The Jeong Seongbin on screen felt different from how he is during Spark promotions. The ivory-and-white outfit suited him perfectly.
A soft filter rolled in, and a caption appeared.
[The dazzling transformation of the boy who sings youth—starting now.]
“Why is that caption like that?”
Choi Jeho was appalled. The phrasing was old-fashioned, but it wasn’t exactly wrong.
“Why? Seongbin is a pretty boy.”
“C-could we... just skip over this part, please...?”
Jeong Seongbin ducked his head. His ears were bright red.
While the person concerned couldn’t even look up, the song title popped up beneath the feet of Spark’s Grade-1 pretty-boy vocalist.
It was “First Step,” Jang Junhu’s debut track.
A man who first learned to love someone, who felt the joy of being together—arguing for the first time with the person he loves and then parting ways.
Ironically, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» the reason this song hit big was because the story was cliché.
Because it’s such a common story, plenty of people would sing “First Step” at karaoke after a breakup.
Its simple structure and comfortable range also helped turn Jang Junhu—then a fresh rookie—into a recognized singer.
Back when I was a trainee, I’d once tried to game the system by picking an obscure track by a known singer. Jeong Seongbin had no need for tricks like that.
A modest acoustic guitar line flowed out.
That spring, I met you
Cherry blossoms dyed both my cheeks
Summer, with a young heart
I ran behind a tree and hid
In fall the trees
And our hearts burned only red
On a winter’s day by your side
I walked up and lay down
What fell softly on me was your gaze
He already had blinding skill.
He could aim straight for the flag planted at the top of the enemy camp—confidently.
Jeong Seongbin’s plain yet soft tone made you think of a first love you’d never actually had.
Maybe this is when fans use the phrase “so fluffy you could melt.”
The steps you and I
Have taken became imprints on the heart
Stacking up neatly
Only looking at each other for so long
We walked and walked again
But there was firmness within the softness.
The stability that comes from fundamentals stacked over years.
Jeong Seongbin was someone who laid his foundation better than anyone. From the Royal Secretariat shoot up to now, that strength gave listeners a trustworthy ease.
He was the kid who, in middle school, prodded an active singer like Jang Junhu with nothing but skill. There’s no world where that Jeong Seongbin can’t handle the intro of a Jang Junhu song.
When Jang Junhu recorded this track, he was late twenties, maybe thirty. His tone was too fresh to sing first love, yet lacked the seasoning to sound like reminiscing.
So what about Jeong Seongbin?
He has the tender age and pure face that fit the word first love too well—and yet he also has a depth that even Jang Junhu back then didn’t.
Of course he does. Over years, Jeong Seongbin recorded every love song and breakup song as Jang Junhu aged.
Because he didn’t want to be scolded; because he wanted to do better. Because he wanted to keep singing and, in the end, debut.
With that heart, he swallowed down frustration and sang for years. How could he not have gained that much depth? In a way, Jang Junhu had handed Jeong Seongbin the very knife that could cut him down.
“He’s good.”
If he did this well, why didn’t he say anything after the shoot? If he’d just lifted the corner of his mouth a little, I would’ve thrown him a celebratory toss myself.
I slid my gaze to the side, but Jeong Seongbin was busy fanning his face.
Did he blow the ending? Or did he do well on stage but feel ashamed because the result wasn’t great?
A thousand thoughts crowded in, but I pulled myself together and focused back on the stage. The music was climbing toward its peak.
The camera closed in on the hand holding the mic.
Blue veins stood out across the back of the hand.
His fingertips were flushed, and the camera skimmed up his neck, the tip of his nose, his mouth...
I walked to flee
To a place the waves can’t reach
To a far stretch of sand
Leaving you to be washed away and erased
My steps ache with cold
Snow is falling
Red.
Tears had gathered at the corners of Jeong Seongbin’s eyes.
Even the way he tried not to cry looked like a youth who had just let his first love go.
Clutching the mic with both hands so he wouldn’t miss a single lyric, pressing down each note, one by one—it made your heart lurch.
How can he keep a line of feeling like that and still sing perfectly? Wondering that now even felt rude.
“Ah.”
On screen, Jeong Seongbin drew in a small breath.
You didn’t need to look around to know. Everyone gathered was immersed beyond expectation in each breath and line.
It was an absurd level of emotional expression.
“I underestimated him.”
In Spark—a group that gets dragged for everything else but never for looks or skill—what does it mean that he’s the main vocal?
It was my mistake to treat as ordinary data the facts that he’d been recording guides since middle school, been a trainee the longest, and had double-digit vocal proficiency the first time we met.
“The goal was just... to flatten Jang Junhu’s nose a bit and wash away the bitterness.”
I’d only hoped that, on a Jang Junhu song, Jeong Seongbin could erase the guy’s shadow.
Instead, he blew past my expectations like they were nothing.
Anyone who sees this performance won’t even care who sang the original.
It was shocking—in the best way.
“You’re a genius, hyung.”
Eyes rimmed red, Lee Cheonghyeon looked back at Jeong Seongbin.
“Our hyung is a genius!”
“Let’s try holding the tears first, Cheonghyeon!”
He really was moved. So was I.
“Be quiet for a second. I can’t hear hyung’s comment.”
Scolding Lee Cheonghyeon, Kang Giyeon raised the volume. Having nailed the stage, Jeong Seongbin was being interviewed by the MCs.
“You’re label sunbae–hoobae with Jang Junhu, right?”
The MC’s question dropped—and a familiar curse came from somewhere.
“Ah, f—...”
Choi Jeho definitely swears on reflex. I’ll let it slide this once, since the other party is Jang Junhu.
