The Third Song Complete
"Sigh..."
I hit the end broadcast button and slumped back in my chair, arms crossed, letting out a deep sigh. My face on the monitor was flushed red—whether from embarrassment or sheer absurdity, I couldn't tell. The expression I wore now was downright sage-like.
Ahem... Even without a cam, my voice alone probably screams ultra beauty J-pop master (the real deal).
I tossed my headset lightly onto the desk and flopped onto the bed. The plush mattress enveloped my whole body—it was pure bliss.
That last comment was honestly pretty upsetting. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself drinking kimchi soup, but this must be why beauties have short lives. I'm not making a living off broadcasts; it's basically just a hobby. Having drama already is a real pain.
The first stream's results: three viewers. One ghosted, one was decent enough, and the last? Future criminal material. I debated calling in a nymph lawyer, but then remembered nymphs don't exist in reality. Damn.
What kind of nymph-unfriendly audience is this...? 'Should I eat some honey candy to sweeten up?' I thought, hopping on NewTube to listen to other Vocaloid tracks. Three viewers as my report card? Infuriating. Sure, nothing starts perfect, but as a TS beauty, I figured a big corp vibe was the norm. Felt kinda betrayed.
"Argh! Heavens above! Why me...?"
After rolling around on the bed, I decided to just finish the work. It reminded me of that guy running an orchard instead of dropping new tracks. 'Did you enjoy composing?' 'I hope so.' I shook off the thought boldly.
No matter how much I wanted to share the songs from my male memories with others, the process was fun enough in its own way—but sticking with it? That's the real test.
"Time to work..."
Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed and started checking the sources I'd recorded today. Since I'd re-recorded failed parts midway, any flops meant starting over from scratch.
And re-recording meant waiting for Mom and Dad to be out—super annoying. So, biting back tears, I kept listening to my own singing. Every playback made me crave a blanket to kick.
"Eek..."
No matter how great the tone, missing beats, off-pitch notes, and botched breaths were mortifying. Deep down, Haru's got that love triangle thing going, so it stung at first—but it started sounding okay after a while.
I compared my recorded voice to the original from memory, deleting mistakes and compiling the good takes. The triangle must've worn down a ton; the shame faded.
Easier than making MRs, but way more embarrassing. Objectively judging my own voice? Cringe city.
Still, compared to my old free-trial Vocaloid days, this felt way more alive. Explains why some folks only listen to covers, even with killer software.
Lost in the zone, it hit 5 p.m. With 90% done, the front door lock beeped, followed by Mom and Dad's voices. I slammed Ctrl+S to save, shut down the PC in a flash.
"Haru! Dad's home! Did my girl eat something yummy?"
Dad knows what I'm up to, but Mom doesn't, so I instantly flipped open a history workbook and struck a studious pose. Door opened: beaming Dad and bag-toting Mom.
"Oh my. Haru's studying? Good girl. We went to the department store after Dad's thing—got you some clothes. Try 'em on quick!"
"Y-yeah..."
The outfit Mom pulled out? Super uncomfortable vibes. Wanted to whine 'I don't wear stuff like this!' but after the time Dad bought me today, no complaints. I'd wear it.
Wearing this was humiliating. But it bought me time, so net win. ...Probably.
"I... put it on."
"Oh! So cute!"
It was straight-up Dongtan milf chic. 'Why buy this?' The clingy fabric screamed it. Thinking Dongtan milf made me nauseous, so I shoved the thought away. Perfect for lines like 'What's so great about this auntie look...' or 'Sigh, what am I, a kid...'
"Haha... Looks good... Gonna change back to PJs now."
Forced a smile, shut the door, swapped to pajamas. Coming out, Dad winked secretly. Kinda gross, but I winked back.
That night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. First stream was a mess, weird viewer and all—but I had a nearly finished vocal track.
"Hmm... Where to promote this one?"
'Vocaloid Gallery?' But this was my voice, not software—tricky. Fired up the gallery, browsed others.
Dug through Singer-Songwriter Gallery and more. No need to promo, but... those recs from promos? Too sweet.
That's why I can't quit galleries. Amid it, Singer-Songwriter's notice stood out.
'Weird notice here.'
...Please refrain from posting your own MRs or lyrics to this gallery before registering songs. For incidents related to this notice, see link: https://...
"Drama like that happens too."
Some famous singer ripped off a newbie's MR and lyrics intro posted here, plagiarized it, deleted comments, posted a fake apology without actually keeping them, then deleted again. Gallery fallout.
Ironic that the thief's still topping charts. They beat the original to posting, leaving everyone stuck. Lyrics are copyright gray area—suing's iffy.
Only leaving fan comments on NewTube, blocking critics? Spawned hate on the original creator instead. What an abyss.
"Poor original creator..."
"Dinner time! Got takeout!"
"Coming."
Closed the app, headed out. Table had Mexican food—department store food court? Nachos, sour cream, the works. Haru'd never tried it; intriguing.
"Tasty..."
Bit early for dinner, but it went down easy. Suited my taste—guac over sour cream, even cilantro hit right despite the divide.
'Gotta shower quick.'
Quick meal done, showered, back at the monitor. Weekends tempt skipping, but matted hair? Nightmare. Stay diligent.
"Finish up quick and rest tomorrow?"
Around 8 p.m. No overdoing like before, but 99% chance done by bedtime around 11.
Wanna say 100%, but variables—99% it is.
"Hup!"
Back in the chair, mixing my vocals with the MR. Tougher than pro MR-making or Vocaloid tweaking. But refining existing stuff? Faster.
Another trance session, one hour later—I finished the track. Thumbnail? No iconic image, just head-banging fame, so AI like before.
"Finally... the third song!"