5. Uploading My First Song
Lost in creating the MR, time flew by unnoticed until the room was shrouded in thick darkness, save for the blue glow of the monitor. My eyes felt dry and my throat parched from staring at the screen nonstop, but finally, the MR was complete.
Tap-tap-tap. Click.
[Sail Out MR RealRealFinalLastRealFinal3]
With that, I hit play on the rendered MR. Through my slightly worn-out speakers, the MR of Sail Out that I'd recreated finally poured out perfectly. The harmony of instruments matched the one etched in my memories exactly. Realizing it was done sent shivers racing down my spine.
"Finally... it's complete...!"
All that was left was to work with the Vocaloid Program. The thought that I'd accomplished half my goal made my body tremble. And when I realized how much I loved that thrill, the sound of chopping and a delicious aroma wafted into my room from beyond the door.
"Haru! Dinner time! Dad's home."
I quickly uploaded the MR to my drive, hit proceed, and stretched hugely as I headed to the living room at the sound of Mom's voice from outside. My body felt a bit sluggish, but being young helped—I could tough it out better than expected. On the table sat neatly arranged galbi jjim and a spread of side dishes.
"Dad's home?"
I had no idea when Mom had come in, but she must've thought I was doing homework and left me alone. Anyway, though I hadn't seen him late last night, Dad's impression now—with the man's memories overlaid—was just the same old Dad.
"My girl. You didn't budge from your room all day—what kinda studying were you doing so hard?"
Dad chuckled heartily as he picked up his spoon. In the lonely man's memories, family dinners were something you only saw on TV. Even though I'd lived my whole life as Lee Haru, the influence of those memories made a warm, fuzzy feeling bloom in my chest anew.
"Just... got something I wanna do."
"Good. As long as you're putting in the effort. When you're young, doing what you want is the way to go. As long as you don't stray too far off track, you'll find your path eventually."
Bathed in my parents' trusting gazes, I polished off my bowl of rice in no time. Their rock-solid faith felt a tad burdensome, honestly. Truth be told, they were the type who thought anything was fine as long as it wasn't bad. This warmth, so opposite the solitary man's meals, felt like the reason I could truly "sail out" in this world.
"Guess I'll go wash up first."
After dinner, a quick rinse, and I dove back into fine-tuning the Vocaloid Program. It was a delicate process of inputting lyrics and notes to match the Sail Out MR, adjusting dynamics and intensities. Back in my past life's memories, Vocaloid Programs were pretty niche in Korea, so there were some differences in familiarity.
"Ugh... just thinking about it is scary."
The moment you make a song with a Vocaloid Program, even a perfect MR is worthless if the voice sounds too robotic. Normal folks might think "isn't it all the same?" but from all the debates I'd seen, the differences were huge.
Slip a little breath sound in here...
I placed notes to match the Sail Out in my memories, tweaking transitions where lyrics changed. Was this flow state? No thirst bothered me while I worked.
Instead, fatigue hit all at once when it ended—but during the process, even that vanished, making Vocaloid tweaking surprisingly easy. Before I knew it, it was dawn again like yesterday. I slept once, woke, and jumped back in.
Finally, as Saturday evening neared, I succeeded in layering the full Vocaloid vocals onto Sail Out. But just like with the first MR, close listening revealed spots that deviated from intent. Humans aren't perfect, after all—little slip-ups were inevitable.
Sigh... can't fill up on the first bite.
At my parents' call for dinner, I ate, washed, and started revisions again. It might seem like I could just pull it straight from my head, but to others, this pace would look insanely fast. Finally, past midnight on Saturday, every fix was done.
As I waited for the final render bar to hit 100%, I leaned deep into my chair. Opening the window let in cool spring breeze.
"Brr... chilly."
I shut it quick, snapped to, and logged into NewTube. I couldn't keep this song to myself. Someone might point fingers at plagiarism if they knew it, but purely, I wanted everyone to recognize it. Channel name was already set.
My hand moved straight to video upload.
Sail Out - VOCAL PROGRAM ERU VER.
I pondered the description box, then kept it simple. Over-explaining is boring and pretentious, right? Simple is best.
This is my first song. Enjoy!
I wrote it in Korean, Japanese, and English, attaching the drive link to the MR too. Finally, after dozens of hours, Sail Out was uploaded. The emptiness and release hit me; I flopped onto the bed.
Will anyone listen?
Thoughts raced. Fear that no one would click. Dragging my tired body, I turned on my phone, copied the link.
The gallery I'd entered to ask questions—few spaces gathered true Vocaloid fans like this. Drawing from the lonely man's memories, I pulled an aggro title and posted.
Why Cover Songs Are Better Than Vocal Programs Like This...
Post uploaded, my body refused more worries. Phone by my head, I plunged into deep sleep. Too exhausted for dreams.
Ding! Ding!
Alarm in my half-sleep, but I ignored it—not coherent enough. Warm spring sun outside, but no getting up. Mom's voice roused me.
"Lee Haru! We're shopping today. Why're you sleeping in so much?"
"Yawn... Yeah... Coming."
Dazed, I showered, dressed, grabbed my phone, and rode with Mom. Checking it finally, I froze.
To some, "only?"—but to me, huge numbers. Heart pounding like crazy. Trembling fingers opened comments.
Weird commenter aside, all glowing praise.
"I did it..."
Fist clenched in excitement. Sure, cheat using memory songs—but sharing that emotion made me happy anyway.
"We're here. Let's go."
"Okay."
Mom's car pulled up at the department store, 30 minutes from home. Objectively, the Lee family was well-off enough for frequent department store trips. Not big on luxury, but decent brands in moderation.
Ugh... so expensive.
Same brand, but department store markup jacked prices. Pure Haru memories would've begged carefree, but man's thrift made it embarrassing and wasteful to ask.