Damn Idol, Episode 163
* * *
Those gathered in CASE Hall looked around and realized that they were all Han Sion’s fans.
Because the agency had limited the size of cheering placards, many people were holding small ones, and most of them had Han Sion’s name written on them.
‘Which means…….’
A Han Sion fan signing would be held in this hall.
When they had come in through the entrance, they had seen that the MICE Center had various halls besides CASE, such as ECO and PAPER.
Then the other members’ fan signings must be taking place there.
What turned their guess into certainty was the familiar intro that began flowing from the empty stage.
Synth’s “I’ve Never Fooled Around.”
When Coming Up Next was airing, the general public’s reaction to the song had ended at about, “Han Sion is good at this kind of thing too.”
But it was different among idol fans.
This stage had become quite a hot topic, and many people had become Han Sion’s fans through this song.
And no wonder—it surpassed the original.
The original was so over-the-top with its flirtatious charm that even a thousand years’ worth of fangirl devotion would cool off, but Han Sion had kept the line perfectly.
At the same time, he had flawlessly handled the parts meant for seven people.
Even now, whenever people got bored, clips of it still circulated as a legendary cover in the idol scene.
It was then.
At last, Han Sion appeared onstage.
Han Sion, emerging through the screams of 350 people, smiled broadly and began to dance and sing.
Light skinship, harsh jokes
Time spent together through bored expressions
He still had not changed Synth’s choreography in any major way.
With things like this, one wrong move could make it look like he was mocking a senior idol group, so he had to be careful.
But the movements he had added while leaving the key choreography intact, and the parts where he rode the beat differently, stood out clearly.
‘Come to think of it…….’
Han Sion really was strange.
When Han Sion first appeared in mass media, many people had said he would not suit being an idol.
And no wonder—the song that had first made people learn the name Han Sion was a Melisma track.
It was a song that had rearranged Delta blues released in the 1940s into Chicago blues, and it had earned him the nickname “Hip Sion.”
But that was not the end of Han Sion.
He had a talent that seemed endless no matter how much you peeled back.
Singing, composing, arranging, conceptualization—there was nothing he could not do.
He even danced well.
Unlike his singing, his dancing did not have an identity uniquely his own, but his ability to pull things off was devastating.
But Han Sion’s fans did not like him because of his talent.
There was something special about Han Sion.
To be precise, there was something special about Han Sion onstage.
I pretended it was nothing, but I
—Not even once
Have I ever fooled around
Offstage, at first glance, he seemed indifferent to everything.
At times he looked depressed, and at times he looked apathetic.
But the moment he stepped onto the stage, everything changed.
As if he would die if this performance failed.
As if this song were the last song he would ever sing in his life.
The way he burned everything he had like that.
That was the real reason they liked Han Sion.
And that was also the driving force that kept Han Sion enduring through his long regressions.
Giving his all onstage, and the cheers shown to him below the stage.
Because that was Han Sion’s only realism.
Not even once
Have I ever fooled around
The chorus ended, and the choreography poured forth.
* * *
“Hello.”
When I finished the song and greeted them, all kinds of screams burst out.
From “Hi,” and “I missed you,” to cheers with my name in them.
“Thank you so much. For supporting me.”
I meant it.
Because the people gathered here were people trying to save me.
Normally, I was a plainspoken person, but the moment I got onstage, I became emotional.
So without realizing it, I talked quite a lot and answered the fans’ questions.
The MICE Center had been built for international conferences and debates, and the sound reverberation was well controlled.
What that meant was that if someone spoke from the audience, it could be heard clearly from the stage.
Even without them holding a microphone.
After talking like that for quite a while, I paused.
It seemed my comments had gone on too long.
I got up from my seat and walked toward the grand piano that had already been set up onstage.
The instrument most familiar to me was the guitar.
When I worked as an instrumental player rather than a vocalist, I usually played guitar, and I also got the most compositional inspiration while playing around with a guitar.
