Episode 70: Motto
Running away is shameful, but it helps.
‘Was it Poland or Hungary?’
I can’t recall exactly, but it was likely a proverb from some European country.
Famous as a Japanese drama title, its meaning isn’t just about fleeing.
It suggests avoiding unfavorable fights and choosing a battlefield that works in your favor.
In a way, it aligns with the 36 Stratagems’ idea of a strategic retreat.
Since learning its true intent, it’s become one of my personal guiding principles, if not quite a motto.
‘Use every advantage on the battlefield.’
Borrowing another fandom’s strength?
Not a shred of shame in that.
‘It’s not like I haven’t done it before.’
Was Polaris’s record-breaking fastest music show win solely our doing?
Half the votes that secured our first place came from the Altayr and Pleiades fandoms’ support.
‘If I lose after all this, that’d be embarrassing.’
I don’t feel like losing, though.
With Lee Ahjeong’s AtoZ fandom, Hylliy’s Hello, and E-GIS’s Minerva—even if not all help, their partial backing should outmatch Flight’s fandom alone.
‘This is why… I hate music shows.’
For low-seniority acts, a music show win feels monumental.
It’s like an unmatched glory, often bringing tears to those who endured long trainee days.
But as trophies pile up over time, you inevitably realize:
The outcome is decided before you even sing.
‘With pre-counted scores exceeding half…’
Sure, live voting can tip the scales, like now in this house raid scenario.
But that’s rarer than when two powerhouse teams max out pre-scores.
Once you see that, it’s hard to unsee.
The fans trudging to the subway after we leave.
No matter how dazzling our three-minute stage, it’s a fleeting moment compared to their wait.
Seeing that, any attachment to music shows fades fast.
‘Maybe others differ, but that was me.’
Admittedly, my craving for music show wins was weaker than most idols’.
Smack!
I slap my cheek to dispel the negativity.
If I chose to take the stage, my personal likes or dislikes don’t matter.
Fans who came because they love me.
Other fans who’ll one day support their favorite.
Singers still burning with passion I’ve lost.
And the aspiring stars racing toward this stage.
For all of them, I must shine with my best on stage—it’s our destiny, even if I ditch being an idol.
That’s a motto I can’t abandon.
“First, CEO Seo Yoonje. I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately, but thank you for creating such a great environment for me.”
Surrounded by his team, Han Yujin gave his acceptance speech as E-GIS leader Hwang Woo-ju watched from a step behind.
‘He actually won first place… in just 5 days.’
The fastest idol record was Bruizer’s 6 days.
Yujin’s debut was last April, so it won’t count officially, but based on music show appearances alone, he broke it.
‘Is he really just a year older than me…?’
Why does this singer seem so towering?
In a week—nay, just 4 days—Woo-ju learned more from him than he could measure.
“And to the MyWay staff, especially Hylliy. I’m sorry and grateful for tolerating my stubbornness.”
Yujin’s eyes, detached off-stage yet fierce on it, lodged like a wedge in Woo-ju’s heart.
As if this moment were his last stage, his performance etched deep.
But the wedge in Hwang Woo-ju’s heart wasn’t the only one.
“And… to our EUJN fans. The music show schedule was so sudden, and it must’ve been tough, but thank you for coming and cheering. To those who couldn’t make it, I’ll work harder to deliver a better stage someday.”
The second wedge was Yujin’s attitude toward his fans.
From Tuesday’s On Stage to today’s Live Music Center, Yujin was almost always holding a pen.
To write handwritten letters to fans who visited.
“With all this downtime, what else would I do but mess around? It’s not a big deal. I can only do it now while the numbers are small. Later, I won’t be able to.”
True to his words, his fan section held only 10 to 20 seats—not many.
Yet, even if the content was similar, constantly writing wasn’t easy.
Not once did Yujin’s eyes show boredom or irritation.
‘How could I just sit there watching that?’
E-GIS had more fan seats than him—five members to his one.
Though it felt like blind imitation at first.
“Sunbae, can we do it too?”
His response to their tentative question was a revelation.
“Why ask me? If you want to, do it. But if you’re going to half-ass it, don’t bother. Fans notice everything.”
The tone was kind, but the look suggested the question itself was misguided.
Woo-ju flinched involuntarily.
That day, on their way home, seeing the waves of letters fluttering in fans’ hands as they bid farewell, and the joyful faces holding them, he squeezed his eyes shut again.
Since then, through cable channel music shows Yujin skipped and two more where they met again, it was the same.
Facing posts from fans rejoicing over their letters, the wedge in his heart seemed to whisper:
‘Why didn’t you think of this simple way to please Minerva?’
That’s why.
Even if they’d face criticism—why promote someone else, where’s your pride?—Woo-ju stepped up.
[Learned so much from Sunbae Han Yujin in a short time.]
[We’ll work hard to make Minerva happy too!]
