“Excuse me, coming through!”
The hallway lined with dressing rooms for the Korean Music Awards was far more crowded and noisy than I’d imagined. Staff rushed back and forth without pause, stylists, makeup artists, and managers weaving through the chaos.
Even so, a few familiar faces—stylists, makeup artists, and the occasional idol—caught my eye and offered quiet encouragement as they passed.
“The Dawn, fighting for tonight!”
They never mentioned anything outright, but their tone carried the implication of “congratulations,” as if they were already assuming the Grand Prize was ours.
Probably because of that post circulating online—a score prediction chart from a foreign fan that had gone viral across the community.
The Dawn had ranked first in both album and digital charts, with Hi-Five trailing in second.
People had expected the gap to be razor-thin, but surprisingly, even in that speculative chart, there was a noticeable difference.
‘As long as the judges’ scores don’t drag us down.’
Judges’ evaluations had always been part of award calculations, but at the Korean Music Awards, they made up a hefty 40%.
The members looked visibly tense, though our manager, while silent, couldn’t hide his wide grin.
“Rehearsal starting soon! Please get ready!”
As the staff’s announcement echoed through the waiting room, I mentally rehearsed our stage directions again.
Then, wearing a gray hoodie and a black cap pulled low, Kang Ichae slipped toward me.
“Hoyun-hyung.”
He dropped onto the sofa beside me, removed his cap, ran a hand through his messy hair, and sat in silence. His leg was trembling in an oddly restless way that didn’t suit him.
“...What is it?”
I frowned slightly, suspicious of his demeanor, and asked first. He glanced up at me once, then looked back down and murmured:
“Uh, um...”
“Um, what?”
“...I just wanted to ask how you’re feeling. You usually get sick before a performance.”
The funny thing was—he looked way more unwell than I did. His skin was pale, and dark circles hung under his eyes.
‘What’s wrong with him now?’
He didn’t look normal at all.
For a moment, my guard went up, but seeing the others fidgeting nervously, I figured maybe I was overthinking it.
Kim Sunghyun had been tapping his foot nonstop since morning, and Jung Dajun was pacing circles around the room like a hamster on caffeine.
“...Jung Dajun. Sit down.”
“Ah! Sorry! But I’m so nervous... Oh, did you hear? Min Jiheon-sunbaenim’s presenting the Album Award tonight?!”
“Yeah, I heard.”
It made sense. The Korean Music Awards—one of the big three annual ceremonies—was our most likely shot at taking home a Grand Prize this year.
The pressure in the air was almost physical. Even the usually cool-headed leader and the excitable maknae looked torn between excitement and anxiety.
Sung Jiwon gently took Dajun’s hand and pulled him back to the sofa, quietly calming him down.
I turned my gaze back to Kang Ichae.
‘He’s the same.’
His lips curved up faintly, but his pupils quivered. For someone who always claimed he only cared about having fun and being with the group, he looked completely on edge.
After all the work we’d put in, it made sense he’d want that trophy.
“...Hey.”
I flicked my finger and tapped his trembling thigh. He froze, startled like he hadn’t even realized he was shaking.
“Don’t shake.”
“......”
“At least not in front of other people.”
Showing emotion so plainly in this industry was like laying your cards on the table and inviting people to underestimate you.
I’d have to say the same to the others later, but I started with him.
Kang Ichae’s eyes followed me as I stood, rolling my neck side to side.
“And my condition’s fine.”
Maybe tonight, I’d finally get what I’d been aiming for.
At that, Kang Ichae’s lips twitched slightly.
“...But, hyung—”
“The Dawn, rehearsal time!”
Whatever he was about to say vanished as a staff member burst in with a knock and a shout.
I bowed to the staff and ruffled Kang Ichae’s unstyled hair.
“Let’s talk when we’re back.”
He didn’t nod or shake his head—just walked out first. I followed, calling to the others to keep their expressions in check.
But there wasn’t a single moment afterward to actually talk. Between adjusting the stage formation for the massive venue and wrapping up rehearsals, staff and managers kept pulling us in every direction.
By the time the sky had gone dark, the ceremony had already begun.
“Ugh, it’s so hectic...”
“Tell me about it.”
Wearing white turtlenecks or shirts layered with webbed harnesses, the members’ flushed cheeks stood out from the excitement and nerves.
Once we stepped outside, the reaction cameras for YouTube would be pointed right at us. Other groups would be seated all around.
‘Guess that talk will have to wait.’
As we moved backstage toward the left-side artist seating, I could feel dozens of eyes on us. The Hi-Five members, seated next to our assigned spot, scrambled to their feet with polite bows, clearly startled.
Behind them, a few rookie idols sat frozen, darting nervous glances our way.
I silently prayed the cameras weren’t rolling yet as I bowed back.
Then, bright lights came up on the MC stage, revealing a woman in an evening gown and a man in a tuxedo.
“Welcome to the Korean Music Awards, the most prestigious and historic ceremony in South Korea.”
The MCs emphasized “fair and objective judging,” smiling as their faces filled the screen. The lights dimmed, and the opening VCR rolled.
