“Yeah, Dajun! Let’s have fun with it again!”
The first run-through.
“...Sunghyun, let’s go again from the top.”
The second rehearsal followed immediately.
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
.
.
.
“.......”
And so the endless repetitions continued.
Suddenly, the piano stopped, and Sung Jiwon’s head tilted back.
“...Phew. The one who keeps missing the beat, raise your hand?”
“I’m sorryyy!!”
Jung Dajun, clutching his drumsticks and rolling his eyes nervously, quickly confessed.
All members except for Kang Ichae—who had gone off to do a YouTube magazine interview—were gathered in the practice room, working in sync.
Since there would be a performance immediately after live voting ended, we had decided to prepare our own stage.
Even one person missing threw the band off balance, so Kim Sunghyun sighed and took his hands off the electric guitar.
“Let’s take a break until Kang Ichae gets back.”
“When’s his interview over?”
“Probably in about thirty minutes.”
At Sunghyun’s reply, Sung Jiwon murmured as he scribbled something on the piano sheet.
“He’s working hard. Poor guy doesn’t even get to rest properly.”
“He went to do another interview?”
Recently, countless magazines had been scrambling to interview Kang Ichae.
Even accounting for the fact that male idol tracks had been on a steady rise over the past few years, it was impressive—Kang Ichae had put not only The Dawn’s album songs but also his Song Camp compositions on every major domestic chart.
Even Garage, which ranked high on the Hot 100, and The Dawn’s Flight had entered the Bubbling Under Hot 100, showing remarkable results overseas too.
‘Can’t blame them for wanting him.’
“They say he’s been practicing in between waiting times.”
The final competition had been restructured into a live broadcast.
With the judges’ scores removed, the new blind voting system was split into three categories: votes from the QBS website, text votes, and YouTube view counts.
A preview of the competition tracks sung by a guide vocalist was released in advance for a week-long voting period; then, during the live broadcast of the 3rd round, the final tally would close and °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° the rankings would be announced after the performances.
“Oh, oh! Hyung, hyung, hyungs! Did you see the Song Camp videos on YouTube lately? The views are insane!”
Getting all worked up, Jung Dajun rolled across the floor to the computer at the side of the practice room, turned it on, and went straight to YouTube. Because of the algorithm, the main page instantly filled with Song Camp videos.
“Wow, look at the comment counts.”
Fruit of the Year, Skit, In May, Clouds Shaken by the Wind, Street Punk, Paper Doll.
The one with the highest views was the rock ballad In May.
It evoked the nostalgia of 1980s pop while layering rich doubling harmonies over a bittersweet, candid melody that struck a chord with many listeners.
Scrolling down, Dajun read the comments aloud.
“‘Crying while listening, this song’s insane, did Baek Jijun sign a deal with the devil...’”
As In May ended, the next-highest viewed track, Skit, auto-played.
Unlike the previous song, it had a distinct overseas rock band feel—an alternative pop piece with stylish, bold bass riffs perfectly meshed with groovy beats.
“This one’s a banger too. Kang Ichae really writes good songs. Still, can’t quite beat Baek Jijun’s though... Wait, what’s this guy even saying?”
After a few quick scrolls, Dajun scrunched up his nose and abruptly closed the window. Sung Jiwon, chuckling beside him, unwrapped a candy and popped it into the youngest’s mouth.
“Dajun, want to read the draft of Ichae’s interview from a few days ago? The manager shared it in the group chat.”
“Whoa, yes!!!”
Perking right back up, Dajun bounced as he opened the PC messenger and downloaded the file.
“Hey, Kim Sunghyun. Wait a sec.”
I motioned to Sunghyun to match the guitar with the bass, but soon noisy laughter erupted behind us.
“Wow~~!! Hahaha, Ichae hyung’s so funny.”
“Ahaha, he really nailed that one.”
But gradually, the laughter began to fade—
“Ahaha... haha...”
“...Huh.”
A heavy silence settled over the practice room.
“.......”
“...Pfft.”
A moment later, Dajun pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back toward the ceiling.
“This is an emergency...”
“God, I’m about to cry...”
What the hell is wrong with them?
I looked over in confusion while playing bass with Sunghyun, only to see Dajun’s eyes shimmering with exaggerated emotion as he dramatically shouted about the “Infinite Youth Provision Incident.”
“Hyung, sniff, I didn’t even know you felt that way all this time...!”
Watching the maknae poke his perfectly dry eyes, I stared in dead silence. I could bet my bank account there wasn’t a single tear on those fingertips.
