“Are you really going to treat me so coldly, given our relationship?”
Moon Beomjae had come to the studio first thing in the morning and was hanging on Hyunseung’s sleeve.
“Pardon? What kind of relationship do we have?”
“We’re one in music, aren’t we?”
“Sorry? Why would I be one with you, sir?”
Hurriedly picking up his headset, Hyunseung pushed back. He wasn’t seeking an answer—just signaling that he had to work and wanted him gone.
“Have you forgotten the memory of that night we stayed up together?”
“Sir, if someone else hears that they’ll misunderstand.”
But Moon Beomjae paid no heed and clung to Hyunseung all the more.
The reason was simple….
“Re‑arranging a few tracks for the concert isn’t that hard for you, right?”
He wanted Hyunseung to check the arrangements of the songs he would sing in his upcoming nationwide tour.
“For that level of arrangement you could ask another engineer, couldn’t you?”
“Do you know how hard and expensive my concert tickets are to get? For those hard‑won, pricey seats I have to give the audience the very best quality, don’t you think?”
“And why am I the one who has to provide that quality?”
“One of the songs is our Dear My Beethoven. Since that song is yours, you’re the only one who can look at the arrangement.”
Hyunseung shook his head slightly. Seeing Moon Beomjae, drenched in romance, arguing to persuade him, he knew this face wouldn’t back down easily.
“Then I’ll do just my song.”
“While you’re at it, the whole set….”
“I’m busy, too. No.”
“I’ll pay you generously….”
Pretending not to notice the pleading look, Hyunseung was about to pull the headset over his ears when—
Knock, knock, knock‑
Another visitor came to the studio.
“Professor Moon Beomjae, you’re here too?”
Manager Kim bowed politely in greeting, then raised his brows at Hyunseung, signaling that he had something to say.
“It’s not lunchtime yet. Already hungry?”
Hyunseung didn’t catch on at all.
“Phew, that’s not it. There’s something you need to check.”
With a small sigh, Manager Kim offered the tablet PC he was holding.
“This article popped up this morning—it looks like Jayble’s planning a revenge match.”
[ [Exclusive] Jayble confirmed as a K‑Sing Star judge! “I want to share the panel with HS.” ]
Scroll, scroll‑
[ The unfinished duel—Jayble and HS to clash once more on K‑Sing Star? ]
Scroll, scroll‑
[ K‑Sing Star producers announce: the final will be fought with HS’s and Jayble’s self‑composed songs! ]
Hyunseung cocked his head and stopped scrolling.
K‑Sing Star.
If his memory was right, season 1 had drawn record ratings for a domestic audition show.
After many ups and downs it had continued to season 10 and become the flagship of Korean audition programs.
Even people who didn’t care about audition shows knew it.
Looking back on his previous life, K‑Sing Star had poured enormous production money into heavy promotion, so before it even began people had already heard of it.
“Is K‑Sing Star starting with season 1 right now?”
“Looks that way—seems like their first run.”
What’s more, he himself had served as a judge in the later seasons.
“But with what nerve did they run an article like this? No wonder they were so persistent in scouting….”
Glancing at the tablet, Moon Beomjae chimed in.
“Hm? K‑Sing Star? I’m pretty sure they asked me too.”
“They asked you, professor?”
“Yeah, but with my concert schedule and my dislike of TV, I flatly refused.”
Manager Kim looked back at the tablet and snorted.
“Seems the producers have sharpened their knives. Their greed for the judging lineup is sky‑high.”
Then he turned to Hyunseung.
“Still, I thought I’d better get your opinion. Want another go at Jayble?”
“Nope, I’m not interested in him anymore.”
“Oh, really? Already? Thought so. Then I’ll issue a correction and refuse the casting firmly.”
Hyunseung answered with a nonchalant “Sure,” nodding. It was clear K‑Sing Star was fighting desperately to make season 1 a hit.
Is that why season 1 succeeded?
No—wait a second….
Hyunseung gathered the hazy memory. When K‑Sing Star season 1 aired in his previous life, he hadn’t yet become a composer.
Right, it was when even he didn’t recognize his own talent.
