81 – Like Brother, Like Sister (5)
81 – Like Brother, Like Sister (5)
[What the hell is Yoon Hajun even? Aren’t they pushing him way too hard?]
ㄴHe’s worth pushing.
ㄴHe’s a high schooler, and he’s a producer. That’s impressive.
ㄴEven so, Episode 2 felt kind of too muchㅠ We should’ve gotten more of the Closers.
ㄴStill, if you go by screen time, Closer had the most.
[That edit of Yoon Hajun listening to a song once and immediately working—there’s no way that wasn’t editing, right?]
ㄴOf course it’s editingㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
ㄴI’ll bet ten million won it was already done beforehand.
ㄴThe PD got way too greedy; why edit it like that and get him dragged?? Just from the mid-check song you could tell he was good. They didn’t have to edit it like that and prop him up as some genius—now it just annoys people.
ㄴㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋThat inferiority complex is insaneㅋㅋ
ㄴAre you seriously jealous of a high schooler????
[Do you think Blue Aka’s raising Hajun, or do you think he’s actually just that good?]
ㄴI think he’s just that good. He’s already famous in the industry for that Jinssohyang rough arrangement.
ㄴJinssohyang rough? That soloist?
ㄴYeah. That iTube one. I heard he did everything from the arrangement to the directing.
ㄴHow would you even know that?ㅋㅋ
ㄴBecause I work at ROCㅋㅋㅋㅋ Our boss heard it and got inspired, so he reached out to work with himㅋㅋ It’s a super famous story at the company. They even put a track they made with an actual high schooler on the new album.
ㄴThen the rough track on Hwayangyeonhwa’s album this time—he worked on that too?
ㄴYeah.
ㄴHoly shit. That’s insane talent.
“People are talking about Hajun a lot.”
A writer who had been checking posts on related communities to gauge Star Kingdom’s reactions said this to Jin Ilman. Jin Ilman nodded, a satisfied look on his face.
“That was the goal from the start.”
He glanced down at his phone. Reporters had already written articles after watching this week’s episode of Star Kingdom. There weren’t many, but even so, it was more attention than he’d expected.
And most of those articles were about Yoon Hajun. A second-year high school student—just turned eighteen—coordinating a band and making a song was apparently irresistible bait for reporters.
“How are the ratings?”
“They’re much better than last week. 1.1 percent.”
“Oh, it broke one percent?”
“Yes.”
Last episode had been 0.7 percent, so it jumped by a full 0.4 percent. But Jin Ilman still wasn’t satisfied. The number he wanted was 1.5 percent.
And to reach that, he’d poured a lot into Episode 2.
“How’s the reaction?”
“There are some Blue Aka fans and Closer fans saying we’re pushing Yoon Hajun too hard, but aside from that, it’s pretty good. The iTube clips are all breaking fifty thousand views. Oh—and the clip of Hajun’s first appearance broke one hundred twenty thousand.”
“Good. Then tell the iTube editor to center this one around Hajun again.”
“You’re going to keep pushing him?”
“The viewers are watching him, and the reporters are writing articles on their own. There’s no reason to give up a hot potato like that. And more than anything, Episode 3’s center is Yoon Hajun again.”
As he said that, Jin Ilman looked at the edited footage for Episode 3. The drama of Star Kingdom was completed there.
In Episode 1, Yoon Hajun joined Blue Aka when they were already a mess.
In Episode 2, they showed improvement compared to Episode 1—but it was only improvement. They weren’t perfect.
Blue Aka’s mid-check ranking was fifth.
Seven teams had participated, so it wasn’t a high rank by any stretch.
That meant Blue Aka’s current position was that of an underdog. And what got the public fired up more than an underdog?
They were acknowledged and famous abroad, but unknown in Korea. The leader, Won Seongmin, had been carrying everything alone while the other members slacked off.
A ragtag mess didn’t get more ragtag than this.
On top of that, maybe Won Seongmin had hit a slump—he couldn’t keep working, and mistakes piled up. They weren’t even popular, so viewers naturally began to pity them.
And that pity turned into support.
To do a little better.
To show a better stage and get a better evaluation.
Then someone who could lead the team joined, and they grew fast. Mistakes decreased, strengths were maximized, and their growth was visible.
