master pretender

Group change: Nitro > 1nferno

So it’s probably best to start with the biggest change. Since Nitro have been wiped from the site Taewoo was in need of a new home, and 1nferno seemed like the best fit. Midas tend to be more aggressive with their promotions which fits his storyline, and stylistically the inspo groups are probably the closest to those of Nitro. This means that rather than being in one of the more senior groups, he is effectively a rookie again.

Age change: 26  > 23

Because of this I also figured that it would make more sense to de-age him a little, and as such he is now three years younger. I’ve also adjusted the amount of time spent as a trainee to account for the companies stricter standards, and because realistically working multiple jobs would definitely have slowed his progress, and so he has now spent 6 years training rather than 4.

Slight image / personality change

Before the revamp Tae was very insular and prone to taking a back seat both on and off camera, and whilst I enjoyed writing him in that way, it also made plotting a little trickier. The change isn’t massive, but given his new activities outside of the group he has no choice but to be more present on screen. The way I’ve been describing it so far is a little less Got7 Mark and a little more Monsta X Shownu. When the cameras are shut off he’s still a tired, bumbling idiot with no social skills and very much living in a bubble, but that bubble has now been expanded quite considerably.

Focus on CF modelling

Outside of the group Tae is now known as a prolific CF model after a clip went viral and sales of the product shot through the roof. He has a wide ranging portfolio and is pretty in demand. Sometimes feels a little icky about it, but it’s also probably the quickest way to get his trainee debt cleared and start being the breadwinner for his family again.

Vocalist > Rapper

Perhaps not the most important change, but Tae is now a rapper rather than a singer. His main focus is still squarely on dance, and that’s probably what he’s best known for, but I’m mentioning because I know some plots that I was discussing with people relied on his vocal talents.

And now a brief introduction for those not familiar with this mess of a man!

Lee Taewoo - born Feb 24th, the eldest of three kids

Started out with all the charisma of a damp rag - Vastly improved over the years but still socially inept

Didn’t really have friends as a kid, and still doesn’t have a very wide circle

Despite this he has a compulsive need to seek validation and others approval, and honestly just wants people to like him - will agree to anything with little convincing

Works himself too hard and doesn’t know when to stop

Relaxation? What is that? Taewoo knows only work.

Dating? What is that? Taewoo knows only work.

Fun? What is that? Taewoo knows only - you get it.

The signs of exhaustion are starting to show but he just shrugs them off and refuses to accept them.

Terrified of everything falling apart and not being able to provide for his family if he slows down

Live is a state of perpetual fear of disbandment or being removed from the lineup

Often feels inferior to his peers - not something that he would ever vocalize

A doormat in every possible way - others can walk all over him with ease

Painfully optimistic and positive - rarely seen with anything other than a smile (Unless alone or behind closed doors)

Comes from a seriously disadvantaged background and had to claw his way to the top

They were effectively destitute at one point. Went without food, power,etc.

Started out as a street performer - Taught himself how to dance before sneaking into classes and eventually paying for his own lessons

Worked multiple part time jobs during his training years to support his family

Spent six years as a trainee, decidedly average, and burnt out a month before his debut date.

The second he starts getting paid every cent will be funnelled back to his family.

Knows how to speak three languages and plans to learn more.

A full 164cm tall aka a literal gnome. Will swear that he’s 172cm until his dying breath. Even then will only admit to being 168cm

Values 1nferno above anything else, and will do whatever is necessary to keep things running smoothly

Doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Barely holding himself together, but trying his best.

It breaks the shoreline shortly after they begin work on their second number, though most of the surfers seem blissfully unaware of their impending doom. Perhaps it’s overconfidence that blinds them, or perhaps the weight of expectation to clear the bar they’ve set blinkers their vision. Or perhaps they’re simply not as cohesive a unit as they’d presented to the world last time around.

Egos begin to clash within the first few hours, titans vying for screen time and control of the choreography. As soon as one alpha is established another beta steps free of the pack to challenge for dominance, to put their own distinct stamp on the original song. Each member has such a unique point of view when it comes to dance, their styles of disparate, that combining them is a near impossibility.

As expected Taewoo is one of the first to cede ground, to give up on fighting to include his b-boy moves and instead silently despair on the sideline. He tries to play peacekeeper, tries to keep some semblance of synergy and cohesion in the routine, but surrounded by such towering personalities his success is limited. More than once he finds the camera settling on his almost comical look of despair as he watches the chaos unfold, and more than once he finds himself staring directly into the lens exasperated, as though he’s stuck in an episode of the Office, praying that someone on the other side will help.

