Little Pink Starfish

The first evaluation round, held for all contestants, was a crucial part of Show Me.

That’s why the majority of episode 2 was still dedicated to showing the first round of evaluations.

Out of the 100-minute broadcast, about 65 minutes were spent on round one, with 20 minutes used for mid-episode commercials and judge-related cuts.

That left around 15 minutes before episode 2 ended to show the second mission.

At most, there would be enough time for 2 to 3 performances.

However, long-time Show Me viewers knew a rule of thumb about episode 2.

The contestant who performs last is usually a “production pick.”

That meant someone the producers believed had the most buzz or the most talent.

It made perfect sense.

The end of episode 2 had to be interesting—otherwise, viewers wouldn’t tune in for episode 3.

[The second mission is 1 verse + 1 hook.]

The rules of the second mission, which had never changed throughout the seasons, were stated plainly.

One verse and one chorus.

It didn’t matter whether the hook came first or the verse did.

The first to appear was an unknown rapper named “Mumyeong.”

That was both his rap name and his actual status.

However, he’d been praised during round one, with judges saying they didn’t understand how he wasn’t already famous.

-Oh. So Mumyeong made it to the next round too.

-I’m new to Show Me, what does that mean?

-If you consider the editing timeline of episodes 1–2, the production team usually focuses on contestants who made it to the finals or close to it lol

-Yeah, Show Me tends to build the program to match the final outcomes.

-But sometimes they spotlight someone if they crash and burn in a funny way.

-Yup yup. It’s more impactful to show someone you thought was good doing something dumb than some total rando.

-So if Mumyeong becomes famous, does he have to change his name?

-Please leave.

-That joke’s already tired, and this is the first time I’ve heard it.

-lololol

-Damn, he’s good. Seriously, why was he unknown?

After Mumyeong’s stage came a performance by a famous rapper named Savior.

He was well known not only in the underground scene but also in the mainstream, so people were wondering why he was even competing.

As expected, there was a broadcast interview where he said he’d turned down offers to be a judge, but competing seemed more fun.

Savior’s stage was a visualization of the word “veteran.”

-Daaaamnㅑㅑㅑㅑㅑ

-Get the tavern lady

-Why do you need the tavern lady?

-Shut the place down

-His albums might be mid, but his one-off verses are just chef’s kiss.

-Whoa, this might be Savior’s all-time best verse.

-Yeah, the hook felt a bit flat, but maybe he kept it simple on purpose to highlight the verse.

-Eh, I don’t know about that.

-God-mode fanboying already?

Viewers reflexively thought Savior’s performance would close out episode 2.

It was that impressive of a second mission stage.

But that wasn’t the case.

The screen cut to a shot of a man awkwardly sitting in the waiting room.

Wearing a name tag that read 452.

-Huh.

-Oh, it’s that robot mask guy.

-lol wait, the mask changed.

-That’s not even a mask, that’s a damn bread bag, right?

Just like the comments said, what 452—Sa-oh-ee—was wearing this time wasn’t even a real mask but more like a shopping bag.

It had holes cut out for eyes and a mouth.

After showing that, the broadcast cut to footage from 452’s round one and an interview.

[Your mask is different today?]

[It wasn’t on purpose… there was an accident.]

The following footage looked like CCTV.

It wasn’t actual CCTV, but because it was captured in a corner by a stationary camera and heavily zoomed in, it gave off that impression.

The video itself was simple.

Sa-oh-ee turned a corner and bumped into a Show Me writer, knocking his mask off.

Not only did it fall off—he accidentally stepped on it, breaking the ear attachment.

But viewers didn’t really notice that part.

What they focused on was the writer’s reaction.

She gasped, covered her mouth, and clutched his hand like she was trembling with emotion.

It was the kind of reaction one would have upon meeting a massive celebrity.

-Wait, what? Who is he?

-Isn’t that the Show Me head writer? The one who did the interview with the PD during the rigging scandal?

-Oh yeah, lol that’s her

-What the hell? She looks like she’s seeing a superstar

-Is he an actor?

-Huh?

-Maybe?

-Could be. Someone like the head writer of Show Me wouldn’t react like that unless the person’s really huge.

-Or maybe he’s a super famous celeb?

-Celeb? Like a star?

-Not like that. More like a soccer player or a top-tier athlete.

-That’s possible. I might react the same if I ran into Son Heungmin or Faker.

In truth, that footage was staged.

More precisely, PD Yoon Jungseop had set it up with Han Siwon to tease the audience about Sa-oh-ee’s identity, throwing Oh Sohee into the frame.

After all, Oh Sohee had figured out on her own that Sa-oh-ee was Han Siwon.

So while the situation was staged, her reaction was genuine.

It was the real response of a pure, devoted fan.

And it worked.

They even slipped in a bit of her interview.