He remembered the first broadcast he happened to watch with his younger sister: in the second preliminary round, a woman came out with just a guitar, sat on the floor, and sang.
What was her name again? She’d chosen a song with a strong indie vibe….
Her name didn’t matter much. To Hyunseung the audition hall suddenly looked like a jazz club. A voice like well‑aged wine swept through the venue.
How to say it… even her restrained breathing felt sultry.
Yet.
Maybe the judges missed the huge talent coiled inside her—they eliminated her, saying the song didn’t suit her voice.
And the woman vanished like the wind.
Truly, nowhere could she be found. Given that level of skill, he expected she’d be making music quietly somewhere, but even after debuting as a composer he couldn’t find a trace.
She was an instrument he’d desperately wanted to play in full brilliance, but she disappeared before he could lay hands on it. For the first and last time in his life he had to admire a display‑case instrument only with his eyes.
She was the one instrument that left such deep regret and flew away.
‘Back then I wasn’t yet a composer….’
So he could only let the instrument slip away.
But now everything was different.
He was now an influential composer, and K‑Sing Star was shoving a bow into his hand, urging him to play that instrument. There was no reason to refuse.
“Manager Kim, I’ll do it.”
“Do what all of a sudden?”
Seeing the spark in Hyunseung’s eyes, ManagerKim sensed something was beginning again.
As expected, Hyunseung smiled as if thrilled.
“Do what? K‑Sing Star.”
PD Kim Young‑ho laid a hand on the already heavy shoulders of Lee Hyo‑seop.
“Whatever it takes, you have to get him to sign today, got it?”
“Of course.”
Ruffling the back of his own hair, Kim Young‑ho added,
“Anyway, just getting him to come this far is job well done.”
“Thank you.”
Kim Young‑ho genuinely wanted to hand a carrot to Lee Hyo‑seop standing before him. Reports on everyone else’s casting had brought no joy.
When Lee Hyo‑seop, brimming with drive, said he had a plan, Kim Young‑ho had folded his arms, thinking, Let’s see it—because rumors around the station said casting HS was nearly impossible. He had no expectations.
And then.
Whether by scheme or accident, something blew up. Articles predicting—practically confirming—Jayble and HS appearing on K‑Sing Star started flooding out.
He fretted they might get sued by LS Entertainment before the show even began, but instead HS proposed a meeting, saying he wanted to negotiate terms.
That alone was a positive sign.
A mysterious figure who’d flatly refused all shows was now willing to come to the station.
Kim Young‑ho vowed to meet any condition today and seat HS dead center on the judging panel.
“Isn’t it almost meeting time?”
“Yeah, we set it for one o’clock….”
Lee Hyo‑seop glanced at the wall clock, then hurriedly checked his phone. The second and minute hands were pointing at one.
PD Kim Young‑ho is more punctual and thorough than anyone. Hands trembling, Lee Hyo‑seop reread the message to check he hadn’t mistaken the time.
“It’s one all right….”
Luckily the message also confirmed the meeting was at one p.m. So likely HS playing hardball—big‑nose composer trying to seize the initiative.
“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic…?”
Muttering to himself, Lee Hyo‑seop watched Kim Young‑ho’s reaction. But contrary to his worry, Kim Young‑ho calmly sipped warm tea, as peaceful as if visiting an art museum.
“It’s the weekend. Of course traffic’s heavy.”
He even defended HS as if it were only natural. It was as if he’d gladly let HS spit in his face so long as he appeared.
Knock, knock, knock‑
A welcome knock, and a man’s voice from behind the door: “It’s HS.”
“Come in.”
Like meeting a station director, Kim Young‑ho leapt to his feet with a trembling face.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“H‑helmet…?”
“Time got away from me.”
As Lee Hyo‑seop greeted him happily, his expression hardened. The man claiming to be HS had shown up wearing a helmet.
Stories of the ‘Helmet Man’ who even appeared before fans helmeted were well known, but that he’d wear it to a negotiation table…
“Thank you for coming. I’m Kim Young‑ho, main PD directing K‑Sing Star.”
Leaving the hesitant Lee Hyo‑seop behind, Kim Young‑ho stepped forward and offered a handshake.
“Nice to meet you. Composer HS.”
