Asian Music Awards (3)

"Hyung. That stage was insane."

Once every rehearsal had wrapped, Suho showed up at Kim Se-jun's waiting room and stuck a thumb in the air. Se-hyun, who'd come trotting along at his heels, was nodding so hard it was a wonder his head stayed on.

"Insane? Yours was even better."

The stage B.ONE had just put on had no flashy set pieces, and yet it was the kind of performance that told you exactly why they were taking Asia by storm. Choreography that was fluid and yet packed with power. Blocking that made five men move as if they shared a single body. Live vocals that never frayed, even through the roughest dance. Every piece of it had been perfect, and Kim Se-jun had been genuinely in awe.

"Thank you. But watching you up there, I was sure of it. This year's Best New Artist is yours, Hyung."

"Isn't that just you messing with me? Coming from the heavy favorite for Daesang?"

"Come on. We never even got a Best New Artist. In a way, that award's worth more than the Daesang."

"That's true enough."

It was an award given only to rookies, which meant you could receive it just once in a lifetime. Suho was right — in that sense, there were ways it was harder to win than the grand prize itself.

"Hyung-nim! You need to start heading out."

While he'd been chatting with Se-hyun and Suho, Lee Joo-sung opened the door and announced the time.

"Got it. I'm going."

Se-hyun and Suho followed him out and headed toward their own members, and Kim Se-jun left the waiting room for the stadium.

"Wow..."

A stadium packed with fifty thousand people. The moment he saw it, a gasp escaped him of its own accord. Fans waving light sticks of every color, cheering for their artists. He made his way to the performers' seats at the front of the stage, sat down to wait for the ceremony to begin, and swallowed hard.

Fifty thousand. Ten times the crowd at the Arena Music concert he'd done recently — and most of them foreigners, at that. How deeply could his performance move people like these?

He glanced down at his palms. They were slick with sweat. Kim Se-jun pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. It was one of the gifts the fans at the airport had pressed on him yesterday.

Hand-stitched letters, sewn one by one. A handkerchief a foreign fan had made with her own hands, in a language that wasn't even her own, for a singer from another country.

Yesterday's vow rose unbidden in his mind. He would make them proud.

The sweat that had been pouring from Kim Se-jun's hands had already stopped.

The Asian Music Awards was a four-hour marathon, an awards show that alternated between presentations and performances. The ceremony was well underway, awards and stages unfolding one after another, and Kim Se-jun quietly caught his breath backstage.

Best Performance was being presented now. Once that award was handed out, it would be his turn to take the stage.

"Congratulations once again on your win! And next..."

The actor presenting the award. Then the interpreter's voice following after. Kim Se-jun glanced back at the people who would share the stage with him tonight.

"Shall we? Let's go show them the beauty of Korea."

He strode toward the stage with his head high — toward the gayageum already waiting at dead center.

This is something else.

Fifty thousand people with their attention locked on him alone. Adrenaline surged through his whole body, a rush of pure pleasure — and at the same time, a pressure that sat heavy on his shoulders.

"Hoo..."

He drew a deep breath and lifted his head to look at the audience. Of the fifty thousand foreigners out there, how many even knew his name?

One in a thousand, maybe.

Even that would be more than he had any right to expect. But when tonight's stage was over, every last one of them would remember those three syllables. A vow to himself.

As the accompaniment began to flow, Kim Se-jun plucked the strings of the gayageum — slowly, and with exquisite grace.

"Who's that singer?"

"No idea. Never seen him before."

When Kim Se-jun stepped onto the stage, the crowd was bewildered. Most of the people here were idol fans — B.ONE's, and others'. They'd come to see the artists they loved. It wasn't a solo concert, but chances to see them perform weren't common, so they'd happily spent serious money to be here. And now some singer they'd never even heard of was taking the stage. More than a few of them were getting irritated.

"I didn't come here to watch someone like that."

"Same. What a waste of time."

They grumbled. But even those people soon found themselves growing a little curious about Kim Se-jun.

"That instrument... is that a koto?"

"Huh? You're right. It looks a lot like a koto."