[To think I got to see him in person…]

The broadcast clearly aimed for attention, and it succeeded.

But the attention wasn’t all positive.

-lol must be a famous actor. They’re already hyping him up.

-Yeah, actors have good vocal projection, so they’d probably be decent at rap.

-I mean, round one was a cappella, so good projection automatically gets high marks.

-But didn’t DD say he thought the guy was active?

-Judges take production cues during rounds 1–3.

These weren’t 100% true—but they weren’t total nonsense either.

By season 7, Show Me had accumulated its share of behind-the-scenes controversy.

There were even contestants who got eliminated and later called out the production team publicly.

The scene changed again.

Oh Sohee handed Sa-oh-ee a shopping bag he could wear, and the camera followed his back as he headed to the stage.

[Sa-oh-ee? Oh, the masked guy DD talked about?]

[Yeah. He seems like an active artist. He said so himself.]

[Really? Who do you think he is?]

[He looks about 180cm… are there many people with proportions like that?]

[Could it be Junseong?]

[No way. Junseong’s in the States. I talked to him yesterday.]

[From an international number?]

[Huh? Actually… no. That’s weird.]

[So maybe he’s lying to you too? He knows you’re a judge.]

[…Wait, what?]

The judges exchanged theories, then cut to a short exchange with Sa-oh-ee.

[If you pass round two, how about doing a 20-questions-style reveal?]

[Hmm… as long as I don’t get exposed immediately, I’m okay with that.]

[So far, all we know is that you’re “active,” right?]

[I’m not sure how to define “active,” but I affirmed that I am currently performing.]

[So if you were a baseball player instead of a rapper, you still would’ve said yes to being “active”?]

[That’s right.]

[Okay. What matters more than identity is skill. Let’s hear it.]

As the obvious production-pick performer stepped onto the stage, the beat began to play.

The subtitle on-screen read: [Self-Produced Beat].

Bringing your own beat wasn’t uncommon, but it could be a hint.

Hearing the rap and the beat together often helped identify the performer.

But the beat… didn’t feel like hip-hop at all.

Upbeat guitar, rich piano, and bouncy electronic drums.

Not typical hip-hop drum kits either—these were commercial pop drums.

Even the instrumental layers felt soft rather than intense.

[…French pop?]

The only producer among the judges, Kyo, murmured.

Like Kyo, those familiar with music thought of the phrase “French pop.”

Strictly speaking, “French pop” wasn’t a rigidly defined genre.

But French music, under the influence of chanson, tended to have a soft touch even in pop.

Same drum loops felt gentler, and chord progressions had elegant melodic endings.

That’s exactly how this felt.

Truthfully, if a rapper has solid fundamentals, they can rap to any beat.

There are even videos where people rap over cartoon theme songs chopped into tiny rhythm sections.

But still—imagining how one could rap over this particular beat felt impossible.

Then, Sa-oh-ee opened his mouth.

At the same time, the stage lighting turned blue—signifying the hook.

During the second mission, blue lights mean the hook, and red lights mean the verse.

[It’s on Again, Again, Again]

[Do, All of Dream]

The hook was sung—and in English.

Plenty of contestants rap in the verses and sing the hooks.

Especially those confident in their vocals often take that route.

If rap skills are equal, good singing can be a bonus.

But Sa-oh-ee’s singing was beyond that level.

He took the flowing connections between syllables—far more exaggerated in English than Korean—and perfectly turned them into melody, threading them through the French pop-style beat.

But instead of blending into the beat, he created a slight imbalance—intentional syncopation, just off the beat—and it was exquisite.

No, it was ecstatic.

The one who showed that emotion most clearly was Kyo.

From the first line, Kyo’s eyes lit up, and he didn’t bother hiding how enraptured he was.

The hook felt almost too much like a full-blown song, but because it had a repeating rhythm that carried through, it was acceptable.

[I had two thoughts.]

[One, he sings like a lunatic.]

[Two, he must not be able to rap.]

As Kyo’s interview ended, the blue light blinked rapidly—signaling the end of the hook.

And when the red light came on—

The rap hit.

[Dive back in]

[Like holding a walkie-talkie, I salute the past]

[Like a plane in turbulence, I fly at unstable altitude]

[It’s just about to crash, but it’s high? What does that even mean?]

The shift from English to Korean was jarring in the best way, and the tension of the rap delivery was almost violently tight.

The contrast was so extreme, it was hard to believe both came from the same mouth.

The vocal technique was entirely different, the way volume was built changed too.

Singers increase volume using resonance; rappers do it with the vocal cords—a technique often called “damping.”

That’s why even great singers often sound slightly awkward when they try to rap.

Their voice is good, but the impact is missing.

But Sa-oh-ee was different.

As if flipping a switch, he transcended the boundaries between vocal and rap.

His rap hit with such impact that the previously soft French pop beat now sounded like an aggressive orchestral one.