Even the PD Falls Hard: Kids' Wishes Woven into Lyrics
The PD would die loving this orphan's emotional sell—putting the kids' wishes into the lyrics.
In truth, that sounded easy, but it was actually pretty damn tough in practice.
Plus, time wasn't on my side, so I had to crank out those lyrics as fast as possible...
Did I bite off more than I could chew?
Well, if it didn't work out, I could just tweak the lyrics of an existing song and sing that. I knew every word of my favorite tracks from my past life, and scrubbing out any inappropriate bits was no big deal.
The only hitch? People might scratch their heads wondering how an elementary kid came up with lyrics like that.
Anyway, I'd roughed out the concept.
Lyrics about getting famous, raking in cash, and granting the orphanage kids' wishes.
A staple in hip-hop audition shows.
Because "succeed and pay back your family" was a killer emotional hook that worked anywhere.
I'm actually gonna make bank and donate to the orphanage, so a little emotional sell should be fine, right?
Truth be told, emotional sells weren't bad at all. Sharing your feelings with others? Solid songwriting material.
I decided to dive in and started asking the younger kids and same-age friends at the nursery—the ones who always stuck close to me—what they'd do if they had tons of money.
"Me? I wanna buy a house. Gangnam if possible."
"Give me a more kid-like answer."
"Aww, c'mon. In this day and age, money's king!"
My head throbbed at my worldly same-age friend's response. A house in Gangnam? Were kids these days getting real estate news in the womb or what?
And how'd she even know Gangnam land was pricey?
I shook my head and headed to the playroom where the even younger ones gathered.
These kids who haven't even started elementary school should give some proper kid answers.
"Hey, kids. Big sis has one question."
At my voice, seven-year-old Minji, who was stacking blocks, and five-year-old Sohee, deep in doll play, lit up and scampered over.
"Sis, what? You buying us treats again?"
"Nah, later for that. If you had, like, real money—a ton of it—what would you do?"
The kids pondered seriously for a moment, their little faces scrunched in thought. Tailored to a nine-year-old's eye level, my question got Minji opening up first, cautiously.
"Um... I'd wanna pick my favorite snacks at the convenience store, not just the 1+1 deals. We always have to go for the cheap stuff."
"Me!"
Five-year-old Sohee shot her hand up from the side.
"I want shoes that don't hurt my feet! These are hand-me-downs from you big sisters, too big, so I keep tripping. Ones that fit perfect, shiny new ones with lights!"
It felt like a punch to the gut. Coming from that Gangnam apartment dreamer, these pure, innocent answers made the little ones look utterly adorable.
"Sis, one more thing."
Minji tugged my clothes lightly and added,
"If I had money, I'd buy teacher a robot vacuum so she doesn't hurt her back cleaning after us all the time."
I just hugged them tight without a word.
Then, before I forgot, I jotted it all down in my notebook.
Such simple, heartwarming wishes.
Hell, even I got a little choked up hearing them—what about outsiders who didn't live at the nursery?
I whipped out my notebook right there and started scribbling lyrics.
The structure was already half-baked anyway.
The original song was about "getting revenge on people who looked down on me and banging tons of girls!" so swapping the revenge and girls parts was easy.
Over the beat of a past-life hit, the raw, honest words from those kids started layering onto the melody.
I wrote lyrics, sang them out based on that, tweaked as I went—and the cameras caught every bit of it.
As rounds dragged on, the number of contestants visibly thinned out.
But the airtime stayed the same.
What did that mean?
"Plenty of footage to lavish on each remaining contestant."
Singer Star had never really given deep backstories to individuals before.
Or rather, there hadn't been room.
Just capturing the heavy-hitters' stages and judge feedback ate up the two-hour runtime.
But now? Only twenty left.
And the spotlight hogs were already clear.
By round four, judges usually had a rough TOP 10 lineup in mind.
Not rigging—just talent gaps screaming loud to pros' eyes.
For main PD Kang Junhyeong, five key narrative focuses, topped by Joo Jinwoo and Seo Siyeon.
No weak spots in skill or star power.
Judges already drooling to sign them, so finals berth was a given.
"Ugh... Hip-hop of all genres."
Kang Junhyeong frowned.
Hip-hop was tricky in these auditions.
With Show Me the Money dominating the market, real rappers flocked there.
"And a nine-year-old kid rapping? How good could it be?"
He was certain: Seo Siyeon wouldn't match her prior impact this round.
Her weapons were crystal-clear tone and genius composition—not hip-hop in that toolkit.
Even a killer track might flop live.
Of course, a so-so live and meh song wouldn't boot her yet.
Overwhelming metrics so far, plus viewer sympathy for the genre draw screw-job—judges would nudge her through.
For PD Kang Junhyeong, not a bad arc: "Perfect genius Seo Siyeon's first crisis! Glorious comeback." Pure ratings bait.
"Heh..."
Recalling her teary breakdown last round tugged a bit, but what could he do?
He was a broadcaster, duty-bound to dopamine-dose the audience.
As Kang Junhyeong sketched an edit around her setback and triumph, site footage hit his monitor.
One look, and he scrapped it all.
"Ah... damn. Getting old, turning into a sap—why the tears?"
Before PD, he was a dad to one, a soft-hearted middle-ager past forty.
The type to sneak donations after African hunger ads.
So orphanage kids' dreams in that footage? Some switch flipped—tears streaming.
"But song's king. Emotional sell has limits."
Lousy track or botched live? No edit saves an audition show's value.
Trembling, he clicked the mouse.
"Demo recording? Let's hear it."
The track opened with low piano melody and narration.
Fairy-tale backing, soft voice—like pro voice actor quality.
Once upon a time, at Evergreen Sky Nursery, there was a girl who loved to sing.
But singing alone couldn't grant her little siblings' wishes.
So the girl prayed to the sky.
Then a sharp 'chiik-' noise, sleek 808 bass and cool guitar riff drilling in. First verse sighed out calm.
—when I pray for the sky
That one line hit, and Kang Junhyeong knew. No need for more.
Live? Had Seo Siyeon ever flubbed onstage? Not once.
This was a lock to explode.
Sweet singing-rap piercing Korean soul, orphanage kids' dreams tighter than family.
"This... amp it with edits, and it's legendary."
Flashy visuals flooded his brain.
Siyeon's footage, kid interactions.
Tweak with effects, shoot custom orphanage clips, splice in...
"Picture-perfect."
Korea music TV history had legendary stages.
Millions, tens of millions views, red-eye inducers years later. Masterpieces.
This might top the lineage.
Kang Junhyeong rubbed his goosebumped arms, grinning ear to ear.
Singer Star Season 5 was the last anyway—going out with a bang.
No better finale hero.