[#HanYujinSunbae #1stPlaceCandidate #Congrats!]
He wanted to say the gift to them came from Yujin, posting it himself on SNS.
Even their manager nodded, unable to stop it.
“Lastly… you watching? I got first. Did well, right? Love you. See you soon.”
“Yes! Thank you, Han Yujin, for your acceptance speech. Please prepare for the encore.”
Though the closing line felt unconventional.
Amid the muffled Live Music Center closing remarks buzzing in his ears,
‘Someday… I’d love to share a stage with him…’
Woo-ju’s mind drifted to that thought.
He quickly realized it was a distant dream.
Different agencies, and with Yujin not an idol, a special music show stage was unlikely.
Their only shot would be hosting a solo concert first—which they couldn’t demand to open for him.
Then—
“What are you doing?”
Yujin, who’d approached unnoticed, snapped him back.
“Come here. No one knows where the Minerva fans went—they scattered. Woo-ju-ssi, you know, right?”
“Huh? Oh, yes. Over there…”
“OK. There we go. Ah, some familiar faces.”
Yujin, starting the encore, gestured lightly as if inviting Woo-ju to enjoy the stage together.
He alternated thanks between his EUJN fans and E-GIS’s Minerva, guided by Woo-ju.
““Waaahhh!!””
As others trickled out, the small crowd of both artists’ fans—barely a handful—stayed until the encore ended.
***
“I’m home.”
Kicking off my shoes, I call out, and soon Zia’s face peeks out from the kitchen.
The apron tied behind her suggests she was mid-dishwashing.
“What? Why are you back so early?”
Her face is brimming with genuine surprise.
It’s only been four days, but wrapping up a grueling daily schedule with a flawless music show win is no small feat.
I’d ordered Bong Cheol-jin, Yoon Na-hee, and Suhyuk to treat themselves to dinner as thanks.
“There’s a reason.”
“No company dinner at MyWay?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Of course MyWay, a company, would have a gathering.
“I suggested we eat together if they’re okay with it, but…”
Yoon Na-hee’s expression still lingers in my mind.
“Are you serious?”
She looked at me like I should’ve at least moistened my lips before saying that.
The issue? It wasn’t just her.
“Don’t mind us, go enjoy time with your girlfriend.”
Bong Cheol-jin said the same, promptly setting his navigation to this building.
“I guess my eagerness was pretty obvious…”
Well, this is karma.
I’ve been flaunting my girlfriend status like a ghost possessed by a lovesick spirit.
“Seriously, you’re perfect in every way except that leaky part.”
“Right?”
“Right? Just ‘right’? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Ugh, my makeup! I haven’t taken it off yet!”
Seeing Zia’s mock laugh, I tease her, only for her to stretch my cheeks with wet rubber gloves as punishment. She soon lets go, sighing as if resigned, and asks again.
“So, they all left?”
“Yeah. Na-hee-ssi had prior plans, and Bong Manager took Suhyuk for a beer.”
“Phew… if she had plans, it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”
Sighing, Zia removes her gloves and finally smiles.
“So? You missed your noona that much? Enough for them to shoo you off? We see each other daily anyway.”
Her hand wipes my cheek, drying it, her relaxed smile dripping with allure in my eyes.
If I get riled up, she’ll regret it—as always.
‘Still haven’t learned, huh?’
I wonder how many more times she’ll need to exhaust herself to get it, but it’s too late now.
Sadly, there’s nothing to distract me.
My fans’ happy departures today eased any lingering concerns.
But an unexpected barricade remained.
Bzzzt.
“Yujin-ah… phone’s ringing…?”
The timing, like when Bang Hokyung called before, feels oddly convenient.
Zia seems almost glad about it—probably not my imagination.
[Lee Ahjeong]
The name on the screen doesn’t seem urgent.
But dodging this call would give Zia an excuse to slip away, so—
‘I’ll wrap it up quick.’
—I answer.
“Hello? Yujin-ssi? Congrats on first place!”
Good.
This should be brief.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t expect you to pull it off so fast. Now it feels like you owe me a favor?”
Her next words freeze my thoughts.
Snapping out of it, I point out the flaw.
“Wasn’t that about chart number one, not a music show win?”
True, a music show win is tougher than a chart top, but our deal was about the Cocoa chart, right?
Ahjeong counters with a bright tone.
“Nope. It’s updated. You’re number one on the Cocoa real-time chart now.”
No arguing that.
I’ll have to oblige.
Noticing Zia’s subtle retreat, I grab her wrist and cut to the chase.
“So, what do I need to do?”
Her request drains the strength from my grip.
“Yujin-ah?”
Frozen, I hear the requester’s innocent, sweet voice, unaware.
“Yujin-ssi. I want to turn Zia into an actress. I’d love your help.”
Ahjeong drives the point home, confirming I heard right.