When filming of the final episode of the block begins Taewoo is too tired, too stressed, to even put up the pretence of vying for the spotlight. Schedules and responsibilities outside of Dancing9 have proven more intense than usual, the only sleep he’s managed to steal is in the car headed for the studio. Cosmetics are plastered onto his face heavy enough to cover the tell-tale signs, but there’s no hiding the dullness in his eyes or the constant urge to yawn.

The stage is, surprisingly, not a mess. Unfocussed, sure, and arguably more like a string of solos, but visually engaging and polished nonetheless. Amongst the madness it had been all to easy to forget how skilled each member was as an individual, but under the blinding stage lights each manages to shine. The red team shine brighter though, and the whole cover the weakness of the individual.

Their loss is inevitable. Taewoo had known that only a miracle could alter their face before the music had started, he’d known it when they’d been throwing themselves about the stage and he’d known it when the music had stopped and the applause had died down. And yet still there’s a part of him, some small voice in the back of his head, some painfully naïve optimistic voice, that thinks they may have pulled it out of the bag and cinched victory from the jaws of defeat.

It stings when the stage floods crimson and once again there’s no hiding the emotions. The way he visibly deflates, the way disappoint fills his eyes and the sigh of defeat before he paints over them with a half smile. He claps, he congratulates them, apologizes to his own team; the model of a good sportsman.

Today he stares into the enormous unblinking eye of television cameras alone, well-worn façade of confidence reflected in the glistening black of the lenses. Years upon years of training, hours upon hours of lessons in how to present himself in front of the media, and over half a decade of experience have taught him how to navigate the pitfalls. Confidence is everything. It’s also something he still severely lacks in these situations but the second he shows a hint of doubt, a glimmer of something approaching a weakness, he’ll stumble and fall.

And so he smiles brightly. Enthusiastically agrees with whatever the crew say when they address him, sincerely thanks the artist that touches up his makeup before the red light begins to glow and beams at the interviewer behind the camera once they begin. He isn’t sure what to expect, whether they’ve already decided to thrust a storyline or an edit on him already; competition shows are an alien concept to him. The questions aren’t as intrusive as he’d feared, or at least they don’t seem to be. They don’t lean on the struggles of his upbringing and try to make it seem like some tragic backstory as he’d feared they might, instead they offer up softball questions with easy answers.

“What are your thoughts on your career thus far?” The voice behind the camera asks in monotone, clearly tired of asking the same handful of questions to the room full f auditionees one by one.

Taewoo pauses for a moment to ponder his answer, or rather to make it seem as though he is pondering his words rather than reading from a company approved script he’s committed to memory. “I…. I am very thankful for the career that Nitro have had thus far, and I feel very lucky to have been a part of it.” He starts, voice projected louder and more assured, as it always is when in the gaze of the public. “It’s been almost seven years since we debuted and I think we’ve grown a lot as artists and as people since then. This is a different group than the one that came out in 2012, but change isn’t always a bad thing. Recently we have had many amazing opportunities because of the support of Gens and so we are very grateful to them and hope that we only continue to grow.”

Eyes roll as he speaks, and if they weren’t still recording, he gets the impression that the director would audibly groan. The response is one they’ve likely heard a thousand times already, but the sentiment behind Taewoo’s words was nothing but genuine. He was thankful, he did feel lucky and the years had changed them. To say anything else would be a lie. There were complaints, sure, but none that he’d ever dream of vocalising, especially on tape.

A sigh from beyond before the voice pipes up once more, still devoid of enthusiasm. Clearly they’ll be edited out in post. “Who is the most influential person on your career?”

Again he pauses, as though his answer isn’t already prepared. “Because it’s been so long and we’ve tried out many styles, there are a lot of different influences too. Of course I look up to 4ce and other seniors who paved the way for us but there is such a wide range that it’s difficult to answer.”

“I have always said though, that I don’t even know the name of the person who influenced me the most.” He admits with a gentle laugh. “As a child I was enamoured by street performers, and seeing one man in particular dancing was what made me fall in love with it and convinced me to become an idol.”

That answer doesn’t seem to draw the same level of disinterest or ire; at least he’s giving them something to work with. It continues on like that for a while more, harmless questions met with harmless answers. Eventually they go to wrap up, the director already scanning the room for the next name on their list, but before that one final question.

“What do you hope to show the public?”

And for once he’s stuck for an answer. What does he want to show? What does he even have left to show? Surely by now they’ve seen it all. With how often they promote and how frequently they have him appear on whatever platform to push them further, he’s genuinely unsure of the correct answer. He wants the company to know that he’s still a useful asset, that he’s more use on th field than on the bench, but the public?

