Aggro Pull and the Dawn of Digital Creation
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling after tinkering with making an MR. Merging with the bed in a state of perfect unity, I listened to various J-Pop songs from my memories, but that lingering emptiness remained unchanged. My fingertips ached less than before but still throbbed persistently, cool night air brushed my skin through the open window, and various sounds drifted in from outside. The fingers I stared at were swollen puffy from my own saliva.
My heart yearned to share these songs swirling in my head with others, but my body was nowhere near ready, defying my desires. Sure, Lee Haru had somehow inherited the memories of a man who'd lived his life, but in those memories, the extent of music training was just playing the recorder and piri in elementary school.
I figured the reason those countless J-Pop songs from the man's memories were etched in so precisely, down to the syllable, was probably something like a 'sort of reincarnation perk.'
Ah… this is such a pain in the ass.
Honestly, neither the man from the memories nor the original Lee Haru had been particularly diligent types. That's why I'd picked up the guitar just moments ago to quench my thirst, but with nothing resolved, the boredom only deepened.
My current situation was this: I remembered in exquisite detail how to play everything and where to control my voice, but there was nothing to support those thoughts. I had the perfect blueprint in my head, but as a total beginner, I couldn't even assemble the parts listed on it—like a novice staring helplessly at instructions.
"This hurts like hell… for real."
A mutter escaped as my swollen fingers throbbed. I rolled over and eyed the beat-up acoustic guitar on the bed. Yuki's Banquet echoed in my mind, but in reality, it didn't exist here.
Argh, so frustrating.
Frustrated, I thumped my chest, but it just felt soft and cushy, so self-loathing hit immediately and I stopped.
"Hiiing…"
How long would it take for these frail fingers to strum without issue? Or could I even play properly at all? As Lee Haru, I knew every vocal technique for the songs, but theory and practice were polar opposites. At this rate, it'd take way too much physical time.
Restless, I sat at my desk and booted up the computer. It was ridiculously overpowered for a high school girl—high-spec enough to run demanding games smoothly. It made sense, though; when Dad from this life upgraded his work PC, the original Haru had begged with her cuteness and scored his hand-me-down.
The man's memories definitely included music creation software on computers—synthetic vocal engines, so-called Vocaloid programs. But I only knew they existed; I had no clue what programs they used or how they worked. So, I resolved to search for info first.
Still, I knew sifting through the massive flood of posts for what I needed would be tough. The community was mostly chit-chat about Vocaloid characters, making targeted info even harder to find. But thanks to the man's memories, I already knew the fastest way to get answers here wasn't polite questions—it was stirring up aggro.
There were posts in the man's memories that scratched Vocaloid fans just right.
A smirk tugged at my lips as I started typing anonymously.
My heart pounded after posting. Was the title aggro-y enough? Would anyone even bite?
"Ah, right—the notice."
I replied to the first commenter and jumped into action. There were more replies beyond the first couple, but I dove straight into the pinned notice, using its info to finally download the program after some hassle. Multiple options existed, but they cost hundreds of thousands of won, so I grabbed the free version first.
Once installed and launched, an unfamiliar interface popped up—all in Japanese. But I had one more step. Without the man's memories, this would've been a nightmare.
Is this it?
I downloaded the Korean patch from the notice, dropped the file in, and the Japanese UI switched to Korean. Then I grabbed the recommended MR production program from the notice too. It went smoothly, but if I'd only had Haru's memories, it'd have taken hours at least.
Wonder which Vocaloid program is best…
Yuki's Banquet felt too good for Vocaloid, honestly. From what I knew, Vocaloid's strength was handling tough high notes or fast tempos humans struggled with.
From the thousands of songs in my head, I filtered for ones famously made with Vocaloid. The first that came to mind was Departure. Objectively, even I as Lee Haru would need ages of practice to sing it right. I fired up the MR program instead.
No MR meant no song, no matter how killer the melody. With the MR software I'd installed alongside Vocaloid, I played each instrument track once. I couldn't create from nothing, but refining what existed? That I could do.
This one?
-Tap tap.
Departure, along with every J-Pop MR the man had heard, was dissected meticulously in my mind. My first move: listen to each instrument, then recreate the MR from memory. This wasn't creating from nothing—it was just plagiarism.
One hour, two hours. Time flew as I dove into the monitor. The focus on MR production had long erased the fingertip pain from guitar practice. My eyes grew bleary and shoulders knotted, but the sound pouring from the speakers matched my memory perfectly.
"Finally…!"
Of course, a few hours wasn't enough for completion—maybe 30% done. But even that intro section brought huge satisfaction. As I geared up to dive back in, my head spun; glancing at the clock, it was already dawn. Haru had been pretty diligent in daily life, so her body couldn't hack it.
Right… school tomorrow. No, today.
Right before sleep, I turned on my phone to play a famous Vocaloid song from here. It was new to me, but no wonder it topped charts—it was killer.
"Gotta sleep for real now."
I hauled my stiff body up and stretched. At this pace, the MR would finish quick. Handling Vocaloid itself was a question mark, but with MR done, things might come together faster than expected. I drifted off to the Vocaloid tune on my phone like a lullaby.
*
-Beep beep bleep!
The phone alarm jolted me awake. A bit of fatigue lingered, but I shrugged off my pajamas, washed up lightly, and changed into uniform. The melody of Departure I'd recreated last night hummed cheerfully in my head. Slinging my bag, I stepped out of my room with light feet. Unlike yesterday's memory-blended haze, I felt vibrant—like the old Haru, but different.
"I'm off!"
"Don't come back too late."
"Got it."
I replied energetically and flung open the front door. Warm sunlight dazzled my eyes. Cherry blossoms fluttered abundantly—a perfect spring commute scene. The difference between this Haru and the old one? Just memories. Yet this world I lived in now looked utterly beautiful.
"Alright. Let's live it up hard today too."