“Your turn. Run it solo.”
Jin-hyeok lifted his hands from the mixer.
Da-on, fingers still on the touchscreen, blinked wide-eyed.
He hadn’t used any dazzling tricks, no flashy poses—he’d just tapped out the simplest beat, yet the whole floor had thrashed beneath his rhythm.
And now he wanted her to handle it alone?
She froze for half a second, but she couldn’t let her hands stop.
If she halted, the entire place would crash. Even in a dream, better to stick the landing.
“Feel exactly how that screen reacts,” the rabbit mask said. “Then chase whatever the guy out front throws you.”
“M-me… alone?”
“You’ve been flying solo for a while already.”
“Eh?”
Sure, every tap she’d made had produced the same sounds as his. She had been pressing frantically just as he told her but… had she really been steering the mix?
The rabbit grinned, waved both hands, and stepped back.
Da-on stared at her own fingers, still dancing. The club-quaking sound was as tight as ever.
“You’re good. Fighting! I’ve got other business.”
With that the rabbit offered a thumbs-up, spun on his heel, and was gone.
Da-on let out a puff of laughter.
So what? It’s only a dream.
She tossed her head to the beat and poured every feeling she had onto the glass of the touchscreen. The floor still heaved and roared.
“Move. Now.”
Chung-gi burst from the VIP room, penned by three bodyguards, eyes locked on the lion and rabbit masks at the balcony booth.
He could see only their mouths, but the confident rabbit at the mixer and that hulking lion… he knew those men.
The guards blocked him again. They’d sensed something was off the moment he headed away from the restroom.
And here in the din, shouting would never reach that booth. If he wanted out, he had to move.
The rabbit’s arrogant smile seemed to say, Come on then. If you can get here, you can play.
Think I can’t? he snarled.
He shoved his head between the guards, bulling forward. They wouldn’t actually hurt him. They never did. Arms could break, trousers could tear, fine.
I’m climbing that wall.
One step, then another, dragging two guards on his arms like weights until at last, he reached the booth rail.
The lion’s mouth shaped a single syllable. No sound, but the shape was unmistakable:
“Hyung!”
The lion nodded and let out a silent roar.
Serving as personal security for the Changcheon chaebol was a badge of honor. Changcheon Security ranked among Korea’s largest firms, and only the best were assigned to the Royal Family.
So how had one lone man levelled a guard and hurled another through the air?
The third now lay tangled with his teammate on the floor while the target strolled into the brightest spot in the club.
They could hardly brawl under full lights. Gritting their teeth, the guards dragged their fallen colleague clear, eyes fixed on that lion mask.
“Was this planned?”
“No prior request, sir.”
“Chris Jerry improvising? Never seen him do that.”
The show PD, who directed every effect in the club, was practically vibrating. He’d whipped up crowds worldwide, but tonight was something else.
“And the girl up there… Who is she?”
“I—I’ll find out right away.”
The radiant goddess by the rabbit had hijacked every light.
Metallica? the PD thought, and suddenly he was twenty again—in April 199X, in Jamsil Stadium, the night heavy metal blew the IMF gloom away.
Nearly thirty years later, a reborn EDM version of that legend was seizing kids by the scruff and shaking them.
The dance floor had filled with youth hungry for freedom, but the club could be a shackle too.
Gotta hit that club or you’re nobody.
Need the photo under those lights.
This outfit turns heads, next time show a bit more…
Before they knew it, they were competing, always facing the stage together, matching the same tempo, striking the same poses.
Miss the trend and you’re irrelevant.
True freedom? Impossible under all those watching eyes.
Until now.
The beat went crooked, melodies skittered. Nobody could keep time, and suddenly nobody cared.
When everyone is “wrong,” being out of step isn’t wrong at all; it’s just different.
The music laughed at them, and somehow the mockery felt good.
And when that sudden hook clenched every heart at once…
Boom.
The entire floor leapt together, precisely one time, before tumbling back into delicious chaos.
A first taste of real freedom sent shivers racing through the crowd.
Kyung-jin stared, dazed by the glorious mess.
Why is she up there? How could Da-on be sharing a set with Chris Jerry?
Each time the crooked groove threatened to annoy him, a perfect hook slammed in, and every time that happened, Da-on’s hand shot skyward. It was proof that she held the reins.
He’d written her off as just a pretty face. Now the truth burned his cheeks.
Yet his body still rode the beat, and the shame only deepened.
Chris Jerry knew instinctively this show would never come again.
More and more gigs had made him careful, even afraid: keep the crowd comfortable, drop the hook on cue, perfect calculations.
But this… this was the best.
The floor reeled, unable to predict a thing, and he loved it, because up there was a goddess who would gather the crisscross rhythms and, at just the right second, clench every heart.
Whenever she signaled, he detonated the drop, and she reached toward him with That was sick! in her eyes.
He wanted that praise, so he twisted the beat harder.
Together they were forging a wild, impossible show, one he could never make alone.
He wanted to get to her. Now.
Kicking off his own mixer, he dove, arms wide, into the sea of raised hands.
The balcony rail came to Da-on’s waist, but a tall acrylic screen rose higher.
She clambered up, clinging to the top edge—high, and a bit scary, but hey, this was a dream.
She saw the lion and the rabbit jump first, then a man clinging beside her… C2K? The ranking-scandal idol she hated? Perfect.
With a grin she grabbed his collar and shoved him off the ledge, straight into the arms of the crowd.
I’m coming too.
She launched herself after him, felt the wave of hands carry her, and wonder of wonders… was passed right into Chris Jerry’s embrace.
If only this dream would never end.
The Changcheon guards bolted for the stairs but the club’s head of security, Yang Gu-cheol, barred the way.
“Gentlemen, VIP floor only. May I see your membership cards?”
“We came in with C2K—Tei-ssi can—” One guard pointed at the singer emerging from the VIP corridor.
Tei glanced their way and turned his back.
“Mm… this level is for VIPs only,” Gu-cheol repeated. “We’ll need to hear how you entered.”
Below, the lion, rabbit and C2K were already vanishing up the main exit stairs. Too late.
Back at ‘Angane Chicken’
“Dad, another Porsche!”
Seon-jun pressed his nose to the window.
“How many is that today?” Sang-jeong called from the fryer.
“Bentley, two Porsches, a Maserati—that’s four!”
“I promised you what car again?” Sang-jeong teased.
“Lamborghini!”
“And Mum?”
“Ferrari!” Sun-hwa yelled, wiping tables.
A gleaming Rolls-Royce eased to the kerb outside. Familiar faces climbed out.
“Wow,” Sang-jeong laughed. “All here at last.”
“Do-yu, just this once, help me out.”
Rock legend Im Do-yu folded his arms. The PD, his university senior, was grinning.
“You’re on Billboard now. Time to reach the general public,” the PD coaxed. “High-school band survival show High-Band.”
“I’ll wind up the villain, picking on kids,” Do-yu groaned.
“If you ever want to lift a newcomer, your name’s gotta be out there, right?”
He grimaced. The world was crawling with crazies, these two opposite him included.
When will that real psycho show himself?
The wave that kid brings will be huge, and Do-yu wanted to ride it…
Click-click.
“That smirk is perfect!” the writer cheered, snapping photos while Do-yu cursed.
Just then his phone buzzed. This late?
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