Invitation (1)

"Thank you all for your hard work!"

With the MC's final closing remark, the tension that had filled the studio evaporated in an instant.

I stepped down from center stage and scanned the waiting area.

A hellish one-on-one death match. Of all the teams that had survived the merciless blade of that brutal survival round, including ours, only five remained.

Group E, who had turned the stage into theater with the overwhelming projection of musical actors. Group C, the R&B soul team whose deep emotion and refined harmonies had melted the judges' ears. Group J, who had taken the mismatched pairing of traditional Korean music and classical vocals and rendered it both grotesque and beautiful. And Group D, the indie buskers who had spit out sincerity as if it were nothing, raw with the life force of the streets. Finally, Group G—the one clustered around me.

Only fourteen survivors left.

Fourteen people…

Looking at the emptied waiting seats drove the reality home. Just how ruthlessly the production team had cut the roster this round. Wiping out more than eighty percent of the contestants after only two rounds was not the usual flow of an audition program.

They definitely prepared a revival round.

Among the eliminated were quite a few talents like Yoo Sia, who had both skill and buzz. A ratings-obsessed production team would never simply send those big fish home. Around the time next week's episode aired, they would probably haul a few of them back with some dramatic device.

"Well then, to our fourteen surviving contestants—congratulations once again."

Kang PD came down from the stage and offered us a cryptic little smile.

"But the next round won't be any easier. The theme for Round Three is…"

Everyone held their breath, eyes locked on his lips.

"…will be announced on site the day of next week's recording. Until then, please take good care of your condition. That concludes today's shoot!"

"Hey, what? You have to tell us before you go!"

"Announced on the day? Are they insane?"

Groans erupted here and there, but Kang PD paid them no mind and left with the staff. He clearly intended to exploit the information gap and weaponize the contestants' anxiety and tension as narrative fuel.

Well. Familiar tactics.

I let out a short laugh and gathered my bag. Whatever the theme turned out to be, all I could do was build the best stage I was capable of.

"Unnie, we're really going to the next round, right? This isn't a dream?"

Naeun looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed. After a full day of tension, her face looked pale and drawn.

"It's not a dream, so go get some sleep."

"Hehe, okay! I'm seriously going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pass out the second I hit the bed!"

I saw Naeun and Han Doyun off and stepped out through the front gate of the broadcasting station.

And then Episode 1 of Voice of Legend aired.

The impact of a roughly fifteen-second teaser defied imagination.

The moment the broadcast ended, YouTube's algorithm was completely plastered with my name.

Music specialist channels with hundreds of thousands of subscribers uploaded analysis videos that captured and dissected every single shape of my fingers from the teaser.

"Alright everyone, look at this fingering. This is a classic acoustic blues line, completely ignoring the original dance beat and stamping out something new. Miss Han Jiyoung, this is not ordinary work."

Someone even dug up a blurry five-year-old trainee fancam and stitched it together with footage of me wearing a mask and pulling espresso at the hospital café; that Han Jiyoung stan guide video blew past a million views.

With things this bad, I decided to sever my connection to the world entirely.

This is terrifying. How am I supposed to live?

In frustration I logged into my only escape—a general gaming community. At least here, I believed, there would be nothing but game guides and balance-patch talk.

My expectations shattered the moment I saw the first page.

I answered.

"…No, why is my picture showing up even here?"

It was so absurd a hollow laugh slipped out, and before I knew it I had left a reply.

"This crazy bastard for real…"

My nape went stiff. I watched my phone sink into the soft duvet and clawed at my hair.

Bzzzzt—!

I flinched at the vibration and picked it back up. Three letters floated on the screen: Naeun.

"…Hello."

"No, I just… had a moment of existential crisis about the world. Why'd you call?"

Things to talk about. So it had finally come.

The fact that I had taken Kim Taesung's demo, reworked it, and even used it as my competition song. Professionally and under broadcast regulations, he could dig his heels in as much as he wanted if he chose to.

I wriggled my big toe.

