For the first time HS reacted visibly, exclaiming, “Oh, this is really something I like!”
Kang Hajun nodded in satisfaction at the sight.
See? No one hates money, he thought — though that was merely a misconception born of his own prejudgment.
“Thanks. I’ll use them well.”
At any rate, Executive Director Park’s gift seemed to have won HS’s favor.
Hajun then opened his mouth in a calm tone, ready to confess that he belonged to Team 1.
“Composer-nim, there’s something I need to tell you first.”
The mood between them had relaxed, and he judged that it would be better to get the blow over with quickly.
“What is it?”
HS, still busy counting the meal tickets hidden inside the envelope — “fifty-six, fifty-seven…” — asked indifferently.
“The truth is, I’m a trainee under LS Entertainment’s Management Team 1.”
At those words HS merely looked at him without any change of expression.
“I know you may not welcome that — the two teams have always been in competition, and there was an unpleasant incident with Team 1 not long ago that must have upset you.”
“Ah, right. That did happen.”
“As a member of Team 1 I apologize once again. And I don’t mean to pressure you, but I became a trainee here because I was captivated by your songs and dreamed of becoming a singer who could sing them.”
“Is that so.”
“I was disappointed to be eliminated from K-SingerStar without properly earning your acknowledgment, so when you offered me another chance with a song, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.”
“Hey, hey…”
“That’s how desperately I want your song, how much I want to sing a song you wrote.”
Listening quietly, HS waved both hands, embarrassed by the earnestness in the air. “Enough.”
Then, with a completely bland face, he asked off-handedly,
“So what? You just take the song and sing it, right?”
“Pardon?”
“For exchanging a single song, your prologue is way too long.”
Suddenly Hajun remembered what Director Park had said.
“I can guarantee you, as someone close to him, the guy isn’t that small-minded.”
Exactly. Worried that HS might refuse him for being a Team 1 trainee, he had been needlessly anxious.
“I just happened to like the sound and wanted to play it — I don’t need to know which shelf the instrument sits on, and it’s no problem,” HS said, shrugging his shoulders. Then he muttered, “Damn, I forgot how many I’d counted.”
Instrument…
At that word Hajun lowered his head to hide how red his cheeks had flushed.
Being acknowledged as an instrument by HS set his heart ablaze, as though he had swallowed a hot pebble.
How long had he yearned for this?
He had berated himself for his shortcomings after being overshadowed and outdone by Yun Jae-i, thinking he had been eliminated only to earn pity, not recognition.
But now he could barely hold back the smile that kept sneaking onto his lips.
To receive confirmation that HS accepted him as an instrument — how could he not be ecstatic?
Tap.
Just then HS, apparently finished counting the tickets, placed the envelope on the table and, as if overturning everything, said,
“But I’ll have to run another test.”
“Sir? A test?”
“Why, can’t you do it? Then we’ll just forget the whole thing.”
Stung by the provocation, Hajun retorted, “No — what kind of test?”
“Playing the recorder with your nostrils.”
“Excuse me? What does th—”
“Joke, joke. You’re way too serious.”
HS chuckled softly, finding Hajun’s flustered “Pardon?” amusing.
“Look,” he suddenly said, face turning earnest, “you won’t have much time to practice. Even so, you have to pull it off. Can you?”
Though the question came out in clipped phrases, Hajun answered without a moment’s hesitation, eyes shining.
“Yes. I’m ready to do anything.”
“Good. I’ll contact you when the song’s finished. Come to the studio then.”
Rising from his seat first, HS gave a short nod in farewell.
Hajun too bowed deeply and soon left the café, steps light.
Beep — Doors opening.
He hurried toward the elevator to deliver the news when —
“Huh?”
The person stepping out was none other than Executive Director Park.
“Oh, Hajun! Perfect timing.”
“You came down looking for me?”
“Yeah. I was going to call, but this seemed faster.”
With a hurried look Park tugged his arm. Hajun followed him into the elevator without resistance.
“What’s the matter?”
Park’s face had stiffened, muscles locked as if carved from stone.
Beep — Doors closing.
Instead of answering, Park wrapped him in a bear hug the moment the doors shut.
“Hajun, it’s done, it’s all working out!”
“Sir? What… all of a sudden…?”
“It feels like the whole universe revolves around you!”
He didn’t fully grasp the meaning, but —
“Um, Director… I can’t… breathe…”
Pinned inside Park’s broad chest, Hajun was turning tomato-red.
“Back on the show, just like that…?”
Up in Park’s office, after hearing what HS had said, Park abruptly asked if he would return to K-SingerStar.
“But I was already eliminated…”
Bewildered, Hajun blinked.
“You’ve been so busy you haven’t seen the news, have you?”
Park opened a news window on his phone and showed him.
- “[K-SingerStar] Kim Dajin Identified as School-Violence Perpetrator! Victims Speak Out.”
- “Innocent-looking ‘K-SingStar’ Kim Dajin Exposed as Bully…”
- “Kim Dajin Booted by Production After School-Violence Allegations!”
“What? Kim Dajin was a bully?”
