Kang-joon sat in the corner of the cafeteria, his tray untouched. His Rank 14 status made him a social pariah—the "charity case" that nobody wanted to be associated with for fear of the "failure" rubbing off. Even the staff treated him with a polite, distant pity.
Across the room, the power centers had shifted. Min-soo and Gun-woo were no longer allies; they were rivals for the #1 spot, their groups huddled in separate corners like small, desperate armies. But the most jarring sight was Jae-hyun. The boy who used to share his snacks with everyone was now practicing his lines in a corner, his eyes cold and focused. He hadn't spoken to Kang-joon in forty-eight hours.
The mission for the week was the "Sovereignty Stage." Each team had to self-produce a performance, from the arrangement to the lighting cues. It was designed to test who had the "Executive Capability" to lead a five-member group.
Team Gun-woo was in shambles. Gun-woo's leadership style had turned dictatorial under the pressure.
"The high note is mine," Gun-woo said, slamming his hand on the table. "Jae-hyun, you take the dance break. Kang-joon... you stay in the back for the chorus. We can't risk another stumble on the main cam."
"If I stay in the back, my screen time will drop to zero," Kang-joon said, his voice flat. He was fighting the [Cognitive Overload] with everything he had, but the numbers were still blurry. "Based on current voting trends, if I don't secure at least thirty seconds of center time, I will be eliminated by a margin of 500,000 votes."
"Then maybe you should have thought about that before you tripped in the evaluation," Gun-woo snapped. "This is about the team winning. If we win, the 'Benefit Votes' save us. If we lose because of you, we all die. I'm not losing my debut because of a Rank 14 charity pick."
The room went cold. Jae-hyun didn't defend Kang-joon. He didn't even look up from his shoes.
Kang-joon felt the [Perfectionist's Curse] tightening. His brain was trying to calculate a way to win, but the "Humanity" variable kept throwing errors. He looked at Gun-woo and saw a man terrified of failing his parents. He looked at Jae-hyun and saw a boy grieving his best friend.
That night, the System interface flickered red.
[Emergency Quest: The Final Sacrifice]
[Condition: A 'Fatal Error' has been detected in Team Gun-woo's arrangement. The song choice is too taxing for Trainee 'Yoon-ho', who is struggling with vocal nodules.]
[Choice A: Point out the error and take the 'Main Vocal' part for yourself. (Probability of Host Survival: 85%)]
[Choice B: Secretly adjust the arrangement to support Yoon-ho, sacrificing your own 'Killing Part'. (Probability of Host Survival: 5%)]
Kang-joon looked at Yoon-ho, who was in the vocal booth, his face turning red as he tried to hit a note his throat simply couldn't produce. Yoon-ho was Rank 13. If he failed this mission, he was gone.
Kang-joon's 97 lives shouted at him to take Choice A. Survival is the only metric that matters, the loops whispered. You are the protagonist. They are NPCs.
But then he remembered the feeling of Yoon-ho's hand on his chest, teaching him how to "feel" a note. He remembered the shame of the 14th seat.
He walked over to the soundboard.
"The arrangement is wrong," Kang-joon said, his voice quiet.
Gun-woo looked over, annoyed. "What now, Professor?"
"The key is too high for the bridge. If we keep it here, the vocal texture will be thin and strained. It won't sound 'Aggressive'; it will sound 'Desperate'. We need to drop it a half-step and change the harmony structure."
"If we drop the key, the 'Main Vocal' solo loses its impact," Gun-woo argued.
"Not if we change the solo into a Dual-Crescendo," Kang-joon countered. He began moving sliders on the board, his fingers finding a ghost of their old speed. "Yoon-ho takes the low resonance. I'll take the high harmony, but I'll pull back my volume to let his tone carry the 'Pathos' metric. It creates a 'Brotherhood' narrative."
"And what do you get out of it?" Jae-hyun asked, looking at Kang-joon with suspicion. "You'd be giving up your only solo moment."
"I get a team that doesn't sound like a dying choir," Kang-joon said.
