Episode 35: Unmask Time
The Blind Singer set, revisited after four weeks, had transformed significantly.
First, the studio itself had changed.
This new one was about 2.5 times larger than the one used for the preliminary rounds.
In that expanded space, chairs arranged in a semicircle around the stage formed the audience section.
“The audience area’s huge, right? It’ll be packed today,” Song Jaeryung said.
Including the second floor, it’s about 1,200 seats.
Considering most competition shows have 500 to 800 seats, a filled 1,200-seat venue speaks volumes about Blind Singer’s hype.
“Sss.”
As I wet my lips with a flick of my tongue, Song Jaeryung chuckles.
“What, nervous? You’re human after all. You always seem so unfazed.”
“Of course I’m nervous. I’m human too.”
“Well… 1,200 seats isn’t small. But if this makes you nervous, you’re in trouble. The final’s at a special stage—2,500 seats.”
1,200 seats is big for a variety show, but 2,500?
That’s the scale of a year-end or holiday special for a music show running three years strong.
It means Blind Singer Season 3 has not just viewer hype but massive network expectations.
My nerves, though, aren’t what Song Jaeryung thinks.
I’ve performed to tens of thousands at concerts.
1,200 seats? 2,500?
Big numbers, sure, but not enough to weigh me down.
My debut stage.
The first year-end awards show where I closed.
My first sold-out solo concert.
The successful U.S. debut and first world tour.
None of those stages made me as nervous as today.
The reason?
‘This is my first stage with Zia in the audience.’
Singing to my oldest fan, the first to recognize my voice, to announce myself to the world.
I’ve been on countless stages, but none have made my palms this sweaty.
“Still, I trust you’ll nail it, Yujin. Shall we check the stage movements?”
I follow Song Jaeryung onto the stage.
She explains the new entry and exit routes, but I’ve long memorized them.
‘E-37… around there?’
With my mask up like a fortress until the “Unmask Time” that opens the finals, my eyes seek Zia’s seat from her ticket.
It’s a rough guess, but knowing the approximate spot, spotting Zia shouldn’t be hard.
I know how the audience sections are divided, so pinpointing her seat isn’t difficult.
It’s in the central group—not dead center, but a great spot, clearly chosen with care.
“I’m singing for you today. Come safely.”
This morning’s promise is perfectly suited for this spot.
Audience response matters a lot in this final round, so I need someone to lock eyes with.
“Let’s rehearse the Unmask Time entrance. No pressure—just do it in the coolest way you think. If anything’s off, we’ll fix it.”
“Got it.”
I can’t just dwell on that thought.
This is rehearsal, after all.
A stage’s quality is set here, so I need to nail it.
Experience helps.
Moments later—
“Good heavens, who taught you to handle props like that?”
Despite her exasperated words, Song Jaeryung’s excitement is sky-high.
‘How’s he this good without being told?’
Posing artfully for cameras is as ingrained as managing my expressions.
Even without a mask, she wouldn’t guess my thoughts, but I say something else.
“Too much?”
“No, it’s perfect with your outfit today. That prop was made for you anyway—no one else will use it.”
Song Jaeryung pats my shoulder, pleased as I handle the rest of the movements.
“Who was I worried about? There’s nothing to fix. Director, check Yujin’s audio!”
Just minutes ago, she was eager to tweak me, but now, with a mix of exasperation and adoration, she calls the sound director.
***
Flop.
“Hoo…”
Woo Zia collapses into her seat, letting out a deep sigh.
Despite taking calming meds, her racing heart won’t settle.
It’s only natural.
The scene she’s dreamed of is about to unfold before her eyes.
‘Yujin’s up there…’
Not a shabby rooftop or a mosquito-ridden street, but a stage draped in dazzling lights.
The stage she’s waited seven years to see Han Yujin on is no metaphor—it’s here, now.
Zia subtly cranes her neck, scanning the crowd.
In the dim shadows, orange lights illuminate the audience seats, too many to count.
Each new arrival—two, three at a time—amplifies the pounding in her chest.
As the seats fill, the overhead lights dim.
Staff urge silence, and the judges take their places at the panel.
