look like a laundry basket commercial."
But the words felt hollow.
Min-soo knew Kang-joon was always two steps ahead.
'If Kang-joon is prioritizing artistic merit, then my move must be to ensure 'Ignition' is so commercially perfect, it's undeniable.'
Min-soo decided to intensify his own training to lethal levels, trying to counter Kang-joon's strategic depth with sheer physical dominance.
***
Kang-joon, guiding his team through the difficult, counter-intuitive choreography for 'Ethereal,' stepped out to take a call on the encrypted phone.
"Min-seo," Kang-joon said quietly.
"The concept is 'Suburban Gloom.' Faded aesthetic, high artistic commentary, zero commercial value.
The producers hate the idea but love the drama."
"Perfect," Han Min-seo's voice crackled.
"The Consortium is furious.
They see this as a high-risk liability before they even buy the contract.
They want a safe, appealing boy group and you're creating chaos."
"My team is struggling with the choreography," Kang-joon admitted.
"It was designed to be difficult and frustrating."
"Then fix it," Min-seo instructed.
"We need your team to win the critical vote, but lose the commercial vote.
Give them a visual hook."
Kang-joon returned to his team, watching Lee Hoon struggle to make his stoic expression fit the emotional arc of the ballad.
He realized the problem wasn't the concept but really rather the execution.
He gathered his team.
"The problem is that the concept is too depressing," Kang-joon announced.
"We need a moment of 'Sublime Disruption.'"
He showed ann original choreography for the chorus that was a sudden, precise 9-man lift sequence he had memorized from a famous, highly technical French ballet company in Loop #68.
The sequence was beautiful, emotionally resonant, and utterly unexpected in a K-pop performance.
It was also incredibly dangerous and hard to pull off.
"This is our viral moment," Kang-joon told the exhausted trainees.
"This move will get the critics and the viral views.
It has nothing to do with Suburban Gloom, but it proves we are technically superior."
The trainees, galvanized by the complexity and the sheer spectacle of the move, attacked the choreography with renewed vigor.
***
Mr. Bae, a high-ranking analyst for the Chinese Consortium poised to buy Starline, was reviewing the internal marketing reports from Seoul.
He ignored the glowing projections for Min-soo's team.
He focused only on the projected revenue loss from Kang-joon's team.
"The 'Suburban Gloom' theme has a projected merchandise sales drop of 85%," Mr. Bae noted, tapping his stylus on the tablet. "This Lee Kang-joon is a liability."
His superior, Ms. Chen, however, pointed to the raw social media analytics attached to the report.
"Look at the viral lift, Mr. Bae.
The 'Jazz Swing' arrangement generated more critical praise than any other performance.
Now, this new choreography for 'Ethereal' the nine-man lift is already being leaked and is gaining massive attention on dance forums."
"Artistic Merit does not pay the debt, Ms. Chen."
"But controversy raises the overall price of the show's IP," Ms. Chen argued.
"Kang-joon is trying to make the show so interesting that the overall package price goes up.
He's a strategic asset...If we cancel the sale because of him, the public will blame us for killing the 'Artistic Integrity' of K-pop.
We must acquire him, Mr. Bae...at all costs.
If we buy the company, we cut the 'Suburban Gloom' concept immediately and switch him to a commercial theme.
We need his brain, but we need to control his creativity."
Mr. Bae conceded.
The liability was so great that it became an asset.
They had to buy the company and isolate Kang-joon.
Now it was personal... they needed to acquire the group, but they needed to neutralize the one member who threatened their profits.
***
The night before the performance, Kang-joon was running the nine-man lift sequence one last time.
It was flawless and the synchronization was perfect.
He glanced at the system window.
[System Status: Debut Success Score: 0.400%. Host is achieving critical strategic mass. Next stage is the finale.]
He had successfully leveraged a commercially disastrous concept to gain immense strategic value.
He was irreplaceable.
He packed his bag, preparing to leave the studio, when he noticed a flicker of movement by the far exit.
A figure in a dark uniform.
'Thats doesn't look like a Starline staffer.'
It was a third-party security guard he didn't recognize was tampering with the electrical panel.
Kang-joon immediately remembered.
Loop #88: A fatal fire caused by an electrical short during the final concept stage, disguised as an 'accident' caused by old wiring. The Consortium's method of dealing with 'expensive assets' they didn't want was always the same.
The intruder burst out of the studio and into the narrow, unlit corridor that led to the service exit.
The operative was large and fast, clearly trained.
But the operative made the mistake of trying to corner Kang-joon near a stairwell, turning to throw a wide, powerful punch.
Kang-joon didn't block it and dropped his center of gravity, spinning inside the punch, executing a quick, sharp Sanda elbow strike to the solar plexus.
The operative gasped, the wind knocked out of him, his large frame momentarily stunned. Kang-joon used the momentary paralysis by not continuing to attack and instead disoriented him.
He hooked his foot behind the operative's knee and executed a smooth Judo-style sweep, sending the large man crashing heavily onto the concrete floor.
The sound echoed loudly in the empty hall. Kang-joon immediately pinned the man's wrist to the floor, applying pressure at the joint.
"Who sent you?" Kang-joon's voice was low, strained, but utterly calm.
The operative just strained, fighting the pressure.
"Get off me, kid!"
Kang-joon increased the pressure just enough to elicit a sharp cry of pain.
"You were setting up a short circuit. Was it the Consortium? Or someone from another agency?"
"I don't know names! It was an outside contractor! They said the studio was unstable and needed to be cleared!"
The man gasped, finally breaking.
Kang-joon released the pressure slightly, then drove his knee into the man's ribs.
"A fire would have cleared the studio permanently.
Get up!"
Kang-joon pulled the operative to his feet, checking his face to ensure he could identify him later.
He then led the man back toward the studio.
'I can't call the police... involving the police would shut down the show...a career disaster the System would penalize severely.'
He dragged the struggling operative directly to the security console he'd previously accessed.
He used his pass code and manually triggered the Level 3 Security Alarm.
Within minutes, Manager Kim, Producer Seo, and three panicked Starline security personnel sprinted into the hallway.
They found Kang-joon standing over the heavily breathing, dark-uniformed operative, who was nursing his elbow.
"Manager-nim," Kang-joon said, his breathing even now.
"This man is not Starline staff.
I caught him tampering with the main electrical panel and claimed the wiring was unstable and was trying to unilaterally shut down the studio, which would cost the production schedule twenty-four hours."
Manager Kim instantly switched from concern to enraged corporate protectionism.
"Shut down the studio?! You terrorist!" Manager Kim screamed at the operative.
"I will sue your company into bankruptcy!"
He ordered the Starline guards to detain the man and call the police but only to report corporate espionage and trespassing, not attempted arson.
Later, as the Starline personnel cleaned up the mess, Manager Kim approached Kang-joon, his face white with residual panic.
"Kang-joon," he whispered.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Kang-joon shrugged.
"High school judo club, Manager-nim. And university self-defense courses..."
Manager Kim merely shook his head, looking at the young trainee with a new, fearful respect.
Kang-joon smiled, a genuine, tired smile. The System had paused its penalty clock, recognizing the necessity of the fight.
[System Quest: Neutralize Physical Sabotage. Sub-Quest Complete. Reward: [Physical Efficiency (A) Skill] Unlocked. Host's physical movements are now 20% more optimal and energy-conserving.]