The final stage of the Concept Evaluation for "Road to Starlight" was not the finale, but it felt like it. The lights, the screaming fans, and the palpable tension were all amplified by the looming deadline: two days until the Consortium Sale and the inevitable 'purge' of liabilities. Kang-joon, standing with his team in the aggressively unmarketable 'Suburban Gloom' attire, felt a profound internal calm. He had controlled every variable he could.
His team's 'Ethereal' performance and Min-soo's guaranteed hit, 'Ignition,' were set to determine the top nine rankings, but not the final debut group. The overall winner of this challenge, however, would have immense leverage in negotiating their contract—leverage Kang-joon desperately needed to survive the sale.
Min-soo's team, the 'Future Warriors of Light,' performed first. It was a guaranteed commercial hit: aggressive choreography, flashing primary colors, and Min-soo's explosive charm at the center. The crowd loved it. The online chat during the filming session immediately favored them.
[System Alert: Rival Team 'Ignition' achieves 98% commercial perfection. Host's Debut Success Score is at risk of falling due to market appeal deficit.]
Kang-joon ignored the deficit. Commercial appeal was the Consortium's magnet; he needed to be the repellent.
The lights shifted to moody blues and greys as Kang-joon's team took the stage. The complex, sorrowful rhythm of 'Ethereal' began. The audience was immediately confused by the faded, shapeless clothing, but captivated by the gravitas of the performance. Kang-joon, as Vocal Team Leader, focused not on charm, but on conveying the 'existential weight' of the concept.
The atmosphere shifted entirely during the chorus. The music swelled, and the nine trainees launched into the complex, dangerous Nine-Man Lift Sequence. It was a breathtaking, perfect moment of technical supremacy, a guaranteed viral clip that silenced the crowd. Kang-joon's [Physical Efficiency (A) Skill] was the invisible anchor, ensuring the entire formation held flawlessly.
When the music faded, the ovation was not a roar, but a deep, sustained acknowledgment of high art.
In the control booth, PD Na Ye-eun was ecstatic, but financially terrified. "It's commercial suicide, but an artistic triumph! The lift is going viral before we even finish editing!" The critical score charts were flashing: Kang-joon's team had won the judges' vote by a significant margin. The Critical Score Victory was Kang-joon's essential leverage.
Backstage, before the scores were revealed, Manager Kim intercepted Kang-joon, his face slick with sweat and stress.
"Kang-joon, you're the winner of this challenge. The CEO is already planning the headlines," Manager Kim whispered, pulling him into a corner. "But the Consortium is on the phone. They know you're the one fighting the timeline. They want to rush the entire contract signing tonight—before the official results drop—to preempt any legal maneuvering."
This was the final, direct pressure point. Kang-joon couldn't delay the sale, but he could delay the contract.
Kang-joon looked Manager Kim in the eye. "Manager-nim, if the CEO wants headlines, tell the Consortium that I, as the winning team's leader, am refusing to perform the encore until they meet two demands: one, guaranteed health insurance for all eighteen remaining trainees, and two, a minimum of 72 hours for independent counsel review of the new contract terms."
Manager Kim stared, mouth agape. "You're threatening a global conglomerate with a no-show?!"
"I am securing the assets, Manager-nim," Kang-joon corrected, using the language of corporate risk. "The Consortium wants the final performance footage. They want the 'Ethereal' win narrative. Without the encore, the finale is incomplete. Tell them I will not sign any contract under duress."
Manager Kim, terrified of losing the finale footage, relayed the demands. The Consortium, reeling from the sudden, public-facing blackmail from a single trainee, conceded the 72-hour delay to save face and secure the performance footage.
Kang-joon's defiance had created his survival window.
The final scores were announced: Ethereal Wins the Concept Evaluation. The trainees erupted in shocked cheers. Kang-joon had guaranteed his strategic value and bought three days of legal time.
But the chaos had also elevated his strategic assets and liabilities.
Min-soo found Kang-joon in the celebratory chaos, his earlier competitive fury replaced by a focused, chilling respect.
"You won the whole show with a song about being sad in the suburbs," Min-soo said, shaking his head. "You're not competing with me, Hyung. You're competing with the producers." He paused, looking directly at Kang-joon. "I still hate your concept, but I need your brain. I want to be your partner for the next stage."
"The next stage is the Unit Formation challenge, Min-soo-ssi," Kang-joon replied, recognizing the alliance as necessary. "We'll see who chooses whom. I need a Center I can control."
"You already are the Center, Hyung," Min-soo admitted, finally defeated by Kang-joon's influence. "You just wear the cheapest clothes."
Han Min-seo, the Hourglass scout, watched the finale on a private feed, simultaneously directing her legal team. She saw the 72-hour delay as a miracle.
"He's brilliant," she murmured to her legal advisor. "That gives us time to activate his Contingency Clause."
She typed a furious message to Kang-joon on the encrypted phone:
[Min-seo]: You bought three days. The Consortium will try to isolate you before the contract review. I have our legal team prepared to file a protective injunction based on your previous contract. Your mission now is not just to secure your final rank, but to legally document the unstable environment. Get evidence of the sabotage attempts. Focus on the internal threats.
Kang-joon read the text backstage. He had neutralized the fire, but he needed proof. He needed to turn the simple attempt on his life into a legal threat against the Consortium.
The trainees were ushered back to the bus. Kang-joon, feigning exhaustion, was the last one to leave the hall. He used the opportunity to slip into the production office. He needed the security footage of the failed sabotage attempt.
He accessed the main security server using the manager's login he'd observed in Loop #50. The footage of the corridor was there: a clear video of the unnamed security operative tampering with the electrical panel, followed by the struggle, and Kang-joon's subsequent, clinical takedown. He quickly downloaded the file onto the encrypted Hourglass phone.
As he finished the transfer, the production office door swung open. It wasn't a producer. It was Hyun Woo, the aggressive visual from his team, who had been furious about the 'Suburban Gloom' concept.
Hyun Woo was pale, his eyes wide, holding a small voice recorder. "Hyung... what are you doing with the security server? And what is that phone?"
Kang-joon had assumed his battles would be professional or physical. He hadn't accounted for the simple, devastating threat of a jealous peer's curiosity.
"Hyun Woo," Kang-joon said, his mind racing. "I can explain."
Hyun Woo backed away, shaking his head. "You're Rank 6. You won with that terrible concept. You told Manager Kim to delay the signing. And now you're hacking the security? You're trying to sink the company. I'm calling the PDs."
Kang-joon knew his survival, and the entire Hourglass legal strategy, hinged on preventing that call. He had to neutralize Hyun Woo without violence and without exposure. He had to use the one weapon that always worked in the idol industry: the truth of the future.
"Hyun Woo," Kang-joon said, dropping his voice to a serious, chilling whisper. "If you make that call, you will get the CEO's attention. And in three months, you will lose your voice completely due to an undiagnosed vocal chord cyst, and your career will be over. I can stop that. But only if you drop the recorder."