Viewers watched the team they were rooting for improve, so expectations rose. Then those expectations were betrayed—because of a mistake at the mid-check, they ended up in fifth.
That was when Yoon Hajun comforted them.
And to create an even better stage, he came up with ideas.
Even if you wrote a drama or movie script, it wouldn’t come out this clean. On top of that, they took second on the main stage by just three votes—making the ending perfect.
“Man… seriously. If you didn’t know better, you’d think this was scripted.”
With Episode 2, the picture was already painted.
Now all that was left was the finish.
And for that perfect finish, Jin Ilman poured everything he had into it.
§ § §
“How was it?”
Even though it was sudden, Seohoon didn’t ask what she meant. He kept watching the TV and lightly furrowed his brow.
“This is my house, not the company. Don’t call me ‘sir.’”
“Don’t change the subject, sir.”
“Hoo.”
At his niece’s stubborn voice—still calling him “sir”—Seohoon let out a deep sigh. Was taking the CEO position a mistake?
She used to call him Uncle, Uncle—then the moment he became CEO, it turned into “sir.”
Seohoon reached out and took a drink of the whiskey he’d poured. The brutally bitter taste felt like it spoke for his mood.
“He definitely looks good on camera.”
“Right?”
Seo Chaerim smiled brightly, pleased with his answer, then turned back to the TV. They were watching the final story of Star Kingdom, Episode 3.
Blue Aka had taken fifth after making mistakes.
But Yoon Hajun didn’t give up and kept thinking about the stage.
He asked the PD questions, ran around on foot, and completed the stage. And to perfect the song they’d perform, he attended every practice.
Of course, the real reason he attended all those practices was because Jin Ilman asked him to—but the truth didn’t appear on TV. Only what PD Jin Ilman edited did.
Then the stage began.
Blue Aka’s turn was fifth.
Right before them was Closer’s stage—the strongest candidate to win. Before Closer’s performance started, their story was shown, then the show went into the stage in earnest.
Watching Closer, Seo Chaerim nodded.
“They’re pretty good.”
“That company must’ve been grinding their teeth.”
Closer was a third-tier idol group. Not popular enough to be first-tier or second-tier, but with digital ranks too solid to be called fourth-tier.
They were in an awkward position, which was exactly why they went all-in on this program. They hired the best choreographer, the best composer, and poured everything into one stage.
And it showed.
Perfect, knife-like synchronized choreography without a single error. They sang in uniforms while dancing in complete sync, and the song itself was optimized for competition stages.
It drew the best response so far.
Then it was Blue Aka’s turn.
In shows like this, it was standard to show related footage before a stage—and Star Kingdom was no exception.
But the edit was strange. The “related footage” only showed Blue Aka’s past mistakes.
On top of that, gloomy background music was added, painting them as an image of failure.
Watching it, Seohoon let out a low hum, then asked Seo Chaerim,
“What place did you say Blue Aka got?”
“Second.”
“I see. That PD’s smart.”
“Yeah.”
A twist always doubled the emotion. The footage showing Blue Aka’s mistakes and Yoon Hajun agonizing over them ended, and Blue Aka stepped onto the stage.
Their conversations were inserted here and there.
“You made the song, and I finished it. Trust it. Go out there and have fun.”
“If the reaction’s bad, we’ll say it’s Hajun’s fault.”
“Yes. I’ll take responsibility.”
Yoon Hajun smiled as he said it. Blue Aka’s members smiled back and nodded.
“So go out there and enjoy it.”
Yoon Hajun appeared again—not with his usual sleepy eyes, but with a gentle, dependable expression, like he truly believed in them.
“Oh, he’s got a good face.”
“He’s handsome, to be fair.”
Seohoon said it calmly, but Seo Chaerim couldn’t. Even knowing the result, she found herself rooting for them.
That smiling face looked kind of cool, too. Was this what it felt like to look at your own kid?
The members of Blue Aka headed onto the stage, patting Yoon Hajun’s shoulder in slow motion. With Won Seongmin’s final touch, the screen switched.
Blue Aka stood on stage.
They exchanged looks, nodded, and the performance began.
As it truly started, Seo Chaerim let out a breath of admiration. She’d performed with Kim Taeyoung at the festival and roughly knew their level—but on TV, they looked even more incredible.
