Blue Lemon Sky (4)
"Great work!"
With sound engineer Park Jincheol's wrap-up call, the recording session came to an end. The studio's soundproof door slid open, and Kang Saero stepped out with a slightly dazed look on her face.
Right on cue, Mundine's teachings popped into my head. After a job's done, hand over some water or a snack, nice and simple. I grabbed a bottle of spring water and headed her way.
"Good job."
"Ooh, what's this?"
Just that was enough to score major points—she flashed a bright, pleased grin. Then she showed off the tumbler already in her hand.
"But I've got water. I brought a bottle in before recording."
"Oh?"
"What? Were you just waiting around for a chance to play the caring boyfriend?"
"Well..."
Before I could even respond, she flicked my forehead.
"You're cute, Kim Seryeon."
That's the problem with rote learning from books. It narrows your vision or something. Mundine might be a bestseller, but I'd learned not to rely on it exclusively.
"Still, nice try."
Thankfully, Saero seemed to let it slide without a second thought.
Meanwhile, Park Jincheol was showering us with praise from the sidelines.
"Honestly, I was blown away."
From the reviews I'd dug up online, he didn't seem like the overly friendly type. But from his perspective, there must've been something about us he clicked with. You can tell up close if someone's half-assing it or giving it their all. And Park Jincheol, leading the session, was brimming with enthusiasm—even after recording wrapped, he was buzzing with energy.
"This is pro-level clean. No way you'd get this from bringing in actual pros. The vocal tone, the grasp of the song—perfect."
"Thanks. We had a blast recording, thanks to you, sir."
"I'll pour my soul into the mixing and mastering, so don't worry. I'll email you the final product right away."
Our steps felt light leaving the studio. Outside, night had fallen, the air turning crisp and cool. As soon as we stepped out of the building, Saero stretched her arms wide with a big yawn.
"Ahh, that was good. So good."
"The session ran long. You tired?"
"I've got stamina."
Saero's smile never got old—always revealing some new facet. So refreshingly bold, yet sharp and cool in that effortlessly chic way. Definitely a pretty delinquent vibe.
If this were a gacha game, she'd be that... No.
Enough with the otaku fantasies. Even if I'm a traitor ditching 2D for good—back then I was just a shut-in, but now I've got a second chance. Time to live in the real world. The real world.
That's when Saero quickened her pace a few steps, then stopped dead in front of me. Her lightly made-up face and striking features filled my vision.
"How was it today?"
"Huh?"
She's too close. My pulse shifted just from that. Thump. My heart pounded slow and heavy, sending chills racing from my scalp down.
Romance? Nah. This was something far more familiar.
Panic attack. Or more precisely, the warning signs right before one hits.
Attacks have triggers. We're alone together, eyes locked. And I'm trying to read what she thinks of me.
Those are the fuses for my worst terrors.
'Gross.'
'Disgusting.'
'Creepy.'
'I don't say this lightly, but you're repulsive. Stay away.'
Terrifying. Someone's raw, honest emotions aimed straight at me. Her sharp gaze felt like the point of a blade.
One more step, and... I might die.
That very moment.
"I mean, how'd the recording go?"
"Oh?"
There was no contempt, no disgust, no romance in her eyes. No deep personal emotion between two people. She was just asking about the recording results.
Realizing that washed away the panic surging up to my jawline. Street noise finally filtered into my ears—strangely soothing, like a cool blanket. My body was drenched in cold sweat, though.
"......Oh. That."
"Don't tell me it sucked."
"It was perfect."
"Hey! Perfect how?"
I slipped my still-trembling fingertips into my pocket.
"No, I mean—it was perfect. Couldn't have been better."
Thank god. No stuttering, no ragged breaths. I answered smoothly, like always.
"Heh. I liked it too."
Blissfully oblivious, Saero bounded off like a puppy, spotting a bench far ahead and flopping down with her legs stretched out. Her white ankles and calves dangled in the air, twitching idly. I stared without thinking—then she patted the spot next to her with her palm.
Pat pat.
"Hey! Kim Seryeon!"
Pat pat.
"Let's hang here a bit longer."
"Uh, yeah. Sure."
"Remember when we first came here? It was packed."
