30. Finishing Move Prep! (Opponent's)

The TOP 8 and TOP 6 rounds would both proceed as one-on-one battles, and the moment the bracket dropped, posts about Singer Star started flooding the hot sections of every community on the internet.

With ratings now past the thirty percent mark, the show commanded enough attention that even with most of the public's eyes diverted by the Produce manipulation scandal, the day Singer Star aired, the forums were inevitably carpeted wall ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to wall with talk about it.

And true to form, the matchup drawing the most eyes was Blooming versus Joo Jinwoo. Both were ranked as title contenders, and both were praised ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for their musicality, so everyone expected a fierce, high-caliber showdown.

Yet across Twitter and the various entertainment communities, it was the Lee Hye-na versus Seo Siyeon match that generated the sheer highest volume of mentions.

Lee Hye-na's fandom was surprisingly deep and remarkably solid. Even during last year's Produce season, her support base had been strong enough to rank among the top three in the country.

After her failed debut, the fandom had scattered somewhat as time passed — but then the situation took a strange turn.

"Once the Produce rigging became all but confirmed, her fans rallied all over again."

If anything, the addition of a victim's narrative only made their cohesion harder than before. And when an adult Hye-na threw her hat back into the audition ring, that solidarity surged to a level none of the other contestants could hope to touch.

Of course, by now the sheer scale of her fandom was still small compared to mine or Joo Jinwoo's.

"Still, if Lee Hye-na recovers her old form, she is absolutely not an opponent to take lightly."

She clearly possessed skill and popularity a tier above Im Jihye, whom I'd beaten earlier. This was no time for me to be lounging around in arrogance.

"Ha... damn it. Why did I have to go and encourage her."

A shallow regret slipped out of my mouth. If I'd just left her alone back then, my road to the top might have been considerably smoother.

Ever since the matchup was announced, Hye-na had been burning with unmistakable drive. Her once-unfocused eyes now sparkled with life, and her expression carried a steely, sharpened resolve.

It was like poking the whiskers of a dying lion, I supposed.

A chill of unease ran down my spine. I had the strange, creeping feeling that she was about to surpass her own career-best stage yet again.

From this round on, it was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely free round. We could choose any song we wanted, and on the days the mentors visited the camp, we could even freely draw on their help.

"I'd like your advice on song selection, please."

Love them or hate them, the judges of Singer Star 5 stood at the very summit of the industry. I had decided I would milk these people — whose achievements dwarfed even those of my past life — for everything they were worth.

Plus, it couldn't hurt to get chummy with them for whatever comes next.

There was a real chance I might end up signing with one of their three companies. I had no plans for it at the moment, but an offer too good to refuse could always come knocking.

I had shortlisted three songs for this round.

The first was a commercial, teen-angst pop ballad slathered edge to edge in money chords — a song that had hit number one on the monthly charts in my past life.

The second was a newtro-flavored remake of a nineties song — the one that had peaked at number three on the yearly chart.

The third was a J-pop-flavored band track. I hadn't written it, but I'd taken part in the arrangement, so I'd decided to just count it as mine and bring it along.

Yoo Sanghyeon listened intently, eyes closed, to all three tracks — each running well past the three-minute mark.

There wasn't any deep reason I'd asked him specifically. It just so happened that the day after I picked my three samples, Yoo Sanghyeon came to visit the training camp.

Frankly, it wouldn't have mattered much which of the three I picked anyway.

Because I had complete confidence in the quality of all three songs. The third was admittedly the most competition-friendly, but I was sure I could pull a high-quality stage out of either of the other two as well.

After all, I'm no longer the person I used to be.

The me from right after the possession, and the me from just before Singer Star, genuinely couldn't sing all that well. My vocal technique was a mess, and with no settled range, I didn't even know where my own voice ended.

But after round upon round of stages and lessons under true masters, my experience bar had begun filling at a frankly absurd rate.

Like a low-level player reeling in a high-level legendary PoXémon in one battle.

The way a character in a game might jump ten levels from a single fight, my singing had doubled in power with every stage I survived. Every opponent I'd cut down on the way here was a genuinely capable singer — the kind who could go anywhere and brag about their voice.

Beating people like that, one after another, with techniques carried over from my past life — how could the experience not pile up?

Yoo Sanghyeon, who had spent the better part of three-plus minutes absorbed in the tracks, put his earphones back in and started listening through them again from the top.

Then, a little while later, he spoke with a voice full of certainty.

"Siyeon, you've already decided which of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠these you'll use for the competition, haven't you?"

"...No, actually. I really haven't."

"I can clearly feel one track standing apart from the others. Do you know which one I mean?"

I looked up at Yoo Sanghyeon with bewildered eyes.

Honestly, all three were excellent songs. There was no better or worse between them — each had earned strong results and been crafted with real care.

Which was exactly why I had no idea which song he thought was sticking out so conspicuously.

Well — there was one that had charted the highest of the three, but...

"Heh. Shall we say it at the same time? One, two, three."

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm curious whether my instincts match yours."

Ignoring my flustered expression, Yoo Sanghyeon shouted one, two, three — and I had no choice but to blurt out the name of the song with the best chart history.

"Your Name Is Blue!"

"Starry Night."

Needless to say, Yoo Sanghyeon and I had not matched. For a few seconds, the two of us could only sit there in silence, staring at each other across the awkward gulf.

Your Name Is Blue.

I wrote this song back before I'd ever taken a lead production role at a mid-sized agency — before I'd even gotten hired by a major, during my roughly one year playing in an indie band on the indie scene.

And being an indie band, our results were, of course, dismal, and before long we disbanded. The vocalist, a childhood friend of mine, inherited her father's business and became a proper member of society, while I had my abilities recognized and joined a major entertainment company.

Both of us ended up succeeding in the end, so it was a decent outcome all around — but years later, as executive producer with a title on my door, I would drag this song back out into the world.

Oppa! This song is seriously SO good, I'm telling you? It's guaranteed to be a hit. So pleeease put it on the album, even as a B-side!

Back then, one of the idols under my management had stumbled across the track on my cloud drive and dug in her heels, refusing to do anything but this song, so I'd released it as an album track, and...

It took number one on the yearly chart. It even hit number fifteen on Billboard Japan's year-end list.

It was, frankly, an absurd thing to happen. A remake of a song by a no-name band topping the charts. And yet it happened in real life, and on the strength of that moment, those girls rose straight into first-tier idol status.

This guy's eye for talent really is...

I found myself shooting Yoo Sanghyeon a doubtful look. Even if J-rock-based band music hadn't yet grown familiar to Korean audiences, surely a producer of his caliber should have recognized it...

In any case, my competition song was now decided: Starry Night.

It was a remake of a fairly old song. Just like the anime OST I'd sung in the previous round, I'd stripped it down to the bare melody and flipped everything else on its head — the result was so transformed that the original's shape was nowhere to be found. And yet Yoo Sanghyeon, it seemed, had caught some faint scent of nostalgia in it.

Even if this song doesn't exist in this world, there are plenty out there with a similar feel.

And honestly, I had no complaints about singing it, either. It was a song I loved, and — more to the point, when I thought it over — I found I couldn't bring myself to use the song that had marked the highest peak of my career here.

If I lose this time, at least the revival round gives me a second chance.

That said, I wasn't thinking of losing to Lee Hye-na at all. It might sound arrogant, but I genuinely didn't believe I could lose to her.

And yet, watching Hye-na rehearse, my mind shifted a little.

"That's... her ultimate move."

Because she had just drawn the sharpest weapon she had.