Episode 47: IDOL (1)
“Man… when did I ever tell him to go this far…?”
Amid the roaring cheers, Lee Sangwoon mutters, covering his mouth.
The shadow ash perm—a blend of an ash perm exposing a hint of forehead and shadow perm curls—suits only those with small heads.
The emerald-blue dye, evoking a tropical sea, is a color even idols might shy away from.
Compared to last week, it’s a transformation so drastic it could be called a rocket launch.
Yet, Lee Sangwoon’s voice carries no hint of criticizing the excess.
“How does he pull that off…?”
The seemingly simple hairstyle exudes unmatched individuality, and the bold concept, which could raise eyebrows, is effortlessly carried by the power in his smile.
Next to Lee Sangwoon, Lee Ahjeong clasps her hands as if in prayer, covering her slightly open mouth, watching him.
‘I expected bleaching, but…’
She’d anticipated something big given the styling time, but she imagined natural blonde or warm browns for the season—not this vibrant hue.
‘Calling this a lifetime masterpiece would be greedy…’
The role of a top-tier Korean hair designer isn’t negligible, but the charm radiating from the stage owes most to his captivating smile and the face behind it.
“Haha…”
Seo Yoonje’s laugh reaches Lee Ahjeong’s ears, similar to Lee Sangwoon’s but with a different undertone—closer to self-deprecation.
‘Crafting his character? Me? For whom?’
Seo Yoonje’s support for Han Yujin wasn’t small—elevating the show’s buzz by sitting as a judge alongside superstar AZ, plus financial and infrastructural backing a no-name singer couldn’t access.
But—
‘Even without me… he could’ve done this much.’
The ability to seize those opportunities is purely Han Yujin’s.
That’s why it hits harder: in their meeting, the lucky one wasn’t Han Yujin—it was Seo Yoonje.
“Hello, I’m Han Yujin.”
“Han Yujin, you’re so handsome!!!”
“Kyaah! Oppa!!”
A simple greeting triggers cheers so intense it’s hard to believe only 2,500 people are here.
Amid the sea of waving cheer signs, finding one without his name is a challenge.
Is there a better word than “idol” for someone who creates this moment?
Not just a boy or girl group member, but a true idol—captivating by mere presence—smiling on that stage.
‘No wonder Lee Huikyung went all-in like a madwoman.’
If she saw this in that unpolished no-name singer, her almost demonic gamble makes sense.
Recalling his performances so far, Seo Yoonje feels relieved her attempt failed.
“The song I’ll perform for you today is…”
As varied thoughts swirl, the stage’s start looms.
Clap, clap.
“Let’s hear it.”
Bang Hokyung claps, snapping the dazed judges back to reality.
“Right, let’s hear it.”
“Man, I’m scared now. What’s he bringing?”
As if waiting for the judges to regroup, Han Yujin announces his song.
“AZ-sunbaenim’s ‘Shining Light’.”
The calming cheers surge again.
“My turn now?”
‘Shining Light’ is AZ’s signature song from her singer-songwriter era, post-idol.
“Seeing the guitar, it’s probably an acoustic arrangement.”
Though she briefly set aside her usual acoustic sound for electronic tones, the song retains AZ’s essence, making acoustic covers common.
Its lyrics, cheering those yet to shine, suit any audition.
Paired with Han Yujin’s guitar skills, it promises a classic performance.
“Now that I think about it, he hasn’t done that lately—the wind-blowing thing before starting.”
“Yeah, I didn’t ask since I thought it was a jinx. He stopped after the finals started, right?”
As Bang Hokyung and Yoon Ichae chat, blue and pale green lights, matching Han Yujin’s emerald-blue hair, spread a tranquil night sea across the stage.
Eyes closed, he begins without an intro, his lyrics flowing like gentle waves with the acoustic guitar.
“The BGM is a minor chord,
Untouched by bright light,
A wisp in the shadows.”
His soft voice, in a medium tempo, evokes white foam lapping at the shore.
