After the pre-recording for M Countdown ended, Liang Yun-ssi felt as if he had just run a marathon and then been dragged into a triathlon.
Both his mind and body were in a strange, floating state, as if completely drained.
He took off the off-white knit shirt that had been soaked twice with sweat, changing back into his black T-shirt and jacket, and the whole person retreated into the inconspicuous shell that gave him a sense of security.
His Manager, Kim Min-ho, was a completely different sight.
The young man’s face was flushed with excitement, and he was constantly on the phone, describing the recording process to the person on the other end with an almost boastful tone.
“Director! You didn’t see it! L.Y. xi was simply divine on stage! With just a single spotlight on him, he picked up his guitar and started singing, and I got goosebumps all over!”
“Yes, yes! The Producer said ‘one take OK’ on the spot! He even specifically instructed them to extend the ending shot! It’s definitely going to be a hot topic!”
Liang Yun-ssi sat in the corner of the van, wearing headphones, pretending to listen to music, but in reality, he wasn’t listening to anything.
He just wanted to block out the external praises and expectations that made him feel unreal.
His mind was a mess; one moment it was the director’s excited face, the next it was Jeon Soyeon’s sharp and aggressive eyes, and then Song Yuqi’s hearty smile and familiar Beijing accent.
Of course, the most frequent appearance was the heroine of his “spiritual victory method”—Ahn Yujin.
He even began to worry that such frequent “summoning” of her in his mind might actually trigger some metaphysics, leading to him being suddenly caught by her on the street one day and then being sent to the police station as a pervert.
“MD… I still need to change someone, otherwise, what if I really fall in love one day?”
Lost in thought, the van returned to his apartment building.
“Liang Yun-ssi, please get some good rest! The show officially airs at 6 PM the day after tomorrow. The company will arrange for public relations and promotion to follow up. You don’t need to go to the company these next few days; just recuperate at home,” Kim Min-ho said considerately.
Liang Yun-ssi nodded, relieved as he got out of the car and slowly walked into the apartment building.
The next two days were a sweet torment for him.
Not having to go to the company, not having to face crowds—this should have been heaven.
But the thought of his face and his voice being broadcast on a national television program, to be scrutinized and judged by thousands of strangers, made him restless.
He paced around the room like an expectant mother with prenatal anxiety, sometimes opening his computer to refresh various music forums, hoping to find any negative reviews about himself; other times picking up his phone to open his MV teaser, looking at the exaggerated praises in the comment section, not feeling happy at all, but instead more panicked, afraid that his official performance would disappoint these expectant viewers.
His roommate, Fang Zi, looked at his distraught appearance and couldn’t help but marvel.
“I say, you’re about to be a big star, a rising star, can’t you show some ambition? In your state, people who don’t know would think you owe billions in gambling debts and are about to be thrown into the river tomorrow. Cheer up, okay? You’re an artist who’s debuted, after all.”
Finally, after Liang Yun-ssi’s agonizing wait, the time for M Countdown to air arrived.
At 6 PM that day, Fang Zi was even more proactive than Liang Yun-ssi himself.
He had already bought a large amount of fried chicken, beer, and snacks, filling the entire coffee table, then tuned the TV to the Mnet channel, setting up as if he were attending a grand ceremony.
Liang Yun-ssi, however, was slumped in the corner of the sofa, clutching a pillow, his palms sweating from nervousness.
The show began, and glamorous idol groups appeared one after another, delivering stages that were either sexy or sweet.
Fang Zi munched on fried chicken while giving “professional-level” commentary.
“Ugh, this boy group’s song isn’t good; the melody is too cliché.”
“Oh! This girl group is good; the lead singer’s vocals are solid, she must have grown up eating CDs.”
Finally, after a commercial break, the host said in a suspenseful tone: “Next, we will welcome a much-anticipated mysterious newcomer! He has swept major music websites with his song, ‘isolation’ (hereinafter referred to as isolation). His voice is hailed as ‘the voice that can heal the era.’ Now, let’s give our warmest applause to L.Y., as he brings his debut stage—’isolation’!”
The familiar piano prelude began, and on the TV screen, the meticulously arranged, artistic room appeared.
The camera slowly zoomed in, focusing on Liang Yun-ssi sitting at the piano.
“Oh, wow! It’s finally your turn! You look quite dashing on TV!” Fang Zi shouted excitedly.
Liang Yun-ssi secretly peeked at the screen through his fingers.
He saw himself wearing the off-white knit shirt, sitting there, with an expression that was unfamiliar even to himself—calm and melancholic.
When he started singing, the entire living room fell silent.
The sound, played through top-tier audio equipment and meticulously post-processed, was more perfect than any version he had ever heard, possessing both the laziness and authenticity of the demo, and the added refinement and layering of the studio version.
On TV, he sometimes played and sang with a guitar, sometimes sat on the floor in contemplation, and sometimes sang passionately in front of the microphone.
Each shot perfectly aligned with the emotional beats of the song.