“Yes. To be honest, I have a deep connection with senior Jang Junhu.”
“Gasp.”
Lee Cheonghyeon sucked in a breath. He must not have expected Jeong Seongbin to bring it up so openly.
“Really?”
“Since middle school I’ve been in charge of guide vocals for his songs. So I’m confident I know his music really well!”
“This is truly a connection. I’m sure Junhu feels proud seeing a junior debut and show a stage like this.”
“Proud, my foot. He’s probably raging right about now.”
Lee Cheonghyeon sneered. The kid’s gotten a bit spikier.
“Did you delegate to Seongbin because you knew the stage would come out this well, Iwol?”
Kang Giyeon asked. I glanced at Jeong Seongbin and answered.
“No. I was surprised too.”
Embarrassed, Jeong Seongbin averted his eyes. In a voice tiny as an ant, he added that the tears hadn’t been on purpose. There was no need to explain that it was better precisely because it wasn’t planned.
The broadcast ended with a seventeenth-year veteran balladeer selected as Today’s Singer.
Even amid fierce picks, Jeong Seongbin pulled off a feat—third place.
I was happily fiddling with the slogan I’d stuck his photo onto when the man himself spoke to me.
“Thank you, hyung.”
“For what?”
I hadn’t done anything but make the slogan, and suddenly I was being thanked.
I looked at him, asking what he meant, and he smiled.
“Last year, do you remember singing ‘Sitting by the Window’ at the end-of-month evaluation?”
“I remember.”
Wasn’t that my first evaluation, where I faked emotion I didn’t have because I lacked skill? Looking back, it was a performance that makes my face burn.
“While preparing this stage, I thought a lot about you then.”
“...You did?”
“I was able to raise the completeness thanks to using you as a reference. If not, it would’ve been hard to immerse perfectly.”
He smiled.
He must have found something to learn from the me back then. Meanwhile I, recalling that same me, was just beating myself up.
I looked away, embarrassed.
“You thought it through and prepared it yourself. It’s not like I taught you.”
“Still.”
“Don’t go setting another person’s spoon on your effort. Even without that, modern society is stingy with praise.”
Maybe from embarrassment, my words came out stiff. Feeling awkward, I hurriedly pushed myself to my feet.
“Thanks for saying it kindly, though.”
At that, he beamed. It was a blush-worthy night.
After Jeong Seongbin’s appearance on My.Best.Singer, Baek Haewon added a new song to her playlist. You don’t expect a broadcast track to hit the music sites, but as if they’d been ready, it dropped.
“What... a good show that was...”
Maybe because it’s a program with tradition, the sound was huge and the lighting effects were great. Seeing our baby absolutely kill it there made her proud.
Above all, My.Best.Singer captured the dewy shimmer in Jeong Seongbin’s eyes to perfection.
Baek Haewon’s post, with a screen-cap of Seongbin’s beauty at its peak, spread like wildfire among Sparklers. A video clip of that killer high-note section was racking up views, too.
≫ My mom used to hate idols going on My.Best.Singer—she flipped in 3 minutes
But she keeps asking if that kid is really an idol
So Seongbin, please drop one straight ballad
└ It’s not easy to surpass the original, but honestly Seongbin did too well... [laughs] I went back to the original and backed away quietly [laughs]
└ Anyone can see Seongbin swallowed the original [crying] I could die I’m so proud of our baby
≫ A cold, elegant man crying is a foul
And he sings that well on top of it
At this rate he’s only going to qualify as tier-one main vocal among boy groups
└ +1 At this rate, Jeong Seongbin, you’re only going to be the number-one male-idol vocalist [crying][crying][crying][crying]
≫ What’s gathered in Seongbin’s eyes looks less like tears and more like pearls
Is that... okay...?
My chest is like... actually trembling?
I’m drenched in feeling from head to toe—wring me out and it’ll pour
└ Breathe and go stream first
≫ His eye line, the tip of his nose, down the neck are all flushed, but his eyes are dewy... the expression is so forlorn...
How do you not fall in love when he sings the pain of parting with a face like that??
└ How do you not fall in love??
└ How do you not fall in love???
└ How do you not fall in love?????????????
≫ I’m glad I’m not in politics
If I were, I’d have pulled every pillar from the palace and printed stipends, and every time Seongbin shed a tear I’d have blown the treasury and met the beheading ending
└ Please, OP, your neck is about to roll [crying]
└ What did I just witness
Seizing the moment, Baek Haewon even went next door to recruit for Spark, and collapsed in a white heap.
To recover her strength, she lay down in bed and set “First Step” (Jeong Seongbin ver.) on loop until the track weathered away.
Exactly thirty minutes later, she shot upright at her phone alarm.
There was fresh news about beloved Spark.
“It’s not a day they usually post...”
There was no way she’d missed an SNS notice. Puzzled, Baek Haewon hurried into Spark’s MiTube channel.
≫ [Spark] 2X09XX Making Support Gear in Secret for the Leader
“Don’t tell me they made Seongbin’s placard?”
She wanted to die because Spark was too cute. The cameraman must have been trying to film the boys putting their heads together, but their shoulders are the size of the Pacific, so the thumbnail was just giant backs, which was insanely good.
For once, the video background was the dorm. No neat PPTs.
It felt unusual, but really this is standard for an idol’s real self-content. We’d just gotten used to seeing them so professional we forgot.
“Each of us makes one and then we put them together later, right?”
“Let’s do that. Make it with personality.”
With Kim Iwol’s okay, Lee Cheonghyeon grabbed the materials.
And thus began the uninhibited making of support gear by five Sparks—none of them normal.