I sat beside her, and she whipped out her phone like she'd been waiting.
[Park Dohoon x Kim Seolgi Busking Shoot Site!]
"It's a show where they bring singers for a busking concept. First shoot's here today."
I hesitated. Crowded and noisy? Normally fine, but in this state...?
Excuses bubbled up. 'I'm kinda beat.''It's been hyped forever—probably packed with early birds. Won't see a thing.'
Then her bright smile hit me like a knockout punch.
"Let's go."
Maybe it was the promise from earlier—to stick around after recording. Or maybe I just wanted more time with the Saero right in front of me. A request from someone who clearly likes me? First time in my life. Couldn't say no.
Soon after, we arrived at the busking spot. It'd been busy when we passed earlier, but now? Next level. The sidewalk was gridlocked, everyone facing one direction, cheering wildly. Couldn't see through the layers of people, but probably the crew and singers up there.
On the flip side, I felt more at ease. Why? My gaze—and hers—less focused? Panic ebbed fast, leaving room for jokes.
"Guess we can kiss broadcast dreams goodbye."
Saero laughed at my half-joking quip.
"What, audition got you craving the spotlight? Want me to spread some rumors?"
"Nah. Just wanna listen quietly today."
The crowd hushed as the singing kicked off. No view of the stage through the human wall, but the voices blasting from the speakers were crystal clear.
Two singers. One: Park Dohoon, a seventh-year ballad crooner hitting a second prime after wowing on a recent survival show with insane vocals. The other: rising star Kim Seolgi, fresh off a surprise winter chart smash.
Park Dohoon nailed the emotional build, starting the first verse. Kim Seolgi smoothly took the melody, their voices soon weaving into perfect harmony. His clean falsetto meshed with her glass-bead-pure tone. No rehearsals, yet impossibly synced—hitting the crowd like a tidal wave.
She'd jump in a half-beat ahead of his breath's end. He'd fill right back in, powering under her range with solid support.
Not calculated. Instinct from countless stages.
That's pro-level.
A raw thrill, different from studio polish, raced down my spine.
Their opener—a mid-summer night tune—ended. Gangnam Boulevard fell silent, then exploded in cheers. Live better than the track. Deep, lingering resonance. This is a real singer's power.
"Whoaaa..."
Saero gaped, on tiptoes straining for a glimpse. Adorable. I glanced around.
That's when it happened.
"Hey, everyone! Folks in the back—can't see you, right?"
Post-song banter time. Park Dohoon's voice flowed through the speakers.
"Can't make out faces either. It's dark."
Singer voice—even casual talk sounded killer. Giggles rippled everywhere.
"How about we light it up? I do this at my concerts—others might know. Grab your phones, turn on the flashlights."
That sparked it. Phones emerged from pockets. Pop. Pop pop. Lights flickered on one by one. Like stars cascading to earth, the boulevard rippled with white waves. A Milky Way unfurling amid the skyscrapers.
"Wow..."
Saero gasped. I stared, mesmerized—then beat her to pulling out my phone.
"Ours too."
"Yeah!"
The next song began. Hundreds of lights swayed slow to the ballad's rhythm. I matched Saero's tempo without thinking.
Everyone faced the stage start. I turned to her.
Phone glow lit Saero's face: eyes misty with awe, sparkling like stars. Skin translucent in the white light, red lips softly singing along.
This vibe, the lighting, her expression. In fancier terms: pure longing for dreams. Could inspire the next track, but honestly...
She's beautiful.
The thought flashed by. She sensed my gaze and turned.
"......"
Eyes met. Cheers and song faded distant. Amid swaying lights, only our faces sharp—a strange, silent pocket.
Saero beamed.
"Nice, right?"
No subject, but no need to ask. No confidence staring into her eyes that long. Still, we shared the view, the feeling.
We stood wordless amid the lights, watching each other and the stage. This moment felt eternal.
"Someday, I wanna do a stage like that."
Saero murmured dreamily.
"So hook me up with good songs. Got it?"
"We'll see."
Post-show, we fought through the crowd, drained. By the time we boarded the bus home, we were zombies.
*
And in the dim night, as I hit the bed at home—a message pinged.
No way. She plays games too?