Things change when he passes the audition. He bounds home with a look of exuberant joy painted on his face, bursts through the door beaming, only to find his mother sat at the table alone makeup streaked by tears. She sniffles, wipes her eyes and scrambles to gather the papers that littler the surface and tries desperately to hide behind a mask of composure. “How did it go?” She asks kindly, face still plagued with distress and worry. When he tells her that he’s done it, that the company have agreed to take him, her face sinks for a moment before that same sad smile as before returns. “I knew that you’d do well. They’d be fools not to take you.”

Her inner conflict is obvious. Training with a company does not guarantee a debut, but it does guarantee debt. Debt not dissimilar to that which was drowning the family. When Taewoo finds out he decides to work any job he can get, almost every hour spent training or working. Each penny is siphoned back to the family coffers, and each time they cross paths his family tries to convince him to stop spreading himself so thin. That everything has a breaking point, and can only be stretched so far before it snaps. They never explicitly tell him to quit training, but he gets the impression that they want him to. That they need him to.

When his father falls ill he almost gives it all up. The stroke is near debilitating, turns the entire family’s lives upside down. The temptation to quit is stronger than ever, every instinct telling him that to continue is selfish and a betrayal of the family that raised him. Late night when he  returns from work, in the brief few hours he has before sleeping, the two sit and talk in ways that they never have.

Taewoo tells him that he plans to quit, to provide for the family full time, and he’s greeted only with silence. Silence, disbelief, and disappointment. “There are many things that I wished I had done with my life.” The older sighs after a moment, the words coming slower than before. “Once, I wanted to be an Olympian. A swimmer, if you could believe it. But I gave up when my parents told me it was an impossible dream. They were right of course, I was terrible in the water, but that’s not the point.” A laugh, an attempt in vain to lighten the mood that serves only to plunge him into a deeper pool of regret. “And then, a politician. Wanted to make a difference in the world, to make things better for the little people. But I was too afraid to pursue it so I’ve spent my life washing dishes, wiping the scraps from other people’s plates. And now, I can’t even do that. I missed my shot.”

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Taewoo. You have a chance, a real chance, to make this work. To be better than us and live the life you want to lead. We’ll survive just like we always have, but please don’t give up on this. Not for us.”

These days he doesn’t see them as much. Occasionally he’ll be granted a few hours on holidays or when they’re not attending a schedule, but it’s a rarity that they even have a chance to speak on the phone. His success has allowed them to reopen the restaurant, the association with his name being enough to see them draw in enough custom to stay afloat. The reception whenever he returns is always unrelentingly warm, but in truth he doesn’t know exactly what they think of his chosen path and the image the company paint of him.

He comes from nothing. Though his family were never destitute, there times when they strayed uncomfortably close to that line. There was never a guarantee of running water or working electricity, of heating or of food. Going without basic utilities was not unheard of or even uncommon, just a fact of life. Looking after one child is difficult enough, but being faced with three as well as an insurmountable mountain of debt from a failed business is near impossible. It was never asked of him to contribute, but as soon as he’s of age he’s working to repay them. To do his part and ease the burden on their shoulders. They have always been proud people, too much so to ask for help even in such dire straits, but they work hard for what they have. For their children. The least he can do is return the favour.

They are his role models, his inspiration. Even when they have nothing, they provide in whatever way they can. And so the news of his fathers medical condition worsening comes as a crushing blow. Sat bathed in the cold clinical white light of a hospital waiting room he questions his priorities. Had he not been so focussed on his training he might have noticed the signs. Might have been earning a decent enough wage for better treatment. Might have been able to prevent this. But instead he’d decided to selfishly focus his energies on a distant pipe dream at the expense of those around him.

When he finally sees the older man it’s all he can do to break down, to apologize through tears. I should have done more, he says, I should have been there. The stroke has a severe impact, limiting both speech and movement, but still he is greeted with a silent embrace. The quiet sits heavy, the weight almost suffocating. I’ll stop training, he says, find more work and look after you all. Silence.

Just like that, his dreams are dead in the water. They days that follow had been intended as a merciful reprieve from the pressures of training, but instead act as a period of mourning for them. When next he speaks with Koala T it will be to tender his resignation. Hours are spent searching for work, anything that will pay a wage, and tactically dodging in and out of rooms to avoid his family, still dogged with a feeling of overbearing guilt.

Eventually the confrontation comes though, he’s sat down in front of them, eyes trained on the floor in the knowledge that raising them will start the waterworks once more. He expects them to be mad, disappointed even. He’s braced for it, and so when it comes it’s of no surprise. The reason behind it catches him off guard though.