“...I can’t just sit here! I have to go see Ichae hyung right now!!!”
“Hey, Kang Ichae’s in the middle of his schedule!”
“I’ll cheer for him from behind, then!!! My heart’s itching—I just want to be with him!!!”
Yelling about their “true friendship,” Dajun sprinted out—and immediately tripped. His foot caught in a tangle of instrument cables. But unbothered, he popped back up like a toy and dashed out of the room.
“Yanga-Ichae!!! The maknae’s on his way!!!”
“Jiwon’s going to cheer too!!”
“Hey! Sung Jiwon, what are you doing?!”
Sunghyun shouted in disbelief, but Jiwon just smiled and ran after Dajun.
“Ugh, seriously...”
Running a hand through his bangs, Sunghyun sighed so deeply it seemed to sink into the floor. Still, frowning, he stood up—fulfilling his duty as leader.
“...Seo Hoyun, stay here for a bit. I’ll go bring them back.”
“Go ahead.”
Sucking on a lollipop, I lazily plucked the bass strings in reply. Sunghyun, looking ready to storm after the others, hesitated and stared at me.
“What.”
“No, just...”
When I met his gaze and drew in my cheeks around the candy, he averted his eyes, scratching the back of his head.
“Doesn’t this feel like déjà vu somehow...”
“What do you mean.”
“...You’ve been avoiding Kang Ichae lately, haven’t you.”
I chose not to answer.
Ever since that day on the rooftop, I’d done my best to avoid being alone with him. If there wasn’t a camera around, there was no need to talk.
Maybe Kang Ichae noticed, because he hadn’t tried to approach me either.
We spent every day together—it was impossible for the others not to notice the awkwardness.
“He’s just... hard to deal with.”
As I plucked another string, Sunghyun spoke a little slower.
“...Aren’t you overthinking it?”
When I raised an eyebrow, he met my gaze and said quietly,
“I don’t know what’s between you two, but I doubt Ichae wants some grand solution. Honestly, what could we even solve for him? He’s got the power to get whatever he wants.”
Pausing for a moment, Sunghyun rubbed the back of his neck.
“But that’s not what he expects from us.”
“...Then what?”
“...Just—when he’s hungry, eat something good together. When he’s down, listen to him. When he’s happy, laugh with him. When he’s sad, share it. Stuff like that.”
Letting out another sigh, Sunghyun asked me,
“...Did you read Ichae’s interview?”
“......”
“You should. There’s a reason Dajun’s reacting like that.”
Leaving those words, Sunghyun said he’d go calm the others down and headed for the door—but then turned his head.
“If something’s up, you can always talk, you know.”
As the door closed behind him, the system message popped up.
Ding!
[...Hey.]
“What.”
[......How did Kim Sunghyun’s parents raise someone who turned out to be such a ‘light’?]
“That kind of thing’s innate.”
I sucked hard on the lollipop, plucking a few beats along the metronome with my bass before tossing it aside in irritation and rubbing my face dry.
“...Ah, damn it. I need a cigarette.”
I’d been holding out ridiculously well until now.
But the withdrawal finally made it impossible to focus. I shot up from my chair and started pacing around the practice room.
Sitting back down in front of the computer that was still on, I stared at the PDF file filling the screen — the interview.
〔We sat down with two contestants who are setting Korea’s summer on fire.〕
It was a hastily scheduled double feature with Baek Jijun and Kang Ichae before the Song Camp finale broadcast, but even as a draft, it was neatly edited.
Below Baek Jijun’s section — where he half-joked about the pressure of sudden fame and asked people to kindly support all the Song Camp participants who worked hard to create songs that could stay in people’s hearts — there was a photo of Kang Ichae.
〔Thank you for taking the time for this interview. You must be busy preparing for Song Camp.
Not really. The piece for the 3rd round is already submitted. I haven’t slept properly for almost a week, so I might start babbling nonsense any second now, which worries me a little.
From Flight to your Song Camp performances — many critics say you’ve surpassed typical “idol-turned-producer” expectations and will mark a new milestone in the music industry of the 20XXs. How does that feel?
I am an idol-turned-producer. But I don’t think Kang Ichae deserves that kind of praise yet. (laughs)〕
No matter how the magazine tried to pull provocative quotes or bait him into talking about the 3rd round’s competition, Kang Ichae dodged everything smoothly with easy, natural replies.