【Introduction to the Korean Music Awards】
The Grand Prizes were split into two categories: Album and Digital.
Each year’s releases were evaluated based on digital streams, album sales, and judges’ scores. Six artists were awarded in each major category, and the highest scorers in both album and digital divisions received the Grand Prize.
Jung Dajun, looking half-asleep, fidgeted silently with his fingers.
Before the main awards, several performances and rookie awards were announced.
Even while clapping for the bright-eyed new groups, my mind kept spinning.
‘We’re in the last slot.’
Usually, the later your segment, the closer you were to the top award—though that hadn’t exactly worked in our favor before.
After two more hours—
“Next, the Main Awards!”
Finally, the main segment began.
After four teams received awards and performed, Hi-Five’s name was called. We took that as our cue to head backstage for prep.
The crowd erupted the moment their music started.
Even the stylist fitting my mic flinched at the roar and looked up.
“Wow... listen to that...”
She shut her mouth quickly, thinking she’d said too much. I smiled and thanked her, then walked toward the lift platform.
Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist.
“Wait, wait.”
Kim Sunghyun.
He glanced at the others, blushing slightly.
“Let’s... do our chant before we go.”
For a heartbeat, everyone went quiet. Then Dajun threw his hands up first.
“Yeah!! I’m in!!”
One by one, we formed a circle and stacked our hands together. Sunghyun placed his hand on top and spoke slowly.
“...You all worked really hard. I might not have been the most reliable leader, but... thanks for sticking with me.”
“Ahaha, what’s this?”
“Wow, leader’s trying to make a speech again!”
“Ahem... listen up. No teasing.”
I suddenly remembered our first showcase, the first time we ever shouted our chant before going on stage.
Back then, we couldn’t even picture tomorrow—or the next week. And now we stood here, feeling the heat and pulse of one of the biggest stages in the country.
“Let’s do well this time too.”
Sunghyun’s steady gaze met each of ours.
Then he added, quietly but firmly:
“...I believe in you guys.”
Embarrassed, he quickly dropped his hand.
“Going up on the lift!”
“Ah, yes!”
The staff’s shout came right on cue.
We rushed into position.
【Main Award!】
I turned toward where Kang Ichae stood in the darkness.
【Best Album, The Dawn’s ‘Last Round’!】
Normally, he’d be cracking jokes at Sunghyun or teasing Dajun—but now he was completely silent.
As the lights began to seep through the stage cracks, I nudged his arm.
When he glanced at me, I mouthed, Don’t shake.
Bzzzzzz.
The stage lights flared, and the cheers outside swelled.
I looked forward, lifted my chin, and smiled.
WAAAAAAHHHH!!
Our performance began with “Level S2.”
【Among the colorless shades, yours was the only hue
Let’s keep it under Level S2】
My voice filled the arena.
Despite multiple sound checks, the in-ear monitor kept buzzing with static, so I pulled it out mid-song and kept singing.
【Before I find meaning between the numbers
Let’s not call it love】
As Sung Jiwon’s deep, resonant tone hit its peak, I covered my eyes with one hand and rolled my hips in time with the beat.
“Level S2” was a song we’d poured everything into—endless edits, revisions, and nights spent perfecting every detail. Not once had anyone complained that they couldn’t go on.
【Before I drown in empty words
Don’t ask, just dance with me】
We’d practiced until sunrise more times than I could count.
【As if it were our last time】
Sweat rolled down my cheek, clinging to my jaw before falling.
【Like it’s our last time】
Swoooosh—
The outro faded into gentle waves and soft melody.
Swoooosh—
The fans recognized the next song instantly and screamed.
At the center, Sung Jiwon raised his hand. Light burst from behind him, spreading like a tide across the giant screen.
The whole stage turned blinding white.
【Stars embroidered across the night sea】
The VCR created a theatrical, almost musical sequence, drawing gasps from the crowd.
As the harmonies layered into a rich melody, the title appeared across the screen.
【Stardust】
【We’ve crossed the dark for this moment】
Smiling brightly, Sung Jiwon stepped forward and sang with hope.
【We’ve given it our all,
So don’t be afraid—just go forward】
Then came “At Dawn,” a track from Nightfall, the mini album that had included “Falling Down.”
【My heart grows clearer in the light
I hide and smile, afraid it’s too much for you
(We are ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) becoming Stardust)】
Under the dark ceiling, waves of blue lightsticks shimmered like rippling water.
We’d built this medley to thank the Noeuls, blending songs from different eras to let them relive those precious memories.
【...My words floating in the dark】
My voice, slightly roughened from overpractice, carried through the mic—and the fans sang back in perfect harmony.
【Afraid it’s too heavy for you, I hide and move slowly
(Ah– Ah, toward the light)】
I looked up, burning the sight into my memory.
White petals were falling from above, just like during Shining Star Season 1’s final stage, when we sang “Stardust.”
And in that same moment, memories flickered past my mind.
【My heart grows clearer in the light
(Ah– Ah, toward the light)】
After everything we’d endured, there was no denying it anymore.
【I hide and smile, afraid it’s too much for you】
Every single day up to now—
had been pretty damn brilliant.
