First Mic Test and Jisu's Invite
The distinct feel of a brand-new microphone straight out of the box traveled through my palm. The cold metal sent a slight shiver up my spine. To some, it might feel like an entry-level mic, but to me right now, it was the most expensive one I could afford.
I plugged the USB cable into the computer, and a soft light flickered on.
Even setting aside J-pop, my memories held countless fragments, but the times I'd actually sung myself? I could count them on one hand. Sure, some overlapped with Lee Haru's memories, but after living nearly double the life, Haru actually had a slight edge in singing experience.
With both parents out, I slipped on my headset. Then I fired up the MR for Farewell Declaration, the one I'd uploaded at dawn yesterday, and opened the recording software.
Screen recording would capture the MR too, but editing the song later would be a nightmare if it was baked in all at once. That's why I went with standalone recording software.
"Ah. Ah. Mic test."
[♪ ♪~]
I hit play, and the intro to Farewell Declaration started flowing. At the cue for the lyrics, unlike before, I sang the first verse not with the vocal program's voice—but my own.
I had no idea how I'd sound. Will my pronunciation be off? Will I miss the beat? Worries flooded in. Even if I thought I nailed it perfectly, playback often proved otherwise. I'd only know after listening back.
Recording with Lee Haru's voice instead of that mechanical vocal program tone. It didn't take as long as I'd feared. Every song has tough breathing spots, even easy ones, so I tapped out after about a minute and stopped the recording.
"Haa… haa…"
No matter how familiar the song was from endless MR loops and tweaks, singing it live was a whole different beast. Studying theory doesn't make you a pro gamer top-tier. I couldn't keep up with the relentless fast tempo and high notes.
"Whoa… this is way harder than I thought. Cover singers are legends."
I stared blankly at the mic on my desk. The vocal software didn't need to breathe, but flesh-and-blood Lee Haru sure did.
Once I'd caught my breath, I played back what I'd just recorded. No MR underneath, just pure vocals—and honestly, it was listenable.
"Better… than I expected?"
Just the raw recording, no frills, and it wasn't self-delusion—it really held up. A bit raw, sure, but that clear, youthful voice earned it a passing grade for a first try.
I can always redo the weak parts.
Starting with a full cover of a finished track was fine. Not the whole three-minute song—just nailing the first verse, about half the length. That was the goal.
I stepped back up to the silver mic and picked up where I left off, syncing with the backing track. No need to start from scratch; this wasn't live. Editing magic meant splicing good takes and patching the gaps.
My phone buzzed mid-thought about what to protect next. I grabbed it from the bed—Jisu's name on the screen. She texted sometimes after school, but this early? Rare.
The high-energy vibe jumped off her message, melting away the tension from my panting sing-along. She had no clue I'd bought a mic or was grunting through recordings solo.
Going now means no more recording today…
But parents home = no recording anyway. Even at night with everyone asleep, sound leakage was a risk.
Grappling alone in my tiny room with a mic sounded less appealing than chatting with Jisu. That might be the break I needed.
I powered down the mic, unplugged the USB from the tower, and tucked it carefully into my desk drawer.
I checked the mirror after replying. My post-singing, out-of-breath face stared back. Once my breathing steadied, it shifted to the excited seventeen-year-old Lee Haru, thrilled by a friend's invite—something the guy's memories never fathomed.
"Hm~ hmm~"
Good mood had me humming. What to wear? I rifled through the piles bought purely from Haru's pre-memory days.
Honestly, that public broadcast execution pissed me off, but I was grateful too. Without it, I'd still be a puppet chasing the memories' whims.
Parents weren't back yet, so a quick text got a curt reply.
Stepping out the door washed away the stuffy-room breathlessness like a reset.
"Haru! Over here!"
Jisu waved wildly at the apartment entrance, her post-dinner energy matching school-time highs. She locked her arm in mine tight and marched us to her place like always.
First off, objectively, Lee Haru—me—lives rich. Prime spot near subway and school, New Central Felice (etc.) apartment, two cars, frequent department store hauls dropping hundreds of thousands on clothes. Top 1-2% easy.
But Jisu's family? Another level. Maybe top 0.1%. Rude to size up wealth, but facts are facts.
Similar prime location, but a full-on countryside villa—and a big one. Even after visits, it still wowed me.
Makes sense why we hang so much. Daily snacks, weekend outings—no "broke, can't go" excuses.
No car needed either, dodging the usual villa hassle.
"Haru! This way!"
She spotted me at the entrance, latched on hard, and didn't let go the whole walk. My arm tingled numbish, but bearable—no complaints.
Poof.
I flopped onto her plush bed as we ordered mala tang. While waiting, we shifted to the floor carpet, hugging cushions and chatting.
"Oh yeah, Haru—that song from yesterday's broadcast."
Jisu dropped it out of nowhere. I nearly coughed, but kept poker face.
"Uh… yeah? The… vocal program one??"
"Nah… I listened again on the way home from school. That Im Jungyeon weirdo requested it, but I searched NewTube myself."
My heart dropped. Creator hearing a review? Tense no matter good or bad.
Anyone who's made something knows that pre-open deep breath.
"Oh… yeah? What'd you think on relisten?"
"Hmm… still kinda meh 'cause it's synthetic… but surprisingly? The lyrics hit nice."
Her take leaned positive—relief sigh. If she'd trashed it, my mental game's dust.
Ding-dong.
"Delivery's here."
"I'll grab it."
We fetched the food from her room; she set up the tiny table. Popping the mala tang container unleashed steamy, ingredient-packed broth that looked delish.
First mala tang since memories merged—tension city. Guy's recall: nasty. Haru's: delicious. Clash incoming.
"I'll eat well."