Episode 19: Yo, Was It Good?
Even though the sun has long sunk below the sea, the humid air lingers, refusing to cool completely.
Climbing steep stairs in this sweltering heat is grueling, no matter how fit you are.
Yet my steps feel light.
The reason? The face waiting at the end of this path overshadows all pain.
‘I’m happy.’
Before my regression, singing was a desperate struggle against apathy.
In the end, that struggle was swallowed by a futile abyss.
But now, it’s different.
No cutting-edge studio equipment.
No penthouse overlooking Seoul.
No global fans screaming my name, no accolades earned by breaking racial barriers.
All that’s gone, and yet I’m happier now.
I never dreamed the stage, once a painful thrash, or the recording studio I avoided unless I was deliberately pushed to my limits, would feel this exciting.
Most importantly, I’ve realized a profound truth.
The happiness and love I sang about before were mere surface scratches.
The one who taught me that truth is up ahead.
Her face, pouting exaggeratedly, peeks over the brick railing.
Our eyes meet, and the happiness flooding my heart spills over into a smile.
Tadad, tadad, tadad.
Her beaming face vanishes below the railing, followed by the soft thump of rubber soles on the ground, injecting energy into my sweat-soaked body.
‘All that training’s paying off again.’
Three months ago, I’d have collapsed by now, but not anymore.
Thanks to that buzzcut trainer who doesn’t know the meaning of “last,” I’ve got enough stamina to sprint the final 10 meters.
I reach the top before Zia descends the three flights of stairs.
“Eek!”
I catch her light tackle with my body.
She yelps, not expecting me, and I place a finger on her lips to hush her.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself rushing down like that.”
Hiding my obvious joy behind a stern face, I scold her.
Then—
Tap.
“Getting all buff for nothing… Back in the day, you wouldn’t have stood a chance…”
Zia curls her small fist, lightly tapping my chest, muttering in a sulky tone.
Her playful jab sparks my mischievous side.
“For nothing? Funny, I recall someone benefiting the most from my training.”
“What… what’re you saying! You stink of sweat! Go shower!”
Zia snaps and bolts up the stairs.
I just shrug at her retreating figure.
‘I saw it.’
She didn’t want me to notice, but even in the shadows where streetlights don’t reach, we were too close for me to miss her flushed face.
‘Better not tease her more today.’
I’ve got a ton of things to tell Zia, and if she gets sulky now, that’d be a problem.
So, I don’t call after her, quietly following her up the stairs.
***
To give Zia time to cool off, I shower slowly on purpose.
It works pretty well.
Tap tap.
Her flushed cheeks mostly faded, a calmer Zia pats the floor, signaling me to sit.
I comply silently, and she perches on the bed, holding a towel.
“Yujin, you really shouldn’t grow your hair out. Why’re you so bad at drying it?”
The towel wraps around my head, and I let out a small chuckle at her shaking motions.
‘It’s just ‘cause I like you drying it for me.’
Her touch—awkward but unguarded, full of affection—is the one perk of this messy hair.
I’ve debated dozens of times a day whether to keep it like this just for this.
‘Gotta cut it eventually, though.’
It’s inconvenient otherwise, and besides, Zia wouldn’t tolerate this look if it weren’t part of the plan.
No choice but to savor this sweet sensation until that day comes.
‘After this, I’ll probably leave haircuts to a salon.’
This is a luxury I can only taste now.
I keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to reignite Zia’s blush after she’s just calmed down.
“There, done.”
Her slightly rough finish ends today’s indulgence, and I lean my head on her lap.
“Hey!”
She gasps but doesn’t pull away.
“How was today?”
Her gentle hand strokes my hair as she asks.
“It was fun.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. Blind Singer’s definitely a top-tier show. Tons of talented people showed up.”
“Really? How many all-passes this time?”
“Five.”
“Whoa, that’s a lot. Four others besides you?”
Zia’s casual words, spoken without a hint of doubt as she messes up my freshly dried hair, draw another chuckle from me.
I wonder what she’d say if she heard this.
“No, I got a five-pass.”
“What?!”
“Ow!”
Her sudden withdrawal of her leg sends my head bumping into the bed’s edge.
