I'll Make a Song for Myself
On the way home, my heart pounded like I had panic disorder.
Honestly… getting hit on in the street? It was the kind of thing that could boost my ego a bit. But frankly… it wasn't like some community creep confessing because of looks—it was the sheer physiological revulsion that shocked me.
Did he confess thinking, 'A tree worth climbing.'? I'll probably never know.
Hell, it wasn't even like getting drugged at a bar like some potato-loving fool from somewhere. The situation itself felt a little uncomfortable… no, extremely uncomfortable.
Hoo… what would it be like getting confessed to by a girl?
I haven't experienced it yet, so who knows. If I started dating a girl, and my life was a novel, the genre would drift from plain old TS to reverse harem… no, straight-up yuri drift.
Picture this: staring at Jisu while eating risotto together, spotting rice on her lips, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe it off, and saying, "So sloppy…" Just imagining it gives me chills.
"Ugh… why does my head…"
Lately, my imagination had been running wild. Was this a glimpse of genius? My life was definitely no-romance material. Serializing steadily only to suddenly drift into "Reverse Yuri Love" sounded all wrong.
"Gonna live alone~ all by myself~"
I hummed to myself as I opened the front door and stepped inside. I kicked off my shoes haphazardly and headed to my room, where I spotted a note from Dad on the desk, along with a yellow envelope and a white one.
"Clothes? Oh, cash?"
Luckily, I didn't have to split in half. The white envelope held… allowance money. A whopping 300,000 won. Almost a whole month's food budget from my past-life memories as a guy. 'Payback for that humiliating cat-pajama aegyo yesterday?' Objectively, it was a huge profit.
With this… dozens of tteokbokki servings… no, enough for the premium Vocaloid program. Even if I splurged on tteokbokki, I wouldn't dump it all into the computer or server room.
Haru,
Work hard on your dreams! Here's some paperwork for copyright registration too. Dad's cheering you on!
— Dad
Dad's encouraging note fired me right back up.
"Hup!"
I tossed my bag onto the center of the bed like always and plopped into the chair.
I wanted to dive straight into work, but the uniform was uncomfortable, and if I didn't change right away, Mom would nag about delaying the sterilizing, deodorizing, dust-removing appliances. So I stripped off the skirt and flung my clothes aside.
"Ahh, so refreshing."
Underwear felt a bit constricting, but taking that off too? No pervert would go that far, so I left it on.
Still, being in just underwear brought a sense of liberation, but lingering like this would leave me defenseless to any nagging. I quickly slipped into a t-shirt and dolphin pants.
Not quite as free as underwear alone, but this outfit was comfy enough.
'This is why I skip spats.'
Unless a typhoon hit or it got windy like last time while running, no one would see my panties. Plus, the hassle of spats under dolphin pants? No one could stop me.
"Mmm… time to work."
Debating guy romance versus girl romance was pointless. Proving my past-life memories through music was way more productive. NewTube comments recharged my self-esteem every time, so nothing could stop me.
Among MR programs, this synthesizer setup—with various electronic instruments—was my optimized choice.
For Prank Function, it meshed perfectly with Vocaloid's mechanical tones and human vocals without awkwardness or difficulty. A great song overall.
[♫~♪♩]
Hitting play on the MR brought the familiar melody to life.
'Kyaa… perfect. This is it.'
To normal ears, ignoring the lyrics, it was flawless—no mistakes detectable.
First test passed. For the second, I donned headphones and listened with my ultra-sensitive ears at full throttle.
"Lu…! Dinner… time!"
At peak focus, ambient noises faded—even with headphones—leaving only the MR. I thought someone called me, but probably just my imagination.
Hmm… at 58 seconds, a tiny static buzz.
As I wrapped up spotting minor issues, someone yanked off my headphones. Startled, I looked up to see Mom.
"Lee Haru… didn't I tell you to come eat dinner?!"
"M-Mom?"
"Come eat now."
"Yesss…"
Because of focus-mode's tiny flaw, I missed Mom's calls and got nagged throughout dinner. Dad jumped in to defend me confidently, but it only doubled the scolding. The top of the household hierarchy packs a punch.
Hiiing… but dinner's delicious.
NewTube crossed my mind mid-meal, but turning on my phone would've extended nagging by five minutes, so I decided to check after eating.
Back in my room, firing up NewTube Studio: Departure had over 50,000 views, Farewell Declaration around 20,000. A bit slow, but solid growth.
At this rate, in the future, just hearing 'HALU' might make people think, 'That's gotta be Lee Haru.' Exposing my identity too easily.
Anyway, for Prank Function, the key remained: what J-pop fans hotly debated. An apostle to some, ultimate delicacy to others.
"Korean version or original Japanese…"
Of course, in Lee Haru's world—not my past-life one—Prank Function didn't exist, so whatever I sang became the original.
Honestly, J-pop covers often got tweaked for singability, so no single 'right' answer.
Running my IQ-200 all-powerful brain at full power? 'Original's better.'
That guy who confessed to Jisu (name forgotten again) saw Departure, so 95% chance he subbed my channel.
Since gaining guy memories, my brain felt smaller—couldn't recall that confessor's name. Nah, blocking him freed up space; no need to remember.
Anyway… he'd guess my nationality from the gallery, but Korean lyrics might ID my voice.
Japanese vs. Korean voicing differs enough to make recognition probability near zero. That was my conclusion.
Hoo… Some handsome guy's quote popped up: 'In the end, won't the song from school broadcast stick in everyone's memory as my win?' I ignored it boldly and settled on original Japanese.
Even without Jisu, imagining others going, 'What voice?!'—saving the song, blasting it wireless—sharpened my memory. Hell, even picturing Jisu hearing it: 'You sound better singing live than Vocaloid.'
"I'll make a song for myself."
Truth is, 99% of my songs were already for me, but I checked off one dream line. Plenty more to say, but I'd save them for the right moment.
I grabbed the mic to record… but started studying instead.
Ugh… parents… at least record when Mom's out.
Dad might get it, but Mom knows zilch about copyright associations—better hide it.
Truth? Starting studies was semi-forced: bombing exams during test season as an IQ-200 super-genius high school girl? Ultimate humiliation.
Actually… more like fearing allowance cuts. Shh, secret.