The Korean Music Awards were held at the same venue as last year.
“This is the Korean Music Awards, boasting the highest prestige and longest history in Korea.”
As the performing artists appeared one after another and moved toward the waiting seats, the cheers of the crowd grew louder. Dressed in white pilot uniforms, we of The Dawn also walked forward to the grand sound of trumpets.
“The live-broadcast Korean Music Awards! Before the ceremony begins, let’s review the judging criteria for digital singles and albums!”
I half-listened to the narration and followed the staff to the seats assigned to The Dawn.
The award system hadn’t changed much from the previous year. Six teams each were chosen for the main awards in both digital and physical categories based on streaming and sales numbers, and then one from each category—the team with the highest digital score and the team with the highest album score—received the grand prizes.
The only real difference this year ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) was that the judges’ score ratio had been significantly reduced.
“The Korean Music Awards—from Rookie of the Year to Grand Prize—we share the moment of glory together.”
I clicked my tongue inwardly at our seating arrangement—wedged between Hi-Five and Black Call. Kang Yeonhoo looked awkward too, as if wanting to escape reality.
Waaaaah—!!
The audience’s commotion suddenly intensified.
‘Ah, how fucking annoying.’
Black Call had arrived.
The emperors of K-pop, the light, the definition of perfection—whatever superlative you used, it never felt excessive for them. They seemed born to be that way.
Even as I tried to control it, my brow furrowed.
The most popular one among them—the “golden bastard”—wore a deep red leather jacket and blew kisses toward the fans, then met my eyes and curved his lips in a smirk.
‘Don’t smile. I might start liking you.’
He should’ve known that if Black Call swept the awards here too, I’d probably grab him by the collar myself. Yet there he was, grinning that brazen grin—it was infuriating.
I managed my expression and turned my gaze to the stage.
After the Rookie of the Year announcement, Hi-Five received their main award. Before the next awards began, four teams were scheduled to perform—including us. Following the staff’s lead, we headed backstage to prepare.
Second to last in order.
While receiving quick instructions from the staff, Sung Jiwon, who had been quiet until then, fiddled with his in-ear monitor and grabbed my arm.
“...Uh, I keep mixing up the timing. Can we check the choreography positions once more?”
I looked at him for a moment, then agreed. After running through the moves, Jiwon, who had turned around and adjusted his direction, gave me a small grateful smile.
“Nervous?”
“A little? I don’t know, maybe because it’s such a big ceremony?”
“Take some calming pills.”
“Haha... should I?”
Watching his faintly trembling fingers, I folded my arms.
Come to think of it, each member had their own way of stiffening up before important performances.
Kim Sunghyun would keep checking his in-ear repeatedly. Jung Dajun would rehearse his dance over and over. Kang Ichae would cling to others or crack jokes to lighten the tension.
Scanning the group, I clapped once to get their attention.
“Leader, do the chant.”
Jung Dajun blinked, his eyes wide. “A chant? A chant now?!” He scurried over eagerly.
Even after four years, we’d never properly decided on one. Under Sunghyun’s grumbling, five hands stacked one atop another in the air.
“Seo Hoyun, you pick the chant.”
“...Me?”
“Yeah.”
Why me?
Suddenly having it thrown at me was a bit disorienting, but when I saw everyone’s quiet, expectant faces, I slowly lowered my gaze.
“......Say we can do it.”
For a moment, no one reacted. I almost took it back—but before Sunghyun could say anything, Dajun raised his hand high and shouted,
“Ah~ We can totally do it!!”
“Of course!! The world is ours!!!”
Sunghyun just sighed lightly, watching Ichae and Dajun burst out running, but didn’t stop them. I was about to follow when someone grabbed my shoulder.
“Seo Hoyun.”
Kim Sunghyun looked at me, a deep dimple forming as he spoke softly.
“Whatever it is—we can do it.”
He patted my shoulder once and walked off. Sung Jiwon followed, giving me a light tap on the back.
I watched their backs for a while, then started moving again.
Following the staff’s cue, I climbed the stairs alone and stared blankly at the closed VCR wall. The sound of violins and cellos replaced the murmuring noise as the wall split open and the lights poured out.
Waaaaaaah—...
Instinctively, I lifted my chin toward the camera.
Down below, backup dancers in flight uniforms moved busily with briefcases. The moment they looked up in unison, I smiled faintly and spoke.