You need to carry on, they say, we cannot believe you plan on stopping. We raised you better than that. You have come so far, worked so hard and we will not allow you to toss that all aside. You’re the best of us, you deserve more than this, and if anyone can do it, it’s you. We believe in you, so you need to start believing in yourself too.

Partly because if he accepts that there is merit to the old wives tale it would appear that he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. Every year he is inadvertently caught in the adverse conditions, and every year it is without a companion. Call him an optimist, but he’d rather hope that there’s no substance to it and that he won’t be spending his year as a hermit because he decided to leave his room in the winter.

It’s late November when white first hits in 2018. The initial flurry comes thick and fast, crystalline blanket laying a good two inches deep on the ground. By the time that Taewoo finally emerges from the building having completed his rigorous but self-imposed practice schedule for the day, the last few flecks drift softly and silently down from the inky sky. He is, predictably and perhaps inevitably alone.

A quiet sigh breaks the silence as he casts his eyes skyward, fixated on a flake that lands on the padded shoulder of his coat and melts away to nothing.  His mind turns back to those stories from his childhood and the tiniest hint of a smile works its way onto his features as he hugs the coat closer. It was a simpler time, before things went so drastically wrong for the family and before he got swept up in the insanity of idol life. “You didn’t get caught in it alone, you got caught in it with us” He remembers his mother saying warmly as a child, when happiness still glimmered in her eyes, taking the siblings by the hand and out into the cold. “It means that we’ll all be closer together this coming year.”

This year though? He’s wandering the streets alone once more. Snow crunches underfoot as he carves a path away absently, mind still elsewhere, in search of somewhere still open and serving hot drinks. After that year the fractures began to widen and the distance between the family had grown rather than shrunk. Maybe that’s the reason he’s stopped putting weight behind it. A harsh, chilling breeze howls towards him, dragging reality back to the forefront just in time to notice a quaint little café, warm, inviting and mostly empty, tucked away.

Coffee black and thick as tar I hand, he takes a seat near the window. There is no more snow falling, but light dances from the ground, bouncing off of the sheer white. It’s a stark contrast to the usual drabness of the streets and there is no denying the beauty of the scene beyond the glass. Muscles ache from the day behind and eyelids hang heavy, fighting to stay open as he’s engulfed by the warmth. No matter where he lets his mind stray though, he always ends up returning to the superstition.

Why can’t he just move on? Why is it bothering him so much? It never has before. It’s just snow.

Perhaps he simply needs to stop taking it so literally and instead examine it in the abstract. For the past six years the wintery blitz has always hit when he’s been alone, yes, but also when he’s working. There are few things that he loves more than his work. His dedication to Nitro has been unwavering for many years, and perhaps the weather is simply a reflection of that.

And if it does somehow hold a more literal meaning, that’s fine too. He finds solace in isolation, having made it this far alone anyway. Or perhaps he’s just finally starting to resign himself to that feeling of loneliness.

Either way he has more important things to focus on. And so once he’s finished his drink in silence he pushes the thoughts away and rises to his feet. 

Lee Taewoo - born Feb 24th, the eldest of three kids

Started out with all the charisma of a damp rag - Improved now, but not by much.

Didn’t really have friends as a kid, and still doesn’t have a very wide circle

Despite this he has a compulsive need to seek validation and others approval, and honestly just wants people to like him - will agree to anything with little convincing

Works himself too hard and doesn’t know when to stop

The signs of exhaustion are starting to show but he just shrugs them off and refuses to accept them.

Terrified of everything falling apart and not being able to provide for his family if he slows down

Often feels inferior to his peers - not something that he would ever vocalize

A doormat in every possible way - others can walk all over him with ease

Painfully optimistic and positive - rarely seen with anything other than a smile (Unless alone or behind closed doors)

Tends to be more quiet and withdrawn than other members - fans initially saw this as arrogance and he still has to fight the label off on occasion

Company noticed this talk and forced him out of his shell a little more - he’s resistant but understands why

Comes from a seriously disadvantaged background and had to claw his way to the top

They were effectively destitute at one point. Went without food, power,etc.

Started out as a street performer - Taught himself how to dance before paying for his own lessons

Worked multiple part time jobs during his training years to support his family

Spent five years as a trainee, decidedly average, and burnt out a month before his debut date.

Knows how to speak four languages and plans to learn more.

Values Nitro above anything else, and will do whatever is necessary to keep things running smoothly

Started to focus on choreography and has been collaboration with company employees in order to learn