Final (2)
A few days later, Kim Taesung finished the final arrangement of Stand with me.
We recorded the track.
“Satisfied with the recording?”
“Yes.”
I pulled off the headphones and nodded. Kim Taesung smiled, looking pleased.
What followed was the dull grind of paperwork—neighboring rights, royalty rates, revenue splits between the contest production company and the producer. I had been through it once already with Producer Seo Geonwoo, yet every time I stared at those contracts crammed with tiny print, my head swam. By the time I finally signed everything and stepped out of the building, only one thought remained in my mind.
From here on, it's nothing but practice.
Time flew after that.
The day before the final live broadcast.
I had been sprawled on the living-room sofa since morning, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Jiyoung! Are you still like that? Get ready already!”
Mom emerged, already dressed in a bright two-piece suit with her makeup done to perfection, bag in hand.
“Mom, did you really take the day off?”
“Of course! Today and tomorrow—two whole days. This is the most important day of my daughter’s life. You think I should just stay cooped up at the hospital?”
“Is it okay for the hospital director to be gone for two days straight?”
She waved off my grumbling as if it were nothing.
“This is the modern world. Besides, even I need a break on a day like this.”
She talked a good game, but my mother was a hardcore workaholic. The fact that the director herself treated the operating room like her own living room was already abnormal.
It’s a disease. An occupational one.
In the hazy memories I still had, after Father passed away so suddenly, any talk of him had become almost taboo in our house. There was no need to dig it up and reopen old wounds for each other. I shook my head, as if tossing the thought away.
Mom stepped fully into the living room, took one look at me collapsed on the sofa, and clicked her tongue.
“Honestly! Wasting that face of yours. Tomorrow’s the final and you’re going out looking like that?”
I glanced down at myself—gray sweatpants worn thin at the knees, a comfortable short-sleeve tee, and my outdoor essentials: a black ball cap and white mask.
“Just leave it. You clearly don’t get it, Mom. The second people realize it’s me, they swarm.”
“Being famous is a good thing. If they ask for an autograph, give it. If they want a photo, smile.”
“That’s your take. Maybe consider your daughter’s position for once.”
Still grumbling, I got up and jammed the cap low over my eyes. The mask went on next, leaving only my eyes visible in the mirror. Standing next to my dazzlingly dressed mother, I looked like a reclusive shut-in freeloader trailing after a celebrity. Mom didn’t care. She linked her arm tightly through mine.
“Let’s go! It’s been ages since I had a date with my daughter. We’ll hit the department store, buy something new for tomorrow’s stage, and eat something delicious.”
The moment we stepped into the department store, the dazzling lights and gleaming marble floors stabbed at my eyes. My sweats-and-cap look clashed hard with the luxury wing entrance, yet the staff kept bowing in greeting—probably thanks to the aura Mom radiated beside me.
“Jiyoung, what do you feel like wearing? Another white dress like last time?”
The words immediately dragged up the previous stage. The pure-white dress the broadcast stylists had strong-armed me into, the one that left my shoulders completely bare. The design exposed a lot of skin, and I had fretted the entire time I wore it.
Those community creeps really were something else.
What was so great about a little fold of armpit skin? Just thinking about it made the back of my neck stiffen. Still, looking at the screenshots that went up, even I had to admit I looked ridiculously pretty.
“No, I’m done with dresses. We’re going for something different this time.”
“Different? What style?”
I steered Mom toward the floor lined with women’s tailored suits. Kim Taesung and I had already settled on the concept.
To capture that old-school city-pop vibe, a suit is the way to go.
I gave Mom a rough rundown of what Kim Taesung and I had discussed. She thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Alright. If that’s what you’ve decided, then that’s what we’ll do.”
We went inside and picked out a few pieces. There wasn’t time for custom tailoring, but the ready-to-wear pieces fit as if they had been made for me.
“Oh my, Jiyoung… you look incredible. Are you really my daughter?”
Mom covered her mouth in awe. On a roll, I even chose a long coat to layer over the top.
“I’ll take this. Buy the coat too, Mom.”
“Of course! It’s your final-stage outfit. Your mother has to get you the best.”
After a quick meal, we headed home.
“Mom, take this.”
She accepted the mysterious envelope with a puzzled tilt of her head.
“What’s this?”
“Stage tickets. The production team gave a few to share with family. Front-row seats, no less.”
