Episode 48: IDOL (2)
“No way!”
The crowd erupts in an annihilating roar.
“Isn’t this a bit too much?”
Before even stepping onstage, Lee Sangwoon grabs the mic and blurts out.
“If you’d given me a heads-up, I wouldn’t have meddled! The hair, the dance—he knew how to do it but held back until now!”
Whether his behavior suits a judge is beside the point for now.
His outburst sparks laughter from the audience.
“Wait, Lee Sangwoon-nim, you didn’t coach him?”
“Coach him? I don’t even have his number! He planned this sneaky act and didn’t even drop me a call!”
Lee Sangwoon’s reply to Ji Sehyuk’s playful jab turns the crowd’s laughter into a roar.
But it’s brief.
Gulping water to calm himself, Lee Sangwoon shifts back to his judge’s role.
“Of course, as you all felt, the performance itself wasn’t anything groundbreaking. Just dance basics. Anyone who’s not completely uncoordinated could pull it off.”
Lee Ahjeong and Sally nod, but Lee Sangwoon continues.
“But that’s what makes Han Yujin seem so clever. This performance was exactly the right level for today—not too much, not too little. So, I gotta ask…”
Trailing off, he props his chin on one hand.
“How long have you been dancing?”
His voice is calm, but his blazing eyes look ready to devour me.
Sadly, my answer won’t be what he wants.
“About a month of practice. Today’s my first time dancing onstage.”
“Don’t give me that nonsense! A month? Michael Jackson?!”
Before I finish, the fire in Lee Sangwoon’s eyes ignites his voice.
And then, someone pours fuel on his excitement.
“I find that hard to believe too. That’s not a month’s worth of practice.”
Sally, a veteran of a top-tier girl group, backs him up.
But what can I do? It’s the truth.
Saying I’ve done it for 16 years would be even less believable.
“It’s the truth, so I don’t know what else to say.”
“Really, a month? First time onstage? You expect me to buy that?”
Lee Sangwoon’s sharper gaze meets my calm smile.
After a brief standoff, he sighs, picks up the mic again.
“If that’s true, we’re witnessing the birth of a dancer unmatched in world history.”
“That big, huh?”
Ji Sehyuk lightly challenges the extravagant praise, but Lee Sangwoon, already in overdrive, can’t be stopped.
“Big? Oh, it’s that big. The bounce blending into the formation, the waves and isolations, the seamless turns and steps—every basic move is flawless. In a month? While preparing multiple stages? You might not have noticed since it wasn’t flashy, but the dancers who shared the stage with him felt it. Didn’t they say anything?”
They did.
Those ingrained basics are so second-nature, I couldn’t mess them up if I tried.
‘I said I practiced a bit, but didn’t mention how long.’
That alone earned me “genius” from them.
“He could probably nail advanced moves after a few tries, right?”
Not hard.
Picking up choreography quickly is a core idol skill.
Mine was forced into me, but considering how many trainees quit because they couldn’t, I guess I wasn’t talentless.
As I muse, Sally takes the baton.
“The craziest part? His expression. He makes it look easy, but AZ-nim’s song is tough. Plus, a performance he’s never done. Singing that, minding the staging—your head could explode, but his smile never faltered. That’s not easy. You’d think he’s been an idol for a decade.”
“Come to think of it, it’s not just this stage. Except for ‘Night, Stars, Winter Sky’, he’s always smiling when he sings. Today just showed it better.”
The critique flows to Yoon Ichae.
“As a lyricist, I focus on how lyrics are expressed—it’s a professional habit. ‘Shining Light’ cheers those yet to shine, and I bet Han Yujin drew a lot of strength from it.”
“It’s true. This song gave me a lot of strength.”
“Now, hearing Han Yujin’s ‘Shining Light’, I think many will find the courage to charge forward. Great song, truly a joy to hear.”
As Yoon Ichae lowers her mic, applause fills the brief pause.
Ji Sehyuk, who barely got a word in after Lee Sangwoon’s annihilation, finally resumes his MC duties.
“Now, we can’t skip the original artist’s thoughts! AZ-nim, a word?”
“Haa…”
Pointed out by Ji Sehyuk, Lee Ahjeong lets out a heavy sigh.
