#rkttc

waiting in line to sign up gets to a point of nerve wracking that ten thinks he may have never even been acquainted with before. if he doesn’t get to sign up he’s going to regret not arriving at 6am to get in line for pretty much the rest of his life probably. it isn’t that he particularly wants to get signed to trc, in fact he’s somewhat terrified of the tiger. 

maybe a few years ago trc would have been his dream company, due to the reputation of the company producing great rappers, but then, recently he’s wondered if he really does wants to be a rapper, or whether he wants to sing instead. he can’t deny he enjoys both, but he’s got less faith in his singing voice. this will be the first time he’s sung in front of anyone while not drunk, or overheard in the shower. but he’s glad he’s about to face his fears and let people hear him sing for real, even if the thought makes his hands grow clammy. 

finally he gets his name down and just has to wait for it to be called - it’s as if he’s fine tuned his hearing to respond only to his name being called as he blocks out everything else, going over his performance in his head over and over, making sure every point is perfect and his muscles have the moves memorised, the lyrics hammered into his subconscious so he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting his lines. 

the sound of his name being called out loud and clear over the hum of conversation, both excited and nervous, pulls him out of his thoughts and tugs his feet into motion. he’s at the edge of the stage within seconds, an anxious type of exhilaration thrumming through his veins. for the most part this is about experience, and exposure, getting his name, face, and recognition for his hard work out there. of course it’d be a dream come true to be offered a contract with trc, but even just the experience itself would be something truly notable to have under his belt. 

whatever happens this won’t be the end of his road towards the future he craves. 

so he walks up onto the stage and finds the perfect centre naturally. his eyes lock on the judges, falling on tiger jk as he bows ninety degrees to them and introduces himself with a small smile. then, he steps back and the music starts, the remixed track he’d had put together blasting out over the sound system. 

잘 들어 손 안 쓰고 간지럼 태울게 좋아해란 말은 그만 관둘래 얼마 못 가서 넌 날 엄청나게 사랑하게 될 거야 이렇게 행복할 땐 뒤도는 거 아니야 ah ah How ya feel 기분 어때 고개 까딱까딱해줘

he starts off with the bit he’s most scared about - the singing. it’s his way of challenging himself, dropping himself into the deep end to get the worst out of the way so he can shine even brighter once he’s got his foothold. he’d spent most of his time practising the singing part, to make sure his voice didn’t have a single waver or tremble from the nerves he knew he’d inevitably feel. dancing was his forte, and he’d been rapping for years already, but the only singing practise he’d really had was from vocal music in high school when he learnt purely how to control and strengthen his voice and how to pronounce words clearly. he’s put most of it into his rapping until recently, when he decided he wanted to put more of his time into singing as well. he felt it would be beneficial for him to level his skills across the board, since he knew he didn’t have a bad singing voice, and he knew well how to control it. 

the track melts over the bit he’d cut out of the music and into the rap, where he feels like a weight suddenly falls off his chest and the smile that had lingered on his lips as he sang widens, before falling into a smug little grin, his weight shifting as he lets his body move gently to the beat as the rap begins, slowly working his way up for the dance coming later. 

내 검지를 움켜진 작은 손엔 복숭아 향이 나 얼마나 멋져져야 그 눈동자에 나만 담길까 남김없이 다 퍼다 줄래 개털 돼도 뭐랬어 중간 없대도 Not enough 심장에 무리 갈 만큼 해야지 가끔 힘들면 그 시간 나한테 맡겨 깨끗이 해결 짓고 올게 그땐 말없이 안겨 혼란만 부추겼던 등장인물이었지만 지나보면 못 잊을 줄거리야 네 얘기야

he saunters across the stage slightly as he raps, wagging a finger at one of the judges with a cheeky half smile on ‘i’ll solve all your problems’, earning a laugh from a few audience members who he mentally thanks - it boosts his confidence for sure, leaning his head back slightly and peering at the audience out of the corner of his eyes as he finishes the rap. 

then comes the smooth transition into the song he’d picked to dance to, a hand smoothing through his hair as his body simply melts into the dance moves. 

그리워 너의 몸 간지러운 숨소리 생각나 어렴풋이 I can’t feel you

그리워 너의 몸 찰랑이던 머리 생각나 어렴풋이 So where are you

there’s deeper feeling in these lyrics, a more mature, lustful feeling that ten can’t completely empathise with yet - so he does as best as he can because it’s sexual, and he can’t just play the lyrics off as romantic longing. a person pops into his head and he fights the instinct to push him from his mind, instead using those feelings to fuel the passion he puts into his performance. 

