Once I finished the piece for the major exam submission, a new task immediately followed.
Thankfully, the event wasn't until June. It was April now, which meant I still had two full months. More importantly, I wasn't doing this alone.
Mondays were reserved for one-on-one lessons with Teacher Ha Hyoju. Saturdays were for sessions with Sunbaenim Won Seongmin.
Especially Won Seongmin.
He was an enormous help for this song.
His band, Blue Aka, was known for experimenting with unconventional sounds—adding gayageum or daegeum to band performances, even incorporating pansori. Naturally, he could play an absurd number of instruments. And in the version of Blame (탓) I was preparing for Han Goyo, there was an instrument sound I had never used before.
He taught me how to handle it.
I was genuinely grateful. Someday, I would repay this favor.
With that thought in mind, I kept working, pushing my messy hair back as I focused on the laptop. While I was doing that, Suyeon wandered over.
"Are you working on something?"
"Yeah."
I answered absentmindedly and glanced at her. She was scowling so hard that a deep 川 had formed on her forehead.
Lyrics trouble.
Writing lyrics is hard. You have too much you want to say, but forcing it into a melody is another matter entirely. And this was Suyeon's first time writing lyrics.
Of course she was stuck.
She plopped down beside me and peered at the laptop.
"Is that one of my songs too?"
"…No."
I answered honestly.
Suyeon snorted softly. "Then whose song is it?"
"It's for the school evaluation event they do twice a year."
"Ahh."
Not a lie. Every event song has to be submitted to the school. She nodded in understanding, then handed me a worn-out notebook.
"I tried writing lyrics… can you take a look?"
"Of course."
There was no way I wouldn't. I took the notebook, and Suyeon immediately flushed.
"Don't laugh! If you laugh, I'll beat you with Biseon!"
For reference, Biseon was Suyeon's giant plushie. She didn't even name it—it was just the character's actual name. And Biseon weighed over seven kilograms.
Translation: if I laughed at her lyrics, I would be bludgeoned with seven kilograms of plush rage.
"I swear I won't laugh."
"Okay."
I opened the notebook. Just looking at it told me how hard she'd struggled. The pages were worn thin, covered in eraser marks and revisions.
I read carefully.
"…Hmm."
A groan slipped out.
Suyeon stiffened. "Is it bad?"
"No. That's not it."
The problem was that it wasn't bad.
"Have you written lyrics before?" I asked.
"No! This is my first time!"
She shook her head vigorously.
I read it again.
…Holy shit.
This was a monster. Pure talent. How was she this good at lyrics too?
Sure, there were parts that needed fixing. But compared to the first lyrics I ever wrote, it wasn't even close. This was on a completely different level.
"Is it… okay?" she asked cautiously.
I let out a long sigh.
Ah. Reality check.
She's insane.
§ §
There's a stereotype that musical prodigies are weird.
In my experience? Not a stereotype. A fact.
Maybe other fields are different, but every musical genius I've met had something loose in their head. Just look at Kim Taeyoung—he regularly acts like he's missing screws. And Han Goyo?
She's the strangest of them all.
Among every genius I've ever met, she's easily the weirdest.
There's something fundamentally absent in her.
"So you don't like chicken?" I asked once.
"It's not that I dislike it. I just don't really think about it."
"What about pizza?"
"If it's there, I'll eat it. If not, then whatever."
Most people have preferences. If you like something, you naturally want it.
Han Goyo had no desire for anything.
"You've never thrown a tantrum because you wanted something?"
"No. I've never wanted anything that badly."
"…But you said you liked my song."
At that, Han Goyo frowned slightly—an extremely rare expression change. She thought for a moment.
"That feels different."
"Different how?"
"Blame already felt like it was my song."
…What?
Already her song?
How is it your song? It's my song.
"It's hard to explain," she said flatly. "But that's how it felt."
She's seriously unhinged.
"So do you have to be this unhinged to be that talented? Like some void-brained minimalist meta nonsense?"