But the instrument I handled best was not the guitar.
It was the piano.
Because in the round where I challenged classical music, I had been a pianist.
I had not been able to become the best in the classical world, but I had still tied for fourth place at the Chopin Competition.
The charm of the piano was, no matter what anyone said, its rich melodies.
Once you reached the point where you could put emotion into those melodies, I believed you could speak with the piano.
And I had reached that realm.
“As you can see, I’m alone, so Time Traveler has to do the rest for me.”
No sooner had I finished speaking than cries of “TT!” rang out sporadically.
“……
TT has to do it for me.”
I had gotten fairly used to it, but it was still a little embarrassing.
But perhaps they liked seeing me embarrassed, because people burst into laughter.
To shake off the embarrassment, I quickly began to play.
As soon as the simple intro rang out, the fans let out cheers.
Because it was “Résumé.”
Bedroom pop was characterized by simple yet dreamlike melodies, but I could play it like this too.
♬♪♩♪♪♩♪
The dazzling piano performance made the intro to “Résumé” richer.
I left the main melody that people were familiar with as it was, but filled the surroundings with splendor.
The person who taught me classical piano was the Hungarian maestro, Lily Fischer.
I had been twenty years old when I challenged classical music, and normally, by that age, you could not become the disciple of a maestro.
Because no matter how old you were, you had to start before fifteen.
But she considered my talent too precious to waste, and accepted me as her disciple.
Yet in the end, she firmly stated that I could never become a top pianist.
There was one reason.
“When you perform, you get far too intoxicated with your own emotions.”
“You were born with the talent to convey, but you force your emotions onto others.”
At first, I denied Lily Fischer’s words, but during the round where I challenged classical music for the last time, I eventually admitted it.
She was right.
I wanted people to listen to my music and feel the same emotions as I did.
But classical music had a wide range of interpretation, and people had to be able to feel a variety of emotions.
So it was clothing that did not fit me.
But popular music was a little different.
Because it had lyrics.
I wanted the people who listened to “Résumé” to feel warmth, and I wanted them to feel happiness.
I could not imagine listening to this song with any other emotion.
And fortunately, the fans’ emotions were the same as mine.
The performance that had been expressing a dazzling variation returned to its original point.
When I looked down below the stage, TT opened their mouths with one voice.
Woo
—Hello
All night, did you have sweet dreams?
This warm feeling
I was surprised because they sang better than I expected.
Their timing was accurate too.
Woo
—Hello
A little early
I start the day
This refreshing morning
This time, I sang with them too.
Originally, I had not intended to sing unless it was my part, but I got excited.
And so, we sang “Résumé” powerfully.
What was kind of funny was that when I sang the chorus, the fans did not sing along.
They left exactly my part alone.
As if they wanted to appreciate my voice.
No, but doesn’t the chorus make you want to sing along?
Their patience was impressive.
We
—Here
So desperately
Wanting it
—But at the end of the chorus, I gave it another variation.
As if they never got tired, cheers erupted again.
This time, it was Summer Cream.
* * *
A small-theater performance?
A fan meeting? A fan signing?
Or a recreation event?
The event, which they did not know what to call, continued without pause.
There had been no host for the first fifteen minutes or so, when three songs were performed, but after that, a host came in.
He was an MC who seemed like someone they might have seen on TV, yet also not.
He was close to unknown, but he skillfully guided the meeting between Han Sion and TT.
After all, they had selected and hired someone competent to begin with.
“Number 33! Number 33, come up onto the stage! Think of your wish while you come up!”
It was certainly not a normal fan signing.
But whenever the MC proceeded with something, Han Sion went down below the stage, signed autographs in order, and talked with the fans.
He also wore the gifts he received right in front of them.
In truth, Han Sion had 350 fans, so he was moving busily, but that was not the case for the other Sedalbaegil members.
Lee Ion had around 180 people, while the rest of the members had about 100 each.