The gayageum set in front of Kim Se-jun had caught their interest, and as he began to pluck the strings, they let out murmurs of admiration. A gentle melody — quite different from the koto, their own traditional instrument. Unlike the koto, which was played with picks, he was playing barehanded, and more than anything, the sound was warmer than a koto's.

"That's... nice."

One of the grumbling audience members muttered it without meaning to. The gayageum's cozy melody was already soothing their complaints.

And then a group of women surrounding Kim Se-jun. Their beautiful ensemble dance drew a roar from the crowd all at once.

The Fan Dance — Korea's beauty, Korea's traditional dance. A dance that traced its lineage from Taepyeongmu all the way down to contemporary movement, flaunting its elegance every step of the way. This was the moment the beauty of the Fan Dance and the melody of the gayageum became one.

Dressed in hanbok of every color, each holding a pair of brilliant floral fans, they arranged themselves around Kim Se-jun and dressed the stage. As Kim Se-jun sang Lotus, a great lotus bloomed across the giant backdrop screen. A festival of flowers. And over it all, Kim Se-jun's voice — they didn't know what the words meant, but it carried a deep resonance.

"I like this kind of stage too..."

The stages so far had been the height of spectacle, idol performances built around choreography. Next to those, Kim Se-jun's stage looked almost humble. No dazzling fireworks. No lasers or lights designed to snatch your gaze. And yet a restrained beauty held the audience captive.

"It's so beautiful..."

The Fan Dance ensemble surged like a wave, formed a circle, then scattered. One spectator clapped a hand over her mouth. And then Kim Se-jun's aching voice reached her. A feast for the eyes. A feast for the ears.

"What was that singer's name again?"

"I can't remember either."

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"This is seriously amazing."

Admiration spilled out of them, and one audience member made a silent promise. The moment this stage ended, they were going to look up that singer's name.

Lee Hae-jin sat on the sofa in his room, watching the Asian Music Awards live broadcast. Dazzling idol stages. Performances that lived up to every expectation. But the stage he was looking forward to most right now was Kim Se-jun's.

"The Fan Dance and the gayageum together. How did anyone even think of that?"

It had been a proposal from the Korea Cultural Promotion Agency — would it be possible to dress Kim Se-jun's stage with the Fan Dance? The Asian Music Awards was an excellent vehicle for promoting Korean culture, and Kim Se-jun was the perfect artist for their purpose. Even to Lee Hae-jin, it had seemed like a very good idea.

"Oh. Here we go."

He'd just finished one can of beer and was reaching for another when Kim Se-jun stepped onto the stage. Cool carbonation wet his throat, and a fierce anticipation kindled in Lee Hae-jin's eyes. A deep regret that he couldn't be there to see this stage in person. All he could do was hope the cameraman was a seasoned veteran. He stared holes through the television, bristling with expectation.

"Whoa..."

The sound escaped Lee Hae-jin before he knew it. Kim Se-jun's stage. Regret wasn't even the word — he was almost angry. Angry at a reality in which he couldn't be sitting in that audience. And at the same time, he understood how blessed the people watching this live truly were.

When famous foreign artists came to Korea, people spent hundreds of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dollars just to see them. Kim Se-jun's stage right now would not have looked out of place beside any of those. You didn't need a shared language for emotion to get through. On the faces of the Japanese audience the cameras found, a deep emotion was written plain.

A short performance of five minutes. When it ended, Lee Hae-jin knocked back his beer.

"Huh..."

A beer he hadn't taken a single sip of for five whole minutes. The carbonation had already gone halfway flat. To think he hadn't even remembered to drink while the beer sat there going to waste. He let out a hollow laugh at himself, completely swallowed by the stage, then hurriedly reached for his phone.

If he was like this, what was the public's reaction going to be? He fired up the internet, logged onto a portal site — and set the phone back down. He didn't even need to go looking for reactions. The real-time search rankings were already plastered with Kim Se-jun's name.

"Hah... Thank you all for your hard work."

"Thank you."

Coming down off the stage, Kim Se-jun bowed at the waist to the members of the Korean dance troupe who had shared it with him. He'd watched their performance from right up close. It had been nothing short of mesmerizing.

"Thanks to all of you, we were able to put together a truly wonderful stage."

