Stages Worthy of the Name
The time on stages worthy of the name flew by quickly, and finally, the curtain rose on the TOP 8 showdown.
During that time, I'd polished Starlit Night to its absolute limits under Yoo Sanghyeon's coaching. As expected from an expert at the pinnacle of the industry, his training and advice played a decisive role in bringing out the song's details. Getting his input on the song choice had paid off handsomely in the end.
I waited for my turn, armed with vocals that had grown even more solid. My opponent, Lee Hye-na, seemed to have dramatically elevated her stage quality alongside mentor Jina.
The live competition was on another level from the start, with the sheer scale of investment. She could afford a flashy group of backup dancers. In the past, she'd shared parts with other trainees, faced discrimination for being independent, and still stolen the spotlight with her unmatched impact amid it all.
Now, with all the lights focused solely on her as she tackled Fall for Me—what kind of picture would that paint? Even I felt a thrill of intrigued excitement.
My performance was first among all the contestants. It could have been daunting, but I was past the point of being crushed by such feelings. This was a time to immerse myself solely in the stage. At last, a staff member pointed toward the stage and gave the signal.
"Let's go."
I murmured softly and stepped onto the stage.
Near Gangnam Station, in a massive lounge pub buzzing with the heat of a weekend evening.
In the midst of the clamor of music and clinking glasses, the enormous screens covering the walls looked like mere decor. People were deep in conversation, toasting with beer mugs, while the Singer Star Season 5 broadcast played on silently in the background.
That silence shattered as an unfamiliar intro flowed from the speakers.
"Huh? What's this song?"
A young guy at a table near the entrance paused his chat and looked up. It wasn't some trendy Korean ballad or generic idol dance track. A guitar melody that felt raw yet tugged at the heartstrings. Even though it was clearly brand new, its distinctly '90s analog vibe scratched at a corner of the chest, gradually filling the pub.
Between the thick darkness, nameless stars come falling down
Seo Siyeon's voice burst forth, and like magic, the pub's noise died down.
"I swear I've heard this voice before..."
"Idiot, it's glassy sky!"
"Oh! That voice in the chorus? So she's... Seo Siyeon."
"Was today the competition? She looks so young up close."
To the trendsetters gathered here, Singer Star Season 5 was familiar fodder. It was just that Friday night revelry trumped watching live. Women fiddling with their phones looked up one by one at the unusual vibe.
The girl on screen had completely dominated the stage. The melody was fresh, but the emotion it carried summoned some buried era from everyone's heart. The cool yet warm night air of the '90s, the vague longing of waiting by a payphone booth. A heavy lyricism absent from modern songs seized people across generations by the collar and dragged them into the performance.
"New song? Remix? Why does it stick in my head like this?"
People set down their glasses, eyes locked on Siyeon's lips on screen. As the song hit its climax and she unleashed a gritty scratch, gasps erupted from corners of the pub. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill remake mimicking old-school vibes with a pretty voice. Through a 9-year-old's body, she was reinterpreting the era's desperate romance for the modern age.
At some point, utter silence blanketed the pub. Everyone stared at the little girl on TV, mouths shut. The owner glanced at the customers and cranked up the volume.
Back to that time...
The song's final line, Siyeon murmuring low with her breath woven in as she wrapped up—the pub hung in a split-second hush. Then, without anyone leading, low exclamations and applause broke out here and there.
Even in women-only communities boiling with sympathy for Lee Hye-na amid the recent prodigy rigging scandal—and the resulting support—sentiments ran this strong. No need to check elsewhere.
"I've done all I could."
I'd nailed a stage no one could top. So what would Lee Hye-na's response be? I gazed steadily at the TV in the corner of the waiting room.
Ordinary office worker Kim Seonghun stopped in his tracks at an ad plastered on the subway station wall.
"It's her birthday, huh."
'Happy Birthday' in big letters. A birthday ad put up by fans for Lee Hye-na. Seonghun, a viewer of last year's prodigy show, had rooted for her hard back then. Her beauty on stage was great, but what really got him was her quiet perseverance in encouraging those around her. For a guy whose only idol fandom was buying a couple albums in the army, live-watching and voting was a novel experience.
But after her debut failure and his own job switch, life got busy, and his interest faded naturally.
"Wonder what she's up to these days." Checking her updates after seeing the ad was a shock.
"What? The prodigy show was rigged?"
Disconnected from entertainment news, it was enough to spark real anger. The votes he'd cast so carefully each time—all a sham. His blood boiled.
"She's on Singer Star, huh."
He knew the name of the super-hot show. On his way home, no plans on a Friday, he grabbed a beer and decided to tune in.
"Opponent's Seo Siyeon. That's gotta be tough."
Seo Siyeon was Korea's hottest right now. Her songs everywhere, everyone talking about her. Even colleagues treated her win as a given, so he watched without much hope.
True to form, Siyeon's first stage was flawless. The eerie tone and nostalgic lyrics even made Seonghun's eyes sting.
"Yeah, no chance."
Resolved to sleep rather than watch his fave get crushed, the intro from a stage he'd looped ten times a day back then hit his ears.
"Fall for Me? She's singing that here?"
Seonghun gripped the remote he'd been about to set down. Center stage, bright lights bloomed, revealing Lee Hye-na.
"......Whoa."
A gasp escaped him. The girl on screen wasn't the bubbly trainee begging for votes anymore. Black leather outfit, whipping hair, eyes that devoured the camera. The intensity—like a declaration of war from the girl whose dream was stolen unfairly a year ago—left him slack-jawed.
"She's clearly improved since then."
Back in my past life, scouring PC bangs for idol stages, I'd rewatched hers obsessively. Simple reason: pure curiosity why someone with that skill hadn't debuted. Now I knew it was rigged, but back then, it was an unsolvable mystery.
Fall for Me especially was killer. Ten trainees on stage, yet the sub-vocal—not even center—devoured them all. Awe-inspiring stage presence.
And now, Lee Hye-na was delivering her absolute best. That performance was so intense and memorable, no current idol could touch it.
Now it was down to viewer votes. Results after all stages, but I could predict the winner. The song's expandability and mass appeal.
"In the end, the side that resonates with more people wins."
No matter how strong the fandom, from here on, no public empathy means no victory. Singer Star wasn't an idol draft—it picked singers for all ages. If Starlit Night targeted 30s-40s and beyond with its narrative...
"Fall for Me is emotion locked to 20s-30s guys."
Public vote? I'd win big. But Hye-na matched me stage-for-stage. Judges might favor her. And on YouTube, her vid would rack up way more views.
I approached her as she came offstage, panting hard. Win or not, she deserved the title.
"Good work, unnie."
"......Yeah, thanks."
She flashed a relieved smile, no regrets, right at me.