Vocal Practice!
It struck her all over again just how much free time she had.
The lights were already on. She had started with the equipment and worked her way down until the floor shone. Last of all, she hung the OPEN sign on the front door.
"Haa... Do I just... have no talent for business?"
Eight o'clock on the dot, and the door to the Vocal Studio was already unlocked.
Opening prep finished, Yoo Hyemin stared a hole through the entrance, praying—desperately, and then more desperately still—that a student would walk in.
Just last month the schedule had been packed full-time; she had been shrieking with delight. Then a well-known vocal instructor left the academy, and the students began to vanish one by one.
Last week she had even set a record so pathetic it wasn't funny: a full week of zero.
"I never should have let that teacher go. Even if I'd had to pay more... no."
Water under the bridge. The instructor hadn't left over a falling-out. Another academy had simply offered more money.
She could have kept them.
And yet.
"Even so! Five million won a month is crossing the line!"
A private vocal trainer's annual salary topped out around sixty million won—and that was for private work. An academy instructor did not make that kind of money.
What were they even thinking?
No matter how she turned it over, the numbers refused to add up. The departing instructor had brought thirty students. Not a small roster, but once you factored in equipment maintenance and every other expense, plus the instructor's salary, the net leftover was barely a million won.
Asking for more than double that pay was so far over the line it wasn't even in the same zip code.
"Ah, forget it! I'll just close up shop! I give up..."
Ding-a-ling.
"Um... are you still taking students?"
"...My savior."
"...Excuse me?"
The front door opened, and a young woman stepped into the studio. The moment Yoo Hyemin saw her, she decided heaven itself had reached down and sent an angel.
She was prettier than any student Hyemin had ever laid eyes on. She didn't even look like she'd dressed up—which only made Hyemin, who had gone all-out first thing in the morning, want to crawl under a rock.
"Ah, nothing! Welcome! You're here to enroll, right? Come on in."
Hyemin ushered her into the office, sat her down at once, and pressed a cup of tea that was good for the throat into her hands.
"May I have your name?"
"I'm Lee Jiwoo."
"Ah... Jiwoo! You're so pretty, though~ Are you aiming to be a celebrity? Or... an actress?"
If she were an idol trainee, there wouldn't be much reason to seek out a vocal academy. Her agency would already have assigned a trainer. Then again, some people still enrolled because they wanted extra practice. Hyemin didn't jump to the actress conclusion either.
With a face like Jiwoo's, she'd succeed either way.
She was already drawing the eye. That presence an entertainer absolutely needed poured off her in waves. See her once and you would never forget her. That kind of force radiated from her.
"Is something wrong?"
Jiwoo tilted her head. Had she been staring too hard? Hyemin redirected her gaze, slid an application form forward, and spoke.
"First things first—which track are you looking at?"
"Hmm... are you asking whether this is for a career or a hobby?"
Unexpectedly, Jiwoo had done her homework on vocals before coming. Plenty of kids showed up without even researching the basics.
Not that those kids were bad. If they didn't know, you taught them. The problem was the ones who wouldn't believe you and clung to whatever wrong information they'd dug up on their own.
Jiwoo was on the good side of that spectrum.
"I'd like to treat it as a career. I recently auditioned at an agency and didn't make it."
"Oh~ If you have a video, could I take a look?"
She would need to hear her sing to gauge her skill, but more information was always better. If she had been rejected once and still hadn't given up, she might have been practicing on her own. Comparing the two would make it easier to pinpoint what had gone wrong.
Jiwoo pulled out her phone and played a video.
A melody spilled from the speaker.
This is...?
The accompaniment made Yoo Hyemin freeze.
No way... Someone actually sang this at an audition? If you mess it up, it shows immediately. Does that mean she's that confident?
Half expectation, half worry, she watched.
The video ended, and Hyemin still could not pull herself out of the song's afterglow.
"How was it?"
"Well... you can definitely tell you haven't formally studied singing."
"So I failed because I can't sing, after all?"
At that blunt answer, Jiwoo's shoulders sagged a little.
"Ah. That's not it. Your tone is quite unique, Jiwoo. It's a little alien at first, but once your ear adjusts, it's a voice you want to keep listening to. And it's not that you can't sing. I wouldn't call it professional, but you're well past the average person."
"Is that so?"
Watching Jiwoo's expression brighten, Hyemin let out a silent sigh of relief.