There was enough time, and each of them spent time with their fans in their own hall and in their own way.
Onsaemiro, who had little flair, relied on the MC for many things, while Choe Jaeseong, who had plenty of flair, had planned many things himself.
What mattered was that, in any case, it was fun.
On top of that, the Sedalbaegil members were quite honest.
Even when the fans threw mischievous questions at them, they answered smoothly.
“The visual ranking within the team? Wouldn’t I be first?”
Lee Ion’s words made Lee Ion’s fans burst into laughter, but Lee Ion’s answer was extremely objective.
Among the fan signings carried out like that, the first to finish was Choe Jaeseong’s, which had the fewest participants.
The methods of proceeding and the contents in between were all different, but in broad strokes, the fan signings proceeded similarly.
Naturally, the side with fewer people ended faster.
Choe Jaeseong’s fans thought the event was over, but under the guidance of Choe Jaeseong and the fan manager, they had to board the bus standing in front of the MICE Center.
Of course, they could go home if they wanted, but only two people returned home because of prior schedules.
Even those two left practically crying.
By the time Choe Jaeseong’s fans boarded the bus like that and arrived at a nearby gymnasium, Onsaemiro’s hall had also finished.
The fans moved to the gymnasium in sequence, and Han Sion was last.
Han Sion, who had stubbornly signed for all 350 people, and his fans arrived at the gymnasium last.
The gymnasium, which was not far from the MICE Center, was a place Sedalbaegil had rented, and it was packed with high-end sound equipment.
Because it was for a performance.
There were fans who liked Han Sion the most, but still wanted to see Gu Taehwan or Onsaemiro.
Or there were also all-fans who had picked one person only because they absolutely had to.
In particular, TT’s first generation had been with Sedalbaegil from the start, through the Choe Daeho occupation era, so they had a high overall fondness for the members.
Because of issues with line distribution in songs, there were some among Lee Ion’s individual fans who disliked Han Sion, but it was not to a degree that would become a major problem.
“Hello!”
So when Sedalbaegil appeared as a full group, a tremendous cheer erupted.
And so, the performance began in front of about 850 people.
* * *
Reviews of Sedalbaegil’s fan signing began to flood social media and the internet.
Normally, reviews like this would circulate within idol fandom communities, but Sedalbaegil was a group with extremely high favorability and interest among the general public.
—No, what the hell, does Sedalbaegil have no intention of making money?
—I’m sick of hearing this now.
—Didn’t they sell merch after doing all that?
—I heard they gave it away?
—Why worry about celebrities? They’ll make money on their own lol. They surpassed a million album sales and even got on Billboard.
—True, I guess.
—Sedalbaegil is smart. It’s like an investment in the future. The fans’ loyalty is on a different level now.
—I genuinely think it’s a good thing Sedalbaegil doesn’t have a company.
—Are you disrespecting SBI Entertainment?
—What’s that?
—Sedalbaegil’s company name lololol
—Lololol something about it sounds sketchy
The general public, who were somewhat removed from the sensibilities of the idol industry, interpreted the situation from a capitalist perspective.
But idol communities were a little different.
They focused on Sedalbaegil’s intent.
It was not a familiar fan signing format, and because the number of participants was excessively large, there were many disappointing points as well.
But even so, wasn’t the intent clear?
They were trying to repay the fans for their support.
—I’m kind of jealous of this.
—I saw the review for Choe Jaeseong’s fan signing, and it was no joke. There were only about 80 people, so it was practically a small gathering.
—Sounds like Han Sion’s side was busy?
—More than 300 people gathered, apparently. Still, it looked worthwhile.
As stories like that spread, someone even estimated the cost of the fan signing and posted it online.
People said Sedalbaegil really seemed to have no intention of making money, but…….
“All right, shall we make some money now?”
At the present moment, that was wrong.
Because the filming of Self Made, directed by PD Kang Seokwoo, had begun in earnest.