Reluctant Festival Star
Myeongjeon slung her guitar over her shoulder and trudged into the practice room for the school festival. No matter how much she trained, the physical gap between male and female bodies was hard to bridge—it seemed. Even after years of conditioning, the gig bag still felt heavy. She shuffled in like that, quietly closing the door behind her. Inside the practice room, upbeat metal blared, and a familiar figure stood waiting.
Seoha was in front of the full-length mirror, muttering something to herself.
"Hmm..."
It had been quite a while since Myeongjeon had seen her in person, so she decided to sneak up and give her a scare. But just as she crept closer, Seoha's solo mumbling reached her ears.
"As expected..."
As expected?
"Should I just go with this?"
Her hair was a mix of blonde and black streaks. Seoha fiddled with it this way and that, then swept it back from her face, muttering in satisfaction.
"Phew... is it even allowed to look this handsome?"
"You take your meds?"
Seoha was the kind of high school girl whose ego could give anyone a run for their money, so Myeongjeon figured she'd just let it slide. But the second comment had her bursting through the door to set things straight. Friends had to correct ridiculous misconceptions right away, didn't they?
"So why're you here today?"
"To practice."
Seoha's response to Myeongjeon's "You take your meds?" was a guttural roar as she grabbed Myeongjeon by the hair. The grip strength that now made her worry about balding—something she'd never fretted over as a man—forced her to surrender.
"Sorry!! I'm sorry!!"
Survival came first, after all. Once she'd calmed Seoha down somehow, the first coherent words she got were those.
Her ears burned red as a boiled octopus, and clearly embarrassed, she didn't utter a single word about what she'd done.
"Weren't you gonna rest today?"
"That's why I'm resting. Gonna strum the guitar a bit and head out."
"You psycho..."
"Psycho's the one muttering that crap at the mirror... Ack! That hurts!"
Myeongjeon tried teasing Seoha back, just like Iseo did to her, to get even for badmouthing her diligent practice. But she got yanked by the hair again, met with eyes full of betrayal.
I didn't expect this from you.
Why did it feel like she was the one who'd been blindsided? Myeongjeon wondered why she was always the punching bag. Why was she the neighborhood drum?
She calmed Seoha down again and, to ease her embarrassment, gave the drums a quick check. They were off-beat—probably from slacking off.
"Practice a bit... no, you haven't practiced at home, have you?"
"That's why I came to practice today."
"So... wait, why? I didn't say anything. Just stop. That's an inferiority complex. I didn't mean it like that."
Seoha usually grumbled to herself or slyly verbally smacked down the others and bolted. Seeing her suffer like this felt refreshingly new to Myeongjeon. The hair-yanking was so novel it hurt, though.
After practice wrapped, Myeongjeon achieved her real goal for coming: monitoring the video of her appearance. Watching at home was comfier, but then "Mom" would hover, gushing, "Aigoo, my daughter is so pretty~~!"
"This the thing you were recording before?"
"Yeah."
She fired up the video on the practice room's smart TV, and Seoha scooted over, dragging her chair close. On screen, "Ha Suyeon" was dropping some prime "boomer blues" wisdom.
"Did the writers tell you to say that stuff?"
"Nah, but I was kinda pissed that day. It just came out."
Even Seoha sensed the off vibe in this "boomer blues version" of Suyeon. Myeongjeon shook her head to clear it and fast-forwarded.
There weren't the malicious edits she'd feared or that others had worried about. If anything, she felt like the star of the show.
"Views are pretty good."
"Yeah, but..."
The comments were positive, views way higher than on her personal channel. Clips of her musical performances racked up numbers too. But it wasn't some explosive breakout or instant stardom. It was a sub-channel, episode 1. Still, solid exposure.
Glancing at Seoha, who was quietly watching, Myeongjeon noted her twitching lips at the unavoidable "daeyo" bit. Normally, she'd strike with a mocking "Suyeondaeyo~," but here, she just trembled in agony, speechless.
Grabbing weaknesses is the best, huh?