“I didn’t want to feel what Sally-nim or Sehyuk-ssi felt. I’m grateful you chose my song for the finale, but it’s a bit unfair too.”
Despite the sigh and “unfair” remark, her bright expression suggests it’s no illusion.
“Shining Light is a song I perform a lot. Like Yoon Ichae-nim said, I made it to inspire people, so I never miss it at my concerts. But this year, I think I can skip it.”
“Oh! Concert spoiler?!”
“If it’s a spoiler, so be it. I’ve got a year-end concert—can you guest and sing ‘Shining Light’, Yujin-ssi?”
““Woooo!!!””
The unexpected love call sparks cheers.
“Us too! Applelime’s got a concert!”
“Ugh, I had mine in the summer.”
Sally’s additional call and Ji Sehyuk’s lament amplify the crowd’s roar.
Well, Applelime aside, since Lee Ahjeong and I are under the same agency, it’s no big deal.
“I’d be happy to join if you call, but…”
“But? What’s with the ‘but’?”
“Isn’t your concert around Christmas, AZ-sunbaenim?”
“Uh… yeah…”
She trails off, clearly anticipating my answer.
I flash a mischievous grin and continue.
“That might be tough. I’ve got to spend Christmas with my girlfriend.”
“Ha, come on…”
““Kyaaaa!!!””
Lee Ahjeong’s exasperated sigh-laugh mixes with the crowd’s shrieks.
“OK! I’ll send your girlfriend a VIP ticket too. My concert’s great for dates.”
“Alright, alright, save the guest casting talk for later, you two.”
Ji Sehyuk cuts off Lee Ahjeong’s gritted-teeth persistence, drawing another wave of cheers.
“Let’s hear from the last two judges!”
Bang Hokyung and Seo Yoonje exchange a brief word.
“I’ll go first. I’ll keep it short.”
“Go ahead.”
Bang Hokyung grabs the mic.
“I’ve got a lot to say, but if I did, everyone here would miss their rides home. So just this: keep singing like this. Well done.”
His rare smile, mismatched with his usual blunt face, accompanies the brief yet impactful critique, sparking cheers louder and longer than any other judge’s.
Seo Yoonje, squeezing into the gap, speaks.
“Principal speeches are supposed to be long, but that’s not the trend anymore. Yes, keep singing like this. MyWay will support you fully.”
He sets down the mic with a subtle jab, unclear at whom.
“Now, let’s reveal the judges’ scores for Han Yujin’s stunning performance!”
Amid thunderous cheers like a monsoon—
[40] [40] [40] [40] [40] [40]
[Total: 240] [Average: 40]
“Perfect score! Han Yujin earns the highest marks from all judges, marking Blind Singer’s first perfect finals score!”
Blind Singer Season 3’s stages conclude.
***
One scene remains: the curtain call to crown the winner.
Judges’ scores (max 40), live audience and real-time text votes (max 25 each), and pre-vote scores (10 to 4) form a 100-point total, revealed one by one.
[TOP 7: Park Juan]
[TOP 6: Yang Seunghee]
[TOP 5: Noh Jiyoon]
[TOP 4: Kim In]
[TOP 3: Um Dongkyu]
Fate’s irony?
The pre-regression Blind Singer Season 3 TOP 5 order remains unchanged, just shifted down two ranks.
‘At least my initial worry didn’t happen.’
Had things gone as I feared, Park Juan and Yang Seunghee wouldn’t be here.
Since everything’s already diverged, more will change, but this feels guilt-free.
Proof? All five, though not thrilled, accept their rankings with understanding faces.
‘Why?’
As talents who’ll leave marks on Korea’s music history, they’re skilled enough to acknowledge the two irregulars who disrupted their ranks.
“Blind Singer Season 3! The grand winner is…! Pre-vote score: 10! Judges’ score: 40! Live audience score: 24.9! Real-time text vote: 25! With a total of 99.9 points…”
Missing 0.1 points stings a bit.
But a perfect audience score from 2,500 in absolute evaluation? Even manga would call that unrealistic. This is enough.
“Han Yujin-nim!”
My gaze turns to her.
The smile that fills that missing 0.1 point is right there.
That’s all I need.