Seal Card Activated!
“Huh? Siyeon’s here?”
“Hello.”
Kayseop greeted me with that burdensome mullet look—unfortunately or fortunately, no armpit hair in sight—and his slicked-back golden hair.
It might be a bit shocking to a kid’s eyes, but who am I? Seo Siyeon, who’s rolled through the gutters in my past life and met every freak out there.
I sat down across from him without batting an eye, and Kayseop chuckled, looking a little surprised.
“Haha. What do you think of the styling? I figured it’d be tough for someone your age to take in…”
“Honestly, it threw me off a bit.”
“Right? I had a stage schedule, so I rushed over right after and didn’t have time to wash off the makeup.”
People call Kayseop the poster boy for the artist type.
Not just because he favors that kind of artist, but because even at his age, he’s still out there actively performing as one.
Like dropping an album out of nowhere, or popping up unannounced at his company’s year-end idol concert…
‘At this point, it’s not even weird when he shows up in his own singers’ MVs or fan meets.’
That’s why fans are split down the middle on him, but the public eats him up as super approachable.
He’s actually the most recognizable of the Big 3 CEOs.
But unlike that public image, he’s pretty straightforward and doesn’t hold back on the harsh words.
Stories of trainees getting chewed out by him and kicked from the company are so common on forums they’re not even news anymore.
“Anyway. There’s something I want from you, Siyeon.”
“…Yes.”
“For this stage, I’d like you to do a cover instead of an original.”
I stared at Kayseop with a blank look, meeting his eyes.
What the hell is this guy saying?
“Wha—”
“I know, I know. Your biggest strength is that self-producing talent.”
He took a swig from his water bottle to wet his throat, then continued.
“But do you know what’s just as important for a singer?”
“…No idea.”
“The ability to interpret someone else’s song and make it your own. At least, that’s how I see it.”
I tilted my head. It wasn’t something I really vibed with.
I got what he meant, more or less.
Singers have to cover other people’s songs eventually—year-end stages, competitions, whatever.
‘But honestly, am I even gonna keep singing?’
I’d already proven my composing and producing chops. Stick to that, and I could rake in cash by the shovelful…
In a few years, I’d be one of those internet-famous “not huge, but loaded” types.
No real reason to keep performing as a singer after the audition.
But tell a singing competition judge—Korea’s top producer, no less—that I didn’t need it because I wasn’t planning to sing? I’d be out on my ass back to the orphanage before I could blink.
“Do I really have to?”
“I think you absolutely do.”
His eyes were full of conviction.
Truth be told, even last round’s pray for wasn’t mine originally.
Come to think of it, aside from Family Photo, every song I’d sung had an original owner. It was basically just current-me covering them.
I hadn’t made any song purely for myself.
glassy sky was the closest—an original for this life’s Seo Siyeon—but I’d arranged it thinking of Blooming’s vocalist, Yoo Seolha.
So overall? Growth from this stage? Not super realistic.
But I was just a 9-year-old kid, still a Singer Star contestant.
Arguing with a judge like Kayseop? Nothing to gain.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
And just like that, my ace in the hole—original songs—was sealed for this round.
It’d been less than half a year since I got isekai’d into this world.
So honestly, I didn’t know much about its music.
Sure, I knew every current chart-topper. First thing I did after possessing was hit the PC bang to scout songs.
But anything popular before I arrived? Total blank.
‘Wonder if the PC bang owner’s doing okay.’
Come to think of it, I hadn’t been back lately. Too many eyes on me.
He was one of my benefactors—gotta take care of him once I make it big.
Anyway, back on track: I didn’t know this world’s songs well.
Finding one that fit my voice? Not easy.
So I had to ask around.
First up: Han Seong-sik chilling in the living room. He suggested an oldie, predictably.
‘A Thousand Days?’
It existed in my past life too, but I couldn’t sing it. Way too tough.
Regrettable, but Han Seong-sik’s pick was out.
Next: Joo Jinwoo, smoking outside.
‘Doesn’t scream “rich kid” vibe.’
Seemed a tad off-brand for his elite image.
“Oh. C-cigarette.”
“I’ve seen plenty at the orphanage, so it’s fine. Recommend a song.”
The flustered guy suggested a pop song he liked. Pretty famous, and it didn’t sound bad for my tone.
‘Hmm. Hold this one.’
Next: Blooming, cackling in their room like they were on a school trip.
They got one big room—makes sense for a team, no spare singles.
“All Japanese songs…”
“But that’s all we listen to?”
Thinking back, Blooming formed because Yoo Seolha got inspired by some K-pop band anime and wanted to start one. Rooted in otaku life, so J-pop makes sense.
Korean TV wasn’t ready for Japanese songs on air yet.
Took years for that.
Blooming’s suggestions: nixed.
Next: Baek Yuyeon, bobbing her head to music.
So Yujin was there too, so I asked them both.
“Song recs?”
Baek Yuyeon’s was a solo track from an idol group a year back. Decent fit—keeping it.
Then So Yujin’s turn.
She had a unique voice—solid demand post-audition, I figured. First time talking, but gut said we’d cross paths.
“What about… this one?”
Her pick: an OST from some animation.
‘Huh? Even this world has Detective Whatever?’
Korean version, obviously. Adaptation or original, who knows. First time hearing it for me.
A bit old-school vibe, but…
“This is good.”
“R-right?”
Felt perfect for my voice.
Old feel? Rearrange it away.
Next day, I pitched it to Kayseop. No surprise he looked baffled.
Five rounds left.
Two drop this stage, two next. Down to six.
Then one-by-one drops over four rounds for the final three.
Finals: 100% viewer vote for the winner.
“Yawn…”
“Sleepy, Siyeon?”
“Kinda?”
“Jinu-oppa’s grilling meat—just hold on!”
Day two in the dorm.
Production crew brought meat for a BBQ party.
BBQ my ass—just samgyeopsal, but hey, food’s food.
Kid body clock? It was barely 8 PM, but sleep was creeping in.
“Yaaawn…”
Yoo Seolha and Park Heesu flanked me, squishing my cheeks like I was adorable.
“Yeeawn.”
“How are your cheeks so squishy?”
“Were we like this as kids?”
“Probably? But you used to slather weird stuff on your cheeks pretending it was makeup. What was it…”
“Ugh, shut up.”
“Eek!”
Why was I sandwiched by Blooming? Simple: no one else to look after me, so my closest pals stepped up.
Mostly Seolha—still awkward with the rest.
‘Man, not grilling meat myself is the best.’
Past life at the agency, I always manned the grill at staff hangouts. Idols were young girls; everyone else older.
Korean social norm: youngest guy does it.
Didn’t mind back then, but sitting back while someone else grills?
‘Feels amazing.’
Meat’s best when someone else cooks it.
Naturally, talk shifted to post-Singer Star plans.
“I’m gonna compose.”
“Huh? Not sing?”
“Gotta think about it.”
“You have to! Such a waste of talent.”
I turned it on Seolha.
“You?”
“Dunno! Heehee.”
Turns out her dad was buying a small label for her.
Depending on how that shakes out.
‘Scale’s on another level. Buying a company.’
Rich is rich.
This mansion probably didn’t faze her. Her Seoul place might be this big.
Then crispy meat arrived.
After that? Just scarfing and crashing.