Immersion (3)
My conversation with Kang Minhyuk at the small theater ran longer than I'd expected.
It had started with talk of music, but once the floodgates opened, the topics branched out in every direction imaginable—behind-the-scenes stories from the musical stage, the raw, primitive anxiety that came with being an artist, and, crucially, games.
"Jiyoung-ssi, you absolutely have to come visit my island sometime. I just finished building a brand-new fountain plaza."
"I already told you. I've never played that game."
"Ah, right. You did say that."
Across both my past life and this one, had I ever laughed and talked this easily with a rival?
"Well then, get home safe. See you at the practice room."
"You too, Minhyuk-ssi."
On the bus ride home, I watched the night scenery sliding past the window and thought it over. Kang Minhyuk was a good person.
And a terrifyingly skilled one. The fact that I would have to fight him for a single microphone suddenly landed with fresh weight against my skin.
I sat down at my studio chair and powered on the computer. The email I'd been waiting for from Producer Seo Geonwoo was already waiting for me.
I clicked the mouse and pulled up the lyrics.
They had said we would rehearse together. The public would never see it, but in front of the production staff and the judges, the two of us would each get a full chance to present our stages.
And the moment that rehearsal ended, Seo Geonwoo would raise one person's hand.
What the hell is he thinking?
Producer Seo Geonwoo's attitude remained a complete mystery. Even after the recording session, he hadn't offered a single word of praise or criticism.
Was he holding back out of consideration for us? Or had both of our results left him so disappointed that he simply had nothing to say?
"Can't read him at all. Seriously."
But worrying about it wouldn't produce an answer. How was I supposed to guess what was going on inside a master's head?
The only thing I could do was pour my voice perfectly into the perfect song he had thrown at me.
From that day on, my routine became simple. I woke up, drank warm tea for my throat, and locked myself in the studio to practice.
Time drifted past without care, and before I knew it, the day of the rehearsal had arrived.
It was the day Episode 3 of Voice of Legend aired.
Fuck. Not showing Han Jiyoung's stage all the way through makes me want to beat him to death.
They showed Yoo Sia's entire stage in full, but the second Han Jiyoung's intro starts they slap a "Continued next week" subtitle on it? How the hell does that make any sense?
Did you see her talking to Han Jiyoung in the waiting seats earlier? Rolling her eyes and sneering? I almost put my fist through the TV.
Why does she keep poking at our queen? She's got some skill, sure, but that personality is why she never debuted.
[Attached image: Capture of Han Jiyoung's side-slit qipao silhouette]
Whoa... I just paused it and stared for five straight minutes.
Are those legs real? She'd destroy most models out there.
The dim air of early dawn clung to MNA's main hall.
On the day of the rehearsal, the studio was silent. Equipment that still hadn't been fully set up lay scattered across the stage, and only the low murmurs of the staff echoed hollowly through the empty seats.
Ten survivors. Monsters who had clawed their way through competition rates of thousands to one and lived through hellish death matches began gathering, one by one, in the waiting seats.
"...You're early, Jiyoung-ssi."
I turned toward the familiar voice and found Kang Minhyuk standing there. The amount of practice he'd put in over the past few days must have been considerable—a faint exhaustion hung around his eyes.
"You too, Minhyuk-ssi. Did you get any sleep?"
At my question, Kang Minhyuk offered a bitter smile and sat down beside me.
"Not a wink. The second I closed my eyes, Producer Seo Geonwoo's face and the melody of Track 17 started auto-playing in my head. What about you, Jiyoung-ssi?"
"Me? Same as always. One game and I fell right asleep."
"Haha. That's so you, Jiyoung-ssi. I'm jealous of those nerves of steel."
It wasn't just Seo Geonwoo. The other producers would watch the rehearsal and make their decisions as well—about who would be handed the microphone.
"Minhyuk-ssi."
"Yes?"
"Whoever ends up taking the mic, let's not resent each other. We both agreed to put out our best answers."