And then—
“The only audition judged solely by voice! Blind Singer Season 3, first live final round, starts NOW!! I’m your MC, Ji Sehyuk!”
From the center of the stage, Ji Sehyuk’s voice heralds the start of the long-awaited performance.
“Waaaa!”
“Whoo!”
Cheers erupt, welcoming Ji Sehyuk and the ten singers he’s about to introduce.
A molten wave of excitement surges from the audience to the stage.
Nodding twice with satisfaction, Ji Sehyuk spreads his arms wide and shouts.
“The moment has come! The identities of the ten singers you’ve been waiting for will be revealed! Let’s start—Un! Mask! Time!!”
““Un! Mask! Time!!””
As countless voices echo his call, light floods the darkened screen.
And then—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
With heavy sound effects, ten numbers slam onto the screen.
Woo Zia’s gaze locks onto the final number, 1, as Ji Sehyuk gestures toward a tunnel glowing with magenta light.
Perhaps to highlight it, the stage darkens instantly.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Intense spotlights ignite one by one, illuminating a raised platform.
And then—
“My name is…”
As the first number vanishes from the screen, the first contestant steps forward, filling the platforms from both ends.
“Park Juan, you’re so handsome!!!”
“Pink! Blossom! Yang! Seung! Hee!”
“Noh Jiyoon! Noh Jiyoon!”
“Eom Dongkyu, fighting!!!”
“Kim In! Kim In! Kim In! Kim In!”
Each number erased brings a contestant to the stage, met with vibrant cheers lighting their path.
“Haha! That kid’s at it again!”
A sprightly boy, whose lively hops warm the crowd, steps to the mic to announce his name.
“My name is Kang! Tae! Oh!”
“Class 2, Grade 2, Kang Taeoh, go for the win!!!!”
“Let’s go!!!”
Youthful cheers, as fresh as the face revealed beneath the mask, roar through the audience.
Kang Taeoh bounds to the remaining spot with the same energy.
Now, only one spot remains.
The final number 1 fades from the screen, and a silhouette appears at the tunnel’s far end.
In soft purple light, the figure stands tall.
The moment Woo Zia sees it—
“I’m Woo Zia, what’s your name?”
The question she asked him on the day they met flashes through her mind.
As if answering—
“My name is…”
That familiar low voice flows through the speakers.
“Hnn…”
“Kyaaa!”
“Waaa!”
While Zia catches her breath, heart pounding as if it might stop, cheers explode around her like spreading flames, celebrating the one they’ve awaited.
Responding to the roar, the silhouette strides closer.
Flash! Flash!
Purple lights flare on either side, following his steps.
Click.
Hands gripping the mask’s sides produce a small snap.
Clatter.
A piece of the mask, now ownerless, skitters across the floor.
“He’s insane! Using a prop like that here?!”
The audience’s eyes briefly follow the mask’s fragments, but Sally’s scream redirects their gaze to where the mask once was.
“Huh.”
“Crazy, crazy, CRAZY!”
Pale pink lips, firmly closed.
A sharply carved jawline.
The lower face alone turns the audience’s cheers into soft gasps.
As the man reaches the tunnel’s end, pale purple light shatters across his jet-black riding jacket.
Swish.
Unlike others untying straps behind their heads, he grabs the mask’s base and yanks it off overhead.
Clatter.
Tossing the two-thirds-remaining mask to the stage’s edge with an impassive face, he strides to the mic where everyone stood.
Lee Sangwoon, watching quietly, whispers to Sally.
“Man… I thought only that Japanese guy, Mayonnaise, could pull off that hair. But Number 1’s on another level.”
“Sir, with that face, any hairstyle works. Look at those eyes—insane.”
As Sally said, his piercing gaze sweeps the stage through hair draped over his forehead, pausing at one spot.
His eyes meet an audience member clutching her chest—
“I’m Han Yujin, performing under the stage name EUJN.”
The once-languid lips curve into a radiant, breathtaking smile, gently thawing Woo Zia’s frozen heart.
“Han Yujin! Han Yujin!”
“EUJN!!!”
“KYAAAAAA!!!!”
The voice carrying his final name spills over the stage, through the audience, and to countless viewers beyond.
pls dont stop translating this.
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