As if they’d never made a mistake, Blue Aka put on their best stage yet. Then came the guitar solo. Won Seongmin’s technique—famous enough to earn him the title of guitar prodigy—revealed itself.
It was more than enchanting. It was overwhelming.
The screen switched again.
From the stage to below it.
Yoon Hajun appeared, watching Blue Aka. He clenched his fist and smiled in satisfaction.
The screen switched again.
From below the stage back to the stage.
Slowly—very slowly.
An effect was added that made the sound feel distant for a moment, growing quieter, as if stepping away from the stage.
In one shot, Blue Aka on stage and Yoon Hajun below appeared together. Yoon Hajun slowly nodded.
Like he was telling them they were doing well.
As if answering him, Blue Aka’s members nodded back.
“Ah.”
Seo Chaerim let out an involuntary sound. She wasn’t the only one—Seohoon’s eyes widened too.
This didn’t feel like a variety show. It felt like a scene from a movie.
The producer and the band members who had worked toward this one stage finally connected. Their bond crossed the screen.
Just watching made her chest swell.
Like she was part of the band.
Like she’d been watching them from the very beginning.
It pulled you in before you even realized it.
The distant sound returned, and the final note ended. A successful stage. They delivered Yoon Hajun’s song perfectly, without a single mistake.
Blue Aka’s members smiled, high-fived each other, and the screen shifted to the other teams’ evaluations, ending the performance.
“Is this allowed?”
Still immersed, Seo Chaerim finally exhaled the breath she’d been holding and murmured. She pulled out her phone and opened Star Kingdom’s community.
As expected, it was chaos.
[Yoon Hajun punch! Yoon Hajun punch!]
[This is Blue Aka—this is a bandㅋㅋ]
[This is insaneㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ]
[Look at how hard they edited itㅠㅠㅠ I cried watchingㅠㅠ]
[Yoon Hajun, you can have me! You can have me!]
Posts were flying by at ridiculous speed, as if someone were flooding the board. Most of them praised Yoon Hajun.
That was how big what Yoon Hajun and Blue Aka had just shown was. Combined with the edit that framed them as the protagonists of a movie called Star Kingdom, it made your heart swell on its own.
Soon, the results for the remaining two teams were announced. A tense BGM played as the rankings appeared. Viewers prayed Blue Aka would take first.
But the result was second.
Only three votes behind Closer.
“Ah.”
Seo Chaerim groaned in frustration. It was such a waste. No—why was that stage second? That was obviously a first-place performance.
She checked the community again, and as expected, it was on fire.
Comments accusing the voters of being blind, deaf, or turning it into a popularity contest dominated the board. And that was exactly why PD Jin Ilman said second place was the perfect ranking.
If Blue Aka had taken first, the story would’ve ended cleanly. Too cleanly.
But second place?
By only three votes?
People would feel regret. Some would get angry. And that would keep Blue Aka’s song in their memory longer.
Some would keep talking about it afterward, too.
Considering that, Blue Aka’s second place had more value than first.
The episode ended with Blue Aka’s members and Yoon Hajun smiling at each other—talking, shaking hands, touching shoulders.
“So, how was it?”
After steadying her emotions, Seo Chaerim asked Seohoon again. He sighed. He’d dodged the question earlier, but he couldn’t avoid it now.
“So you’re saying we should push Yoon Hajun on Singer Star?”
“Yes. Singer Star made an offer, and more than anything, there’s no one else in our company to push besides Hajun.”
“There’s Kim Hanol.”
“Do you think he’ll go on Singer Star?”
Seohoon didn’t answer. Knowing his personality, he never would.
“But Yoon Hajun is a producer. What’s a producer going to do on Singer Star? He’d have to sing too. Is Hajun even going to sing?”
“That’s not it. I can’t tell you yet, but it’s confirmed—Hajun is going on Singer Star.”
Seo Chaerim smiled as she said it. Everything—Yoon Suyeon going on Singer Star, and signing with mm Entertainment beforehand—were things she’d heard from Yoon Hajun.
And if Yoon Suyeon went on Singer Star, then Yoon Hajun would definitely go too.
komm, a subsidiary of mm Entertainment, had invested in Singer Star, securing music promotion and a certain level of stake.
If mm Entertainment decided to push a cast member, that much was possible.
“I’ll think about it.”
Seohoon said it as he finished the last of his whiskey.
.