Oh god 널 보고싶어 목적은 다를지도 알콜의 힘을 빌려 실수로 전화할지도 모르겠어 판단력이 흐려 흐려 흐려 무의식중에 허공에 너를 그려그려그려 미쳤나봐

the lyrics speak so true to him - drowning things in alcohol and making reckless decisions (like turning up at his window in the early hours of the morning) and drawing him in the sketchbook he carries with him most places he goes. he really must be crazy to let himself think about him so much but a guy can dream, can’t he?

his body ebbs and flows to the lyrics and the beat, eyes linking with the tiger’s as he nears the end of his performance, putting everything he has into it, treating it like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to perform. with him in mind he finds that certain desire that the song requires and he knows he’ll have to deal with the guilt later but for now, to make his performance as real as possible, he bring his own experience to the table. 

Why did he say that? Why did he say something so cheesy and cringe-worthy? He can’t go anywhere without coming off like a goof, can he? Embarrassing himself wasn’t part of his audition plan, which was meticulously outlined in a journal at home. Sunggyu’s strategy for the performance is to stay within his ability. As he takes a deep breath, he reminds himself to keep his performance clean. He can’t let the competition make him desperate. From the moment he’s stepped on stage, he’s been restraining the desire to kick his performance up a notch. It’s tempting to add vocal runs or extra flair in his dance. But, he refrains and sticks to his plan. It’s better to be excellent with the basics than be mediocre – or worse, make a total fool of himself – by trying to reach the level of the other contestants. Even if he doesn’t realize it, his charisma may carry most of his audition.

Sunggyu does a complete bow before the judges, clicks the microphone back onto the stand, and takes a deep breath. He’s going to tackle dancing first. The crowd must be wondering, he supposes, how someone like him planned on dancing. For the first few nights after reading about the competition, he’d wondered too. The official rules never outlined what kind of dance they wanted to see. As long as it classifies as a dance, he can check off that box for the competition requirements. It’s unrealistic for him, both physically and training-wise, to burst into contemporary dance. The competition seemed impossible. He’d mused that if sleight of hand counted as a dance form, then maybe his zero chance of winning could be bumped up to one percent. He’s always been good with his hands -- quick with working wooden puzzles, excellent sleight-of-hand for his magic tricks, and fast to wrap holiday presents at his mother’s shop.

His hands. His hands were the solution. He doesn’t need his legs to dance.

It’s just his style to have a clever answer for everything. 

The music begins, but there’s not a single instrument to be heard. Instead, it’s a careful selection of sound effects he’d spliced together on a friend’s computer. Screeching tires. Scrunched metal. Heavy breathing. Cellphone dial tone. Sirens. All the while, he’s been creating a story using his upper body alone. It’s a form of street dance called tutting, the art of creating illusions through finger and wrist movement. Masters can make it look hypnotic -- like their bones are liquid, like their muscles are silk, and like each movement is a puzzle piece sliding into place. Sunggyu is only moderate in skill, but his background in sleight of hand finally seems useful. His fingers loop and twirl, wrists rotate and snap, and shoulders roll when necessary. He concentrates and is thankful he didn’t choreograph anything beyond his current capabilities. He needs to finish the combinations seamlessly if he doesn’t want to look like a fool. 

Here comes his favorite part. Sunggyu closes his eyes and keeps them shut, but it’s part of the routine rather than nerves. In the backing track, the sirens fade so voices can be heard instead. He’d recorded one of his friends saying “clear” and melded it with another royalty free sound effect: the zap of a defibrillator. Eyes still closed, his hands are clasped over his chest as he introduces another street style. He’s bopping, isolating the chest to move it back and forth while flexing. Every time he hears a zap, he double-bops and stops. There are only three zaps to save time and on the third, the hands locked over his chest unfurl like flower petals. They twirl in a final, spinning illusion and grab the microphone. He hopes that he made it clear his hands were supposed to represent his heart...or should he not have done that? It’s not like he’s supposed to be writing an essay thesis on stage.  

The background transition to the instrumentals are choppy, no better than the average high school student assigned an editing project. But, the ideas and authenticity were still there. A great performer can entertain. A great artist can make people feel -- make them cry until each blink stings, make them belly laugh until they gasp for air, unbottle the emotions they keep inside of them. He might not be able to hit a whistle note, but he could try telling a story with his voice. 

