The long-awaited recruitment for K-Sing Star contestants finally began. In keeping with its purpose as a nationwide audition, ads announcing K-Sing Star’s contestant search were posted everywhere the eye could reach, regardless of region.
Television, portal sites, news articles, radio, even bus display boards…
Thanks to a budget far roomier than any audition show so far, they mounted a full-scale, aggressive advertising push. As a result, nine out of every ten people living on Korean soil now recognized K-Sing Star.
More than anything…
The public’s attention was fixed on the powerhouse celebrity judging lineup.
For each region, they placed today’s hottest idols, rappers, or producers as judges.
In the main rounds they put forward Korea’s representative musicians Kim Gwangjin, Lee Yeonga, and Won Jinseop as head judges.
And then two silhouettes in the very center of the main-judge chart, hidden by question marks, stirred curiosity.
Netizens kept up a heated debate over who those two silhouettes might be.
“It’ll be Moon Beomjae and KOK’s leader Kwon Sehun.” “No, it’ll be some famous overseas pop singer,” and so on…
“Hm.”
Jayble, after browsing those speculative posts and comments, let out a deep hum. It irked him that his name never came up.
Well.
The public must think the program wouldn’t bother hiding someone who appears on TV all the time behind a silhouette.
“Bunch of fools.”
Jayble set his phone down and gave a brief, snorting laugh. He knew who owned the silhouette.
Yes—because one of them was himself.
And Jayble murmured the other name.
“HS…”
Repeating that name felt like chewing sand; it scraped inside his mouth. It was the name of the composer who first handed him defeat, the first person ever to make him feel wary—no wonder it grated.
“Shall we begin.”
Jayble started tidying the console—a habit that surfaced only when he meant to work in earnest.
He raised a hand, moved the mouse, and the monitor snapped on, a MIDI window popping up.
He placed his hands on the master keyboard to make the competition song for K-Sing Star’s final.
Turning the melody in his head into form wasn’t hard.
However, today wouldn’t end with merely stamping out an idea.
“HS…”
Grit-!
Jayble ground his teeth. It amused him that, seeing HS steadily closing in from behind, he was feeling vigilance for the first time in his life.
Yes—accepting K-Sing Star’s offer and working with his nerves on edge were both to shake off that ridiculous feeling.
Clack, clack, clack.
His mouse hand flew, and sleek, uncluttered chords filled the track in rapid succession.
Of the two who would reach K-Sing Star’s Top 2, one would sing a song Jayble composed; the other would sing a song HS composed.
Jayble had agreed to judge and provide a competition song on that condition. HS had done the same.
Jayble versus HS, HS versus Jayble…
Before the whole nation they would again duel by chart results. This time he would prepare properly and crush him for good.
Grind-!
He ground his teeth again.
No—?
“Grated” might be the better word; absorbed, his clenched jaw scraped audibly. His jaw muscles should ache, but he ignored it.
Frankly, it had been ages since Jayble truly exerted himself as a composer. To exaggerate a bit, he could toss off tracks half-heartedly and never miss first place.
So he’d grown distant from effort…
Anyone seeing him now might stage a one-man protest if told he never worked hard.
“J-Jayble…?”
Even his manager, stepping into the studio, was startled—Jayble was burning every ounce of effort.
“Jayble?”
Jayble didn’t even hear the second call. Perhaps from the gear’s heat, sweat soaked his T-shirt, plastering it to his back.
“Mm.”
The manager gazed silently at that back; though his feelings were tangled, his face only grew calmer.
Sometimes he wondered if words like “ability monster” or “talent beast” had been coined for Jayble.
Ever since Jayble’s debut, the Korean music scene had been his playground.
Yes—an exclusive stage all his own.
The more so, the more Jayble, drunk on his own brilliance, cranked out songs focused on success, not effort. The agency had no complaints.
But watching that back now stirred an odd familiarity—like the sight of him working when he first debuted.
As a mere confidant with titles set aside, seeing Jayble burn with zeal to beat someone felt both surprising and somehow endearing.
At length, the manager left the studio quietly, smiling.
“I’ll come back later.”
It seemed Jayble had gained his first good-faith rival.