Kang Minhyuk was quiet for a moment before he answered.
"Yes. If you take the microphone, Jiyoung-ssi, I'll gladly applaud you. Of course... I'm not planning on giving it up easily either."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
We finished the short exchange and didn't speak again. Instead, we each pulled earphones from our pockets and slipped them in.
From two different pairs of earphones, the same Track 17 was playing.
A short while later, the gate behind the stage opened and Producer Seo Geonwoo appeared, his white hair neatly combed back. Kang PD and the judges filed in behind him in a line.
"Well then. Shall we begin?"
Seo Geonwoo's heavy words announced the start of the rehearsal.
The first pair among the ten contestants went up onto the stage. Watching two people who had practiced the same song stand side by side and take turns singing was both eerie and desperate.
Soon it was Han Doyun's turn. Facing him was Lee Seojun, who had earned praise for his sophisticated vocals.
A strange tension flowed between the two of them, but my eyes drifted naturally toward Producer Park Jinwoo, seated in the judges' section.
How had that sharp-tongued perfectionist managed to cook the stubborn country man that Han Doyun had been?
A moment later, the accompaniment began to play.
...Huh?
My expectations were neatly overturned. What poured from the speakers was not the rough sound of an acoustic guitar.
It was a track with a tastefully polished synth line and a bright band sound layered over it—a song with the classic indie sensibility of today.
They had stripped away the sticky thickness unique to country and filled that space with a clean, heavy sincerity instead.
Lee Seojun took up the same part next.
It was refined. Not a single pitch or flourish wasted—immaculate. It was the pinnacle of textbook modern vocals.
But I could see it.
Han Doyun is going to win this.
This was producing with Park Jinwoo's clear favoritism baked in. The very structure of the song was optimized not for Lee Seojun's flashy technique, but for the rough yet deep resonance of Han Doyun's voice.
Watching from below the stage, Producer Seo Geonwoo gave a small nod. Even the master's eyes could see which way this match was going.
"Good work. Next team."
At Seo Geonwoo's brief instruction, Han Doyun and Lee Seojun left the stage.
And at last, my turn arrived.
"Producer Seo Geonwoo's team, heading into rehearsal!"
As I stepped in front of the stand microphone, Seo Geonwoo let out a short laugh and spoke.
"You two. Did you practice a lot?"
"Yes."
"I gave it everything I had."
Seo Geonwoo nodded briefly at our answers, then gestured toward the engineer.
In the silence, the first strike of the piano rang out.
This was no time to worry about anyone else. From here on, it was time for me to seize the microphone in that master's hand.
I closed my eyes quietly and parted my lips. The first verse was mine.
The studio that had been a chaos of whirring machinery, cables scraping across the stage floor, and the sharp shouts of the staff fell silent in an instant.
It was the moment Jiyoung's first verse left the microphone and spread into the air.
A lighting technician climbing a ladder to adjust the setup froze with a color filter still in his hand. The camera crew moving equipment along the rails went rigid, gripping their handles as if time itself had stopped.
It's Han Jiyoung.
Without anyone saying it, a single name stamped itself into every mind in the room. The instant Jiyoung's first verse ended, the baton was taken up by Kang Minhyuk's voice.
His solid mid-low tones added a three-dimensional weight to the space of sorrow she had already built.
Standing below the stage with his arms crossed, Kang PD bit down hard on his lip.
Even the floor director, who under normal circumstances would have been barking "We're short on time, move faster!", didn't dare let a single rough breath through the intercom, as if afraid of shattering the stage.
The closer the song climbed toward its climax, the more the staff forgot whatever they had been doing and simply stared up at the stage.
"I hate you so much."
As Han Jiyoung and Kang Minhyuk's voices overlapped and the song ended—
Clap, clap, clap, clap—!
Applause that had never once broken out during a rehearsal filled the studio.
Aigoo. Who am I supposed to choose?
Seo Geonwoo's worry only grew deeper.