Episode 37: Do That Thing
“Whooo!!!”
“Waaaa!!!”
Amid unrelenting heat and ceaseless cheers—
“Yes! Blind Singer Season 3 Top 10! That was the ninth performance by Han Yujin!”
Ji Sehyuk’s voice, three tones higher than usual, sends the atmosphere soaring like a kicked ball.
“Ha, I got caught up in it,” Sally says.
“Seriously, felt like a festival,” Yoon Ichae adds.
“Don’t our judges owe us a refund on their fees for enjoying this?” Ji Sehyuk teases.
Laughter erupts from the audience as the judges, unable to retort, chuckle sheepishly.
“How’s it feel hearing your own song like this? Can you relate to my excitement now, Ji Sehyuk-ssi?” Sally asks.
“Completely. I’ve never been so glad not to be a judge,” Ji Sehyuk replies.
“Ugh, so cheeky!”
Sally and Ji Sehyuk’s banter smoothly transitions to the judges’ comments.
“I know this was the first of your songs to use synthetic sounds,” Sally says.
“Yes, it caused quite a stir back then,” Ji Sehyuk confirms.
“That late-2000s, early-2010s synthetic vibe? Didn’t cross my mind once. Han Yujin’s scariest trait is making the original vanish, like, ‘This is my song.’ But as the original artist, I realized late it doesn’t feel bad. Why? Because it’s that good. No room to nitpick.”
Ji Sehyuk nods with a subtle smile as Sally wraps up with, “Well heard.”
Then Lee Sangwoon grabs the mic, eager to speak.
“I don’t know what Han Yujin’s good at.”
“Huh?”
His shocking opener startles Ji Sehyuk, and the audience murmurs.
Flustered, Lee Sangwoon quickly clarifies.
“No, no, bad word choice. I don’t mean he’s not good at anything—I mean I can’t pin down his specialty. It’s like he excels at soccer, baseball, basketball, volleyball, you name it. Sexy jazz, lively folk, soft ballads, and now this wild band sound. Every round, a different song, all nailed perfectly. I keep wondering, ‘What’s this guy’s main thing?’”
Lee Sangwoon’s glowing praise.
But I take it a step further.
“My specialty is ‘music.’”
My statement, more arrogant than confident, silences the nearly 1,300-strong studio.
“Ha. Haha…”
“Waaaa!”
Lee Sangwoon’s chuckle breaks the quiet, followed by another wave of cheers.
“If another singer your age said that, I’d scoff. But when you say it, I buy it instantly. And it doesn’t even bruise my ego—how’s that? Is this what Sally meant?”
“Probably close,” Sally chimes in.
The audience’s cheers grow louder, fueled by their exchange.
“At this point, I wouldn’t blink if Han Yujin pulled out a dance track and started dancing. The way he moved with that bass—those dance lines are real,” Lee Sangwoon adds.
“Thank you.”
I hide my true thoughts behind a grateful smile.
‘Dance lines? That’s it?’
Would he really not be shocked seeing my dance?
I’ll save that answer for later fun.
“Now, let’s hear the final comments from Head Judge Seo Yoonje,” Ji Sehyuk prompts.
Seo Yoonje slowly picks up the mic.
“The bass is an easy instrument to pick up. No big barriers like the guitar’s F chord. With decent talent, a couple months of intense training can get you stage-ready. But the walls that come later? Brutal to climb. Yet Han Yujin plays the bass as masterfully as the guitar, blending his own color within the basics. At just twenty-three, I can’t fathom how many walls he’s scaled. Maybe it’s a good thing Kim Kwangyong-sunbae isn’t here.”
Seo Yoonje pauses after the surprising remark.
Before Ji Sehyuk can ask, he continues.
“If that sunbae heard this live bass, he’d be begging to mentor Han Yujin himself.”
“Very possible,” Bang Hokyung interjects seriously.
“It was that good a performance. The singing? No notes,” Seo Yoonje concludes.
His lighthearted tone contrasts with Bang Hokyung’s gravity, briefly weighing down the mood.
“Oh, speaking of,” Ji Sehyuk cuts in lightly.
“Didn’t you say something before, Seo Yoonje-nim?”
“What’s that?”
“You might deny it, so our team prepared a clip. Take a look.”
A screen flashes on.
“Watching Number 1 reminds me of my younger self.”
