Episode 67: Rookie of the Year Race
Following Bong Cheol-jin and Suhyuk toward the waiting room.
“Hello, I’m Han Yujin.”
As I bowed immediately upon meeting someone, the others froze, but I continued down the hallway with ease. Bong Cheol-jin quickly caught up, lowering his voice to whisper.
“Just now, they debuted later than you, Yujin-ssi.”
His tone carried a hint of whether my pride was hurt, but I didn’t mind.
‘This is the first rule for surviving in this wild.’
Without gauging who they are, I reflexively bow and greet anyone I meet.
That alone can easily turn first impressions positive and avoid making unnecessary enemies.
Unless someone’s as twisted as Bang Hokyung, no one dislikes this behavior.
If they do, it just means they disliked me from the start, so there’s no need to care.
‘They debuted later than me?’
Even better.
It gives me the image of a respectful senior greeting a junior first.
Of course, this might sometimes come with the label of being fake, but that doesn’t bother me either.
Even if it starts as pretense, if it continues for 1 year, 2 years, 5 years, 10 years, it becomes a kind of sincerity.
“Oh, really? That’s why they reacted like that. Well, what’s the harm? Greeting doesn’t cost money.”
“Ha.”
Shrugging with my response, Bong Cheol-jin laughs, his eyes curving into crescent moons as if exasperated but amused.
“This isn’t something you can teach with just a word or two. Someone might think you’re a real rookie idol.”
“I am a rookie.”
“Haha. Good. You’re doing well. Suhyuk, watch closely. Your artist is like this, so your neck better not be stiff, okay? Though you’re already doing great without me saying it.”
“Thank you.”
I chuckle inwardly at the exchange.
It’s something I’d already taught Suhyuk during the Midnight Café shoot.
Turning my gaze from Suhyuk, whose eyes sparkle with curiosity, I notice another person approaching us.
“Hello, I’m Han Yujin.”
With another quick bow, the staff-looking person nods familiarly and briskly goes on their way.
After a few more greetings like this,
“Hello? What’s going on… Oh, wait a moment. …Yujin-ssi, the waiting room is just ahead, right? Go rest there first. I’ll take this call and join you.”
Bong Cheol-jin’s steps halt abruptly with an incoming call.
The corners of his eyes, which had been relaxed, rise slightly, his brows furrowing into an inverted V—something troublesome must’ve come up.
“Suhyuk, the door should have Yujin-ssi’s name on it. I’ll just finish this call and come back, so go ahead.”
“Yes, sir.”
Though he quickly straightened his expression, Suhyuk, who’s sharp enough, couldn’t have missed the mood.
Leaving Bong Cheol-jin to head back the way we came, Suhyuk, with his lips tightly shut, fumbled to find the waiting room for a moment.
“…It’s here.”
Yoon Na-hee, who hadn’t said a word beyond “Hello” since we met today, points out the waiting room Suhyuk and I had passed.
“Oh. Thank you. Hyung, sorry about this.”
“It’s fine.”
I already knew the layout of Music On—and other stations—like the back of my hand, so I’d recognized the waiting room number instantly.
But to others, this was my first time here, so I deliberately passed it by.
Retracing my steps, I glanced at the A4 paper I’d pretended not to notice.
[Performer Waiting Room]
[Han Yujin / E-GIS]
‘Ah…’
An involuntary sigh escaped me.
‘Of all people, them…’
The emotion stirred by that four-letter name wasn’t a good one.
If I had to name it, it’d be guilt.
E-GIS, pronounced “Aegis.”
Debuted December 2024.
‘Was this their third week?’
In my past life, they were Polaris’s biggest rival in the Rookie of the Year race.
And that meant they never quite succeeded.
E-GIS was more often called “2-GIS” or “Kong-ju-s”—derogatory nicknames.
The reason?
‘They never once surpassed Polaris.’
They did win first place a few times, but only when Polaris wasn’t around.
Even without intending it, seeing a name that only ever took a beating from us and me left an uncomfortable feeling.
“Hyung, is something wrong?”
Noticing my brief hesitation, Suhyuk asks cautiously.
“Oh. It’s nothing. Let’s go in.”
Opening the door as if it’s no big deal,
““Hello! We’re E-GIS!””
The members, who’d been laughing and chatting among themselves, jump up in unison to greet me.
One of the two reasons I feel guilty toward them is exactly this.
‘They’re too kind…’
If they’d been a bit more ruthless, I wouldn’t feel this sorry about them being overshadowed by our league.
With all five E-GIS members being as polite and upright as Polaris and me, even when the industry framed us as rivals, we couldn’t help but get along.
Despite that, E-GIS never showed inferiority toward us, which only deepened my guilt.
“Hello. I’m Han Yujin.”
Returning the greeting to the E-GIS members—who greeted me first today—I move toward the empty seat in the back.
As we settled into our spots,
“Yujin-ssi, let me touch up your makeup.”