“I never imagined we’d meet like this. Please, have a seat.”
Seeing Kim Young‑ho greet him warmly and without a wrinkle, Lee Hyo‑seop felt a sudden jolt. Hat, headset, helmet—what did it matter? They only needed one word of agreement from HS. Exaggerating a bit, that man was the hidden card that could make the first season succeed.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Lee Hyo‑seop, in charge of casting.”
He offered his card and bowed politely.
“I hear you dislike showing your face. It must’ve been a hard decision—thank you.”
“Not at all.”
“If you appear as a main judge, we’re prepared to meet any terms you want.”
He laid a contract with many blanks before HS.
“Whether per‑episode fee, signing bonus, or any additional requests—write freely.”
HS nodded slightly, flipped up the helmet’s visor, and scanned the contract.
“Gasp.”
Kim Young‑ho and Lee Hyo‑seop both briefly held their breath. Even from his deep eyes and the straight bridge of his nose, it was clear his face was flawless.
Now they understood why HS’s looks had been such a hot topic online.
“Isn’t the helmet stuffy?”
Kim Young‑ho carefully asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
Finishing the contract, HS snapped the visor shut and added,
“But can you really meet any request?”
“Yes, anything…!”
“You won’t later claim the station director objected and change your tune?”
HS’s wary gaze stabbed at them.
“As long as it’s not completely outrageous…!”
“And who decides what counts as outrageous?”
At the sharp question Lee Hyo‑seop shut his mouth.
“Everything else is fine. I can play along with your scripted show to some extent. But don’t restrict or coerce my judging or activities.”
HS turned fully toward Kim Young‑ho, clearly stating he’d speak with the decision‑maker.
“Of course.”
Kim Young‑ho flinched at the stare, but entwined his fingers and leaned forward to show he was listening.
“I won’t negotiate on the conditions I wrote in the blanks.”
Then—
“Hm?”
Kim Young‑ho’s eyes wavered as he received the contract slid toward him.
“If you promise personally to honor them, I’ll sign right now.”
Chief Producer Ko Hyundeok fell into brief thought.
“What on earth….”
The appearance contract Kim Young‑ho brought was filled with conditions he’d never seen.
- Allow wearing a helmet every episode.
- Do not ask to remove the helmet.
- If the helmet comes off and the face is exposed, edit it out.
These weren’t typical industry demands. Usually stars ask that certain people be cast, or the script be centered around them.
He’d heard of big Hollywood stars demanding no eye contact, no staff talking to them, letting their pets roam the set, only supplying a specific water brand—but a helmet?
The much‑desired guest’s only three conditions were all about the helmet—downright bewildering.
“What about signing bonus or per‑episode fee?”
“He says whatever Jayble gets is fine.”
Ko Hyundeok let out a wry laugh.
“Well, well….”
He sighed gravely. True, it wasn’t a hard condition.
However, given TV’s nature, appearing with a hidden face could be the most outlandish demand.
“The public is curious about HS’s face. If he never takes the helmet off, they’ll soon lose interest. They might even curse the show later. There could be many boycotts.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And our picky station director might blow up—who comes on TV wearing a helmet? He’d shower spit all over my face. He might even block HS entirely.”
Listening silently, PD Kim Young‑ho straightened his back and stood.
“That’s why I came to you, CP. Seating one guest I could approve myself.”
Then he bowed deeply, speaking firmly.
“But I ask you to shield us against any unforeseen backlash.”
Ko Hyundeok, watching him, chuckled, “Still as brazen as ever.” Indeed, when he became overall CP and immediately put Kim Young‑ho as main PD, it was for that very brazenness.
“So that was your aim, not approval.”
If it served the show, he set aside pride, ignored higher‑ups, and always delivered matching results.
“Then can you promise results worthy of it? I need grounds to defy the director.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ll make this the greatest audition program in Korean history.”
Without a flicker of hesitation, Kim Young‑ho’s eyes shone. Though he’d grown into a renowned PD, that fire was the same as when he was a rookie.
Because of that fire, Ko Hyundeok had to trust him.
At last.
Ko Hyundeok patted his shoulder.
“Then go make it happen.”
Thus HS’s first television appearance was confirmed.
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