Episode 18: X-Pass
Before heading to the qualifiers’ room—
“Feeling good?”
Song Jaeryung intercepts me out of nowhere.
She leads me to a small room with Blind Singer’s logo plastered on a screen backdrop—a space for qualifiers’ interviews.
“Yeah, feels great.”
“Congrats! I really enjoyed your performance. I was actually an ‘Emv’.”
Emergency’s fandom was called Emv, right?
Now that I think about it, Song Jaeryung’s in the age group Emergency targeted.
“I never imagined that song could be transformed like that. Thank you. But… it’s a shame about the all-pass.”
Her brief fan gratitude gives way to the reason I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
Sure, missing an all-pass stings a bit.
Sweeping every round of Blind Singer’s finals with all-passes? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t pictured it.
But—
‘This turned out even better. One pass short? No big deal.’
I never expected Seo Yoonje’s promise to build my character would play out like this.
It’s Seo Yoonje.
A man who’s been on so many audition shows he’s lost count, too enchanted to even press the pass button.
How will that look in Hong Hyunwook’s eyes—or the audience’s?
Even with my experience, I can’t predict the ripple effect.
‘The irony is I didn’t even plan this.’
Seo Yoonje’s expression told me everything.
He didn’t skip the button on purpose for drama—he genuinely forgot.
‘He probably meant to press it right before the song ended.’
A dramatic all-pass, timed perfectly for the finale—that was likely his plan.
He was waiting for my performance with that in mind.
And then, he got blindsided.
“I did pick an unpredictable song, didn’t I?”
“Absolutely. The song choice was shocking, the arrangement direction was shocking, and it was completely different from your prelims. A nonstop surprise.”
Even Song Jaeryung, who heard my similar-vibed ‘Lotto’ in the prelims, couldn’t predict this ‘Why’d You Come to My House?’.
Imagine Seo Yoonje, who only knew my EUJN’s ‘For a Moment’.
“I took a bold shot. All-pass, five-pass—what’s the difference? I advanced, and that’s what matters.”
It’s not like I missed the all-pass because my performance lacked.
Song Jaeryung, a broadcast pro, knows this, so my answer should satisfy her and get packaged nicely.
“Are you just chill, or is your mental game that strong? Either way, it’s impressive. One last question: what’s your resolve or goal moving forward?”
“Goal…”
I pause at her question, and as she swallows, unable to wait out my silence, I face the camera and speak.
“I hope you’re not satisfied with this stage. My songs will be better today than yesterday, and better tomorrow than today. All-passes mean nothing—I’m here to deliver songs that make them irrelevant.”
Song Jaeryung smiles warmly.
At this point, I could say almost anything short of cursing and still look good.
Maybe that’s why—
“Director, can you turn off the camera for a sec?”
“OK.”
Song Jaeryung leans in after the camera stops.
“Yujin-ssi, the interview’s over, but I’ve got one off-the-record question. Nothing big, so don’t stress.”
“Go ahead.”
My breezy reply makes her hesitate, scratching the back of her neck before speaking cautiously.
“So… your hair… is it really just meaningless?”
Oh, that.
“If it’s really nothing… we’d love to touch it up. Not now, but later. Your mask feels a bit wasted… With only three weeks until airing, and you’ll be busy prepping for Rounds 2 and 3…”
She trails off.
‘Even a seasoned writer struggles to say it outright.’
“Later” means what?
She’s hinting at tidying my hair before the finals, when masks come off.
But a crew member saying they’re sure I’ll make it that far could be risky.
“No problem with that, but…”
It’s different if I say it.
“What you’re feeling right now… wouldn’t it be better if the audience feels it too before we tidy it up?”
“Oh!”
No need to keep my plan secret.
In fact, I should share it.
The finals are four stages.
If the audience feels this mask is “wasted” on me, the eventual reveal will hit harder.
I’m enduring this messy look through the finals for that payoff.
If I hadn’t thought of it, fine—but now that I have, they’ll set a grander table than I could alone.
“Hah. Haha. Wow, Yujin-ssi, this was all planned? You seemed so unassuming, but you’re kinda scary.”
As expected, Song Jaeryung’s smile doesn’t fade.
‘Scary? That’s not the face of someone scared.’
***
Nine hours later.
Even when Polaris debuted and hit music shows, I never waited this long.
But that grueling time passed faster than expected.
‘That crazy kid, Kang Taeoh…’
When I entered, the qualifiers’ room had just five people. Now it’s up to thirty-four.
And Taeoh’s still buzzing around like a social butterfly.
‘Where does that energy come from?’
For a guy who loves talking that much, being told not to socialize (not really) must’ve been torture.
If I hadn’t cleared up his misunderstanding, he might not have flopped, but an all-pass would’ve been unlikely.
I’m not as hyper as Taeoh, flitting about.
I just watched him, stepping in to brake if he got too close to crossing a line.
