[ [Official] HS chooses “K‑Sing Star” for his first TV appearance! Expectations high for his work as a main judge… ]
Manager Kim began skimming the flood of articles.
Whirr, whirr—
[ Mega‑audition show “K‑Sing Star”: the judge hidden behind the veil turns out to be HS ]
[ “K‑Sing Star” kicks off its long‑awaited third prelim! Composer HS makes surprise appearance as Seoul‑area judge ]
Whirr, whirr—
↳ Ha… why do I live in Gyeonggi…
↳ Ha… why do I live in Jeolla…
↳ Ha… why do I live in Busan…
↳ Ha… why do I live on Jeju…
↳ Ha… why do I live overseas…
↳ Ha… why didn’t I go watch the 3rd prelim…
↳ ^ That one’s the saddest of all;
He chuckled at the rhymed laments—though only for a moment.
【 I was at the Seoul 3rd prelim—here’s my story of being judged by HS. + link 】
Whirr, whirr—
↳ So he really wore the helmet again?
↳ Yeah… at this point there’s gotta be something wrong with his lower face;
↳ If he keeps it on for TV we’re allowed to be suspicious tbh
↳ Didn’t the helmet’s original owner post a “I saw his real face” story?
↳ Could be a paid shill—noise marketing, y’know
↳ I saw him lift the visor once—the mid‑face is too handsome to be ugly
↳ Nah—you ever heard of “mask catfish”?
↳ Seriously… you never know till you take it off
↳ He’ll take it off at least once on live shows, right?!
↳ Right; stop fighting—let’s talk again when that happens
Once again the forums were on fire over Hyun‑seung’s face.
But this time it couldn’t be dismissed as a mere gag. As the program went on people would keep bringing up the helmet, and that could easily spark a full‑blown controversy.
Just then, a newly uploaded headline snagged his eye.
[ [Exclusive] HS uses “Super‑Pass” in prelim! Who is the lucky contestant? ]
“Huh?”
—With the long‑awaited Seoul 3rd prelim truly under way, Jamsil Arena was jam‑packed last Sunday. Amid fierce competition…
The presence of hit‑maker composer HS, currently the most sought‑after talent in casting, drew huge attention…
In particular, curiosity soared when it was revealed that HS rescued a contestant—slated for elimination after bad reviews from Kim Gwang‑jin and Lee Yeong‑a—by using a Super‑Pass…
The giant national audition program “K‑Sing Star” premieres the first Saturday of next month…
He scrolled, but since the broadcast hadn’t aired, the article never said who received the pass—little more than click‑bait.
“Stirring the pot already, huh.”
Kim muttered and set his phone down.
“Hyunseung.”
He called to the young man reading manga.
“Which contestant did you give the Super‑Pass to?”
“Wouldn’t mean anything if I told you now.”
“But it was someone about to be cut, right?”
“Yep—that’s why I used it.”
Kim loosened his tie and sighed softly. Figures—Hyunseung never chooses the easy road.
Still, this is television—judged by the public. A Super‑Pass is usually saved for maximum drama.
And he used it before the real game even begins?
Viewers will focus on whoever HS backs. If that contestant performs in the next round, great… but if not, arrows could fly back at HS’s “poor eye.”
Granted, from an industry angle, the move would boost HS’s name even more before the premiere.
But Kim couldn’t look at him as just another industry player. Like a father fussing over a trouble‑making son he asked worriedly.
“So the talent was really that good?”
“To my ear it was a fine instrument.”
“Then who on earth is it? I’m dying of curiosity.”
Hyunseung snapped his book shut and flashed a grin.
“You’ll find out in thirty days.”
Meanwhile, reading the same news at the same hour, Jayble’s brow was knotted tight.
“Ha…”
Nobody asked, but the producers had sworn to keep the identity of two main judges—himself and HS—top secret, stoking curiosity. They’d agreed to official press releases only three days before the premiere; even his label was holding back promo pieces.
“This is cheating.”
Apparently HS’s sudden Super‑Pass made perfect pre‑air click‑bait, so the network drew its knife at just the right moment. He could understand their motive.
Yet two things still irritated him. First, his own casting news was buried under HS headlines. Second, he couldn’t fathom HS’s choice.
“None of it adds up…”
The instant he saw the scoop, he asked production for the clip of that contestant. He had to hear for himself.
How good must someone be to make HS burn a Super‑Pass in prelims? Unless it was an LS trainee planted for drama?
Half curiosity, half skepticism—and the woman in the clip…
“What?”
Her skill was utterly ordinary—enough to smash his huge curiosity in one blow.
If he strained for positives, her natural tone was attractive.
But basic support, diction, technique—nothing stood out.
HS used a Super‑Pass on that? Two explanations remained: she’s an LS trainee, or HS pulled a stunt for buzz.
Since HS knew little about TV, the first seemed likelier.
“See you in the finals, then.”
Clenching his fist, Jayble murmured the name,
“Yun… Jae‑yi.”
Thus the main‑stage clash between HS and Jayble in the finals drew ever closer.
“How far up is this place?”
Pack‑mule staff heaved heavy gear as they climbed the steep alley.
“Ha… can we rest a sec?”
“You call that stamina good enough for TV work?”
“Come on—address says two more blocks.”
