When Yun Jaeyi finished singing, the LED screen behind her was already blazing:
ALL PASS
“Uh…”
Kim Gwang‑jin grasped his mic first, but nothing came out; he just exhaled a low hum.
“Senior, you look so shocked you’ve lost your words,” Lee Young‑ah jumped in, filling the dead air. “I’ll go first, then. I saw Jaeyi at the Seoul prelim, remember? I honestly thought it was a different person. Back then I said your voice didn’t match the song; I guess the song really was the problem.”
“Th‑thank you!”
“I enjoyed it very much.”
Kim Gwang‑jin finally raised his mic. “I’m honestly at a loss for words. I never imagined a rhythm‑driven song would suit you so well, yet your tone came alive and even your aura changed. I’m eager to see what you show next round. Well done.”
Won Jin‑sub, seeing Jayble and HS make no move, picked up his mic.
“I didn’t see the prelim, but if you sang like this there, I’d have hit the super‑pass too. The moment I heard you, I had to press the button. Excellent job.”
Then he turned to HS. “Don’t you have something to say? You’re the one who saved her.”
Whirrr—
Aside from the cameras, the hall was silent enough to hear gulps.
HS’s vow of silence lasted only a beat.
“Thank you for your effort. I’m looking forward to your next stage.”
That was all—so terse it felt almost skimmed off.
“Thank… thank you very much!”
Yun Jae‑i bowed and, half‑walking backward, disappeared off‑stage.
“Wow…”
Lee Young‑ah stared. “Can a song change a person that much?”
“You already knew a rhythm track would fit her?” she asked HS, Kim nodding beside her. One month isn’t long, yet both her singing and her presence had transformed—it was practically miraculous.
Won Jin‑sub chimed in from the end. “No wonder everyone keeps saying ‘HS, HS.’ Ears like that are different—spotting a gem no one else sees.”
“I honestly thought HS was just a composer and might not know,” Lee Young‑ah confessed, body turned toward him now, voice full of awe. The panel practically united under the banner of “HS”—except for one.
Jayble.
Hand covering a frown, he pretended to read the next dossier, replaying Yun Jae‑i’s performance in his head. Bare MR, no backing vocals, no effects—yet no space to breathe. The gloomy girl from the clip had vanished, replaced by a shining Yun Jae‑i.
Meaning: HS had found potential Jayble himself couldn’t see. The public’s trust in HS would sky‑rocket—and, bitterly, so had his own.
Damn…
Hours later the round neared its end.
“Hello, I’m Kang Hajun, a strong man,” the young entrant announced, confidence radiating. The judges straightened.
Lee Young‑ah giggled at the “strong man” intro; Won Jin‑sub teased that good‑looking contestants always made her generous.
“Honestly,” she said, “your visuals could debut an idol tomorrow,” Jayble added, Hyun‑seung giving a silent nod—Ha‑jun’s looks alone placed him near the star line.
“Let’s hear the song.”
Silence fell.
This intro…
Jayble’s brows knit—he knew it instantly, the track that had handed him bitter defeat:
“Dear my Beethoven.”
“You’re singing the original songwriter’s piece in front of him?”Lee Young‑ah whispered, stunned.
The song’s difficulty was legendary; one slip and it became noise. Nobody had dared choose it—until now.
Ha‑jun began; to everyone’s surprise his rendition was solid. Technique wasn’t virtuoso, but fundamentals, sound, gestures and expressions on point—creating a distinct Kang Hajun version.
Even Hyun‑seung’s brow rose—not an instrument he wished to play himself, but undeniably attractive; a performer born shining on stage, capable of covering plain skill with star power.
The song built toward the climax—
Tack!
Hyun‑seung’s button lit first.
“Huh?”
Lee Young‑ah gasped. In two rounds HS had been stingy with passes—maybe twenty yeses out of hundreds—yet he’d slapped the button mid‑song.
When Hajun finished, HS grabbed the mic first.
“May I speak first?”
Bewildered nods.
“Mr. Kang—thank you for choosing my song. However…”
“Seems HS doesn’t like me much.”
Kang Ha‑jun’s voice was flat as always.
“What do you mean?”
Executive Director Park blinked. “I was told HS pressed ‘pass’ first.”
“Pass, yes… but…”
The trailing answer made Park glance side‑long. He wanted to pry, but Ha‑jun was hard to read—polite, obedient, yet walls thick as steel.
“Did he criticise you?”
Silence; then Ha‑jun spoke.
“He said, ‘You have innate star quality, but as an instrument the natural tone isn’t great.’ How should I take that?”
Park sighed.
Instrument—yes, that sounded exactly like HS, blunt and figurative. But Ha‑jun had trained hard for this show—if his confidence cracked now…
“He means your foundation still needs work. That’s all. HS rarely shows interest; if he spoke that much, he sees potential.”
“Perhaps…”
“And remember, that picky fellow hit the pass first—that alone is positive.”
Park patted Ha‑jun’s shoulder.
“Our Ha‑jun works this hard; success will follow.”
“I’ll do better next round.”
Ha‑jun clenched a fist under the table, an unreadable smile on his lips.
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