A Very Special Performance Evaluation (2)
Kang Saero's singing was definitely passing grade material. Her natural timbre was strikingly vivid. Her voice is straight-up killer. It was powerful and clear, the kind of tone that filled every wave of the sound without a single gap. That alone was enough to carry her, but her technical skills were already pro-level too. Her technique's top-notch. She's put in a ton of work.
That brought to mind the comment from the JK Entertainment CEO during the second round of auditions—the one I'd heard firsthand. "Vocals are something you're born with." I'd washed out, but unlike me, Kang Saero was undeniably born with it. If voices were paint colors, hers was pure cobalt blue. The kind that asserted its presence no matter where you put it.
"......Pass."
"......"
She couldn't string any more words together after that. After a long pause, Kang Saero finished her song and tilted her head awkwardly.
"What? That's it?"
I could go on about her singing for ages—probably all day if I let myself.
"No, hang on."
I muttered faintly, but she didn't catch it. Instead, she flashed her usual confident grin.
"Or did I blow you away so hard you can't speak? It's your song, and I nailed it, huh?"
Not even close. The reason my words had jammed up was something else—a forgotten memory surfacing out of nowhere.
Kang Saero.
Before my regression, she and I had zero overlap. We were in different classes all three years of middle school, and after that, we went to different schools, so our paths never crossed. Back then, I wasn't into music at all. I'd gone to a regular high school, not an arts one.
So I'd always figured she was someone I'd never have connected with.
But I already knew this girl.
Actually, back in middle school, I'd bumped into Kang Saero exactly once.
Pre-regression, in my ugly days. As a first-year middle schooler, Kim Seryeon was deep in the menhera phase.
I don't want to live.
The reason? No friends. Literally zero. I'd devoured the bestseller self-help book First, Approach Aggressively: Human Relationships at the time. It got me hanging out occasionally with some quiet kids, but even they recoiled at my name.
Especially the popular girls' group. When they asked:
"Huh? Aren't you friends with Kim Seryeon?"
"No way. Don't be ridiculous."
"Who the hell would befriend that loser?"
I never knew they could say it so loud. The sad part? They kept hanging out with those quiet kids afterward. The others just got mad when I kept talking to them, so I had no choice. Lunch buddies during breaks, sure—but no real friends. That was my three years of middle school.
Was that flashback too long? Anyway, first-year me had mastered First, Approach Aggressively: Human Relationships—Mundaine for short. I still remember its lessons vividly.
1 - Create opportunities to meet people.
2 - Share interests with others.
3 - Use restaurant analogies.
To make friends, you need chances to meet them. So at the start of the semester, I decided to join a club. What club? The otaku one.
No big reason—it was straight from Mundaine. Those quiet kids I'd chat with turned out to be otakus. I'd binged a light novel about a guy turning into a slime in another world; it hooked me. Maybe joining their club would expand my circle.
That was the plan as I headed to the club interview wait area. But in the hallway, far ahead, two girls were chatting.
"Is that even fun?"
One was hidden by the wall, but the other stood out crystal clear.
A bob-cut girl. Her bold laugh was so dazzling, I froze mid-step. Couldn't move.
Why? ......
Even now, it's the same. What I'd felt then was too complex for a few seconds of recall or sentences to capture. But now, it's a memory swept into the miracle of regression—something that flat-out didn't exist.
"Hey. Kim Seryeon."
"Hey."
"You zoning out?"
Kang Saero poked my arm lightly. With our height difference now, I could see her aiming for my shoulder but switching to her hand.
"What's up with you, leaving me hanging like this."
Flashback over.
"I thought I sang pretty damn good."
Classic Kang Saero—confidence overflowing. She propped her chin on her finger, pondering, then added with a hint of worry.
"You didn't prepare some brutal critique, did you?"
Brutal critique? Not that harsh, but kinda close. I'd just gotten lost in a 'nonexistent memory.' No way was I glossing over with a bland 'good job.'
"Your vocals are too intense."
"Like ramen broth?"
"The super thick kind."
"So, heavy?"
"No, not quite. More like overly salty."
She pouted.
"What're you even saying."
Mundaine's Teaching 3 - Use restaurant analogies. Wait, or was that another book? Screw it—time for straight talk.
"Sky Autumn is a bit more delicate, tickly vibe. It's not that you couldn't handle it; it's just not your natural fit from the start."
"Hmm."
She looked a tad bummed, so I followed up.
"But I did learn something for sure."
"That I sing well?"
"Yeah, and—"
"Hehe."
"I've got other songs I made. Sky Autumn was tailored to me on purpose, but I've got stuff that'd suit a vivid tone like yours."
"Lemme hear!"
So I played it for her. Earbuds, like last time.
"Vocaloid...?"
"J-pop. Band, rock sound side."
"Got it, but it totally feels Vocaloid."
"You could call it a crossover."
Ah, this was J-pop. Kenshi Yonezu nailed it. She seemed to grasp genres already, but I asked anyway.
"Got any go-to songs you listen to a lot?"
"Lemon."
Worship. J-pop GOAT.
"Okay. Cafe after school."
"That one you're talking about?"
"Yeah."
Near Hanseong Arts High School's bustling strip, there's a semi-famous cafe. Kids call it Ghost of the Guitar. Nothing fancy—just tons of guitar cases everywhere.
Arts high schoolers flock here for after-jam sessions.
Sweep the interior? Empty seats, black fabric cases sprouting like ghosts. Exhausted souls ditch their heavy guitars and step out for air...
Safe neighborhood makes it possible.
Not just safety. Even then, who wouldn't worry about theft? When I first started here, I double-checked.
"No way someone doesn't steal them?"
A senior guy from club activities answered.
"Who steals a guitar? Ruin your life for that?"
"Cops nab you quick, red mark on your record?"
"Nah. Touch a guitar, your life's cursed. Steal it, you inherit the curse."
"......"
Guitarists aren't right in the head.
"Seryeon. Don't major in guitar. Hobby only."
"Got it."
Weeks had flown since that chat. Point was, the cafe was a hotspot for arts kids to mingle.
That's where I set the meetup with Kang Saero.
"I'll swing home first for my laptop."
"Why not just do it at your place?"
Shot down her idea.
"Home's a no-go."
"Why?"
"Bad soundproofing."
"......Huh?"
She flinched for some reason—curiosity about my messy workspace, maybe.
Kang Saero was deep into subculture otaku vibes. Spare time? Surfing sites for trends, skipping the toxic BerryBlue SNS—only verified creators followed, cherry-picking fanworks.
Naturally, she picked up lingo. One trending term popped up:
Menhera.
Watching Kim Seryeon prep at the after-school cafe, it hit her.
Is this guy menhera?
Menhera: Late 2010s buzzword from Japanese "mental health." Describes outwardly charming but mentally unstable folks—or the moe appeal they exude.
Seryeon's laptop: Sleek Absol Techbook Pro. Pouch with a black character keychain.
Then his notepad screen confirmed it. He'd meant to show a composing project, but a drag error opened the wrong files.
"What the hell is this?!"
"Th-that's just my lyric-writing routine. Ignore it."
Kang Saero sank into thought. Real menhera? With that face? Kinda hot, actually.