Episode 24: Nobody Was There
Sally, what’s that supposed to mean?
A barrage of stares, clearly loaded with that thought, rains down on Sally.
Her bombshell comment stuns not only the other judges but even Ji Sehyuk, who’s usually unshaken by surprises.
But Sally quickly drops her serious face, laughing as she rephrases.
“Come on, you have a girlfriend, right?”
The vibe shifts with her question.
What felt like a flirtatious jab is now a confirmation.
‘Of course.’
I already knew Sally’s type—rugged, muscular guys—so there’s no room for misunderstanding.
As I gauge whether they’ll cut this part and resume filming, I catch Hong Hyunwook’s sigh of relief out of the corner of my eye and finally answer Sally.
“Yup.”
“She’s your first love, right?”
“Yes.”
Sally, already leaning back with a satisfied look, nods at my response, straightens up, and continues.
“I knew it. Number 1, you better thank your girlfriend for this stage. You didn’t just erase Applelime’s colors—you painted it with your own, meticulously. I think it’s because your first love is still ongoing. And you did it in colors that suit ‘Pink Shoes’ even better than ours. Thanks for making it so cool. This is my respect.”
Pointing to the glowing P above her, Sally sets down her mic, then glances around as if just noticing the others’ stares.
“What? Why’re you all looking at me? Oh, that? Nah, Number 1’s not my type. I like muscles! Big muscles!”
“Oh, right. Sally’s all about the macho vibe. Forgot for a sec.”
Lee Sangwoon smoothly picks up the mic, riding Sally’s playful banter, and dives into his critique.
“It’s hard to imagine with the current Sally, but the defining trait of the original Pink Shoes was its choreography, maximizing delicate femininity. Applelime stood out from the alpha-girl-dominated girl groups of the time with that song’s ordinary retro pop melody, largely thanks to that choreography.”
“Yup, exactly. Eight out of ten of our debut peers went the sexy route.”
“But Number 1 recreated a boy falling in first love perfectly, with just his voice and guitar, without that choreography. As a choreographer, it narrows my turf, but as someone in music, I couldn’t not press. Honestly, all I can say is it was incredible. Great performance.”
“Thank you.”
I bow at Lee Sangwoon’s reaction-like critique, as Ji Sehyuk noted. Then Kim Kwangyong grabs the mic.
“I need to correct something I said last round.”
“What’s that?”
Ji Sehyuk’s eyes glint, catching the surprising content despite Kim Kwangyong’s calm tone.
The other judges’ gazes lock onto him, but he continues unfazed.
“I said Number 1’s voice sounded young, well-maintained. I said that because I figured they’d been playing guitar for 20 or 30 years.”
I flinch slightly.
I’ve been playing guitar here and there since my Starlight idol training days, so roughly 24 years—spot-on with Kim Kwangyong’s estimate.
“But this stage showed me I was wrong. It’s not that their voice is young—they are young. Yet they play guitar as well as our session pros at Sandae. Talent that surpasses experience—people call that genius.”
“Kim Kwangyong-nim? Are you saying…?”
“I don’t like that term—it feels like it dismisses effort. But for Number 1, I can’t help but use it. Not just a genius, but one who enjoys the effort. Their joy in performing makes the audience feel it too.”
I can only bow at his words.
His comment about me enjoying singing feels like a pat on the shoulder, affirming that my time walking with Zia isn’t wrong.
Then Yoon Ichae takes the mic.
“This song reminds me of another one you all probably know. That song that hits the charts every spring? It’s been about 13 years, right?”
Her words bring a song to mind—spring flower pension, or spring flower zombie, as it’s called.
But my association quickly turns to doubt.
“Is this stage similar to that song?”
Ji Sehyuk voices the question, and Yoon Ichae shakes her head.
“Not that ‘Pink Shoes’ feels spring-like. It’s more… refreshing, like a cool shower on a hot day. Not muggy rain, though. No seasonal lyrics, but that’s the vibe I got.”
“Oh! In that sense, yeah!”
“I mentioned that song because I think this Pink Shoes could be a new seasonal hit, taking the baton from it. A song to cool the humid June between spring’s April-May and summer’s July-August. It might be a stretch, but if it happens, we’re witnessing history. Great job.”
Yoon Ichae, aware of her influence, makes a bold statement for a judge, turning it into high praise.
Then Lee Ahjeong’s voice turns to the staff.
“That person standing there—it’s the same one from last round, right?”