〔(Omitted) ...—Even when you joined as part of The Dawn, you were still the one composing alone. Wasn’t that pressure heavy? The show also framed it as a battle between you and Billboard producers.
Let’s make one thing clear first: without the members, there’s no such thing as “Kang Ichae.”
If it weren’t for their help, none of the songs on Song Camp would’ve ever seen the light of day. There’s too much to list, but every one of them stuck close to me and helped steer the entire direction of each track.
The lyrics for “Three Os” were incredibly memorable. The melody was beautiful yet somehow hollow, and the lyrics—lonely but warm—really struck a chord with listeners. Many said the song comforted those wandering alone. Did you intentionally write it for people like that?
It wasn’t that calculated... I just wanted to write it that way. Honestly, when I compose, I rarely plan anything. There was a period when I had to spend a lot of time alone for reasons beyond my control. I rewatched the same movies over and over, replayed my favorite games... it wasn’t a bad time. But for some reason, whenever the sun went down, it felt unbearably heavy. I just captured those emotions as they were — in four minutes.〕
“.......”
Yeah. I knew exactly when that was.
〔So you’re not the type to calculate your compositions in detail?
Not at all. I rely purely on instinct. Sometimes that means the more rational Hoyun hyung can’t understand me.〕
My eyes narrowed as I read.
“Rational Hoyun,” huh.
A flash of inspiration, that itchy urge to write something down — how the hell was I supposed to relate to such abstract nonsense?
〔Composing by instinct sounds great, but it must have its difficulties.
Of course. It’s the same process every time, but one day it’s easy, the next it’s impossible.
I didn’t think my mood swings were that bad, but while filming Song Camp, I had to rethink that. I didn’t know where to start, or how to end. I enjoyed listening to other people’s songs, but when I thought about having to surpass them, I hit a wall. Logic screamed at me to focus and fix my weaknesses, but my head was blank—and the deadline was coming fast. I panicked.
Then, after the second-round performance, I managed to pull myself together thanks to some advice from Jiwon hyung. It left such a strong impression that I can still quote it word for word.
What did Jiwon say?
‘Ichae, don’t worry about others. Just write what you want. The truest sound.’
That’s... kind of romantic.
Totally. (laughs)
So I decided to throw away all the complicated stuff. Maybe to win, you’re supposed to analyze trends and write accordingly. But that’s not me. I’d just regret it. So I’ll do what I’m best at.
Writing notes honestly.
That’s an admirable attitude. Lastly, as “Kang Ichae” rather than as an idol, what’s your ultimate goal?
My answer will always be the same.
To live happily with The Dawn for a long, long time.
With a playful smile, saying his members would be surprised by his unexpectedly serious answer, Kang Ichae politely thanked the staff and left.
POGUE looks forward to seeing what kind of ending credits await him—and where Kang Ichae’s flight will lead.〕
After reading to the end, I rubbed my mouth and let out a long breath.
“......That’s impressive.”
Was this really the same Kang Ichae?
The same bastard who told other agencies “nope~” every time they asked him to collaborate — now speaking like a grown, grounded adult.
I drummed my fingers on the desk for a moment, then leaned back in the chair, organizing my thoughts.
Tok, tok.
No matter how much I chewed it over, irrational hope kept raising its head.
The dangerous future I’d sworn to keep him from knowing—
Those stories, those confessions I’d vowed to bury forever...
“...How the hell did I end up like this.”
Tilting my head to the side, I mouthed the words silently before exhaling and rising from the chair.
“Hey.”
[Yes?!!]
“Cut the cute act, you little shit.”
[...Right, right. You’re in a bad mood.]
The flickering blue light dimmed its saturation obediently as the system quieted down. I unwrapped another lollipop and stuck it in my mouth.
“Just check one thing for me.”
The system vanished for a moment, then reappeared hesitantly, forming its reply.
[Uh, so... about that...]
While skimming through the warning text that appeared, my mind kept retracing where exactly everything had gone wrong.
Was it when I asked him why he wanted to help me that day on the rooftop?
When he overheard my clumsy last words?
When he caught me coughing up blood in Japan?
...Or maybe when I admitted, that first Christmas, that I had another dependent now?
‘...Why the hell are there so many options.’
My thoughts trembled, swelling into a wave that crashed down all at once.
And beneath it all, the verdict that fell on me was only one.
When the conclusion settled, the tension drained from me, leaving behind a pitiful sigh of a small, cowardly man.
‘Congratulations, Kang Ichae.’
In the end, you won.