The day before the performance, the "Savage War" reached its peak. The producers leaked the "Interim Rankings" to the trainees.
* Min-soo
* Gun-woo
* Jae-hyun
...
* Do-yoon
* Yoon-ho
14. Lee Kang-joon
The gap between Rank 5 and Rank 6 was a massive 2 million votes. The five seats were solidifying. The "Monster Unit" stars were safe. The "Leftovers" were being prepared for the slaughter.
Kang-joon was in the hallway when he overheard a group of producers talking.
"The 14th seat was a mistake," one whispered. "The fans think it's rigged. We need to make sure Kang-joon's edit in the next episode is... 'transparent'. Show the mistakes. Show the clumsiness. Let the 'Professor' myth die so the fans accept the Final Five."
Kang-joon leaned against the wall, his heart feeling like lead. He was being "villain-edited" by his own existence.
[System Warning: Humanity Metric at 25%. 'Survivor's Guilt' has evolved into 'Martyrdom Complex (B)'.]
He walked into the practice room. The team was exhausted. Yoon-ho was clutching his throat, his eyes filled with terror.
"Kang-joon-ah," Yoon-ho whispered. "I can't do it. My voice is gone. If I mess up tomorrow, I'm the reason you guys lose the benefit votes."
Kang-joon looked at the boy who had tied his shoelaces. He looked at the system that demanded perfection.
"You won't mess up," Kang-joon said. He reached into his tactical bag and pulled out a small, amber vial—a highly concentrated herbal throat tea he'd formulated in Loop #32. "Drink this. And tomorrow, don't look at the judges. Don't look at the cameras. Just look at me. I'll give you the cue for every breath."
"Why are you doing this?" Yoon-ho asked, tears blurring his eyes. "You're Rank 14. You should be stabbing me in the back to get my votes."
"Because," Kang-joon said, his voice finally steady, "I've lived 97 times, Yoon-ho-ssi. And in every single one, I was alone. I'd like to see what happens if I'm not."
The stage for 'Apex' was a jagged, metallic construction. The lights were a harsh, predatory red.
Team Gun-woo stood in the wings. Gun-woo was hyperventilating. Jae-hyun was silent. Yoon-ho was trembling.
Kang-joon stood at the very back of the formation. He had intentionally assigned himself the "Shadow" role. He had no solo. No center time. He was the support beam for a house that was about to catch fire.
"Go," the stage manager whispered.
They stepped into the light. The fans screamed, but the screams were different now—they were cheering for the "Winners" Gun-woo and Jae-hyun. When Kang-joon's face appeared on the screen, a noticeable hush fell over parts of the arena. The "Professor" was a fallen idol.
The music started. It was a brutal, physical performance.
Kang-joon moved with a ghost of his former precision. His ankle throbbed, his brain screamed with the [Cognitive Overload], but he kept his eyes on Yoon-ho.
Now. Breathe.
He gave a small hand signal, disguised as choreography. Yoon-ho hit the note.
Now. Step left.
Kang-joon shifted his body to block a camera angle that would have caught Yoon-ho's slight stumble.
The performance was a triumph, but not for Kang-joon. Gun-woo looked like a god. Jae-hyun looked like a star. Yoon-ho looked like a miracle. Kang-joon looked like... an extra.
When the song ended, the judges were on their feet.
"Yoon-ho! That resonance was incredible!" the vocal coach shouted. "And Gun-woo, your leadership shines through the arrangement!"
Kang-joon stood in the shadows at the back, his chest heaving. He checked the system.
[Team Gun-woo has won the 'Benefit Votes'.]
[Yoon-ho's Rank Projection: #5.]
[Host's Rank Projection: #14 (ELIMINATED).]
He had saved Yoon-ho. He had secured the team. And he had just signed his own death warrant.
As they walked off stage, Yoon-ho grabbed Kang-joon's hand, his face streaming with tears of joy. "We did it! We're going to stay! We're going to the final!"
Kang-joon smiled, but it was a tired, transparent thing.