While Yoon Na-hee began her task, addressing the sweat that had trickled out from countless greetings, a small commotion stirred among the E-GIS members.
“Hyung, you say it. You’re the leader.”
“Only when it’s convenient, huh?”
“Aw, hyung, please… Huh?”
Though they thought they were whispering, the waiting room wasn’t spacious enough to muffle their conversation if you listened closely.
“A signature or a photo—pick one, hyung.”
“Hyung’s a fan of Yujin sunbae too, right?”
“What if sunbae feels uncomfortable?”
The exchange, overheard by me, Suhyuk standing a step back, and Yoon Na-hee focused on makeup, was enough to make us bite our lips to stifle laughter.
“I’ll stop here and finish the rest before rehearsal.”
Yoon Na-hee’s rapid-fire remark, choked with suppressed giggles, finally clued in the E-GIS members, who fell silent.
“Haa…”
A sigh heavy with embarrassment escaped their manager’s lips.
“Since we’ve met like this, how about we take a group photo?”
My suggestion to E-GIS’s leader, Hwang Woo-ju, turned their faces beet red in an instant.
But only for a moment.
“Suhyuk, take a picture with this.”
“Yes, hyung.”
Handing my phone to Suhyuk, the members quickly gathered around me, and he skillfully snapped a few group shots before returning the phone.
“Should I send this to Woo-ju-ssi privately? Or should we start a group chat?”
“Huh?”
“What?”
My casual remark while opening a messenger app froze them solid.
Wondering what was wrong,
“Do you know my name…?”
Hwang Woo-ju’s stammering reminded me we hadn’t formally introduced ourselves yet, catching me off guard too.
“Yes, I do. Woo-ju-ssi, Bern-ssi, Min-ki-ssi, Seung-kyu-ssi, Ha-on-ssi. I’ve been really enjoying ‘Hide and Seek,’ by the way?”
Boldly name-dropping their debut song and lightly mimicking a key dance move, their eyes began to shimmer with emotion.
“You mentioned a signature earlier too? The debut date gap isn’t that big, so it feels a bit awkward to sign…”
Their heartfelt gazes pricked my conscience, prompting me to shift the topic.
Fortunately, Suhyuk handed over a pen and paper just in time.
“Come on, a gap’s a gap. Eight months is a huge difference.”
Starting with Hwang Woo-ju’s sparkling response, I signed for the other three, leaving E-GIS’s maknae, Lee Ha-on, last.
“Sunbae, could you write ‘Rookie of the Year Fighting!’?”
Ha-on’s request stopped my hand cold.
That was the second reason I felt guilty toward them.
The music industry’s award season typically tallies from November of the previous year to October of the current year.
In my past life, Polaris’s November debut as a monstrous rookie crushed E-GIS’s hopes for Rookie of the Year.
‘But it’s different now.’
With Polaris’s tally falling under 2024 instead of 2025, E-GIS is undoubtedly the frontrunner for 2025’s Rookie race.
But,
‘Can E-GIS really win Rookie of the Year?’
That monster that stole their hope is now chasing them in a different form with Kang Tae-oh.
The guilt of potentially branding them “2-GIS” or “Kong-ju-s” again weighed heavily, making their pure admiration feel burdensome, leaving me unable to easily write Ha-on’s request.
“I’m sorry for putting you in a tough spot, Yujin-ssi. Our kid didn’t know better. I’ll apologize on his behalf.”
E-GIS’s manager stepped in, his face hardening from the fond watchfulness he’d shown moments ago.
“Hyung?”
“Ha-on-ah! Shh! …Our kids don’t know much about that stuff. I’ll make sure to correct them. I’m really sorry.”
Warning the confused Ha-on, he bowed again.
While I appreciated it, I was equally puzzled—how could he know my dilemma?
‘Not to mention, I haven’t even decided if I’ll produce them or not.’
My direct recording of Shooting star and planning a new song for Hylliy before Zia’s were all buildup for that, but there’s no way he’d know my intentions or MyWay’s situation.
‘But the word “troublesome” is…’
That word hit my feelings spot on, muddling my thoughts.
“Ha-on-ah. OSTs and variety show competition songs don’t count toward Rookie awards.”
His next words sent a jolt through me, like a sting to the back of my head.
I’d forgotten that detail, having won Rookie so long ago.
The manager had sensed my discomfort, but his interpretation veered off course.
“Huh?”
Unaware until now, Ha-on received a hushed explanation from the manager.
“Yujin-ssi debuted in April, but that was an OST. Blind Singer songs are competition tracks, so they’re excluded too. But Shooting star came out in December. That means Yujin-ssi is also a 2025 Rookie candidate. How can you ask a fellow nominee to write ‘Rookie of the Year Fighting!’? Apologize to sunbae now.”
A fact I’d overlooked.
Yes, I was also in the 2025 Rookie of the Year race.