"Not at all. We're the ones who should be thanking you. Getting to hear you sing from that close was such a joy."

In that warm atmosphere, Kim Se-jun eventually parted ways with them. It was time to return to his seat.

When Kim Se-jun sat back down, the other singers looked at him with something like awe in their eyes. They'd watched his stage too. They'd seen it at rehearsal, but seeing it for real had been enough to steal their souls.

"Hyung! That was actually insane. Wow... I almost cried watching it."

"Thanks. Even I have to admit that was an outstanding stage. Really."

Kim Se-jun answered Suho's fussing with a smile that filled his whole face. This time, he would not play at humility. His humility could have diminished the Korean dance troupe members who had built that stage with him.

"Se-jun. Look at this."

Lee Jin-ah, sitting beside him, carefully passed her phone under the chair so the cameras wouldn't catch it.

"Congratulations. This is a total smash."

What she showed him was a portal site's real-time search rankings.

From first through seventh, every related search term belonged to Kim Se-jun. His name, the Fan Dance, the Asian Music Awards performance — proof that the reaction was blazing not only in Japan, but in Korea as well.

"There's not going to be a single person left in Korea who doesn't know your name."

Kim Se-jun burst out laughing at Lee Jin-ah's joke, then turned his eyes back to the stage. He didn't want to get caught on camera staring at his phone too long and end up in some gossip column.

The ceremony rolled on after Kim Se-jun's stage. Before long they were in the home stretch, and only a handful of awards remained. Then the presentation of Best Male Rookie began — the only category in which Kim Se-jun's name had been nominated.

"This year, so many artists appeared like shooting stars. First, let's take a look at the nominees!"

With the actress presenter's words, Kim Se-jun and several other artists appeared on the giant screen. Three groups in total, plus Kim Se-jun. Every nominee besides him was an idol.

"And now, the 2017 Asian Music Awards Best New Artist."

She paused, checked her cue card once more, and went on.

The instant his name was called, a thrilling current shot through Kim Se-jun's entire body. He'd expected it. None of the other nominees had put up a better year than he had. But confirming it for real sent a wave of emotion crashing over him.

"Hyung, congratulations!"

"Congratulations, Se-jun!"

"Congratulations."

He answered the fellow artists hugging him and offering their congratulations with everything he had.

"Thank you."

A brief greeting, and then he was climbing onto the stage. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still felt dazed. He walked the red carpet up onto the stage, and in that moment he felt an indescribable thrill all over again.

The audience that hadn't even known his name. They were already chanting it — clumsily, in accents that stumbled over the syllables, but they were chanting it.

After the ceremony, they gathered again at B.ONE's lodging.

"Heh heh..."

The smooth feel of the trophy. The moment he ran his fingers over the trophy engraved with his own name, a smile rose of its own accord.

"Hyung, you that happy?"

A shadow fell over Kim Se-jun's head. He looked up to find Suho, nose in the air, holding out two trophies toward him. Trophies that looked twice the size of Best New Artist — Album of the Year, and the Daesang.

"Urgh..."

Suho had his chin tipped up in a thoroughly smug expression. Kim Se-jun planted a hand on the floor and let out a groan, and Suho burst out laughing at his reaction.

"Haha. Congratulations."

"You too."

"How does it feel?"

"How do you think? I'm over the moon. You?"

"Same here."

Laughter broke out again. They'd both seen the wins coming, but they were savoring the joy with their whole hearts.

Kim Se-jun wet his throat with champagne and let his gaze drift to the Album of the Year trophy. More precisely, his eyes locked onto the word album.

In his head, he already had the concept for his own album locked down solid.

The boss and the vice president will probably think I've lost my mind if they hear this.

The theme he'd settled on was territory the pop industry didn't venture into lightly. There were already songs that had publicly claimed that ground — which meant his album could simply get buried. Even so, Kim Se-jun's mind was already made up.

"When it's the gayageum, you can't leave this theme out."

At Kim Se-jun's mutter, Suho, who'd been standing a little ways off, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned around.

"Sorry? What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Kim Se-jun shook his head, and Suho tilted his, then let it go. Kim Se-jun tipped the remaining half of his champagne into his mouth. His gaze was still fixed on that single word: album.