“You little… you should have said so earlier.”
“Why?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t get tickets myself.”
“What? And you still took time off?”
“I figured I’d wait outside if I had to.”
Words failed me. Was this a mother’s love? I suddenly felt like an unfilial daughter.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Good thing I brought them. You would’ve been in real trouble otherwise.”
I said it flippantly, but something in my chest tightened. She had planned to wait outside the venue with no ticket at all. The same woman who was meticulous as a hospital director was completely, recklessly sincere when it came to me.
The next day—final live broadcast day.
I left the house at dawn, before the sun had fully risen. The venue was the same as the semifinals. Familiar corridors, familiar air. Yet the weight I felt today was on an entirely different level.
The moment I reached the waiting room, the makeup team’s hands went into overdrive. I put on the suit jacket bought at the department store yesterday, black short pants, stockings, and heels—all styling Kim Taesung had directed.
Unfortunately, the final came with no rehearsal time. The sound director simply checked the mic and had me say a couple of “ah, ah”s. That was it. The production side’s silence made it clear they wanted to capture the raw tension of the real thing.
The prep is perfect. But…
I sat on the waiting-room sofa and looped the recorded track. Even mouthing the lyrics, there was still far too much time left before the show. A little tension could be useful fuel, but sitting around waiting forever only let boredom creep in.
I wonder what everyone else is doing.
Curiosity hit me. The final five who had survived this far—colleagues and rivals who had clawed through that hellish competition. The only person I could comfortably talk to here was Han Doyun.
I stood and headed for his waiting room down the hall. After a brief hesitation at the door, I knocked lightly.
Knock knock.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Jiyoung.”
“Ah, Jiyoung! Come in.”
A warm voice answered from inside. I opened the door to find Han Doyun adjusting his clothes in front of the mirror. He was wearing a rough-textured black leather jacket.
“Oh? A leather jacket?”
He scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed little smile.
“Ah, yes. Producer Park Jinwoo said it was perfect for this song’s concept… First time wearing one. It’s stiffer and more uncomfortable than I expected. Feels like I can’t even raise my arms properly.”
The jacket’s distinctive sheen sharpened his usually gentle features into something sleek and striking. He had even styled his messy hair up with pomade. A proper cool-guy look, almost.
Han Doyun looked me up and down and added with genuine admiration,
“Why the suit, Jiyoung? It looks amazing on you.”
“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself, Doyun.”
I perched on the edge of the sofa and we talked.
“No rehearsal’s driving you crazy too, right?”
“Tell me about it. Going straight into a live broadcast without even holding a mic once… those broadcast people are terrifying. Still… seeing you has calmed my nerves a bit.”
I wasn’t sure why looking at me would calm anyone’s nerves. Maybe just talking to a reliable colleague was enough to ease the tension.
“So what are you performing today? I’m doing city pop. You’re still going country, right?”
At my question, Han Doyun scratched his cheek and lowered his gaze bashfully.
“Unfortunately… that got rejected this time.”
“What? Why? You used to sing like you’d rather die than leave country.”
The answer caught me off guard. This guy had treated country music like his soul from round one onward.
“I talked a lot with Jinwoo-hyung while working on the last round. And Producer Seo Geonwoo, who gave me this track, said the same thing.”
Jinwoo-hyung?
My eyebrows twitched. Calling the famously sharp-tongued judge Park Jinwoo “hyung” meant they had gotten pretty close.
“I’m a musician, right? Clinging to just one genre forever isn’t necessarily the answer. It’s not like songs like my own Barn of Dreams just pop out every time… I figured a real pro should be flexible and try different genres.”
I nodded quietly at Doyun’s words.
Hmm, fair enough.
Stubbornly digging one well mattered, but expanding your range as a popular musician was a matter of survival. Han Doyun was growing as an artist right now.
Still, I asked carefully,
“But deep down, you still love country, don’t you?”
“Of course. I haven’t abandoned it. I’m just walking a different path for a while. In the end, the home I return to is that place—just like my song Barn of Dreams.”
“That’s cool. Then I’ll look forward to your stage today.”
“Same here. I’m really looking forward to your city pop. Let’s… no matter who wins, put on a stage we won’t regret.”
I clasped the rough hand he offered.
From the far end of the corridor, staff voices began shouting that the live broadcast was about to start.
It was time to take the stage.