A student finally walked through that door. There is no way I'm letting her go!
Hyemin stood and led Jiwoo over to the recording equipment.
"This time, let's hear you sing for real."
When Jiwoo came out after finishing the recording, Hyemin couldn't close her mouth.
"Um, Director? Is something off?"
Off? Was that even a question? Where on earth had this monster come from?
"Ah—no. Nothing's off. It's just... your singing's stabilized?"
"Stabilized?"
"Your singing used to get unstable toward the end, and you'd miss your breathing windows, so the rhythm would drift a little... used to."
Jiwoo found it odd that she had switched to the past tense.
"Used to? Meaning it doesn't anymore?"
"Yes, exactly. I don't know how, but your pitch has stabilized, and you're hitting your breath marks right on time, so the drifting has dropped off. Of course, there's still plenty of technique to teach you... but how did you improve this much in such a short time?"
"Is there... anything else that's a problem?"
Hyemin didn't even hesitate. She nodded.
"Your vocalization and technique are fine too. Hard to believe you're an amateur, honestly."
The endless praise made Jiwoo's face burn.
So a Singing rank of B means you're better than an ordinary person.
This was the first time she had heard a direct evaluation from someone else, so she hadn't grasped where a B even sat. At the audition, all she had heard was that she had done well. That she had sung well.
"Will you... be enrolling?"
"Hmm... would it be all right if I just took today's free trial lesson first?"
"Ah—o-of course! I'll teach you with everything I've got!"
Hyemin looked a little disappointed that Jiwoo didn't sign up on the spot. Even so, she couldn't let her slip away. If she trained her well and used her for academy promotion, students would come flooding back before long.
"Then let's begin!"
In the end, I enrolled at the vocal academy. The director was just that good. The moment the free lesson ended, I was the one who asked to sign up.
"The praise was a lot, honestly, but it felt good."
When I was a man, I almost never got complimented. Even when I did well, the credit went to my boss, and no matter how hard I worked, I got chewed out.
I couldn't even remember the last time someone had praised me.
"Still... asking me to shoot a promo video already feels way too soon."
Right before I left the academy, Yoo Hyemin had asked me. Please, please film a promotional video for the school.
I'd meant to refuse at first. I hadn't even learned to sing properly, and I wasn't at a level I wanted the outside world to see. But Hyemin offered a plan and begged.
Her plan: she would get me to the threshold of professional within a week.
Was that even possible? I wasn't sure. But she teared up pleading with someone so much younger than her.
"How was I supposed to say no?"
I agreed to the promo shoot. The location: a week from now, at the entrance to Hongdae, filmed as a busking performance.
"Ah, crap... I'm already nervous. Can I even do this?"
I'd sung in front of people before, but that had been inside an audition room. Counting myself, there were seven people, tops.
If we filmed in Hongdae, there would be at least twice that many.
"Did I... just do something stupid? Should I back out now?"
A murmur of voices washed around me.
Without realizing it, I had been talking to myself in a crowded place. Mortifying. I hid my face as best I could and practically fled at a fast walk.
"Huh...? That person—"
"PD? What are you doing?"
"No... I thought I just saw someone familiar."
"...You're talking about that Cinderella again? The one who left nothing but snacks and vanished?"
"She didn't leave them. She threw them."
"Fair enough. If someone who looks like a mountain bandit like you came walking up, of course she'd run. So... where is she? I don't see anyone."
The man they called PD shook his head.
"Nah. I must've imagined it."
"Yeah... people don't just poof out of existence and leave snacks behind. Let it go. Let's just focus on our own work."
Ten minutes later, at the bus stop on the way home.
There was quite a crowd around. Hongdae on a weekend morning—couples out on dates, groups of friends, the usual. I stood among them, staring into space.
"Ugh... why did I have to talk to myself out there."
I sat on the bus-stop bench and covered my face with both hands. I didn't need a mirror. My face was probably tomato-red.
I should put in my Bluetooth earbuds right now.
If I at least pretended to be on a call, talking to myself wouldn't look as weird. I quickly opened my bag and hunted for the earbuds.
"There they are. Just put them on and—"
Right then.
The phone stuffed in my bag buzzed hard.
"What's this about?"
I hung up and checked the time at once. A little past ten. If I'd been running late I would have grabbed a taxi, but even the bus or subway would have been enough.
Still. Better safe than sorry.
I stepped toward the road and stuck out my hand.
"Taxi!"