Chapter 13

“The Youngest Participant.”

“Composure.”

And “First Place.”

Every single line the MC spoke perfectly contained the identity this program expected from me.

And if I wanted to imprint myself on the viewers from the very first main round, shouldn’t I add just a little of my own special talent to the lines they had prepared?

Something intuitive. Something that would catch the eye instantly.

The greatest talent of this life.

Something I never even dared imagine during my fifth life—my appearance.

The gossip I overheard from the other contestants during the preliminaries—more like blunt commentary about my looks—was proof enough.

“This is insane. He seduces you with his face and snatches your heart with his singing. That’s cheating. Totally cheating.”
“What agency is he from?”
“No idea. Does anyone know him?”
“Is he a former model?”

Even the production staff couldn’t take their eyes off me.

My height was in the high 180 centimeters, my face small enough to be covered by a single hand, and my features were unbelievably sharp.

Even from afar, my smooth skin, gentle impression, and golden-ratio body proportions had a kind of magnetic charm that made it hard to look away.

Most of all, my long, cool single-eyelid eyes were perfect for expressing a wide range of emotions.

How do I know my own charms so embarrassingly well?

Well, there’s only so much you can learn staring at a mirror alone in your room.

But when I stepped onto the stage with Yoo Ju-ye, I was startled by the unfamiliar face reflected on the giant screen.

While singing the duet, I saw my own face in a close-up on the big screen and was shocked.

My hair slightly disheveled, my head tilted a little downward as I looked up—when that image filled the screen across the stage, I genuinely wondered if it was really me.

And then the moment I heard the song coming out of that mouth…

I shivered.

So appearance can actually complete a song.

An ability I had always wanted in my previous life—but never possessed—was blooming on that giant screen.

Shouldn’t I actively use my looks first?

If that was the case…

Shouldn’t I choose a cell where even a small motion—like casually tossing my head back to look at the audience—would highlight that subtle gaze capable of grabbing viewers’ hearts?

While these complicated thoughts filled my mind, the MC continued speaking.

“Now, contestant Park Do-ha has earned the right to choose a prison cell first. There are eight cells in total, and four people will enter each one. Please watch the screen and select the room you want. Now then, shall we take a look at the cells?”

As soon as the MC finished speaking, the stage screen lit up, showing footage of the prison cells located on the fourth basement floor.

“This is the prison where you will be confined—and also your stage!”

Raising his arm dramatically, the MC pointed to the cells on the screen and began explaining the characteristics of each room.

“Contestants should choose the cell that best allows them to express their own color. Now then, shall we start with Cell No. 1?”

As his words ended, Cell No. 1 enlarged and filled the entire screen.

The contestants’ eyes widened.

Some leaned forward with furrowed brows, trying to examine what equipment was available. Others took photos of the screen with their phones to save the information.

Some even started writing notes.

Everyone’s eyes and hands were busy.

“In Cell No. 1, there’s an upright piano, a wireless handheld microphone, and a system that can transform the stage set. Quite appealing, isn’t it? I’m expecting something like a Broadway musical performance. Now then, what about Cell No. 2?”

As the MC continued his explanation, Cell No. 1 slid away and Cell No. 2 enlarged.

While listening, I calmly ran calculations in my head.

Cell No. 1 had an upright piano and wireless microphone.

A clean and organized setup—but the problem was obvious.

Singing while playing the piano meant sitting behind the keyboard. That meant my face wouldn’t be seen properly.

And even if another teammate played instead, it would likely cause exhausting tension among members competing for the spotlight.

So that was out.

Cell No. 2 had an electric guitar and a drum set.

Powerful sound, sure—but if people started fighting for attention like they did in my previous life, it would become a disaster.

Cell No. 3 had an acoustic guitar, contrabass, and a four-part harmony effector.

It could create a warm, emotional stage.

But like Cell No. 2, the instruments would take up precious broadcast time.

Not good.

“Have you… made your choice?”

The MC interrupted my thoughts.

I quickly scanned Cells 6, 7, and 8 again.

But my mind was already made up.

“Number 5.”

“Oh! That was quick! Once you choose a room, you can’t change it later. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

At my answer, the MC nodded immediately.

“Very good! Contestant Park Do-ha is now the cell leader of Prison No. 5!”

At the MC’s declaration, an AI-generated avatar of me wearing a prison uniform appeared inside Cell No. 5 on the screen.

Seeing this for the first time, the contestants’ mouths fell open.

The MC looked at me with a playful smile, as if he had expected that reaction.

“Now, just like that avatar, contestant Park Do-ha will be confined in Cell No. 5 on Basement Level 4. Within 24 hours, you and your teammates must complete the escape mission! Please head down and prepare to welcome your team members.”