“Someone told me...”

The first few notes wobble. He’s nervous, no matter how meticulously he’s prepared. From the baggy clothes to help mask stiff body movements to the chunky glasses that obscure most of his face, he’s put thought into every detail. Then why is he sinking? 

...To pray, to dream...”

The next few notes wobbles, too. The stakes are high and he’s choking. He’s choking in front of Tiger JK – oh, and it’s so obvious. The performance anxiety happened the morning of the modeling competition as well, but he doesn’t have a bottle of soju to loosen him up this time. All he has is himself. He closes his eyes and thinks about his performances at the spring festival. He thinks of his candid performance of To The Happy World. He thinks of how free he felt – the whirling, soaring, cage-breaking feelings as his worries slipped away. Sunggyu feels the tension in his shoulders melt away. 

Now, his notes are crystal clear. They’re strong and it’s free, just like that day at the festival. He came in with nothing, so nothing is lost if he leaves empty-handed. 

That it will come true no matter what it is Tell me everything, please look and tell me Please tell me to stop.

He knows that feeling. He knows that earth-shattering moment when you realize your parents and teachers lied to you. Nobody is special in this world; your report cards and mother’s report cards don’t mean shit in society. There’s no safety, no guarantees, and no happily ever afters when you’re an adult. Maybe you’re not good as everyone thought you were. Maybe you’re disappointing them. Your teachers promised that you could be astronauts and CEOs, but you end off paying debt by doing laundry for rich kids. Maybe your parents promised to protect you from the monster in your closet, but what about the bank? The big, cold building that seizes your home and let’s you sleep on the streets. You can’t just wish on a star for a home, even if all your childhood movies promised it would come true. 

You know this, yet you keep dreaming. You keep dreaming and dreaming. You wish you could give up. Oh, you would give anything to stamp hope out like a light. Hope is cruel, mocking you as you dig your own grave of fantasy and make-believe.

I only hear rough, heartless sighs I never get to hear a sigh of relief I’m praying and calling for someone to rescue me.

If everything is going to plan, he should be around forty-nine seconds into the audition. Instead of jumping into the chorus, he’s inserted a rap segment that went well with the instrumental. The original song didn’t have a rap portion, so he’d selected one that helped convey his story best. The weight of people’s eyes -- expecting entertainment and ready to thrash him online if they didn’t get it -- fall heavy on him. His hands are sweaty and he grips the microphone a little harder, not wanting it to slip.

Honestly, I’ve never fit in with the world I was always alone It’s been a long time since I’ve forgotten about love I can’t listen to hopeful love songs anymore You and me both We’re just sad clowns, tamed and scripted I’ve come too far I’m coming home I wanna go back to when I was young.

He hopes he delivered the lines the way he wanted to; abandoned and bitter.  Rapping to one of Tiger JK’s own artists was pretty ballsy. He feels like he’s moving into autopilot to keep from breaking apart on stage. Would that piss off the CEO? It’s a quick, twenty second rap to make sure he qualifies all the requirements. But, it was carefully selected to emphasize what he wanted people to feel from his performance. He’s careful that way -- an authentic individual, even if at times he’s written off as a fool or outright crashes and burns.

The rap should clock in at twenty seconds and without wasting time, he dives back into the song. He’s delivering the chorus, then a few closing lines taken from the end of the song that should wrap up the performance well. 

Stand by me in necessary Little by little you get more sick Lalala lalala lalala lalala Don’t cry for me and I’m sorry

He’d only tampered with the lyrics once. In his eyes, it was a good reason: he never wants people to feel sorry or pity him. He just wants to be himself, not a sob story or pity party.

Little by little everything you lost starts to cave in. Someone said that life is like this That things become so dull, no matter what it is Tell me everything, please look at me and tell me Please tell me to wake up.

That was the end.

All that charisma melts into a puddle of awkward as he stares at the judges table, wide-eyed like the weight of what he’s just done finally hit him. What was he doing up here? No, that wasn’t the right question. The question he asks himself is why does he think he belongs up here? What does he do? Should he thank them? He has to do SOMETHING, he’s just standing there holding the microphone. 

the lights feel brighter than the rays of the sun reflecting off the sands of venice beach, and the crowd looks like the calm waves of low tide. it’s nowhere nearly as calming, though, because despite all the time chanyeol has stood on stage, the thrill and nervousness never really dies down. he thinks the moment it does is the moment he needs to retire, and that’s when he’s well and dead.

the seconds tick off as soon as he’s settled dead center on stage, and it feels as if he’s standing up on the highest peak where the air is thinner and he can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter, because the hot blood that rushes through his veins is enough to make him feel alive. 

one, two three, four, five. it’s showtime.