Yet time flew by like an arrow.
‘Playing babysitter doesn’t exactly ruin my concept.’
If anything, it’s more positive than negative.
Any potential downsides? Hong Hyunwook will probably edit them out nicely.
And so, the first round of Blind Singer’s finals ends with the 80th performance, Contestant 66, Park Juan.
“Ugh…”
“Seemed way too nervous.”
A lamenting sigh, out of place in the celebratory qualifiers’ room, echoes around.
Anyone could tell Park Juan’s performance was shaky—very shaky.
The result: two passes.
With elimination confirmed, harsh critiques rain down on Park Juan’s slumped shoulders.
Unfortunately, the previous three performances—Kim In, Yang Seunghee, and Noh Jiyoon—scored consecutive all-passes, making his flop feel even more disappointing.
But unlike the others, I watch the critiques with relative ease.
“Your voice… ugh… it’s so classic, the kind people can’t help but love. You picked the perfect song, so why were you that nervous…?”
Yoon Ichae’s critique borders on pleading, dripping with regret.
“What a shame… that voice is unreal…”
Taeoh, empathizing who-knows-why, sounds close to tears.
Grateful for his role in making the long shoot bearable, I lean in and whisper.
“Feeling bad for him?”
“Yeah… not just 66, but everyone else too… They must’ve prepared so much…”
That’s how this show works—stepping on others to rise.
It’s a universal truth in auditions, but now’s not the time to lecture. I just reassure him.
“I don’t know about the others, but I’m not worried about 66.”
“Huh? Why? Is he famous?”
The thing everyone seems to have forgotten today.
“Nah, not that. I think we’ll see an X-Pass this time. Probably from Yoon Ichae.”
“Oh!”
The judges’ one-time trump card, letting any contestant advance regardless of passes.
‘I don’t know if it happened in the original timeline.’
I only know who made the top five, not whether Park Juan bombed like this back then.
But he didn’t flub lyrics, pitch, or rhythm—just trembled so much it made listeners uneasy.
‘That’s enough to warrant it.’
If it doesn’t happen… oh well.
He’d have to give up.
No big deal.
It just means this Blind Singer deviates from my expectations, but my job stays the same.
“Now, Contestant 66, please remove your mask and introduce yourself.”
“Yes.”
As Park Juan’s trembling hand reaches for his mask—
“Wait… ugh…!”
Yoon Ichae, face buried in the table, groans almost painfully, stopping him.
“Huh?”
“Oh!”
Exclamations erupt across the waiting room.
As if on cue, Ji Sehyuk’s voice rises with excitement.
“Yoon Ichae? Could it be…?”
“Ugh… I really wanted to save it this season, but to use it in Round 1…”
“Come on, a lyricist saying ‘save it’?”
“Is that the issue right now?!”
Ji Sehyuk teases but gently guides Park Juan’s trembling hand down from his mask.
Wrapping an arm around his shoulder reassuringly, he prompts—
“So, Yoon Ichae?”
It’s a move to comfort Park Juan.
‘What a picture.’
Even I’d struggle to balance hosting, encouragement, and consolation like that. Ji Sehyuk’s the real deal.
“I’m using it! X-Pass. I’m using it!”
“Yes! With Yoon Ichae’s X-Pass, Contestant 66 advances to Round 2!”
It doesn’t stop Park Juan’s shoulders from shaking harder.
The waiting room falls silent for a moment.
“Why the tears? Blind Singer isn’t the only chance in life, 66. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Hey, Sehyuk, don’t say that so lightly when it’s not your moment.”
Yoon Ichae snaps playfully as Ji Sehyuk soothes Park Juan, but Ji Sehyuk revels in the carefree thrill.
“If you’re grateful, pour everything you’ve got into the next stage. That’s the repayment. Right, Yoon Ichae?”
“Can’t argue with that… Sehyuk’s right, 66. No time to cry. Prep for the next stage. I’ve used my pass—now it’s on you.”
“Yes… I won’t let you down…”
Park Juan, teary, is led offstage by staff, his image flickering on the screen.
Clap clap clap clap clap.
Silent congratulatory applause fills the waiting room.
“Wow, hyung, how’d you know?”
Taeoh whispers, lowering his voice.
‘Know what?’
With 16 years in the industry, this isn’t even intuition—it’s basic.
“Just had a feeling.”
“Wow.”
To Taeoh, it probably seems impressive.
Plenty performed better than Park Juan but didn’t get an X-Pass and got cut.
Taeoh can’t yet see what Park Juan has that they didn’t, or why Yoon Ichae’s on that panel.
“Alright, we’re closing! A battle of voices alone—Blind Singerrrr!”
Ji Sehyuk’s voice booms through the screen from center stage.
And so, Blind Singer’s first round, with 80 contestants, ends with 34 qualifiers, one X-Pass, and a few holdovers.