“Apparently the victims even provided evidence.”
“In this day and age…”
“He’s just getting what’s coming to him.”
Hajun muttered, staring at the phone. “Getting kicked off a program hardly seems enough payback.”
“Hell’s only just begun for him,” Park replied, pocketing the phone.
“Anyway, because of that, a slot opened right before the Top-10 round. Since it’s head-to-head, we need an even number.”
“So I’d be a seat-filler…?”
“No, that’s not it. They can’t run a losers’ revival because of the schedule, so after a quick meeting the PD and judges voted unanimously to bring you back.”
He emphasized “unanimously,” not just to soothe him — it was the truth.
From the moment Hajun appeared on air, a fan café had sprung up; within a few episodes its membership soared into the tens of thousands. A fandom born like beans roasted on lightning.
With solid skill, visuals, and fans, the production regretted losing him.
Normally reviving an eliminated contestant earns accusations of rigging, so shows just move on. But this case was different.
“Director Park, we’ll give Hajun lots of screen time…”
It wasn’t a staffer but chief PD Kim Young-ho himself who had called Park in person, practically begging.
Good for the program, and from the company’s side, if returning to the show built an even stronger fandom, it meant a smoother debut with less promotion.
Yet Park hesitated: they had already secured HS’s track for debut; forcing K-SingerStar back onto him wasn’t strictly necessary.
“With the show’s current hype, if you come back and even win, you could debut as the ‘miracle champion.’ But the shoot is only two days away, so you’ll have less practice time than the others, and every round will demand more of your schedule.”
“Right…”
“Plus HS warned you’d have very little practice time. It could cut into preparing your debut song. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”
He patted the bewildered trainee’s shoulder.
But in truth Hajun barely heard the words; he kept replaying a single phrase:
“Unanimous among the judges.”
That meant HS had also voted to bring him back.
The feeling of once again being recognized as an instrument curled a faint smile on his lips — for a moment.
“Uh—”
A familiar voice made him look at the office TV, where a replay of the final prelim aired, Yun Jae-i’s face in full close-up. The song cut, she got two fails, then —
“We can use a Super Pass in preliminaries, right?”
HS’s sudden question. The broadcast ended, and the trailer rolled.
He’d watched that clip dozens, no, hundreds of times. Each viewing boiled the competitive spirit festering in his chest like erupting magma.
“Director Park.”
Eyes flashing, Hajun spoke with resolve.
“I’m going back no matter what. Please make it happen.”
Meanwhile, in a small MBM conference room, staff buzzed over contestant Kim Dajin’s bullying scandal.
Since victims and evidence had surfaced, the team swiftly booted him to limit damage.
“What if we bring back someone who lost in the duet round?”
“Can’t we just work with an odd number?”
“Then we’d have to change it from one-on-one.”
Producers, writers, and directors crowded around tables strewn with files on survivors and recent eliminees, debating fiercely.
“Should we pick a few good ones and see if they’re willing?”
They needed a replacement for the Top-10 head-to-head round — and quickly.
“No need. Just pick one and offer the spot.”
Then the head writer murmured as an aside, “The judges all said they wanted Kang Hajun back…”
A contestant with buzz guarantees stronger storylines — she preferred that scenario.
“Kang Hajun?”
The assistant writer echoed, and the room hummed again.
“But isn’t LS pushing him hard? Will he even come back?”
“If he does, great; if not, we have plenty of options.”
“Maybe we should revive someone who’s really desperate instead.”
Voices flew like a public-broadcast debate when —
“Why’s the chief PD just standing there?”
“Don’t know.”
“He’s been like that since we started.”
Kim Young-ho, hands clasped behind his back, stood alone in a corner, deep in thought.
Hajun… Hajun… Hajun…
Yes, there were other replacements; if Hajun refused, any would suffice. Yet his producer’s instinct screamed that only Kang Hajun would do.
He recalled calling HS earlier and asking which eliminee he’d revive if possible. HS had answered without hesitation: Kang Hajun.
“Hajun coming back would definitely be more fun,” HS had said — whatever fun meant.
Given HS’s track record, Kim believed him.
Still, he couldn’t wait forever for Hajun’s decision; as chief PD he had to tie this up.
He walked to the main table and looked at candidate Choi Hyeong-u’s file.
“Assistant PD, have you contacted Choi yet?”
The aide hurriedly pulled out a phone — when:
Bzzz-Bzzz-!
Kim’s own phone vibrated hard.
“Oh?”
Seeing “Director Park, LS Entertainment,” joy and relief mingled in his eyes. He unlocked the message.
Our Hajun will be rejoining.
First came relief — then a chuckle at Park’s parent-like phrasing our Hajun.
Clearly LS was doting on him.
Everyone stared as Kim suddenly laughed; silence fell.
“Write Kang Hajun into the bracket. Emergency meeting’s over.”
“What? Then no need to call Choi—?”
“Right. Let’s focus on preparing the Top-10 round.”
He spoke coolly and strolled out. In the hallway he clenched a fist and murmured,
“Nice.”
It felt as though he’d secured the final puzzle piece of his grand picture.
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