An Uninvited Audience
The government-supported studio's interior was all white. White chairs, white furniture, white walls. The only other color was the trendy purple-tinted lighting—a recent fad in interior design. The sound equipment was decent enough, but everything else fell short. There were barely any chairs (they said it ruined the aesthetic), no real amenities nearby, and the location was a pain to get to. The studio didn't even stock many instruments. That's why, under normal circumstances, only newbie bands who didn't know better—and Gyusik's crew—used the place. But times like this? It actually did pretty brisk business. Because of the visuals.
"Sorry."
"For what?"
"Those guys. I shouldn't have said hi..."
"You see people, you say hi. That's just polite, even if it makes things annoying. Don't sweat some weirdo throwing a fit."
Seoha shrugged off Suyeon's reassurance like it was nothing. It could've been irritating, having strangers butt in to "observe," but Suyeon took it in stride.
Sometimes she really feels like she's lived two lives already.
It was a spot-on hunch, but Seoha dismissed it as ridiculous. As she prepped the gear, she glanced toward the entrance. Three guys lounging in chairs, chatting away. She hadn't been close to them even back when she was all about metal being the ultimate music. They'd just shared a few drinks at clubs now and then. But today? They barge in uninvited, arms crossed like they're judging some audition. And now that Pioneer's in the mix, they were clinging even harder.
Are... are they entering too?
The thought hit Seoha mid-thought. The more she mulled it, the more sense it made. Why else would they crash? Sure, she got why they might be pissed—maybe some girl stuff she knew about as a girl herself. But that didn't excuse shoving their way in like this. They had experience as a band, yet here they were acting rude. It screamed ulterior motives.
"Who are those guys?"
"Uh, people I know."
Seoha grabbed Iseo before she could go say hi, shaking her head. Iseo looked puzzled, while Hyeona eyed the strangers warily.
"Are they sticking around?"
"Yeah, said they'd listen to a few songs then bounce."
Iseo scratched her head at Seoha's words.
"We're filming for YouTube right now, though. That cool with them?"
Oh, right—she had mentioned that. Seoha pondered for a sec.
"Just edit them out, no biggie."
What harm could it do? As long as they weren't in the final cut.
"Right?"
"Yeah, that should work..."
Meanwhile, Suyeon calmly tweaked the gear and prepped for recording, unfazed.
"Let's warm up our hands first."
She grabbed her guitar.
Gyusik watched them bustle about, arms crossed. Their movements screamed raw inexperience. Bass and keys darting around like headless chickens, Seoha shooting dirty looks their way, and the guitarist just standing there observing as the kids scrambled.
"Total mess," Gyusik muttered. Huiseong and Kyungyun nodded.
No sense of order whatsoever. In a studio or practice room, you tidy up fast to save time and money. But these kids? Zero fucks given.
"They won't last long, huh, oppa?"
"Nah. Might tell Seoha to jump ship to us if her band's flop. That Lee Junsung sucks at drums anyway—always dragging ass. Kick him and slot Seoha in? Perfect."
"Totally. She'd fit right in. Junsung oppa's so creepy."
Seoha herself hadn't even said yes, but her future was already mapped out. Huiseong sighed inwardly at the band prepping across the room.
Gyusik hyung's got a point, though.
Who knew what music these kids played. But from what he'd seen? Not promising. Look at 'em—Korean high school girls, the demographic furthest from band life. Sure, Seoha was one too, but she was the exception.
"Check their guitar and bass posture. Basics are shot."
Strat strap hanging loose like a slob, bass player gripping it left-handed like Hendrix despite being righty. Nitpicky? Maybe. But Gyusik and Kyungyun griped anyway. Huiseong felt the same but wondered if it was worth calling out.
Their tune changed 180 degrees the instant the playing started. No warning—just the guitarist casually warming up, fingers gliding serene as clouds. But the sound blasting from the amp? Pure assertion, crystal-clear presence.
Huiseong glanced at Gyusik, curious how the guitarist took it. And yeah, Gyusik looked shell-shocked. No way that was high-school-girl level. Jaw slack, eyes wide—total blow to the ego.
That can't be real.
Gyusik had lived wild, but he was a solid guitarist in a known band. Talent, years grinding lessons and gigs—he figured he was damn good. But this? Shattered that delusion. A girl her age, weaving melodies with fluid touch. Overwhelming.
Maybe just rehearsed that phrase. Kids these days skip basics for licks.
He gritted his teeth. Admitting a kid outplayed him? Would trash his whole career's worth. And proof: No one else joined in. Selfish phrase practice, ignoring the band.
Then bass slipped in on cue. That glam-girl bassist dropped clean, textbook lines. Keys, drums next. Slight off-beats, yeah—but they adjusted volume, slowed tempo, syncing up instead of clashing.
The guitar orchestrated it all wordlessly, flowing like water. No baton, no cues—but as a guitarist, Gyusik read the intent clear.
But the song itself? Messy. Live-only jam fodder, nothing more.
Teeth clenched. If it was original? Composition sucked. Skill meant jack—songs were king. This was band scene, not session work.
"Jam's done, hands warmed. Let's run a cover, then record."
The guitarist's casual wrap-up hit like a gut punch. Gyusik heard something snap inside.
That was a jam?
The others rode her lead, fine—but she calls that a jam?
Possible at her age? Prodigy? Or started young?
"Everything okay?"
He'd stood and shuffled forward without realizing. Voice caught.
"Uh..."
Brain flooded: Lip-sync? Join us? Killer guitar. Compose? Boyfriend? But only one escaped:
"H-how long you been playing guitar?"
Lame pickup line, he knew. Gotta be years—five, ten. She'd just started earlier, similar talent paths. Self-consolation.
"Dunno..."
Huiseong and Kyungyun stared, flustered. Suyeon smiled vaguely.
"'Bout a year? Feels recent."
"Why'd those guys even show?"
"Beats me..."
Myeongjeon gave a wry smile. Unlike clueless Iseo and vaguely suspicious Hyeona, he'd clocked their intent on sight. Obvious troublemakers. Type who'd deny their flaws, tear others down instead.
Pity.
He knew talent's sting, that wall it built. Probably pondered it more than anyone in Korea right now.
But crashing like that? Nah.
Plain view: Pros barging into kids' fun band sesh out of spite. Insane on paper. And Myeongjeon wasn't one to gently shoo pests.
"They gone?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
Iseo asked as Seoha slipped back in. Apology first.
Myeongjeon tilted his head.
"They give you shit?"
"Nah... just sorry, that's it."
"No need."
What'd Seoha done wrong? Hung with the wrong crowd, maybe. Flashback to her old delinquent days—she might've been like them once.
Guess breaking her habits early paid off.
Shaking it off, Myeongjeon grabbed his guitar. Time wasted enough—now for the real grant-submission recording.