손목에 Rolex 이젠 boring 길거릴 도배해 우리 노랜 놀이라 보기엔 이건 범죄 don't let 'em in let 'em in, get out my zone we we we never know, we we we never talk we we we criminal don't let 'em in let 'em in get out my zone

he starts off with one of his weaker talents, one not as bad as his dancing, but definitely still in need of work. chanyeol knows this. he knows that he’s untrained, and that he lacks control and that the notes he’s trying to hit are nearly out of his range, but no one else should ever know. no one else should be able to tell that he lacks confidence, and that’s why he sings with the utmost confidence, staring out into the middle of the audience as if they were all just once giant beast, dead center, gazes locked. he’s taking this head on.

once he’s done singing, he launches straight into his rap, the skill in which he has the most confidence (a fact that, hopefully, no one would be able to tell). his voice is a solid wall of fearlessness, with bricks of charisma, mortar of flow. he raps as if he’d written the lyrics himself, taking certain liberties with cadence and rhythm, turning the verse into his own.

who 3 fancy’s in here 삽 대신 마이크 쥐고한 곳만 팠던 idiots what we do? 툭 냈다 하면 boom 불과 몇 년 후 자연스레 장악한 media 뭉치면 닥치고 있어도 콘텐츠 huh 뭔 일이 난 거야 97년도엔 huh 역시나 과시는 부담 없는 소재 huh 얘들아 빡치면 인터넷 접속해 ahh

at first, he’d contemplated auditioning with a self-composed track, knowing he’d be at his highest performing his own piece, but it’s a calculated risk performing someone else’s song in that he isn’t showcasing himself at 100%, but rather at a deliberately stunted level. after all, as the saying goes, you should never lay all your cards on the table. and if he were to bare it all now, then where would be the surprises for later?

his voice  is a rich, deep baritone with a gravely timbre, gaining asperity as the seconds tick by. but time has no effect on him. with every moment that passes, he takes it and breathes life into it, makes sure that he’s the focus of it, a force of nature so undeniable that he becomes a tidal wave of stage presence, the embodiment of the lyrics, confident and bold and absolutely fearless.

yeah, it’s my time.

anybody, anybody 오브제 역할이 왜 넘봐 메인 자리 세대를 뒤바꿔 대세가 되어 네 장래희망이 된 세 얼간이 not cocky 하루 동선은 무대 위 또는 작업실 life of 오천만 분의 일 하쿠나마타타 날개 쳐 파드닥 get money, get famous yeah, it's our times

there’s a marked change in his tone, the aggressive inflection of his voice completely dissolving into a more laid back style while still retaining the confident and brazen demeanor. he moves about the stage as if he owns it, as if he’s a millionaire walking around his own home, a hotel owner strolling through the lobby of his own building, making eye contact with anyone who even glances in his way, making it so that he cannot be ignored.

the rap-singing (drake-style, as he so affectionately calls him) had been somewhat of a challenge for him at first. he’d concentrate on one aspect over the other, either making sure he’s in tune or making sure the flow isn’t lost, but after spending hours practicing, he’s come to realize that neither of those are essentially more important than the other, and perfection in both is, unfortunately for him, a pipe dream. so as he performs now, he focuses on what he knows best, on improvising, on using confidence and charisma to pull him through it, getting into the pocket of the backing track, riding the waves of the rhythm. he’s right where he needs to be, in his domain.