Seo Yoonje’s Round 2 comment plays.
“Can you say that again, Head Judge?”
“You’re digging that up?”
Laughter erupts at Ji Sehyuk’s sly question and Seo Yoonje’s flustered reaction.
“Let’s see the scores! We’re short on time,” Ji Sehyuk pivots.
“For the sake of Seo Yoonje-nim’s honor, we’ll revisit that later. Now, let’s reveal Han Yujin’s judge scores!”
As the mood lightens, numbers spin like a slot machine on the judges’ panel.
“The judges’ scores, weighted at 40% of the final evaluation!”
In Blind Singer’s finals, judges assign 0 to 40 points, averaged for the score.
“The current leader is Kim In with 227 points, averaging 37.8—just shy of last season’s record of 228! Will Han Yujin, who earned such praise, surpass it…?”
Ji Sehyuk’s voice rises as the slot machine slows.
[39] [37] [37] [38] [39] [40]
His eyes widen.
[Total: 230] [Average: 38.3]
“Total 230 points!!! Han Yujin sets the highest score in Blind Singer finals history, taking first place!!!”
Ji Sehyuk’s thunderous shout shakes the studio, igniting a roar that reverberates across the nation.
***
Under a night sky lit by streetlights instead of stars, we walk toward our rooftop room.
“Heehee.”
A soft laugh from my side lifts my right hand to chest height.
Not my choice—Zia, gripping my hand, swings her arm wide with each step.
“That happy, huh?”
“Of course!”
Her already wide grin grows even bigger at my question.
“Highest judge score ever, first in pre-votes, first in real-time text votes, first in live audience votes. Absolute first place! How could I not be happy?”
The previous Blind Singer judge score record was 228, set by Season 2 winner Bae Mooyul in the final round.
Surpassing that in the first round of the finals has articles flooding in, claiming I’ve already outdone him.
‘Of course, there are negative ones saying it’s just a flash in the pan.’
But those don’t dampen Zia’s mood.
“Next week’s song is even bigger, right? Ugh, I’m already excited. Wonder how shocked people will be.”
Having heard my next song, Zia’s convinced my first-place streak is set in stone.
“Well, next week’s song is practically cheating.”
“Cheating? Yeah, it’s definitely cheating.”
Her mischievous grin sparks a smile on my face.
How long did we walk like that?
“Yujin, look at this.”
Zia suddenly shoves her phone at me.
On the screen:
[That smile during Unmask Time]
Everyone knows the gallery king has a girlfriend. Wasn’t that smile for her?
1… 8… so jealous…
The post nails why I smiled.
The poster’s nickname is familiar.
‘Song Jaeryung, you…’
Such petty revenge only invites bloodier retaliation.
As I ponder how to teach her that lesson, Zia bursts into laughter at the comments.
“Yujin, they’re saying I should pay triple taxes! And someone says it’s fine ‘cause you’ll cover it. Hilarious.”
I’m the one who should be paying triple taxes.
With my regression, would I even care about that?
“No way. I’m the one paying triple taxes.”
“What are you talking about!”
Zia playfully swats my arm and glares.
“Seriously, is there a school for this stuff?”
“You don’t learn this anywhere. Just do what feels right.”
“Stop it, we’re in public!”
She doesn’t yet know that the better the reaction, the more I want to keep up these cheesy antics.
While Zia protests but smiles, I keep up the affection.
She retaliates by signing up for my newly formed fan café in real-time.
As we bicker up the hill—
“Huh?”
Zia’s finger points beyond the hill’s crest.
“A shooting star!”
A faint streak of light cuts through the night sky, pierced by orange streetlights.
“Yujin, make a wish!”
She urges me, but—
‘My wish already came true.’
Would wishing again be greedy?
But seeing Zia, eyes closed, hands clasped over her heart, something streaks through my mind like that star.
“Hey, why aren’t you wishing?”
Her curious voice snaps me out of my daze.
“Yujin?”
I scoop Zia up into my arms.
“Eek! What? Why? All of a sudden!”
“I’m in a hurry.”
I bolt up the steep hill.
“Are you crazy? We’re outside…!”
Zia, face flushed, pounds my chest, but sadly for her, what flashed through my mind wasn’t anything spicy.
Five lines.
Hundreds of notes dancing across them.
For the first time since my regression, inspiration for a new composition struck me.