Meanwhile.
Hyunseung, unlike Jayble, wasn’t thinking about his K-Sing Star competition song at all.
Right now all his focus was on releasing “A Handful of Cherry Blossoms.” The song captured the faint excitement and subtle trembling felt only in spring.
Warm, ticklish, light-as-air feelings permeated it.
Searching for the perfect voice brought only one person to mind—someone whose tone was as warm as spring, tickled the heart, yet rang bright and clear…
“Composer-nim, I’m here!”
Right then that very person poked her head through the door, smiling like sunshine ready to crumble.
“Oh, you’re here.”
It was Jung A-rin.
“I never doubted you’d call me again.”
“Overdoing it again. Practiced much?”
“Of course! I practiced till I bled once I got the file.”
Rolling up her sleeves, she added in a confident voice,
“I postponed every schedule I could and threw myself into practice.”
Hyunseung chuckled, “Good,” and nodded. Her eyes shone far brighter with confidence than in their first session.
“Throat warmed up? Ready to start right away?”
“Just a sec—five minutes, no, three.”
She hurriedly pulled printed sheet music from her bag.
“Hmm?”
One glance and his brows rose; the multicolored notes scrawled across the pages showed how many hours she had poured in.
“Hold on, let me see.”
He snatched it and skimmed while she stammered “Uh? Uh?” in fluster.
Marks showed where she wrote lyrics to memorize, where to land nuances, how to breathe, where to place vocal power—packed with her solo deliberations.
“You even set up ad-lib lines?”
Thinking he was scolding, she wilted and mumbled,
“I should’ve consulted you first, but I wanted to show I’d grown, so I sketched them myself. Should I… take them out?”
Pleased, Hyunseung gestured toward the booth.
“No—let’s go with it. Get in and tell me when you’re ready.”
“For real—just as I arranged it?”
Not expecting instant approval, she asked again in surprise,
“Really? We record now?”
“Should we grab late-night snacks and do it at midnight instead?”
“N-no! Absolutely not!”
“Then get in before the sun sets.”
And so their second recording session began.
…
“Pardon?”
Mouth agape, she asked again to be sure,
“We’re really done like this? Finished?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Really? It’s okay to finish like this?”
“I said it’s done.”
“You’re not letting me off easy ‘cause you’re tired, right?”
He shot back sharply, “‘Easy’?”
“N-no…”
She groaned like she still had more to say, but couldn’t press further.
Memories of the first session—days lost in the hell of “again”—were still vivid.
‘Ugh, just thinking of that…’
That recording had been exhausting; she’d expected the same, yet he okayed it in just three takes.
‘No way…’
She tilted her head in puzzlement.
Of course, she always felt deep gratitude toward him and wanted to show her growth.
No—honestly, she wanted his acknowledgement.
When the digital-single offer came, she vowed to prepare perfectly.
Yes. She studied why she should sing this song and how to bring out its flavor, practicing until her throat could burst.
If Hyunseung trusted her with it, there had to be reason.
She’d even cancelled three days of schedules, expecting at least a two-day ordeal.
She came fully armed—
“So I really… go now?”
“Yeah, all done. You can leave.”
Yet under an hour later it was over, and she kept searching his face in disbelief.
Was it her effort shining through?
Maybe not…
Knowing him, maybe she’d been so awful he didn’t even want to direct? Or maybe he saw how hard she’d worked and spared her? But he wasn’t the type for soft reasons.
Either way she felt uneasy.
“Then… see you again?”
“Still here?”
She finally shuffled out as if chased.
Inside, Hyunseung looked at the closed door and let out a small laugh.
“Feels good.”
He donned his headset and played the final take.
Click-.
An intro like a cloudless spring day, petals flitting by the handful, rolled out.
With a rising thrill, Jung A-rin’s clear, pure voice slipped between the notes and announced the start.
“Mmm, mmm…”
By mid-song he hummed along; her vocals, now truly polished like a pro’s, swam smoothly over the accompaniment.
“Jung A-rin…”
When it ended, he murmured her name softly, then chuckled again.
“Not bad at all.”
