T/N: Hyun-a/Hyun-ah –> Hyuna.
Veteran singer Kim Gwangjin gazed over the judges’ table at the stage, his face openly full of expectation.
“A standing mike…,” he murmured, wondering what kind of splendid voice would flow out next.
─ ♬♬♬
While he listened to the introduction, Lee Young-ah and Won Jin-seop whispered with their mikes off.
“Not only Yun Jaeyi but HS must be nervous.”
“Of course he is. His own song is about to be unveiled.”
“I hope Jaeyi doesn’t shake and does well.”
“That will be the key point of this final.”
HS, helmet and all, simply faced forward without a word.
─ ♬♬♬
Unable to hold back, Kim Gwangjin turned his head and asked, “When I overheard the sound check in rehearsal, the piece felt very adventurous.”
The silent HS finally reacted.
“Adventurous…,” he repeated, turning to meet Kim’s eyes—though the helmet hid that fact.
“Yes, it is an adventurous song,” he answered crisply.
“So I heard right,” Kim said. He had come early and caught a bit of Yun Jaeyi’s rehearsal, but only enough for a quick sound balance, not the full number.
It had been impossible to tell whether the small taste was sweet or salty, which only made him more eager.
“Hmm?”
At that moment the pre-lude faded.
“What is this?”
Yun Jaeyi, standing alone on stage, closed her eyes and stepped right up to the mike as if to swallow it.
At once a transposed verse stabbed into everyone’s ears.
— From the moment my name was carved into the world, I have run without a single rest,
The judges all wore startled faces, probably because the musical flow was unlike anything they had heard.
— Just stop a moment and listen closely.
Her voice, dreamy as if floating on clouds yet pounding the chest with heavy syllables, carried the introduction in earnest.
When she straightened her gaze toward the judges’ table, Kim Gwang-jin gave an involuntary shudder.
Very rarely does a singer’s look alone send a chill down one’s spine like what’s happening now.
Gasp.
He hurried to push his in-ears deeper, afraid he might miss her voice while chasing the roaring melody.
— Listen to my story for a while.
Even for Kim Gwang-jin, whose life and music were almost synonyms, keeping up with the piece was hard work; he felt he might start clapping like an ordinary spectator.
Yun Jaeyi herself looked utterly calm, releasing each phrase as smoothly as breathing.
— It is all right to pause before you go on.
If a voice had shape, hers was transforming with every turbulent change in the melody.
Wait, wait—while concentrating on her tone, he suddenly remembered something he had momentarily forgotten:
What kind of song is this?
A normal pop layout would have intro, verse, pre-chorus, hook, bridge and outro, yet here the mood changed as if each part were a different piece. She was modulating ceaselessly.
Is that even possible?
Before he could think further another shift arrived with a brand-new bridge.
— I am longing desperately.
Her voice, at its peak, blasted energy that filled the hall clear up to the high ceiling; Kim Gwang-jin’s body stiffened under the resonance.
“Huh? What is going on?”
Suddenly the stage went dark.
─ ♬♬♬
A fresh interlude in a wholly new style flowed out, and from the gap opening like Moses parting the sea in the LED wall, a man walked on.
─ ♬♬♬
Over the backing he laid a brilliant guitar line.
“Who is that?”
“What is this?”
“No one told us about this!”
The judges squinted at the guitarist; such a flashy entrance would never be given to an ordinary session player.
Even Yun Jaeyi seemed startled, as if the surprise guest had not been prearranged.
The star has a helper the singer herself did not know about?
While the entire panel sat in chaos, HS alone remained composed.
Colored lights showered the stage, revealing the man’s face.
Kyaaaaa!
The audience screamed, a mixture of delight and shock: it was Moon Beom-jae, famous for rarely appearing on broadcasts.
So HS had called in a heavy hitter to help.
To move such a legend—Jayble looked dazed, and Lee Young-ah and Won Jin-seop sprang from their seats.