Why was she seriously considering that? Why was she nodding thoughtfully at garbage?
Why is the only normal person around me Suyeon?
Maybe geniuses aren't geniuses. Maybe they're just lunatics. Or maybe being a lunatic is a prerequisite for genius.
…Then does that mean I never became one because I'm sane?
No. Focus.
Get a grip.
Back to work.
Thankfully, the arrangement was progressing smoothly. Thanks to Won Seongmin, the placement of the virtual instruments was perfect. At this rate, the song would turn out great.
Han Goyo stepped closer, listening.
"This is my song?" she asked.
"Yeah. You don't like it?"
"No."
She shook her head.
Thank god. If she'd said she didn't like it, my heart would've shattered.
As I worked, I asked, "Any stage concept you want?"
"Not really."
"Any type of stage you want to try?"
"Not particularly."
"Any stages you like?"
"No."
…My hand actually twitched.
Every sentence with her shaved years off my lifespan.
And then, beside us, Kim Taeyoung whined, scratching his head like a caveman. "Make a song for me too."
I was going to collapse.
I'M HUMAN TOO, DAMN IT!
§ §
It was time for the second performance practice.
Composition majors worked with their chosen vocalists. Vocal majors practiced separately. There were eighty students total—odd and even classes combined—but only two or three teams could be on stage at a time. Everyone else waited.
And while waiting, they watched.
Because the event is graded relatively. The better others do, the more dangerous it becomes for you.
Everyone here was competition.
Naturally, the most talented students drew the most attention.
Three stood out.
First was Jin Sohyang—a current idol. Her vocal skill was lacking, but her stage experience was unmatched, and that mattered.
Second was Kim Taeyoung. Used to concours stages, vocally insane, excellent stage manners, handsome. Practically guaranteed a top rank.
Third was Han Goyo.
If Taeyoung was guaranteed high rank, Han Goyo was the strongest candidate for first place.
And what was this top candidate doing?
"No, half a step forward!"
"Why can't you turn your body naturally?"
She was getting scolded. Hard.
The first-year students stared in disbelief.
Han Goyo—that Han Goyo—was being scolded by Yoon Hajun.
Who the hell was that guy?
Until recently, he was just "that guy who hangs around Kim Taeyoung." But now Han Goyo had personally chosen him.
Not a top student. Not famous.
Yet he was walking with Kim Taeyoung and openly correcting Han Goyo.
The vocal majors were intrigued. The composition majors were wary.
Short term: a rival for the event.
Long term: a rival in the industry.
Hajun kept watching the camera feed, correcting her relentlessly.
"No, like this."
Frustrated, he stepped in front of her and demonstrated.
Even Jin Sohyang looked surprised. As a current idol, she could tell—his movement was clean and natural. Not flashy. Not charismatic. But solid.
That alone was impressive.
Performing on camera is harder than people think. "Camera stage fright" is real. Most students on stage were stiff as boards.
But Hajun? Not even a hint.
That movement came from experience.
In his past life, Hajun had been a painfully average singer. So he compensated with stage direction—watching, copying, drilling famous stages into his body. Even then, he'd only reached average.
But that knowledge hadn't disappeared.
And now, he planned to use everything he knew.
For the scholarship.
"How is it?" Goyo asked after copying him.
Hajun sighed.
Her movements were stiff. She wasn't nervous. Her body simply didn't respond.
Han Goyo was body-deaf.
A rhythm idiot.
The flawless genius had a fatal flaw.
"…This is a problem."
With only two months left, there was no fixing this through movement training.
Which meant—
The stage itself had to change.
"How do I design a stage that doesn't require movement…?"
If he relied only on her vocals, it wouldn't be his stage. That wouldn't earn him an overwhelming score.
He didn't want "good."
He wanted dominance.
His mind raced.
Then—
An idea struck.
A method that could elevate the stage without requiring her to move at all.
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