Since I rammed into Jang Junhu, Jeong Seongbin has thrown himself into practice like a madman.
Even with the semester starting after the Royal Secretariat run, he was more lively than ever.
‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘Not at all. Every day is fun lately!’
His smile shone like someone had flicked on a flashlight.
I asked if he needed help, and he turned me down. He said he’d had help from everyone up to now, so he wanted to finish this part on his own.
He looked nothing but happy saying it. So that’s the face of someone doing what he loves.
Watching him trot into the vocal practice room, Lee Cheonghyeon grumbled.
"I want to sit in at My.Singer’s.Genre.Escape."
"You think anyone can sit in?"
"We’re on the same team! I can’t even watch my own member’s stage?"
He sounded genuinely wronged—like someone had reserved him a seat and then snatched it back.
"If we go, it breaks fairness. Seongbin gets five free votes just from us."
"I didn’t know you were the type to bend your elbow inward."
"Of course I am. I’m a total hedgehog member."
While Cheonghyeon and I were having a nutritiousness-free conversation, Park Juu was glued to his laptop.
"Juu, what are you doing?"
I rested my chin on his shoulder and looked down. It was a shop I knew well.
We’d bought headband supplies there for the radio appearance. This time the category was crammed with fluorescent poster paper instead of headbands.
"We can’t go in person, but we can still cheer while we watch the broadcast... so I was thinking of making cheering signs."
"By hand? You’re going to cheer for Seongbin?"
"Yeah... There’s such a thing as a front-row seat at home."
Where did you learn that fancy phrase? Looks like while I was lying flat the kids got way too into monitoring.
With the three of us peering at the screen, Kang Giyeon sidled over and started checking each thing Juu had dropped in the cart.
"We should still have foam board left. It’s probably in the balcony storage."
"Didn’t we use that for the last self-made content...?"
"We used the white side then. The black side’s clean. We could make two slogans, right?"
With the company taking on the jobs, the kids suddenly had spare time and started giving themselves work. Unbelievable.
"What are you all doing?"
Right on cue, Choi Jeho came back from the action school and saw us.
"We’re making cheering stuff for Seongbin."
"Oh, the genre-escape thing?"
He trudged into the living room, then looked down in silence at the debate over whether to cut "Jeong Seongbin" in neon lime or hot pink.
After a moment, Jeho asked, "Don’t you think they’re acting a little weird?"
"They’re passionate."
"Right..."
"What are you trying to say?"
While I hassled him, the others dug albums out of the dorm to glue Seongbin’s photos onto the foam board.
Cheonghyeon picked up the With List album. Guess he couldn’t bring himself to cut the debut album.
"Let’s be bold and cut this one. First solo stage—this much we can do."
"The back side is your face, Cheonghyeon... You okay with your face getting chopped?"
"For the leader, I can take it."
"Good. I’ll buy you a new one later."
"Not With List—get me the album that’s about to drop. Let’s help the first-week sales."
He got a promise from Giyeon to buy it within the first-week tally window, then grabbed the scissors.
I watched, warm with affection for a few seconds, then hurriedly stopped them a beat late.
"Hands off, all of you."
"Why?"
"Because, you little punks, we should be filming this for our self-made content!"
"Right...!"
With an enlightened look, Juu carefully put the albums back. Watching us rally, Jeho shook his head and went to his room.
Right up to the My.Singer’s.Genre.Escape recording date, Seongbin’s schedule was slammed. Third-year, second semester, plus prepping for his college practical exam.
‘When’s the practical?’
‘January next year. Schedules pile up at the end of the year, so I’m thinking I should prep early while I have time.’
So I heard. Juu was helping on all fronts with the exam prep, so the rest of us, me included, decided we’d just follow the leader’s word for a while.
What’s really great is that even with the grind, he never lost his bright, positive attitude.
‘Um, hey. You don’t have to go this far for me...!’
‘What are you talking about? Your voice is Spark’s pride. Choi Jeho, how’s that quince tea coming?’
‘On my way.’
We did treat him like an emperor, admittedly.
I’m a professional attendant, remember. We served him with utmost care.
The result of all that devoted tending: he looked polished head to toe. I couldn’t see his vocal cords, but I bet even they were glowing.
When it was time to send our honed Seongbin out alone, all of Spark escorted him to the dorm elevator.
We actually thought about piling in the car and going to the station together, too. The manager can’t split into two bodies, so that plan died.
