Roy staggered forward heavily, just as he was spinning through a dance move.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
If Yoo Juwon, who had been standing next to Roy, hadn’t quickly grabbed his arm, he might have fallen.
Though Roy should’ve been the one receiving thanks, he ended up offering his gratitude instead.
The participant who had earlier questioned Roy during the routine blushed bright red.
He had only asked out of curiosity, but once everyone’s attention—including Roy’s—turned toward him, he grew flustered.
“OINUTT?”
As sweat trickled down the back of his neck, he wiped it away and glanced nervously at Roy, his eyes trembling with embarrassment.
“I just thought… the move you showed a moment ago seemed a little off. I remember that part clearly.”
At first, he’d been too busy trying to memorize the overall choreography to catch details.
But now that Roy was demonstrating the movements more slowly, that one part stood out.
“Could you show me? I might’ve made some mistakes since I’m relying on what I remember after watching it only once.”
Roy had nearly memorized the lyrics and choreography from a single viewing—proof of his excellent memory.
Still, no matter how good his memory was, it wasn’t perfect.
Especially with dance moves, if he focused too hard on one movement, he could lose track of what came next and get thrown off.
“I think… here, instead of taking just one step to the right, it was more like a step and a half, and the hand movement went like this.”
Roy brushed it off casually, and the participant, now calmer, explained what he remembered of the choreography.
“Does anyone else remember anything? If you do, let’s all share what we’ve got.”
“I think I remember one more part…”
Like water bursting through a dam, participants began speaking up one by one, sharing the bits and pieces they remembered. Kim Chan and Lee Hajun eventually made their way to Roy’s side to join in on the discussion.
“Thank you so much. If you hadn’t told me, I would’ve gone on stage with the wrong choreography.”
As Roy took a quick breather, he patted the shoulder of the participant who had first spoken up.
The boy, brushing back his sweat-drenched hair, quickly waved his hands in denial.
“I should be the one thanking you! That’s the only part I remembered—everything else flew out of my head. You were honestly amazing up there, Hwang Roy.”
[Sudden Mission Progress: 3/5]
Roy had changed his approach.
Instead of doing someone a favor and waiting for their thanks, he chose to be the first one to express gratitude.
Thanks to that, his mission progress ticked up from 2 to 3.
At this rate, he might complete the mission before practice time ran out.
“Roy hyung, really—thank you. I’m so glad we’re in the same group this time. I feel like I used up all my life’s luck just getting here.”
Lee Hajun didn’t sit still either.
Grabbing Roy’s arm with a big smile, Hajun’s words made Roy ruffle the younger boy’s hair affectionately.
[Sudden Mission Progress: 4/5]
The kid had always been sweet, but now he’d brought Roy one step closer to completing his mission.
“I’m grateful too, hyung. You know that without me having to say it, right?”
Not to be outdone, Kim Chan grabbed Roy’s other arm and grinned.
[Sudden Mission Progress: 5/5]
[Mission Complete!]
[Reward Granted!]
Roy rose onto his toes and gave Kim Chan’s hair a playful tousle.
Things were going smoothly, but he knew better than to let his guard down.
Still, thanks to Kim Chan, he had safely secured the reward.
***
“Twenty minutes left until the stage performance!”
At the production team’s announcement, cries of despair echoed from all corners of the room.
Even Kim Chan and Lee Hajun, who had been smiling just moments ago, were no exception.
“At this point, someone must be messing with the clocks to make them go faster.”
Time always seemed to fly when one was focused, but today it felt especially brutal.
Lee Hajun bounced nervously in place and struck a pose, preparing to run through the mission song from the beginning.
Though he remembered it in his head, executing it with his body made the difficulty feel ten times worse.
“Let’s do it together. In twenty minutes, we can run it four more times.”
“Count us in too!”
At Roy’s suggestion, the other contestants who had been practicing nearby flocked over to join him.
As they started the song from the beginning, harmonies began to rise naturally.
Beads of sweat formed on their foreheads like pearls.
“Has everyone practiced a lot?”
“Yes…”
Their responses, which would’ve normally been full of energy, came out weak and breathless.
Lee Jian gave them a sympathetic smile.
As an active Hunter Idol herself, she knew that even she would struggle with a mission that required perfectly replicating a doppelganger’s performance after just an hour of practice.
“Then the doppelgangers on stage will now step aside. Please move to the positions where your doppelganger is standing!”
At Lee Jian’s instruction, the contestants rushed toward the stage. Though she had said the doppelgangers would step aside, they remained still, smiling faintly as the contestants approached.
A tense standoff began between contestants and their doppelgangers.