The audience sways gently, like grass in a sea breeze.
‘Isn’t this too safe?’
If he’d sung this first, or brought a finals-level performance now, wouldn’t it have been better?
That thought spreads like ink in water among the crowd.
But then—
His closed eyelids lift.
His fingers, dancing over the six strings, pause.
“Huh?”
Yet the melody doesn’t stop.
“Don’t be afraid.
The sky’s always
Darkest before
The dawn.”
A soft voice fills the gap left by the guitar’s quiet waves.
“Don’t stop.
In the dark tunnel,
When you reach the end,
I’ll be by your side.”
Han Yujin rises from the chair, his voice like warm sunlight filling the stage.
“Whoa?!”
A group of dancers emerges from both sides of the stage, and as his voice pauses, another sound carries the melody forward.
“I will be your Shining Light!”
The stage transforms into a dawn-lit sea, and a brisk synth tempo sweeps in like a refreshing breeze.
***
‘I was slow to figure it out.’
My old routine of blowing into the mic before a performance—I didn’t even know its meaning until it stopped.
In hindsight, it wasn’t just a stage ritual.
It was a sigh of lament, accepting that Zia was no longer by my side.
So, on the first day of the finals, when my eyes met Zia’s in the audience, that 16-year routine lost its purpose.
‘Though it gave way to a new one.’
A dancer from the right removes the chair while I hand my guitar to one from the left.
At the same time, my right hand pulls the mic from its stand.
As the dancer with the stand disappears, I shout—
“I will be your Shining Light!”
—staring at one person in the crowd.
Finding Zia among 2,500 isn’t hard.
My new routine, replacing the mic-blowing, is spotting her before starting.
‘I’ll be your shining light.’
‘Shining Light.’
My favorite song before parting with Zia.
Back then, my taste leaned toward moody, minor-key songs, but this one was its opposite.
Its lyrics captured the smile Zia gave me, so I chose it for the final stage from the start.
I wanted to tell the world that Zia, my greatest reason for standing here, was my light.
“Let’s go together,
Through the bright light,
I’m always with you.
Don’t worry,
The light shining on us
Flows from you.
You are my Shining Light.”
As I sing the chorus, dancers form a W-shape around me, moving to the pulsing synth.
Compared to Polaris’s flashy, powerful choreography, this is closer to basic rhythms.
‘Less is more.’
Even with Lee Sangwoon setting the stage, suddenly pulling out Polaris-level performance after only showing the throne act in ‘Invincible’ would be too much.
‘This is enough for those who’d recognize it.’
This level feels just right.
“It’s Shining Light.”
The wide-eyed crowd confirms my judgment was spot-on.
‘Shame I had to cut the second verse…’
The original ‘Shining Light’ lacks performance elements.
If I’d built it for choreography from the start, I could’ve done the full song.
But in this form, the whole track might feel flat.
“Don’t be afraid.
The sky’s already
Lighting up
Before us.”
I walk to the stage’s right as the dancers shift left, forming a triangle.
Kneeling on one knee, they extend their right hands toward me, covering their eyes with their left, as if I’m radiating brilliance.
“Don’t stop.
Into the highway,
All that’s left
Is to run forward.”
Now to the stage’s left, mirroring the earlier position.
As I sing, the dancers crouch, transitioning back to the W-formation with an open center for the chorus.
I point the mic to the crowd.
““I will be your Shining Light!””
I smile, thanking the audience for amplifying my voice.
“Sometimes you’ll walk
Beneath a dark sky.
It’s okay.
Just look up.
The unseen starlight
Will guide your way.”
My gaze returns to Zia.
‘Regret?’
No way.
No fame or glory could ever compare to this stage with Zia.
“Let’s go together,
Even under the night sky,
I’m always with you.
Don’t worry,
The light you shine
Brightens our path.
You are my Shining Light.”
To the countless Polaris fans who loved Han Yujin, I’m truly sorry.
But having regressed and ditched the idol life, today, I’m an idol for just one person.
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