Blue Lemon Sky (3)
Gangnam Station exit. One of the most densely populated spots in South Korea. I'd barely managed to dodge rush hour, but it was still packed with people. Was there some event I didn't know about? It was disgustingly crowded.
"Whoa..."
Kang Saero climbed the subway stairs with a fed-up look on her face.
"I nearly died of heat in there."
All that stretched out before us were people, people, and more people's backs. Their body heat had nowhere to escape, swirling around inside the subway cars, turning the ambiguous air-conditioned chill into an early summer swelter. In simple terms, it was already hot in April.
And then there was Kang Saero. She sweats more than you'd think. Right now, she was pulling a white handkerchief from her bag and dabbing at her face and neck.
"This is why I said I didn't wanna come in uniform."
She was in her spring/fall uniform shirt, though—just one thin layer. She'd ditched the jacket ages ago and was carrying it instead.
"And everyone's staring at us."
Our arts high school uniform stood out. The design was pretty to begin with, and the colors were bright. Navy blazer, big buttons that popped as accents. A design that nailed the lines, topped with a flashy striped red ribbon. The epitome of uniform fantasy.
Meanwhile, Gangnam's commuters were all in dull achromatics, even in summer. Not that they dressed poorly—it was just after-work vibes. Blending into that salaryman horde, we'd stick out like we'd been highlighted with a fluorescent marker.
Kang Saero grumbled and tugged lightly at my arm.
"Hey. Kim Seryeon. We should've just taken a taxi."
"A taxi in Gangnam at this hour?"
I pointedly glanced across the boulevard. Early commuters were already streaming out, and the roads were filling up with cars too.
"One wrong move, and we'd hit actual rush hour. Total hell."
"Still feels like everyone's staring."
"It's fine. We'll be through quick."
I strode ahead casually.
"Hold up."
Something was off, though. People passing by started turning back toward us. Not just glancing—double-takes with incredulous faces, or locking eyes outright. They even poked their friends like they couldn't keep it to themselves.
"Hey. Hey. Look over there."
"What? A celebrity?"
The voices carried on the breeze, from men and women alike.
"Filming something?"
"He's insanely hot..."
Each whisper was faint, but the content rang crystal clear. Nothing else was being talked about on this stretch of sidewalk. A collective phenomenon.
Stares pouring in. A normal person might shrink, but these felt familiar now.
They're not cursing me out. Just 'cause I'm handsome.
Why hate that? I'd always been a stage person anyway.
This vibe? Weirdly okay.
Truth be told, one-on-one interactions were harder. Not just tough—a bit of seriousness, and panic attacks loomed. Group parties were fine, but blind dates? I'd bolt. Presentations up front? No sweat. One-on-one with the boss? I'd probably faint.
Strong in team fights, weak in duels. A weird case.
Duck?
But ducks were solid in lane, right? Still, one-on-one was their weakness. What if an assassin bruiser dove straight in for a duel?
I glanced sideways. Kang Saero's expression was odd. She'd been whining about embarrassment earlier, but now her lips were curving up slyly amid the attention.
"That girl's pretty too."
"No wonder they're together."
"What do we do? They're dating!"
"Whoa, golden couple."
Suddenly, Kang Saero scooted closer to me.
"Heh."
She was totally eating it up. She'd shoved me away in the subway for being too hot, but now she was strutting like she was claiming couple status, shoulders back and proud.
We're not that close.
The thought flashed, but Munda-in Teacher's lesson popped up.
- Don't obsess over facts and ignore the mood. Nerd trait. Ruins the vibe with pointless fact-checking. Good is good—roll with it.
I let it slide.
But what was this?
Kang Saero's arm slipped under mine, hooking it tight. The feel through my thin shirt was strangely novel. Her warm body heat contrasted the chilly outdoor breeze. Yet it was damp from subway sweat. She ran hot. And so soft...
Made her feel girly, filling some void in my chest...
I snapped out of it.
"Huh?"
"What? Didn't you say we were short on time?"
Before I could recover, she bolted.
"Hurry! We're gonna be late."
High school girl speed and combat prowess. All points in agility?
"Gasp! Isn't that Kim Seryeon from Star's Birth?"
Someone recognized me mid-stride, but Kang Saero didn't stop.
"Sorry, no time! Run!"