"Yeah, we've got things to talk about. Plenty. I'm coming now."

I pulled a ball cap low over my eyes, sealed my face thoroughly with a mask, and arrived at the Luminous building. Naeun, who had been pacing near the entrance, spotted me and waved brightly.

"Unnie! You got here so fast!"

"He's in the CEO office, right? I'll head up."

"Fighting! And don't fight!"

Leaving Naeun's encouragement behind, I stepped into the elevator.

Is he going to try to threaten me? Or demand I voluntarily withdraw for using his song without permission?

I took a deep breath and knocked on the CEO office door.

"Come in."

Inside, Kim Taesung was staring intently at a tablet PC instead of his usual towering stack of documents.

When I sat on the sofa he cleared his throat with exaggerated volume.

"Ahem! Thanks for coming all this way, Jiyoung."

"Just get to the point."

Even at my prickly response he didn't get angry; instead he opened his mouth with a strangely flushed expression.

"Jiyoung, that demo I gave you… you rearranged it again in your own style and performed it on stage, didn't you?"

So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was that. I met his eyes without flinching.

"Ah, yes. Well… there were some source materials too good to throw away. And some parts lined up with the direction I already wanted. If you're going to make an issue of it, go ahead. I'll explain everything properly to the production team…"

"How was it?"

"…What?"

The question that cut across my words was so unexpected that a blank answer slipped out. Kim Taesung tapped the desk with his fingers as if impatient and pressed me.

"I mean my beat! My arrangement! How did it feel when you actually sang it and even took it to the stage? Your impression! Tell me your impression of the song!"

Watching Kim Taesung's eyes sparkle as they locked solely on my lips, I lost my words.

Threats? Demands to quit? Far from any hostile atmosphere, this man currently wore the face of a chef waiting for a gourmand's review of the dish he had cooked.

I nodded awkwardly, thought for a moment, then spoke.

"Hmm… first of all the bass line was extremely refined. When you take a nineties track into modern sensibility there are sections that can easily turn cheesy, and you cut those down to a minimalist essence really well. Especially the lo-fi beat transition in the rap part… honestly, that surprised me. That section was what completed the song's narrative."

The more I spoke, the higher Kim Taesung's cheekbones climbed. He nodded so vigorously he looked like an elementary schooler who had just received a pile of praise stickers.

"I knew it! I knew you'd recognize it! That lo-fi section—I agonized over and stamped that myself."

"…Ah. Right. I see."

I stared at Kim Taesung with a dazed expression.

He nodded cheerfully, jotted something on the tablet, then smiled at me.

"Ria posted Jiyoung's Round Two stage outfit on her Instagram story, didn't she?"

Kim Taesung set down his pen and asked casually. There was no way he didn't know about that day's uproar.

The internet had already been stirred into a hornet's nest by that single qipao photo.

"Yeah. Well."

I answered flatly. It wasn't like I had posted it myself, and even when I told her to delete it Ria never listened—what power did I have against her mania?

"I gave her a sharp talking-to. After all, while the competition is ongoing, if images of entanglement between a judge and a contestant keep getting exposed, it doesn't benefit anyone. If fairness controversies start flying around, that hurts you too, doesn't it?"

"The person worrying about entanglement between judge and contestant is the same person who sent me a demo? From the moment we exchanged that demo we were already plenty entangled, I feel."

"That wasn't provided as a judge."

"Then as what?"

"As a fellow composer. And as a musician. When a producer discovers an outstanding instrument, who wouldn't want to let them hear a song that suits it? That's instinct."

"'Shared as a musician'—that sounds nice. So when I used that song in the competition, was it my skill, or the CEO's help?"

At my sharp question Kim Taesung smiled once more.

"If you'd thought of it as my song, you wouldn't have torn it apart and rebuilt it that thoroughly. It was entirely your song."

Having said that much, Kim Taesung rose from his seat and turned toward the window.

"Which is why… I'd like to invite you to this upcoming Velvet Night concert."