I Hate Composing
6-pyeong studio apartment. A trash heap of a room. A monitor floating in the darkness. Below the info for my track on the screen, the world's reactions stared back at me.
Just three comments. The views were even more pathetic. Total plays: 287. A bitterly hollow smile crossed my lips in front of numbers too meager to live on.
"Gotta have money to release it properly."
That's why I hate composing. It doesn't pay, and maybe I don't have the talent anyway.
"Releasing music... probably not gonna happen."
No. Truth is, money's just an excuse. In this day and age, putting out a track isn't that hard. More like... I'm just exhausted. But weirdly, I couldn't quit composing. That's what makes it so damn frustrating. Because it's my only escape.
......
Anyone figures out their looks sooner or later just by living. Naturally, through others' reactions. It's true—get handsome, and the world gets kinder all around. Get ugly, and restrictions pile up everywhere. Would've been nice if that were me. Sadly, I was squarely in the ugly camp.
"Ugly as hell."
Heard it endlessly since I was a kid. Not joking around—people recoiled in disgust. Even in middle school, the bullying dragged on.
"Ugh, Kim Seryeon, get lost."
Strangers wrinkled their noses on sight. Unfamiliar places crushed me under looks of contempt. Tried ignoring it, but rude assholes spat insults right in my face. Back then it was overt abuse, but by high school and college, it tapered off. At first, I thought my efforts paid off. Hit the gym, dieted to shed pounds. Tried every skin care trend religiously. Worked on bad speech habits. Did everything to look as neat as possible. Sure, outright hate shifted to ignoring me, but it felt better than before. Even someone like me can improve bit by bit. Someday I'll make friends like everyone else. Date normally. Hang out like a regular person.
—That hope shattered in my freshman year of college.
Group project for a major class. I threw myself into it, even handled the presentation. Grade: A+. On our last meetup, I bought everyone coffee. Mumbled a sheepish "good work" with a grin. They took it with forced smiles. Thought that was it. Until I stumbled into a hot post on the college forum a few days later.
A+ on the major group project lol... But there was this super ugly kid in our group and the whole time it was like, good mood ruined? He did the whole presentation but damn, hard to even look at his face. Then he buys us coffee at the end—couldn't straight-up refuse... Was gonna grab coffee with my bf after class and there he is handing it out unasked, forcing thanks with a smile, nearly cramped my face faking it
Hundreds of comments piled under that initial post.
Most comments sympathized with her, but my world had already crumbled. No one saw me any differently. Most adults just hid their true thoughts maturely; a few thoughtless ones were still ready to shun me. After that, I drifted away from the world. Served in the military like a ghost. Never went back to school after discharge—just holed up at home. Basement hikikomori. Main activity: internet. SNS force-fed me friends' updates.
Dating. Trips. Landing jobs and living proper lives. Like they were in another world. One day, staring at the ceiling in utter apathy from my bed. Desperate for something, I grabbed onto composing.
[Basement Composing? Everything You Need Here.]
Algorithm-fated pull, maybe. Or some backlash, last gasp after endless lethargy. But it was weird. Unlike everything else, it didn't wear me out. Mind fried—no games, no endless scrolling without panic attacks. Yet composing kept drawing me in.
—A week in, and they said I had talent. First time ever.
A rough track uploaded online. People didn't scroll past—left comments.
That tiny praise was all I needed. Pure joy. Lost track of time hunting info, studying, practicing. Immersed in something—for the first time, my broken life felt a little better.
If I could just make a living off this...
Didn't care about anything else. Three years flew by. Poured everything in, but results? Always the same. No matter what, no attention. Unrequited love, every time. Hate it. Still crave it. That's why it's so infuriating. Not just music—my whole damn life.
Super annoying.
This track felt like it had a shot...
I flopped onto the bed, backlit by the monitor. Better if I never woke up. Nothing left to do anyway. I passed out into deep sleep.
"......Kim Seryeon! Have you lost your mind?"
Familiar yet strange voice. Mom's, probably. Forced my eyes open—the room's air felt different.
"Huh."
What the hell is this unfamiliar room? Slowly sat up, scanned around. Not my 6-pyeong studio. Walls had faded glow-in-the-dark stickers. Desk piled with books.
Those are my middle school workbooks.
No time to process—Mom burst through the door.
"You really not going to school?"
......A dream? Dragged to the bathroom, faced the mirror. Froze solid.
Definitely a mirror. But the face inside wasn't mine. Should've been those hopeless features: sunken nose, bulging eyes, mouth, cheekbones—cold hard reality. But totally different. Clear, flawless skin. Sharp jawline, deep eyes. Idol-level handsome, something I'd never had. Baby-faced? Kinda fresh and dewy. Frantically touched my face. Mirror guy mimicked perfectly.
Face... completely changed.
Anyway, it's my body. No clue how, but.
Height too.
Too dazed to notice earlier—taller by like 15cm. More? Tested: reached the wardrobe top where I kept towels.
Couldn't touch this before.
Easily did. Even palmed it. The odd movement feel? Eye level shift. Hands dusty, but who cares. Flabby body now athletic with solid muscle.
What about down there?
Whoa.
......So much had changed. Face. Body. And that male confidence. Impossible by logic. But not a dream.
Miracle.
Habits are scary. Old smartphone right where I'd always leave my phone in the mornings. Powered on, checked screen. Date at top: 10 years ago. Ancient model from middle school. So... right before 3rd year.
Time passed: end of 3rd year, 2nd semester. Lunchtime, kids clustered by the window—hot topic: Kim Seryeon. What was out there on this chilly day? Sunny bench outside, Seryeon oblivious to classroom chatter, staring at the distant field, lost in music through earphones. Normal kid? Total loner vibe. But it's Kim Seryeon. Picture-perfect, so they stole glances.
"He's so handsome..."
"Unreal."
"Even guys get it."
"?"
"?"
"But isn't it wild? Wasn't this level back in 1st year."
"Always was, but height kicked in."
"Sigh. Evolving toward perfection."
Infamous since enrollment, his looks leveled up yearly. Face like that? Should befriend anyone easy. But no close friends—frustrating everyone. Made him feel sacred. Like those untouchable existences. Beyond desire, awe transcending human grasp. Cliffside flower, mountain heart gem—brighter for being unreachable.
"Anyone actually close to Kim Seryeon?"
Girls shook heads.
"No way."
"Nah."
"Barely talks. Thought he hung with guys but nah, not girls either."
"Breaks? Always earphones solo music. Or doodling in notebook."
"Those types got tons of friends outside. Other schools, older folks."
"Music tho."
One girl narrowed eyes, whispered.
"Heard musicians date college kids. My cousin bro in Hongdae band—some high school girl dating one."
"Nah, no way him."
"Why not? That face."
"Too harmless. Model student vibe."
Some girls shook heads anyway. Age 14. Prime for media stereotypes.
"Music."
"Yeah, music's like that."
To them, music meant that.
"So Kim Seryeon aiming for arts high?"
"Probably."
"Ah, me too!"
"Sorry Hyunseo, entrance exams done."
"......Damn."
......
Meanwhile, Kim Seryeon. The Ether boom's coming.
Deep into coin investing.