누울 자릴 제대로 보고 누워야지 ya’ll fake bitches tryna act like me 앉아서 멍만 때려도 내 소파 위에 (쏟아지는) mula mula we gon pour up murder murder 숨을 죽여 상쾌해 네 머리 위에 공기 nobody can't come over here

bermuda

he utters his final word for the performance, and drops the mic, literally. he actually flinches because the feedback that results is so loud, but he integrates it into the dance that follows. (the term dance here is used very, very lightly.) his voice still echoes through the air through the backing track, allowing him to focus more on the way his body seems to disobey his every command, and he’d maybe be embarrassed about it if he had any shame at all.

which he doesn’t.

so he continues to dance. he may not know how to roll his body, and he may not know how to make sharp, crisp movements, and he may not know how to create beautiful lines or how to glide smoothly across the floor, but he knows how to get into the pocket, how to utilize each and every beat, every sound of the bass, every cadence of the rhythm. so he moves with them, attempts to pop or lock or krump or something, and while he probably looks like one of those wacky, flailing, inflatable tube men car dealerships use to advertise their sales, no one can tell him he didn’t enjoy doing it. no one can tell him he held back.

and, he thinks, that’s the best he can ask for. at least, when it comes to dancing.

soon enough, his two minutes is up, and he stands out of breath in the middle of the stage. he’s pretty sure he’s pulled some muscles because despite all the sports he’s played, he’s almost certain his body has never moved in those ways before. he hobbles off stage once the spotlight is off, but he still stands tall, shoulders squared, proud. he’d laid himself bare on that stage, displaying talents in singing, rapping, and dancing confidence.

lapses of judgment goes straight through the roof in those specific thoughts, and he won’t entertain himself this time with doing whatever he wanted with reckless abandon. this is an opportunity of a lifetime, to be publicly recognized as a triple threat in front of the industry’s biggest names, in front of a crowd of nameless faces -- god, it’s taeyong’s biggest dream. not to be famous, but to finally be recognized as a force to be reckoned with -- to be recognized as someone who matters, who’s not just a pretty face.

and this time, he’s determined to make his dreams a reality -- he won’t let this slip away through his fingers.

taeyong feels like he’s been mentally preparing himself for this moment, those two minutes on stage, for what seems like a lifetime. his heart’s beating out of his chest, his palms sweaty, eyes glossy -- it’s time.

“hello there --” a bow punctuates the short sentence, “my name is lee taeyong, and i’ll be performing a mashup of 24/7 heaven by geeks and back that azz up by the juveniles -- please enjoy my performance~” he drags out the last syllable that leaves his mouth -- playful, but not overly adorable. trc, in his opinion, isn’t about adorable -- they’re about the fierceness and passion that lights up in the eyes of their idols, the strong, sharp dance moves, the tight vocals and rap.

taeyong’s about to show them all of that in a matter of two minutes.

니가 있는 곳에 나도 함께 할게 니가 가는 곳에 나도 함께 갈게 ( where you are, i will be there too where you go, i will go there too )

koreans love to use cute little phrases to describe the most mundane things -- in this case, taeyong uses his ability of showing honey vocals to appeal to his audience, to make them just get a little taste of what’s to come. he hopes it’s super effective as he transitions into the rap with a few uhs and an extra TY -- just to let them not forget who he is.

24/7, 365 난 너만 생각나 넌 당연하듯 내게로 다가와 날 비추는 태양 나만 바라봐 그렇게 하루, 이틀, 일 년이 지나가도 꽉 안아줄게 내 팔에 쥐가 나도 너와 함께라면 it’s gonna be alright 난 더욱 깊어져 as time goes by ( 24/7, 365 i only remember you you come to me as you are just look at the sun that shines on me so one day, two days, one year i'll hold you tight with you, it’s gonna be alright i'm getting deeper as time goes by )

he wants the audience to feel his lyrics rather than just hear them -- his gestures, from pointing at his heart to the sky, lightly smacking a fist to his chest, all accompanied by a fearless-looking expression complete with confident eyes and lips in an almost eternal smirk. he’s selling his point, he just wants everyone to buy it with just as much intensity.

so 네가 필요할 때에 i’ll be there 너도 언제나 내게 기대 뜻밖에 상황이 우릴 갈라놓아도, i will never cry never ever cry 우린 beyonce와 jay-z eminem과 hailie 넌 어쩔 수 없는 the one and only baby no time for moanin' 알려줄게 네가 나에게 뭔지 you are ma ( so when you need it i'll be there you always look forward to me even if things unexpectedly separate us, i will never cry we have beyonce and jay-z eminem and hailie the one and only baby you can not help no time for moanin ' i'll let you know what you are ma )

his adrenaline is rushing as his voice readies itself for the chorus, a smooth transition between rap and singing -- all the while he’s making the stage his own, showing off a bit of dance moves as a small taste of the dance portion that’s about to hit everybody right in the face. he clutches at the fabric covering his heart as he belts out --

heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven if we’re together we will never cry never never cry heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven forever, together – never gonna be alone

the pumping bass of the dance track fades in through the ending of the previous song, and taeyong has this smirk on his face that just says that he’s out for the kill, that no one is safe from this shy boy’s raw and utter charisma -- he thinks he’s practically dripping of the stuff, and it shows in his steps. precise, cut sharp, proper and full arm and leg extensions -- all with accompanying facial expressions, the oohs and aahs that his lips make as he’s breezing through the choreography. in short, he makes sure not to waste any second -- hell, even any millisecond of this performance. taeyong also makes sure he throws in some winks to the audience and the judges, even daring to wink at mister tiger jk himself.