【This is the dawn bound for sunset.】
The mechanical narration from the MV was now replaced by my voice.
【Please, fasten your seatbelt.】
On the floor screen below, a blue sea shimmered beneath white cotton clouds. I stepped off the railing, removed my air force cap, and saluted with my right hand.
As the backup dancers lined up in formation and saluted together, the Jimmy Jib camera swept through them toward Kang Ichae.
【Some noises tries to fill me with doubt
pushed me away, maybe I’ve already lost it all】
Ichae, sitting on a chair, spun lazily and made a phone gesture, frowning playfully.
As I descended the stairs slowly, watching him, one thought crossed my mind.
【Bid me Bon Voyage!】
Kang Ichae was truly a kind person.
Funny, but true.
Even knowing everything, he still pretended not to, and helped anyway.
【Between disaster and miracle—.】
If it were me, I would’ve made sure life taught him how little it listens to our wishes.
Smirking faintly, I adjusted my in-ear behind a line of backup dancers.
【We’re standing here, hand in hand.】
When the stage effects burst into roaring flames, the members emerged between the dancers, swinging their arms in sync.
Five steps forward,
【Now, let’s fly.
Beyond the tidal waves of planets,
I’ll take you somewhere you miss.】
Then two steps left.
The stage darkened completely, glowing lines on the floor guiding us through the blackness, until the spotlight caught Sung Jiwon at center stage.
【—I think I finally understand a little】
The pin light turned on, illuminating Jiwon alone.
【How to carry our flight to the end.】
A colorful chorus appeared on the second level, enriching his tone.
【Belief— (Ah— Ah— Ah—)】
When the choir raised their lanterns on their wires, Jiwon turned his head toward me.
As I reached out toward his gentle, amber eyes—
【Even in the blazing cosmos of meteors,
You’ll land safely.】
—Jiwon reached back and grasped my hand firmly.
【—We do not know where to land
Endless waiting doesn’t scare me
Is this bluffing? Am I bragging?
Doesn’t matter, ‘Cause I feel this is gonna be a happy ending
The closing credits growing clearer each second.】
As we lowered our clasped hands, Jung Dajun stepped on Jiwon’s arm like a springboard and leapt high into the air, fearless.
【Now, let’s fly,
Beyond the tidal waves of planets—!
I’ll take you somewhere new.】
From beyond Dajun’s shoulder, the audience’s roar pierced through my in-ear monitors, and at last it hit me.
‘This might really be our final performance.’
【(Ah— Ah— Ah—)】
When I turned back, the massive screen behind us was playing a short montage of The Dawn’s music videos.
Me flipping the king of spades card with a smirk; Sung Jiwon walking through a snowy field, breath white in the cold; Kim Sunghyun leaning against a motorcycle to funky beats; and Jung Dajun draped in traditional robes, spreading a fan among dancers.
【(Ah— Ah— Ah—)】
From freezing mountain shoots to torturous underwater filming, all our hardships flashed by.
【Between disaster and miracle,
(Ah— Ah— Ah—)】
Beside me, Sunghyun’s breath came out ragged, overwhelmed.
Then I understood why he’d made me call the chant earlier.
Just as I could sense when he was nervous, he could sense when I was.
【Between disaster and miracle,
(Ah— Ah— Ah—)】
God, it’s ridiculous.
Whoever thought it was a good idea to shove a bunch of hot-blooded young men into one dorm and make them an idol group should be arrested.
We’d rubbed shoulders so long we’d learned each other’s quirks too well. Too close to be just colleagues, too complicated to be simply friends.
【—Between that, we stand holding hands.】
Whatever we were, we were here together.
As a red sunrise broke across the horizon after the deep blue dawn, the screen showed Kang Ichae tilting his chin and smirking.
Catching my breath as I looked at him, I felt a hand pat my left shoulder. It was the person now appearing on the screen himself.
His lips moved soundlessly.
‘Behind you.’
Right as the song ended, I removed my in-ear and turned around. A soft, wavering blue light spread across the stage.
“......Say we can do it.”
...So I hadn’t asked Sunghyun to confirm whether we’d win the award after all.
‘I was wishing for a miracle.’
To come back here again someday.
To fix this fucked-up situation and live happily in this world with them, like in some cliché fairy-tale ending.
Sunghyun couldn’t have known that—but he’d given me exactly the answer I wanted.
“Whatever it is—we can do it.”