It’s just a mattress, so it doesn’t hurt, but I can’t stop the startled yelp.
“What? Who didn’t press?”
Zia’s ready to storm the comments section, demanding to know which judge skipped me.
Lucky it’s Seo Yoonje and not someone else.
“Seo Yoonje.”
“Huh?!”
She didn’t expect that name, so I quickly explain the whole story.
“He was so caught up in the song he forgot to press. Watch the broadcast—it’ll be hilarious. They’ll probably replay it a bunch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!”
“He was praising me nonstop, then Ji Sehyuk goes, ‘You didn’t press,’ and he turns around, startled, and presses it like nothing happened. Guy’s got a face of steel, I swear.”
Unlike my cackling, Zia’s caught between laughing and fuming. I pull her thigh back, resting my head on it, and continue.
“Kim Kwangyong said my stage might top Round 1’s view count. Lee Sangwoon choreographed the song I did—didn’t know that. Said he’s kicking himself for not thinking of my concept.”
Summarizing the critiques seems to soften her up. She starts playing with my hair, her slender fingers moving gently.
“What about the others?”
“Huh?”
“There’re six judges, right? What’d the rest say?”
A chill runs through me.
Is it instinct warning me never to repeat Sally, Yoon Ichae, and AZ’s critiques?
“Uh, just… said I did well.”
“What’s that? Come on, spill it. I’m curious.”
I avert my gaze to the floor, trying to sound casual, but her voice, tickling like her fingers in my hair, doesn’t let up.
‘Shouldn’t have said anything.’
Will Hong Hyunwook cut those critiques?
‘No way.’
Even if time’s tight, he’d cut Lee Sangwoon or Kim Kwangyong’s before touching those three.
‘Should I let it get caught later, or come clean now?’
My thoughts race in that fleeting moment, but—
“What’d they say?”
The time limit betrays me.
“They said… sexy…”
I choose to take the hit now, eyes squeezed shut, spitting it out like a machine gun.
“AZ said she was enchanted, Yoon Ichae said the veins in my forearm while playing guitar were mature, and Sally said she was the one getting desperate.”
Time, which felt fleeting, suddenly stretches into eternity.
‘Should I have left it for tomorrow’s me? Or picked a different concept?’
I realize something’s off when my regret traces back to the me who chose the song.
Only then do I notice—Zia’s leg hasn’t moved, and no icy “Yo, was it good?” has flown my way.
“Pfft.”
I cautiously open my eyes to see Zia holding back laughter.
“Puhahaha! Why’re you so nervous!”
She bursts out laughing as our eyes meet, tears forming before she speaks.
“You think I didn’t expect that after watching you perform? If I didn’t like it, I’d have told you not to do that concept!”
“Oh.”
“What, thought your noona would get jealous?”
I nod reflexively, and her laughter grows louder.
“Why would I be jealous of them?”
“Uh…?”
“Did you like that they called you sexy?”
“No… not really…”
“Then why would I? They don’t get to see you acting all cute like this. The guy who was unfazed in front of those big shots is squirming in front of me. Why would I be jealous?”
Her unexpected reasoning leaves me speechless. She ruffles my hair, clouding my vision, and declares boldly.
I feel a bit cheated by her nonchalant reaction after all my worrying, but—
“You’re usually so sexy, but times like this, you’re just cute. So, Han Yujin’s a hit with celebrities too?”
Her murmur makes it all irrelevant.
“What’d you just say?”
“Which part? That you’re a hit with celebrities?”
“No, before that.”
“What, that you’re cute?”
“Before that.”
She knows exactly what I want to hear by now.
“That you’re usually sexy?”
Her sly smile confirms it.
“I heard ‘sexy’ dozens of times today.”
“And?”
“This one feels the best.”
Not from Sally, Yoon Ichae, AZ, the crew, or contestants.
Not even from the global praise in my past life.
The only compliment that truly makes me happy comes from Zia.
“Aww, our Yujin’s such a sweet talker. Come here, noona’ll hug you. Eek! Han Yujin, hold on! Slow down! That tickles!”
As I tackle her enthusiastically, one thought hits me.
I picked a damn good house.
This rooftop room’s soundproofing is top-notch.