Especially those moments when he looked at the camera, his complex, story-filled gaze made Fang Zi stop chewing his fried chicken and murmur, “Damn, he’s kinda handsome, oh…”
At the end of the song, the music faded, and the stage lights gradually dimmed, leaving only a spotlight on his bowed head, clutching his guitar.
The Producer indeed kept his promise; this shot was extended for a full five seconds.
That silent, still image, however, was more impactful than any grand performance, as if all the solitude and deep emotion were frozen in that single moment.
When the song ended, Fang Zi was stunned for several seconds before bursting into an exaggerated string of praises.
“Awesome! Brother! Your stage was incredible! I’m telling you, it’s absolutely a lock for the best debut stage of the year!”
Liang Yun-ssi, however, couldn’t hear his praise at all.
He stared intently at his phone screen, which displayed the real-time chart of Melon, Korea’s largest music website.
Within minutes of his performance airing, “isolation,” which had been ranked in the seventies, began to climb rapidly and terrifyingly fast, visibly ascending the charts.
58…
43…
32…
21…
“Holy crap! It’s in the top twenty!” Fang Zi also noticed this astonishing scene and leaned in.
No sooner had he spoken than the chart refreshed again.
15…
9…
“It’s in the top ten! Holy crap! It debuted in the top ten!”
As if in response to his exclamation, the next second, the numbers jumped again.
6…
3…
Finally, under the gaze of countless people, the ranking of “isolation” steadily stopped at—second place!—on Melon’s real-time chart, trailing only a top boy group that was in the midst of a hot comeback and had dominated the top spot for a long time.
Meanwhile, in the (G)I-DLE dorm, the girls, who had just finished their day’s schedule, were also gathered around the TV.
When L.Y.’s stage appeared, Song Yuqi immediately pointed at the TV and shouted, “Look, look! It’s Liang Yun-ssi!”
Jeon Soyeon stood by with her arms crossed, her expression still cool, but her gaze was exceptionally focused.
When she heard the perfectly produced voice, she nodded slightly.
When she saw Liang Yun-ssi’s naturally revealed, unique artistic temperament as a creator in front of the camera, a subtle curve appeared at the corner of her mouth.
“Hmm, he really is a true musician,” she murmured, in a voice only she could hear.
And in IZ*ONE’s heavily secured dorm somewhere in Seoul, Ahn Yujin and Jang Wonyoung were also squeezed together on the living room sofa.
Ahn Yujin had just finished showering, her hair still damp, casually wrapped in a towel.
She wore an oversized T-shirt with a cute dog print and shorts, her long, straight legs casually propped on the sofa.
Her whole being exuded a refreshing mist and the scent of shower gel.
While drying her hair, she stared intently at the TV, her always sparkling eyes filled with novelty and a hint of smugness.
“Wow, our Producer-nim is actually so handsome on TV?” She looked at the melancholic, glowing figure on the screen, unable to help but exclaim, her tone carrying the pride of “the treasure I discovered is finally seen by the world.” “Wonyoung, look, doesn’t his gaze have a lot of feeling? It’s completely unlike his usual silly self.”
Jang Wonyoung, sitting next to her, wore pink silk pajamas, her long hair draped smoothly over her shoulders.
She didn’t exclaim like Ahn Yujin but watched quietly, her fair and delicate face focused and serious.
She held a cup of warm milk, but she didn’t take a single sip from beginning to end.
When she saw Liang Yun-ssi’s deliberately extended ending shot, her long eyelashes trembled slightly.
“Hmm…” she softly replied, her voice gentle and sweet, “His eyes seem to hide many stories.”
Ahn Yujin heard this, turned to look at her, and then showed a knowing smile.
She took out her phone, quickly logged onto a music website, and when she saw “isolation’s” rocket-like climb in the rankings, she smiled even more happily.
“Our great Producer is really popular now, he’ll probably get a lot of fans…” Jang Wonyoung said, sitting beside her and looking at the comments on her phone.
Ahn Yujin, next to her, heard this and her smile froze for a moment.
“Why do I suddenly feel a little annoyed…”
“Huh? What did you say, unnie?”
“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” Ahn Yujin put down her phone and stopped looking at the comments.
“Ring-ring-ring—”
Liang Yun-ssi’s phone rang frantically at that moment; it was his Manager, Kim Min-ho.
Liang Yun-ssi numbly answered the phone.
From the other end of the line came Kim Min-ho’s voice, broken by excessive excitement, almost screaming: “Liang… Liang Yun-ssi! Did you see?! Melon second! Bugs and Genie real-time first! We… we broke the chart upon debut! We broke the chart, ahhhhh!”
“Breaking the chart” is a K-POP term referring to a song’s popularity index reaching the peak limit of the chart, commonly known as “hitting the top.” For a newcomer with no fan base, debuting with a song that breaks the chart is an extremely rare, tsunami-level achievement in the history of Korean music.
Liang Yun-ssi listened to the euphoria on the other end of the phone, then looked at the dazzling “2” on his phone screen, his brain still in a state of shutdown.