“U-Um… excuse me…”
Kim Chan stood nervously in front of the doppelganger that looked exactly like him, his lips twitching in unease.
It had been creepy from afar, but now that he was up close, it was even scarier.
The lifeless eyes, unfocused like those of a doll, made it worse.
Only after Kim Chan spoke did the doppelganger shift its gaze and stare directly at him.
“Could you maybe… move aside a little?”
No one knew what kind of trick the production team had pulled, but the doppelgangers weren’t attacking, even though there were people moving right in front of them.
At Kim Chan’s polite request, the doppelganger slowly tilted its head to the right.
“Could you maybe… move aside a little?”
Then its lips parted, and the exact same words Kim Chan had just spoken came out in the same voice.
“Huuuh…”
“Huuuh…”
Kim Chan let out a whimper, like a character thrown into a horror movie. And the doppelganger’s lips moved as well, mimicking the same sound.
“Wasn’t our courage test mission already over?”
“Wasn’t our courage test mission already over?”
Han Jihoo raised his right hand and asked the production team.
All around them, screams echoed through the building, but Jihoo kept a smooth smile on his face.
Despite his eyes curving into crescent moons, the look he gave the doppelganger that mimicked his raised hand and repeated his words was chillingly cold.
The contestant standing next to Jihoo instinctively stepped away—his energy was that intense.
***
“I have something I forgot to mention!”
While the contestants stood frozen, unsure of what to do, Lee Jian raised her mic.
Her expression was even more awkward than before, with a sheepish smile on her face.
She was just reading from the script the production team had handed her, yet she couldn’t help but feel sorry as another harsh mission was thrust upon the contestants.
“Although the doppelgangers are higher level than you, the production team has adjusted their stats to match yours. You must incapacitate your own doppelganger within the next 24 hours. That’s the condition for qualifying to perform in the next theme mission stage!”
The contestants’ mouths opened and closed like fish out of water.
Their trembling eyes showed just how shaken they were—it was almost pitiful.
“Does this have anything to do with the rankings from the last evaluation?”
This time, the question didn’t come from Han Jihoo but from Kim Jaewoo, who had placed fifth in the first ranking ceremony.
He pushed back his bangs, and his wavy brown hair spilled through his slender fingers.
“No, it has nothing to do with your previous rank. Regardless of your standing, you must defeat your doppelganger within 24 hours to qualify for the theme mission evaluation. Only then will you be eligible for the live broadcast performance stage.”
The small tear mole under the corner of Jaewoo’s right eye stood out as he frowned.
***
“We will now announce the new mission!”
To capture more authentic reactions, the production team had only provided the contestants with a vague schedule and a basic concept.
This time was no different.
They were made to think they’d be performing on stage within an hour, only for a new mission to be suddenly dropped on them: defeat a doppelganger within the day.
Above Lee Jian’s head, a mission window appeared.
[You must defeat your doppelganger—who looks exactly like you—within 24 hours to qualify for the theme mission evaluation. Judges for this round are Lee Hyeyeon, UK, and myself.]
Lee Jian paused for a beat so the contestants could read the mission window, then continued to explain the next rule.
“There are three grades for this evaluation: Pass, Hold, and Elimination. Those who pass can move on to the live broadcast stage.”
The word “Pass” turned from black to blue on the screen.
“Those who receive ‘Hold’ will be given another chance before a final decision is made on whether they can perform. And lastly, those who are eliminated will unfortunately not be allowed to perform on the live stage.”
The word “Hold” turned green, and “Elimination” turned bright red before shattering into pieces—just like the bleak future that awaited anyone who received that judgment.
“This is just cruel…”
The live stage was a dream opportunity for anyone aiming to become a hunter idol.
And this program was hosted by K Company, one of the top broadcasting networks in the country.
Getting onto the live broadcast meant that even people who weren’t following the survival show would see the contestants on TV.
It was a golden chance to boost their public recognition to a level that couldn’t even be compared to before.
In a survival program where fan votes were everything, missing that chance to be seen and known was unthinkable.
“But first, you have to deal with your doppelganger before you can even get evaluated, right?”
A doppelganger that looked exactly like Lee Jian appeared beside her.
She shivered and rubbed her arm, clearly creeped out as she stared at the creature that wore her own face.
“Doppelgangers have lower attack power compared to other monsters of the same level.”
Lee Jian set her mic down on the podium.
What replaced the mic was a long rod decorated with a red ribbon.
At the top of the rod, a glowing, bluish gem—the size of a clenched fist—shone brilliantly.
It was a Cure Stone, known to greatly amplify a healer’s abilities.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the dazzling light of the healer’s staff.
Then—
The stick in Lee Jian’s smiling hand cut through the air with a whooshing sound.