this is a new thing for taeyong -- being confident in his abilities. he’s usually way too in his own head, in his own mind to realize his fullest potential. little monsters and voices stampede their way all over his brain, in every cranial crevice -- but today, instead of the incessant and constant shouting of you can’t do it and you’re just a pretty face is replaced with self praise, which is a surprising yet welcomed departure from his usual place of self-deprecation.

and just like that, it’s over -- he’s done. he ends with a pose that’s simple yet powerful -- legs shoulder-width apart, hands in fists against his side, and his fringe covering his confident eyes just slightly. never in his entire life has taeyong felt so... so powerful. so amazing.

“thank you so much! please keep me in your considerations!” and once taeyong’s done with his ending statement, complete with the obligated and respectful 90 degree bow, he scurries off-stage, too delirious and too shaky to even recognize if the audience is cheering him on -- what’s important to him right now, at this moment, is that he is actually cheering himself on, something that he hasn’t been able to do in a long while -- he’s able to actually say that he serves as his own inspiration.

“My name is Adachi Yuto, Toshi for short.” He greeted them confidently, his stoic expression breaking into a gentle, warm smile. After the incident last December, the ex-con found himself diving into music head first. Unlike other times when he devoted his time to science, for a while he wanted to forget he was smart since his intelligence and memory has gotten his loved ones hurt. Killed even. Alas he’s attempt proves to be futile, for having an eidetic memory and high IQ aren’t something one can simply brush off. 

Yet there were massive improvements in his chosen music and arts. Instead of attending physical therapy, Toshi danced rigorously, creating one choreography after another. Improving each move by adding influences from martial arts and occasional acrobatics too. His singing progressed significantly as well. Along with his rapping, most of the songs he’s been focused on are self-composed. So with the help of mentors from Warner’s Studio, his vocal skills have been sharpened up. Much like everyone performing that day, he could only hope it was enough to prove he’s worth investing in Korea’s top entertainment industry. 

He took a deep breath. Then the music started. 

Love has either got you over heels or overdosed It's got you off your feet or on your toes It's got you out your seat or in your place It's got you diggin' it or your grave Love has got you mad about or just about mad Got you in a crush or it's got you in a crash What used to make your heart sing a hit, sing a smash Will make you wanna hit, wanna smash Everything that you had into pieces But love becomes clear when in pieces What you couldn't see and hear during peace is Why a heart becomes ears in two pieces Yeah

The verse started off with a rap, after all, if he was going to begin somewhere, it’ll be the place where he last left off. He wanted to remind them that rapping is a skill he’s mastered. Be it’s with a fast, hard-thumping beat. Or a gentle rhythmic flow like his current tune. He knew that there was various type of rapping skills and methods. Toshi wanted to show them that he was versatile. That even during an audition, he wasn’t afraid to take on such a risk. 

Gravity makes wonders But it doesn't seem to weigh Float like clouds on water We're waves across an open plain 'Cause you and me live like birds on a power line Hands slipping and our fingers fried God bless those Northern lights And our own devices, babe Entropy multiplies Clocks ticking and I'm mortified' Cause in the back of my mind In the back of my hemisphere

There was a smooth transition from his rapping to his singing. Perfectly timed, his voice harmonised with song effortlessly like a bird grazing through a breezy sky. Although his voice was deep, there was something natural in the way it hits the high notes. One would assume he was a singer more than anything else. His voice was calming and breathlessly refreshing, almost hypnotic. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he used to sing his twin to sleep when they were younger and afraid. Knowing the other was near had always been a comfort for them both, sometimes even until now. 

Baby, I want you to cave me in So, baby, I won't have to admit it Baby, I want you to cave me in So maybe I won't ask to forget it

Early that day without needing to ask him, they attached the mic to him, rather than giving him a hand-held one. It allowed him to have a bit of advantage, just like those who were lucky enough to have a similar mic during their performance, when it came to the dance portion. Especially when there were bits in his choreography that still had him singing. His sharp movements do not hinder his singing. His voice still crystal clear while he dances to the beat. 

