They finally started.
As expected, Daniel immediately made himself the center of the scene.
He strode into the middle of the stage, one hand on an imaginary headset, the other gripping an invisible steering column. His voice boomed across the auditorium. “Mayday! Mayday!” he shouted, ducking slightly as if turbulence had rocked the plane. “We’ve lost engine one!”
Jiwoon, seated to his right in the co-pilot’s position, responded with a startled yelp, but quickly recovered. “Copy that, Captain! Trying to stabilize now!”
“Alert the crew,” Daniel ordered, waving a hand dramatically. He didn’t even look at Jiwoon.
Jiwoon stared at him for a second before nodding. “Shelly! We have a situation.”
Then, he sighed, alarming Shelly. “This might get bumpy.”
Shelly turned to Youngmi. “Brace protocol?” she asked, gripping the back of an imaginary seat.
Youngmi, playing the second flight attendant, stepped forward, her eyes showing a little panic but still composed. “Passengers, please remain calm and fasten your seatbelts. We’re experiencing some turbulence—”
Behind all of them, Zeno was still.
He sat quietly, his hands on his lap, eyes steady. He wasn’t trembling, or panicking, or delivering any lines. He was simply watching.
His head turned slightly to the side, like he was observing the clouds beyond the invisible window, and even though it was nothing more than air between his gaze and the studio wall, he seemed lost in something.
“What’s he doing?” Billy muttered to himself.
“Is he… frozen?” Oska added.
But Ryeo, watching from the sides, only narrowed his eyes. Daniel had improved. Ryeo could admit that. There was more control in his pacing now and less overacting. But even with the added polish, Daniel still had that same self-absorption in scenes—like being handsome was the point, and everything else was just a prop to his spotlight.
Still, Ryeo couldn’t take his eyes off Zeno.
“They’re not that bad,” Gene PD chuckled.
“Their team’s good,” Ian said, and Risa nodded in agreement. Well, they might have been a little biased. They just loved Zeno a lot.
Sangwon pursed his lips, arms folded. “It’s too early to tell.”
Misha narrowed her eyes. Zeno hadn’t spoken a word yet.
Back onstage, the scene continued in chaos.
Jiwoon was pantomiming pressing switches, muttering, “Stabilizers—failed. Altitude dropping. We’re over the sea—”
Shelly’s voice pitched higher. “The passengers are panicking! We need instructions!”
Youngmi staggered and cried out, “Please, sir! Sit down and duck. This is for the safety of all!”
The tension was climbing.
And still, Zeno did nothing.
Daniel was eating up all the space. Every line, every reaction, or cue was designed around him. He was the star of his own show—and despite their decent improv acting skills, it was starting to look quite predictable.
Just like Ari had predicted.
However, just then, Zeno stood.
He simply got to his feet and stepped forward with the coolness of someone who had been in a plane crash before.
“The aircraft is unbalanced,” he said, voice clear. “You need to transfer hydraulic pressure to backup systems manually. Alert the ATC and prepare for a Level Three emergency landing.”
Everyone stopped.
Daniel turned to him with furrowed brows, not as a form of act, but in confusion as to why Zeno was chiming in like this.
Zeno didn’t look at him. He walked to the front like it was always meant to be his place. “What’s the airspeed? Have you compensated for the drag loss? What’s your remaining fuel estimate?”
Daniel opened his mouth, but he couldn’t say anything. Well, he didn’t understand anything.
“Have you initiated ELT? Did you alert the transponder with the correct code—7700?”
Jiwoon stared at him. “What…?”
“The checklist,” Zeno said sharply. “Have you run it? Hydraulic failure means you’ve lost flaps, you’re probably nose-heavy, and you’re still flying blind into Class B airspace. So—have you at least notified tower control? Or are we crashing without saying goodbye?”
Daniel was flabbergasted. “I—uh—”
“You what?” Zeno snapped. “Do you even know where you are on the map? What about terrain altitude? Are you going to put us into a mountain because you wanted to look good while shouting ’Mayday’?”
The judges were suddenly leaning forward.
Ari’s lips curled in amusement. Jonas tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing.
Zeno wasn’t just good. He was convincing. This was a twist even he didn’t expect.
Jiwoon, eyes wide, asked the only question left.
“Excuse me… but are you a pilot?”
Silence.
Zeno glanced at him.
And then, he answered.
“I am.”
Zeno didn’t wait.
He strode to the front of the stage where the invisible control panel was, knelt slightly, and flipped imaginary switches with such sharp precision that it looked like something clicked. Like something actually responded.
It didn’t matter that there were no props.
When Zeno moved, it felt like the controls were real—and somehow, everyone watching saw them too.
“Hydraulics rerouted. Manual override engaged,” he muttered, hand sweeping across empty air.
“Woah,” Ian whispered.
“What the heck? Why does this look real?” Shin exclaimed, feeling excited. “Are you seeing this?!” he turned to his teammates, especially Sangwon, who felt confused by everything, too.
Jiwoon didn’t speak. Daniel didn’t move. The others were frozen, watching as Zeno took control of an aircraft that didn’t exist.
And then he reached to the side.
“Tower, this is Flight A38 requesting emergency landing clearance. We’ve had a critical systems failure. Requesting runway access, immediate priority,” he said into the air.
Silence lingered, but it didn’t matter.
Because somehow—even without a response—they heard it. They felt the other side.
“Understood,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Affirmative. Flaps down manually. Visibility at forty percent. Copy. Beginning descent.”
“How the hell does he know all this?” Bacon PD whispered from the sides.
“I don’t know,” Ari replied, unable to take her eyes away from the scene.
“Brace positions,” he called over his shoulder, and for once, no one questioned him.
Youngmi blinked, then immediately scrambled into position. Shelly followed. Jiwoon looked like he’d forgotten how to act. Daniel’s mouth was still slightly open.
“We’re coming in too fast,” Zeno said, voice steady but low. “Reverse thrust. Compensating wind drift—”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Hold—hold—now.”
He threw the lever down.
And just like that, everyone in the studio felt the landing. The invisible lurch.
Zeno sagged in the seat and let out a long breath. His fingers trembled, just a little.
Then he turned, calmly, toward the imaginary camera that would’ve been in the cockpit.
He looked into it.
And he smiled.
“We’ll be safe.”