Unlike the timid first session, she had unleashed her full potential.
Frankly, she’d grown beyond his expectations, deepening the song’s hue.
Thus the recording ended in just three takes.
She’d handed him a plainly satisfying result.
“Finished sooner than expected—maybe grab food.”
He dialed with a pleased face.
“Manager Kim, cafeteria?”
All that remained was the final polish and releasing it with the spring.
Hands clasped behind his back, Executive Director Park stopped at the café-terrace entrance.
“Huh… that kid.”
At his gaze’s end was Hyunseung buying coffee. That small nape was irritating enough to ignore, but Park couldn’t feign ignorance after hearing about the K-Sing Star appearance.
“Ahem, ahem.”
For the sake of his goal he’d do anything; he cleared his throat loudly to make himself known.
“Heading in now?”
“Long time no see, Executive Director Park.”
“Let me get the coffee.”
He offered his card and added an espresso for himself. Hyunseung dipped his head in thanks.
“Thank you, I’ll enjoy it.”
“No need for thanks between us.”
“Between us? Suddenly?”
Hyunseung asked with a sour look, but Park patted his back and led him to a corner seat.
“If you’re not swamped, let’s chat a bit.”
“Sure, why not.”
“HS is the rage these days, really hot.”
His glossy lips kept flapping.
“Your solo album blew up, the Man Records collab is great—I knew it. One listen and I felt it.”
Hyunseung stared, tilting his head slightly—what point required such a long preface? He neither answered nor asked.
Park would bare his true aim soon enough.
“I hear K-Sing Star scouted you?”
So that was it.
“Yeah.”
He replied flatly to Park’s evident aim.
“Have you accepted?”
“I have.”
“Regional judge? Main judge?”
“Main judge, starting with Seoul’s third preliminary.”
“Nice choice—good looks ought to be shown.”
Park exaggerated, patting his shoulder.
“Perfect timing. Team 1 plans to send a hidden card onto K-Sing Star.”
“A hidden card?”
“Yeah. Agencies always plant one hidden gem in shows like that.”
“Ah, I see.”
He nodded soullessly—of course he knew; it was obvious Park wanted favorable judging.
“Even if they don’t win, if you treat them kindly on air and we later announce LS Entertainment cast them, it looks convincing.”
“Treat them kindly… so you’re asking for biased judging?”
That impudent brat…
Park forced his brows smooth and kept smiling.
But he couldn’t act himself now; the needing party had to beg.
“Come now, don’t make it sound so cold. We’re family—let’s help each other.”
Hyunseung’s brows arced oddly. It amazed him how Park’s face changed with need.
The man was remarkable.
“I understand what you’re saying.”
However, even for family, he wasn’t soft enough to bend for such paltry words.
“Well, if that person’s an instrument worth playing, they’ll get the result they deserve.”
No need for overt conflict; he left the ambiguous remark and picked up his coffee.
“W-wait! Why hurry off?”
Park sprang up and caught his sleeve.
“We’ve been under the same roof a year—will you keep being so stiff?”
His voice had risen; he cleared it and continued.
“We’re only formally split into Team 1 and 2—same LS roots. Don’t see us as rivals. Family should push and pull together.”
He soothed, brushing Hyunseung’s shoulder, but got only a faint curl of the lips.
Yes. It was funny hearing that from someone who’d eyed his bowl not long ago. Still, childish pettiness wasn’t reason to refuse.
It was just that Hyunseung’s sole aim on K-Sing Star was to play an instrument he’d missed in the past.
True, judging might bring finer sounds, but in his memory none surpassed that woman’s.
So Park’s hidden card likely had just another ordinary sound. No need to force an instrument he didn’t want.
“I’ll be going. Thanks for the coffee.”
Brushing his wrinkled sleeve, Hyunseung left.
“Tsk, that inflexible brat…”
Park scowled at the retreating back. He’d swallowed his pride, but things still hadn’t gone his way.
After a moment, he let out a deep sigh.
Clicking his tongue in regret, he smacked his lips.
“Why’d a guy like that have to land in Team 2…”
Thus the K-Sing Star preliminaries, driven by each person’s different motives, drew near.
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