In the end, Toshi stood breathless for the first time since his performance started. Pleased with his whole performance, he giddily smiled at the judges and the audience. He felt a strange sense of inner peace and thankfulness closing in on him as he bowed farewell to everyone. The last time he auditioned with such a crowd, a few weeks later he was in a hospital. With a friend dead, another in a coma and lastly a traitor amongst his family revealed. Toshi didn’t think he’d ever recover from that. 

One step back into position, loosening up his shoulders, lowering his head and closing his eyes for that second to focus himself; ignore the ache in his arm and the twinge in his neck and shoulders. Lifting his hand, and beginning to move with the steps he had practice; starting off slowly. The most difficult thing was to sing without his voice being affected and without sounding like something was wrong, especially as he danced. He was thankful that the beginning moves weren’t strenuous on his arm, but he could tell his arm did not move half as smooth as he wanted it. At least the focus was on his foot work, able to step and roll, without needing as much concentration. 

To be honest Noona, when you went to the bathroom I saw your texts 14 missed calls An overflow of all kinds of models, singers and actors

Noona, please stop flirting with me I know you have a lot of guys Again, leaning in with your pretty face Why do you act like I’m the only one?

Noona, please stop flirting with me I know you have a lot of guys Again, leaning in with your pretty face Oh. Why do you act like I’m the only one? Tempting, tempting why?

There was a moment to breathe before the rap, the steps breaking more in the beginning and Yuta felt more confident to move for the start. Confident movements forward towards the front of the stage, the TRC staff watching, owning as much of his place as he could. But even he knew his mind was elsewhere as he performed--he was off--struggling to ignore the jars of pain. The sleeve of his jumper slipping, at the sharp pauses and his breath a little heavy as he had to dance and rap in the same moment. Steps smoothed back into place, finding the right beat to slip into; or at least he hoped he had, with the light-headedness that he had to shake off. The only thing he could do was grasp onto the lyrics, onto the movements he knew that he knew, and keep getting through the song; he’d deal with the pain after, he’d deal with everything after.

Noona, please stop flirting I get that you have a lot of guys But if you approacj me in this way, things could get problematic Baby stop, enough Looking at it now, I think I’m starting to feel a little bit tipsy Oh stop, before we start something we’ll regret tomorrow I know it too You just wanna drive beside me in my range rover Grabbing my hand and coming to my side You want to get closer But I’ve run into noonas of this style before It’s like the same shit but different girl I’m just sick of it all now

That was his resolution as he clear his lungs of the sting; he wanted them to notice him, he wanted to get signed more than anything. He wanted to show them that they would be missing out if they didn’t hand him a contract. A rise in his confidence, a boost in his ego, a flush of extra charisma to get him through. And for a while, he couldn’t feel that pain. The Japanese boy filling the stage as much as his one body could, making eye contact at the practice moments and wearing the emotion like it was his own; like his mother had taught him when he acted. Pretend it’s him, pretend he’s someone else, pretend every word is his own. Throw himself into the stinging cold of the water and hold his breath there until it was over; drown in it.

How dare you act innocent to me? How can you not blink even once? Please, don’t act clueless Those hyungs and I know each other..

Noona, I think you’re pretty unbelievable Stealing men’s heart I guess it’s nothing to you This is too unfair, you know

Noona, please stop flirting with me I know you have a lot of guys Again, leaning in with your pretty face Why do you act like I’m the only one?

Everything was centered on the judges as he finished up the last verses of the song, for a moment, feeling like himself; untouchable. That was why he liked performing, why he liked hiphop, why he wanted to be in TRC. They were untouchable, no one competed or was equal; everyone who heard the name would know he was the best. 

‘I am Nakamoto Yuta, TRC’s future Triple Threat’ -- that was his to take and he would take it.

Breathless, sweat shined on his skin, and as soon as the song ended, his hand went to his arm. That first throb of hot pain, one eye nearly squinted shut and he lowered his head to hide the cringe; remove it from his face. He didn’t want them to know he was in pain or that he was injured--’if they know, they might be less harsh and realise you’re not at your best,’ his sister had said--but he didn’t want that asterisks. 

Once again, he dipped forward, bowing and wearing a smile--tired and worn; satisfied.