‘When you get there, greet people well. If the air’s dry, make sure you turn on a humidifier. And don’t go chugging cold stuff.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll do great and be back!’
With a spirited wave, he was off.
When Jeho filmed a music video, at least I could tag along. This felt like sending a kid to elementary school for his first solo walk to class.
We prepped reactions in advance, from "he blew the roof off" to "the stage crashed and burned," and waited.
A few hours later—
‘I’m back.’
‘What, the chicken isn’t here yet!’
He made it back to the dorm before the celebratory chicken we’d preordered.
Maybe because of confidentiality rules, he gave nothing away. Even when Cheonghyeon nudged his side, he just ate quietly.
That evening we decided to take it as a win that he didn’t cry after his first solo schedule. If the public reaction looked dire, we could always unplug the router for a while.
And so the My.Singer’s.Genre.Escape broadcast day—the day our dorm router hangs in the balance—drew near.
"Seongbin."
"Yeah, what’s up?"
"We’re watching My.Singer’s.Genre.Escape tonight. Want to watch with us?"
Cheonghyeon opened with a direct hit. From across the room, Juu swallowed hard.
Is that kid out of his mind? He told me to leave the lines to him, and this is how he’s going to say it? If Seongbin says no, are you going to stand in the shoe cabinet till the episode ends?
Unlike me, who was horrified, Seongbin was calm.
"Okay."
He even accepted. Good—sounds like he didn’t go off pitch on stage or get himself humiliated.
Riding the momentum, Cheonghyeon rammed him again.
"Can we wave slogans during your stage?"
"What slogans?"
"Spark’s handmade cheering slogans. We made five."
"We have those?"
He looked baffled.
He’s conscientious and sees the good in people, so while he was prepping for stage he probably assumed we were, of course, practicing diligently.
Too bad. Sit down and admire Spark’s hand-crafted, blood-and-sweat masterpieces.
Cheonghyeon clapped twice in the air, and Juu and Giyeon scurried to the balcony.
They pulled the hidden shopping bags and took out the slogans, and Seongbin’s face turned tomato-red.
"Spark Grade-1 Vocal," "A face that sings as well as it looks, Jeong Seongbin," "UA’s New Talent"—done up in a solemn calligraphy font—were the slogans’ main points.
The faces looked especially good; they’d used their cutout skills from the photo app to lift his album shot like a sticker and slap it on.
"Seongbin, are you laughing at your members’ sincere effort?"
"Maybe he’s just mortified?"
Giyeon muttered to himself.
He’d made them excitedly, too. Now look at him backpedal like a pro.
Seongbin kindly allowed the slogan-waving with several of his faces on them. Thanks to that, I got to experience that proverbial front row at home I’d only read about.
When airtime came, we each grabbed a slogan and huddled in front of the TV.
We sat the man of the hour in the center. He looked lost, but we ignored it.
"Whoa, what is this lineup?"
"They must’ve blown the roof off."
As soon as the cast all gathered in the studio, Cheonghyeon and Jeho threw in a line each. The roster was star-studded, as expected of a famous show.
"I was shocked, too. It was all great seniors."
"Figures."
The matchup luck wasn’t great. For starters, there wasn’t a single name I didn’t recognize. Two of them had even been on the program before.
Even in rough conditions, he kept smiling and looked like a flower on screen. The MCs said something every time their eyes met his.
"[MC] I jump every time I {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} lock eyes with Seongbin. He’s so handsome."
"[Seongbin] Thank you for the compliment...!"
The other guests all chimed in. At least no one treated him like ‘an idol who only brought his face,’ which was a relief.
After they set the performance order, the parade of stages began—worthy of their reputations.
Given I’d recently filmed a music-survival show myself, I probably shouldn’t say this but...
"This really feels like only pros come here."
"Right?"
No flashy effects, no dazzling choreography—just voices—and the stage could feel this full?
I’d made a mistake. The goal was to show "Seongbin holding his own and trading ‘my song, your song’ against a senior singer"—I didn’t think everyone else would pull out their finishers.
"We’ll settle for people saying he’s better than Jang Junhu."
It’s a pity, but considering his age, that alone would be a huge result. I decided to take it easy.
Right on cue, he got a close-up.
"[MC] Next is a singer who’ll show us a new change in K-pop vocals!"
"[MC] Please enjoy the stage of Spark’s Seongbin, transformed from dazzling idol to lyrical balladeer!"
With those crisp lines as his intro, he walked to center stage.