The burly male staffer’s face soured. After the brutal prelim schedule he’d been roped into the “key‑contestant home‑visit” team with no break—and now they were lugging cameras up a hillside shantytown because the script insisted on filming at the contestant’s house!
“Seriously, people live up here?”
Another staffer’s remark made them look up at a rusty door.
“What if she hears you?”
“Ah—right.”
“Whatever, knock.”
At the head writer’s prod a staffer pounded the metal gate and called, “Yun Jae‑yi! We’re the K‑Sing Star interview team!”
Bang, bang, bang—
Even a light knock echoed down the alley.
“Is she out? We phoned ahead about this time…”
They stared at the unmoving gate—until…
Creeeak—
It opened and a woman peeked out.
“S-sorry… I had my headset on.”
Radiating gloom, she bowed repeatedly and beckoned them in.
Through the tiny yard and door lay a single‑room home.
“All of us won’t fit.”
“Mic her up—only the cameraman and writer go in.”
They hustled, setting a simple interview rig.
“Just relax, Ms. Yun. Answer like you’re chatting with a friend.”
Her nervous eyes darted without landing anywhere.
“Y-yes…”
Watching, the head writer wondered whether any usable footage would emerge.
“No need to apologize! Really—it’s fine.”
Yet of course she wasn’t backing down. Skill aside, TV gold lies in buzz and backstory.
The woman before her clearly dripped both. Nobody knew her now—but once the show aired, viewers would. After all, she was the miracle contestant HS had saved.
And a quick post‑prelim check revealed she was an orphan scraping by alone. Call it cruel, but viewers eat up tragic stories.
Mold her into a heroine who overcomes hardship, and if she wins the payoff is glorious.
Yes.
The writer would coax out every ingredient for that story.
“Look anywhere but the camera, just talk easy. Only about thirty seconds ends up on air, so think of it as nothing.”
And the interview began.
“Thank you, Ms. Yun. See you at round one.”
The gate clanged shut.
“Ha…”
All the crew let out the sighs they’d been holding.
“I’ve never met anyone who talks that slow and mumbles.”
“Same. I’m exhausted just from listening.”
“Watching her, I nearly suffocated.”
Unused to speaking about herself, Yun Jae‑yi had given vague, faltering answers, leaving everyone stifled.
“We’ve got enough to cut a sob‑story segment, but… she’s slow‑motion. Even her singing drags.”
Clutching her chest, the head writer added, “Even if I wanted to push her, she’s got zero star quality.”
The assistant director asked, “So what’ll you do?”
“What else?”
She snapped, then after a beat:
“Tie her to HS for hype, sell the ‘girl who endured hardship,’ and if she hits a wall before Top 10 we wrap it as a tragic near‑miss.”
Yes— in the writer’s mind, Yun Jae‑yi had already been relegated to future‑elimination fodder.
The moment Kim Su‑bin—Yun Jae‑yi’s only friend—heard about the Super‑Pass, she rushed over.
“You should be thrilled, but you look like someone died!”
A person who’d reached the main round on a Super‑Pass had the face of a first‑round reject.
“Why… why did HS give the pass to me?”
Su‑bin pressed her forehead. The first time she’d heard Yun’s voice she’d been shocked—what a tone! True, the gloomy aura and slow pace made her songs feel draggy, and the genre wasn’t commercial—but that unique color was enchanting. She’d always cheered Yun on like a fan.
Today was another cheer‑visit.
“Why think that way? He simply recognized your potential.”
“Did he…?”
“Sure—he’s a famous composer, his ear’s better than ours.”
She piled on persuasion.
“You know Jung A‑rin? Almost booted from LS, but HS saw her and she made it. Why can’t you be the next Jung A‑rin?”
Yun nodded slowly. Maybe, through this chance, she could finally leave the long tunnel of trainee life.
Just then she remembered what HS had told her after the pass.
“I’m giving you the Super‑Pass on one condition: for the next round, master the song I assign and sing it perfectly.”
Right.
The pass was a deal. If she botched that song, she’d fall—and disappoint HS, making viewers doubt his judgment.
That couldn’t happen.
She straightened and declared,
“First I need to practice.”
“Good call. I’ll help.”
Su‑bin stood too, relieved to see her brightening.
“Thanks. I was worried—it’s a genre I’ve never sung.”
“What is it? A new original?”
“No, it’s the song HS picked.”
She played the mission track.
“Huh? Never heard this.”
“It’s old, I found out.”
“Ooh, really soulful and rhythmic.”
“Exactly—that’s why I’m scared.”
She pulled a face again.
“You know I never listen to this style, let alone sing it.”
“HS must have a reason. He wouldn’t set you up. Hum along once.”
Yun nodded and softly scatted over the speaker.
“Whoa…?”
Su‑bin’s eyes widened.
“Jae‑yi! That’s it, that’s IT!”
“What is?”
“It fits you perfectly!”
Yun was surprised. Su‑bin always spoke blunt truth, yet she’d never been this excited.
Could the song truly suit her?
No knowing till she tried. Resolved, Yun cued the MR.
Rhythmic accompaniment spilled from the phone,
and her voice slid in like it belonged. With lyrics added, the song gained life and filled the tiny room.
“Su‑bin…”
There were stumbles, sure, but for a first run the verse was steady.
Finally, she asked, trying to hide a smile tugging at her lips,
“That… wasn’t half bad, right?”
The blank, lost look in her dark eyes began—at last—to shine.
Leave a Reply