She recalled some internet saying about how civilized people spout rudeness without their heads splitting. Spot on. Look at Seoha, shaking with the urge to retort but silenced. Myeongjeon plotted to dig more traps for future ammo.
"Let's hang out today."
"Huh?"
The end-of-day bell rang. Myeongjeon wiped the drool from her nap at the back desk and was prepping to head home when the words hit. Park Dain, her closest school friend, pouted at her.
"Come hang out."
"Gotta go home and practice."
"What practice! Come on already. Yesterday practice, day before practice, every day practice—what, when do we get playtime? Practice gonna feed you?"
"It does feed me."
Dain went quiet at the calm fact-drop. But not for long.
"Whatever, let's go. Quit saying weird shit."
"I gotta practice..."
"What?! Suyeon, you really doing this? After all we've done to help you? Now you've sucked us dry and won't even hit karaoke? That's you, huh? The goody-two-shoes act was fake, right?"
Dain flopped dramatically like she might throw a full tantrum. Myeongjeon stared blankly before nodding. Third-year stress, maybe?
The three high school girls linked arms, belting songs joyfully. They started with idol tracks and wild dances, now exhausted, switching to easy crowd-pleasers. Done with their set, they collapsed, tossing the remote to Myeongjeon.
"Pick the next one quick."
"You guys not singing?"
"We sang tons. You sang zero. You're in karaoke—sing!"
"I'm pro, costs extra."
As she spouted nonsense, Myeongjeon pondered. Plenty of songs she could nail, but nothing popped. These girls weren't into her old rock or blues anyway. Needed something they'd like.
She picked one hot in the indie scene right now. It ended clean and tidy, leaving the room in awkward silence. No queued songs, and the sudden hush weirded her out. What was with them?
"...You could be a real singer."
"I am a singer?"
"No, like a real singer."
"I do band. Singer."
"Not that!"
While Myeongjeon blinked in confusion, Dain replayed the scene. She knew her friend was in a band and could sing—pre-accident Suyeon had killer highs and loved showing off. But this was different.
Dain had never heard Suyeon sing seriously. At Juhyeon's concert, just guitar; at the EP release, they hyped the crowd, no spotlight on vocals. This hit different—not just "singing well," but with emotion.
Arms crossed in thought, Dain froze. Then Chaerin snapped out of her stun, yelling.
"Ah!!!"
"What, what?"
"Suyeon, do the festival!! Our school festival!!"
"...Why me?"
After her "Why me?", Myeongjeon faced another protest from the trio. Verbal protest, but near blackmail.
"You're really gonna keep this up, huh? After we busted ass clearing your bullying rumors."
"This why Mom says black-haired beasts or whatever—she didn't raise no ungrateful brat."
"Total traitor. Won't even pretend to know you anymore. Hey, Ha Suyeon. Performing at festival that hard?"
"I'm pro, remember..."
"Pro!! Pro's great! Then why'd you sing for free at another school last year?!"
Stumped by the logic, Myeongjeon listened as Dain huddled with the others, plotting.
"Put her on opening, 3-4 songs..."
"Make her do idol stuff, teach her the choreo."
Myeongjeon held up a hand.
"Wait. Leaving that aside—is it even possible? Sign-ups closed. No solo multi-songs. No outside bands. All no-gos."
Shedding polite refusals with practical hurdles was best—let them realize she wasn't keen without bad blood. Social life 101.
But Dain, Chaerin, and Suhyeon's faces lit up like hunters with prey. Ominous.
"Eh? That's all doable."
"Rules exist for a reason—can't just bend 'em. What the..."
"Suyeon. School festival. Loosen up. Principal approves, done."
The teacher in charge waved it through. Cheers erupted in the office, earning glares. Against that backdrop, Myeongjeon despaired. High schoolers—no social savvy. And teachers...
This teacher's no better. All teachers rotten. Back when they took bribes and beat kids—that 'professional ethic' never died. Approving crap just for their stats, ignoring what students want...
Smearing the well-meaning teacher inwardly, Myeongjeon stared at the office ceiling. Asbestos tiles—hope they all croaked from cancer. That was her mood.