Five words to bulldoze through. I added my own farewell and kept sprinting.
"Sorry!"
Until we hit our destination, naturally. We plowed through the stares and reached the building with our reserved studio in one go.
A pretty famous spot in Gangnam. Lobby right on the first floor. Big-studio perks: a dedicated counter staff.
"Kim Seryeon? Reserved for two at 5:30?"
"Huff... huff... Yes..."
"Go on in."
We passed the hall and finally opened the studio door. Sleek interior, gear everywhere. Massive mixing console. Hundreds of buttons and knobs on that beast. Wall-embedded main speakers, monitor speakers. Walls finished in absorbers. Top-notch construction. Cozy vibe, perfect for focus. Other studios had that headache-inducing smell, but this pricey one nailed even the air—fresh no matter how deep you breathed.
And more...
Whoa.
Endless wonders. I'd composed hard in my first life, but scenes like this? Rare in reality. Stuck in my room, broke, barely releasing tracks—gear like this was a pipe dream.
Studios get insanely expensive if you go even a little fancy.
But I'd studied anyway. For the day I'd make it. Brands, models, pros and cons—I could rattle them off.
Whoa whoa...
If I'd just geeked out internally, fine. But my composer knowledge kicked in. The type that's quiet usually but chatty on their turf.
Munda-in Teacher, don't stop me this time.
I tapped Kang Saero's shoulder casually.
"Know how much all that gear costs combined?"
"How much?"
"At least eight figures."
"Ooh. I know too."
Oh.
"Cool."
Sulk.
She was from an entertainment family, after all. Probably hung with composers and producers often.
A bit later, the engineer arrived and took his seat in the control room.
"Whew. A tad late. Sorry."
Technically, we were early. Our sound engineer: Park Jincheol. Well-known in the biz.
"Ready to record right away?"
Park Jincheol leaned deep into the engineer's chair, savoring the bizarre sensation.
Fifteen years in the industry. He'd seen countless singers and idols.
But this feeling? A first.
Doesn't make sense. That face.
Kim Seryeon. The Star's Birth buzzkid. He'd watched the show, knew he was handsome.
But he'd chalked half of it to screen magic. Idols thrived on lighting too.
Yet...
Doesn't make sense.
Real life blew "handsome" away. Like his face glowed without lights? For others, studio lights boosted; for him, they might've backfired.
The girl beside him, Kang Saero—entertainment family daughter, right? Kim Seryeon was superhuman, but she held her own against idols. Side by side, it was blinding. Like gazing at a blue sky and gasping in awe.
So the only question left is the music.
Park adjusted his headset and raised the mixing console faders.
Kim Seryeon's project file: Blue Lemon Sky. He'd been skeptical at first. The genre rundown sealed it.
Sky Autumn on the show was acoustic folk-guitar sentiment. Great melody, sure. But this? Summer-targeted, band-infused crisp pop-rock. Tough switch.
Acoustic mastery ≠ band sound. Bands have tons of instruments. Balancing? Nightmare. Amateurs with no experience? Worse.
Kids usually brought messy clashes or hollow flash.
How would Kim Seryeon fare?
"Huh...?"
The intro flowed out. Park's eyebrow twitched.
This song...
Crystal clean. No fat. Drums punched crisp, bass held firm foundation. Synth and guitar riff raced atop, interlocking perfectly without overlap. Like a vet producer's polished work.
A high school freshman made this solo?
Bam! Refreshing as hell. Fizzy like bursting soda. Sentiment nailed.
Clear now.
This is a hit. Guaranteed.
If vocals held up. He even pictured singers. Sorry to the girl, but maybe broker a pro intro?
Naughty thoughts crept in.
Then Kang Saero stepped to the mic in the booth. Cue dropped, first verse exploded.
"Whoa."
Park let out an involuntary gasp. Insane. Voice stabbed his eardrums. Dense cobalt blue. Despite the packed sound, hers pierced sharp and clear. Like a razor spike.
Technique? Solid. But trainable. What mattered: tone. Voice color. Texture. Flavor. Kang Saero's was unforgettable—blaring, ear-sticking brightness.
They're nuts. Real deal.
How did geniuses like this sync up? Fate real?
This track? Chart-ready now. In a just world, top ranks easy.
Ignoring raw gems like this? Sin.
With that, Park swiftly straightened in his chair.