Following his instructions, I bowed to the other contestants before leaving the stage.

They applauded.

* * *

At the entrance to the underground prison.

A staff member handed prison uniforms to the cell leaders ranked 1st through 8th.

“Each cell leader should enter the changing room with your room number and change into the prison uniform. Please place your clothes, phones, and other devices in the lockers and come out with nothing but the uniform.”

“Phones too?” asked the leader of Cell No. 2, looking surprised.

“We would appreciate your cooperation to maintain the fairness of the competition.”

Of course, the real reason wasn’t just fairness.

They didn’t want contestants leaking internal details outside—or staring at their phones all day instead of creating good footage.

Inside the Cell No. 5 changing room, there were four metal lockers.

Inside one of them lay a gray prison uniform.

On top of the neatly folded clothes was a large number:

In the quiet room, a small camera lens inside the locker blinked directly at me.

From now on, I’m a prisoner of Cell No. 5…

and the producer of this team.

Let’s do well, Park Do-ha.

After taking a deep breath, I put my bag away and changed clothes.

“All cell leaders, entry into the prison will begin in 60 seconds.”

The staff member’s voice echoed through the speakers.

The leaders, now dressed in prisoner uniforms, looked awkwardly at one another.

“Cell leaders, follow the guards to your assigned cells!”

Guards stood before us, and we followed them toward our cells.

When I stopped in front of Cell No. 5, the guard turned to me.

“Contestant Park Do-ha, you will now be confined in Cell No. 5. Please place the metal band on your wrist against this terminal to open the door.”

I nodded, and he continued.

“Once inside, you cannot leave until the stage mission ends. When the door closes, it will automatically lock. Only when your performance receives a ‘Success’ judgment will the exit terminal activate, allowing you to open the door with your band. Restrooms are available inside, and all cells are filmed 24 hours a day.”

He looked at my face one last time.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’ll go in.”

My answer was short but firm.

The guard nodded.

Beep.

When I touched the wristband to the terminal, a short electronic sound rang out and the prison door opened with a heavy clank.

As I stepped inside—

BANG.

The door slammed shut behind me.

A heavy vibration traveled through the soles of my feet.

The sound was so weighty my shoulders flinched.

Then came the click of the automatic lock.

I slowly looked around.

It really does feel like a prison.

Cold concrete walls.

A suffocating space with no windows—just walls on all sides.

On the far left I could see separate male and female restrooms, and deeper inside, separate shower areas.

The only place with a bit of privacy.

In the past, contestants sometimes fought there—or refused to come out.

Some rooms even received penalties because of it.

Hoping nothing like that would happen here, I took off my shoes and stepped onto the raised platform.

The air smelled like stage lighting mixed with old metal.

When I looked up at the ceiling, small red lights blinked between the stage lights.

Cameras.

Eyes recording the stage, evaluating everything.

Even now, they were probably searching for footage worth broadcasting.

I walked to the center of the cell.

Four standing microphones stood there.

Lights crossed down from four directions, ensuring no shadows fell on a performer’s face—capturing expressions clearly from every angle.

Eighteen years old.

This face.

A strategy I never had in my previous life.

At least this way… my face won’t go to waste.

I plucked the string of a guitar leaning against the wall.

A soft vibration spread through the cell.

Now I just needed to add sound to this space.

My heart began to race.

Just as I started forming Plan A, B, and C for whatever team members might come—

Click!

The door lock opened and the first teammate entered.

“Hello, Mr. Park Do-ha? I’m Jung Danbi!”

Jung Danbi? The talented contestant who was eliminated because of Baek Se-gang in the last main round?

But why is she in this room? Shouldn’t the original members of Room 5 from my previous life be entering?

The development was different from my past life, which surprised me.

But as the cell leader, I greeted her first.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Park Do-ha.”

“I’m a fan of yours. I couldn’t take my eyes off your performance during the preliminaries.”

“Thank you!”

I felt like my face should be the one heating up from that compliment.

So why was her face turning red instead?

“Oh my… I can’t believe I ended up trapped in Park Do-ha’s cell.”

She shyly covered her cheeks with both hands.

Was she always like this in my previous life?

I only remember her crying a lot.

“Oh, you have no idea what I went through just to get into this room. I tried everything. My heart was pounding so hard because I thought I might not make it.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you see the screen?”

“The screen?”

“Oh… you didn’t see.”

After looking at my confused expression, Jung Danbi glanced around and found a remote control.

She pressed it.

A wall-mounted monitor beside the cell entrance turned on, humming through the speakers.

Then she explained.

“Right now, people are going crazy trying to get into Cell No. 5.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t rooms chosen based on ranking?”

“They were. But there were too many applicants for Room 5, so they’re holding a battle between the applicants.”

“A battle?”