“Unbelievable!”
“Sunbaenim!”
Though the distance ensured he could not hear them, Moon Beom-jae finished his solo and raised the mike.
— I will listen to your story.
With that single line every judge’s jaw dropped; except for Kim Gwang-jin, none had ever heard him live. His concerts were said to be unforgettable.
Singer of singers—that was Moon Beom-jae in the music scene, mysterious yet unique.
— So take a breath and pause a while.
His voice in the second line roared like a beast.
— In time that flows without mercy.
He signaled with his eyes, and Yun Jaeyi hurried to lift her mike.
— I wish, I wish time would stop.
— I wish, I wish time would stop.
The wail of steel and her dreamy restraint intertwined, soaring firm and high.
Ziiiing—the cameras zoomed in as the two lowered their mikes, meeting eyes: an awkward, precious, beautiful live-broadcast moment.
“Hoo…,” Kim Gwang-jin exhaled when the outro ended, wanting to freeze time just like the lyric so he could linger in the afterglow. He recalled HS’s earlier words:
“Yes, it is an adventurous song.”
In his view, HS had understated it. In a competition like this, the piece was not a challenge.
It was a revolt.
Min Jun-seok could not hear, so it was like watching a muted TV, yet his heart swelled as he looked at his son among the judges.
And he was happy because his daughter beside him interpreted each stage in sign language.
He could not enjoy the music with his ears, but from the performers’ faces he could sense vaguely what sort of songs they sang. That was enough.
Strangely, when the woman now on stage grasped her mike and then finished in a finale with Moon Beom-jae, a fierce thrill ran through him. Although hard to describe, it felt as if the rhythm touched his skin—as if for a moment he could hear, impossible though he knew it was.
Odd… maybe because it was his son’s composition?
Whatever the reason, the stage left a strange impression.
Swish, swish—his daughter’s hands moved. When he tapped her shoulder, she focused on him.
She signed: Dad, that was an enchanting performance.
She flailed, searching for more words, but lowered her hands—she could not capture what she had seen.
House lights rose and the hall erupted.
Kyaaaaa!
Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap!
Some audience members even stood to applaud.
“Ow, my ears,” Hyuna muttered, rubbing them.
“Are they crazy? Seriously…!” someone snarled nearby.
Who was that? Hyuna turned and located a group of young women.
“This is unreal. HS is the real deal, how could he write that?”
“Right? My ears have been blessed.”
“Moon Beom-jae at the end—that twist was insane.”
Hearing them praise HS—her own brother—Hyuna felt proud, but then:
“But is it fair to bring another singer on stage?”
“Yeah, that is cheating! Kang Hajun performed alone!”
“Come on, Hajun had tons of session players.”
“How are sessions the same as a featured star?”
Likely Hajun fans, they began to gripe.
“These brats…,” Hyuna glared.
The MC took the mike to settle the chatter. He praised the unpredictable, spectacular stage and asked for applause for Yun Jaeyi and special guest, Moon Beom-jae.
As the clapping subsided, Hyuna looked from her brother to Yun Jaeyi to Hajun and sighed deeply.
A memory of grade-school conversation surfaced:
“I am stuck on the hardest problem in the world.”
“What? Addition?”
“No, if it were addition, it would be easy.”
“Harder than that?”
Her classmate had sighed just like she now did.
“She asked me which I liked better, Mom or Dad.”
At the time Hyuna had not understood why that was difficult; she had no mother, so the question never arose. Now she grasped the feeling.
This is worse than choosing Mom or Dad.
She fretted: should she cheer for Kang Hajun, whom she loved, or for Yun Jaeyi, who sang her brother’s song?
Hajun? Yun Jaeyi?
Clutching her head, she groaned.
Father signed: Honey, are you in pain?
She could not say “I’m fine.” She was facing the toughest puzzle her twenty-year-old life had yet encountered.
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