The judges listened to Kang Ha‑jun’s song and, as though it exceeded their expectations, nodded slightly, humming their approval.
“Hmm—?”
But Ha‑jun, as if deaf to the reactions around him, kept his eyes gently closed and sang on, completely composed.
— Just for today, walk with me.
Over an arrangement that did little damage to the original “Let’s Walk Together,” a voice packed tight with sincerity surged and rolled.
The closer the song drew to its climax, the more solid his projection became; firmer placement, fuller tone, filling the hall with power far beyond what he’d shown last round.
“Wow…”
Yun Jae‑i, forgetting for a moment that he was her rival, gaped and let an involuntary sigh of admiration slip out.
The melody birthed by his voice washed over her—yet only for a moment.
— Just for today, forget everything and walk with me.
As the last phrase fell away and a tiny breath leaked through the mic, applause burst from below the stage.
Clap clap clap clap clap—!
Because the contestant had chosen his song, HS picked up the mic as spokesman.
“Thank you, Kang Ha‑jun. Well sung. Since this is a one‑on‑one battle, we’ll hear Yun Jae‑i next and then give our comments.”
He said no more than necessary, set the mic down—yet that alone painted a faint smile on Ha‑jun’s lips.
That’s enough.
He’d poured in everything; in fact, his voice had come out even better than during rehearsal—he could call the stage wholly satisfactory.
“Thank you very much!”
Bowing a full ninety degrees, he strode toward the wing where Yun Jae‑i sat.
“You were… you were really wonderful.”
“Do your best too, Ms. Yun.”
One exchange of a single sentence was plenty; in a few minutes, one of them would be leaving.
“Right, the miracle contestant—Yun Jae‑i, who showed such a striking leap last round—how do you feel today?”
Microphone in hand, Yi Young‑ah wasted no time.
“I… I worked really hard…” The answer trembled on the verge of breaking.
“Will you play guitar again like in the prelims? Last round you went without and your stage was even bet—”
Young‑ah had started a bit more chit‑chat when—
Cut, cut!
The main PD and head writer were hopping, signaling frantically to stop. She broke off and wrapped it up.
“…All right, we’ll look forward to your performance.”
“If… if it’s okay, may I sit comfortably today too?”
“Ah, yes—! Then please begin right away.”
Lights dimmed softly. Yun Jae‑i plopped down center stage, folded her legs, and cradled her guitar.
Sitting cross‑legged for real.
Ha‑jun’s brow twitched. Is that truly more comfortable, or a gimmick? Probably the former: the instant she sat with the guitar, the stiffness drained from her face.
“Jae‑i’s really unusual.”
“Sort of a mysterious indie‑artist vibe?”
“Hope this stage surprises us again…”
Judges, who not long ago thought her gloomy, now juggled anticipation and unease. That melancholy had turned into her charm.
What’s she looking at?
Ha‑jun tilted his head. She was staring into mid‑air.
Tracing her gaze for a moment—
Ah…
He realized where. HS.
Yes, she was fixed squarely on HS.
Because of the helmet no one could tell whether he looked back, but one thing was clear:
Somehow… the way she looked at HS felt awfully similar to the way he looked at HS.
Kinship.
For the first time, Ha‑jun felt a sense of fellowship with Yun Jae‑i—and alongside it, a pang of guilt.
She had spent nearly all her time hunched over an acoustic, arranging alone. Was the arrangement any good? Did she get enough rehearsal in?
It’s ridiculous to fret over a rival…
He himself had accepted the company’s ready‑made arrangement. Chewing on that thought, his lips went dry.
Well, his stage was done; nothing could change it now. His fate hung on how good hers turned out.
Gulp.
He forced down saliva, eyes glued to the mic in her hands.
And soon—
“Uh… huh…?”
A sound nobody expected swept through the hall.
When Yun Jae‑i’s stage ended, the lingering echo blanketed the hall in hush.
“Whoo…”
She let out a long breath and lowered the hand that had rested on the strings.
I poured it all out. No regrets.
Repeating that inside, she lifted her chin toward the judges’ table.
Silence—absolute.
No applause, no breathing; only her own heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Thump‑thump, thump‑thump, thump‑thump.
Uneasy eyes darted around.
Was that a fatal misstep?
Her head drooped again.
“Ah…”
She guessed the silence—and her coming elimination—stemmed from having flipped “Let’s Walk Together” into the complete opposite of its original mood.
At last HS picked up the mic to break the stillness.
“Well, Yun—”
“P‑please wait…”
Jayble, openly flustered, cut him off with a raised hand, grabbed a mic, and asked,
“Ms. Yun, could you tell us why you chose to arrange ‘Let’s Walk Together’ this way?”
“Ah, um, I just kept wondering how to make it fit me best, and I ended up like…”
Seeing the sudden question, she glanced around, words fading, bowing repeatedly.
“I’m, I’m sorry. I’ve never studied arranging, I wanted to do well, really I’m sorry…”
Jayble wanted to say there was no need to apologize, but the words stuck.
Never studied…?
His mind reeled.
Hold on—hold on…
So that arrangement she’d just played—crafted by a beginner who’d never learned how?