Her joke draws soft laughter.
Knowing the answer, Lee Ahjeong smiles and continues.
“I seriously couldn’t recall your last stage—this was that different. I can’t predict what you’ll bring next, which makes me even more excited for Number 1. Amazing job.”
As Lee Ahjeong sets down her mic, the critiques near their climax.
Seo Yoonje, as head judge, cautiously speaks.
“You all said everything, so what’s left for me? Still, if I must add something… watching Number 1 reminds me of my younger self.”
“Huh?”
Ji Sehyuk cuts in with a playful laugh, eyeing me up and down before tilting his head at Seo Yoonje.
“From the height alone, you sure about that?”
“Pfft!”
Seo Yoonje briefly feigns offense at the half-joking, half-serious jab.
“What did I say? Back in my unknown days, when music got tough, I always thought of my wife to push through. That’s why I got a bit too immersed.”
“Even so, you and Number 1…”
“Hey!”
The banter between the two sparks another round of laughter.
Sprinkling seeds for a moment that’ll be talked about when I unmask, Seo Yoonje wraps up his critique with a smile.
“Anyway… arrangement, vocals, performance, emotion, stage composition—nothing to fault. A perfect stage. Even if I tried to nitpick, there’s nothing to grab onto.”
“Thank you.”
“Prepare well for the next stage. Great job.”
“Yes! Number 1, well done. Please wait at the holding area.”
I give a light nod to the judges and step toward the side stage.
A small smile creeps onto my face.
Not because of their glowing praise.
‘That’s expected.’
There’s something these amazing people don’t know yet.
This Pink Shoes stage was possible because Zia’s still by my side, but—
‘It doesn’t end here.’
What Zia helped me realize.
How it’ll change my music.
Having crossed a wall I didn’t even know existed, the current me can pull off stages Polaris’s Han Yujin never could.
This performance proves it.
That’s why I’m smiling.
“Let’s bring out the next contestant to keep this vibe going! Number 67!”
As I grin, Ji Sehyuk’s voice booms, summoning the next performer.
***
Round 2’s bar is noticeably higher.
Yet the first stage of our group scores an all-pass.
And with a judge’s own song, earning unreserved praise.
‘Not many could stick to their song in this situation.’
Did the eliminated lack skill? Hardly.
But in the pro world, letting someone else’s stage shake your mentality or performance is a clear disqualification.
“Number 67, unfortunately, with two passes, you’re out of Round 2.”
“Number 51, three passes—sadly, eliminated.”
As expected, the two stages after mine drink the bitter cup of defeat.
“Yes! Number 19, with four passes, takes second in the female group!”
Yang Seunghee’s third stage tightens the tension in our group to a breaking point.
‘They’re judging pretty harshly.’
Her stage could’ve earned an all-pass in Round 1, but Kim Kwangyong’s last-second press barely saved her.
Maybe that’s why.
“Number 16, unable to cross the wall, eliminated with three passes.”
“Number 72, three passes—unfortunately, your journey ends here.”
The bitter cup reaches Numbers 16 and 72.
Only Kim In and Noh Jiyoon’s stages remain.
“Yes! Number 80! Delivering fiery authentic metal, securing a joint first in the female group with an all-pass!”
Kim In, who can dye any song in her colors, grabs another all-pass, following Round 1.
“With a dazzling performance, Number 36 gets four passes! The female group’s four qualifiers are confirmed!”
Noh Jiyoon, pulling out a finale-worthy performance early, just barely boards the Round 3 train.
‘Jiyoon’s luck is unreal.’
If Kim In had gone first, the vibe might’ve been different.
Unlike my stage, Kim In’s was predictably explosive, lessening the pressure.
Anyway, all performances are done, and the 16 advancing to Round 3 are set.
Now, we wait to see who among the 23 eliminated will be saved by an X-Pass.
‘Probably four.’
That’s how Blind Singer’s system works.
The 20-qualifier cap for Round 2 is because Round 3 needs exactly 20.
‘One-on-one death match.’
Winners advance to the finals; losers compete for the single revival ticket.
That’s how the top 11 for Blind Singer’s finals are decided.
“Now, let’s hear the introductions from the 23 eliminated contestants.”
The 16 qualifiers, glued to the screen in the waiting room, are left speechless by what follows.
Including me.
“That concludes the introductions of the 23 singers. We wish you a bright future.”
As Ji Sehyuk removes each mask, not a single judge steps in to stop him.