He shook his head, stunned, and replayed the stage in his mind.
Yes, surely—
At first she hesitated, shoulders hunched. But the instant she sat, guitar in arms, her eyes changed, lit alive—aimed straight at HS.
Inside those sparkling eyes churned confidence, trust, determination.
And then her fingers fluttered and an unfamiliar yet familiar current flowed. If the original song was a calm lakeside at dusk, her version was a swirling rapid sped up 1.5‑times.
Wow…
As the song unfolded he kept gasping inside. Like discovering a secret shortcut, it drew him in.
Did she really arrange that herself?
A glance left and right showed the other judges wore the same stunned faces.
When the shock of the arrangement began to settle—
Damn…
Another jolt came from that insanely good voice.
Yes. The potential HS had seen, which he himself had missed, must have been extraordinary rhythm and tone.
Gifted with superior rhythm, once she met a rhythmic song her mysterious voice blossomed, gliding in smooth dance.
No chance to breathe—the stage ended.
Jayble recalled last round: he’d said only “thank you” to her, unwilling to praise lest it boost HS’s stature. Petty, in hindsight.
But today he couldn’t help but take the mic. Pride meant nothing beside a musician’s curiosity.
“Ah…”
Yet facing this young genius who had done it all alone, Jayble stood blank as if clubbed on the head.
“…Not at all—you sang wonderfully. Thank you for your effort.”
He composed himself quickly and wrapped up.
“Now the judges will confer briefly and then announce the winner and the one eliminated.”
The judges huddled center‑stage.
“When I heard Ha‑jun’s version first,” Young‑ah began, “I thought he had it in the bag. But then… no.”
Kim Gwang‑jin nodded. “Right, Jae‑i’s arrangement was shocking—in a good way. She’s never studied and yet…”
Trailing off, Won Jin‑seop jumped in, excited.
“If the original was like quiet comfort in the night air, Jae‑i’s felt like your daughter running up and thumping your shoulder, cheering you on.”
“Perfect analogy,” Gwang‑jin muttered.
“But,” Young‑ah added, “Ha‑jun wasn’t bad. Of all twenty versions tonight, his moved me the most. The sincerity was palpable.”
“Exactly,” Jin‑seop agreed. “Ear‑catching freshness versus heartfelt polish—hard to pick.”
“A minute ago I wanted to drop both singers; now I wish we could keep both,” Young‑ah sighed.
“Cruel producers,” Jin‑seop said. “Why pair these two and test us?”
While they fretted, HS spoke firmly: “We still have to decide.”
“Indeed. Rules are rules,” Jay‑ble echoed, even sterner.
After more wrangling—
“We have reached a decision.”
They handed it off to staff, then to the MC.
“If your name is not called, you advance with no further comment—please leave the stage.”
Tension crackled as Ha‑jun and Jae‑i swallowed hard.
“I will announce the final elimination of the HS group.”
Both shut their eyes tight, praying it wouldn’t be their own name.
“A‑!”
After a dramatic pause the MC brought the mic back.
“The eliminated contestant is… Kang Ha‑jun.”
Ha‑jun’s head dropped in resignation.
“Huh? Huh?”
Jae‑i clapped a hand over her mouth, stunned; the MC instructed her to step offstage.
“Ha‑jun, raise your head,” Young‑ah spoke for the panel.
“Don’t be discouraged. We judges heard twenty renditions tonight—yours was the second best. It’s cruel, but the brackets just weren’t in your favor.”
He kept his gaze down; he didn’t want them to see the twisted expression.
He had wanted HS to recognise him as the better instrument; he had vowed it. Yet the verdict said otherwise.
“…Thank you.”
Voice thick with disappointment, he trudged off.
Step, step—
Backstage lights left his face in shadow.
Is it really over like this? Without HS’s acknowledgment?
Will another chance ever come?
Rooted to the floor, he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t beg the judges, couldn’t call his company begging for strings. His fists just trembled.
“Damn…”
Memory replayed Jae‑i’s stage. How he’d worried she was wasting time arranging… How foolish of him. She had stitched the mission song into a tailored suit for her own voice; that was why she won.
He, in contrast, had taken the company’s ready arrangement and focused only on showing off technique.
That was the cause of defeat.
Dry lips tasted bitter—no doubt the flavour of failure.
What do I tell the company…
Sighing deeply, he finally tried to lift his feet—when—
“Kang Ha‑jun.”
Someone called from behind.
Turning—
The man in the helmet. No—
The person he most wanted recognition from: HS.
“You’ll keep singing, won’t you?”
Striding right up, HS threw an unreadable question.
“Uh…”
Flustered, Ha‑jun stammered.
“Are you going to quit just because you lost here?”
HS pressed, leaving no room to hesitate.
At last:
“No.” Ha‑jun answered firmly, seizing the chance to exchange even one sentence.
“I will keep singing.”
Inwardly he added: until you acknowledge me as an instrument.
“Hmm…”
HS gave an inscrutable hum, meeting his eyes through the goggles.
“Then I’ll give you a song—play it properly for me.”
A completely unexpected offer sent Ha‑jun’s pupils into a wild tremor.
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