Two Birds with One Stone (1)

A whole month. For anyone else it would have been an endless string of blood-draining practice sessions, but I decided to rest thoroughly first.

“Ah, top, come gank alreadyyyyy—!”

On the monitor, my character died screaming under the enemy jungler’s gank. Our jungler was just snacking on the bottom rock crab or whatever and typing in chat.

Who doesn’t know that? Top has places it simply has to hold. Normally I would have hammered the keyboard with a barrage of perfectly logical criticism.

“…….”

Something felt off. A hollow emptiness sat in one corner of my chest, as if a hole had been punched straight through it.

The victory banner filled the screen. As I stared at those blue letters, the emotion I’d felt on the rehearsal stage a few days earlier suddenly washed back over me.

That overwhelming sensation of my voice slicing through the air and freezing every last breath in the room.

“……Haa.”

I peeled off the headphones and tossed them onto the desk. Leaning the chair back, I stared blankly at the ceiling light.

Was it because I had started music again? Or because I had tasted that enormous energy? The games that had always been my salvation now tasted as flat as soda gone flat—all sugar, no fizz.

I, Han Jiyoung, was facing the greatest crisis of my life.

Being a freeloader just wasn’t fun anymore.

Ring-ring— ring-ring—

My phone buzzed. It was Naeun.

“Hello.”

I yanked the phone away from my ear, wincing at the high-frequency screech that threatened to punch through the speaker. Her tension was so high I half-wondered if she had been a megaphone in a past life.

“I can hear you. Loud and clear, so calm down. What’s going on?”

“……For real?”

I shot upright from where I’d been lying down.

“Congrats, Naeun. That’s seriously amazing.”

Hearing the sniffles on the other end of the line, a faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I even realized it.

“Why?”

She sounded exactly like a puppy wagging its tail and clinging to your leg.

Normally I would have shut her down cold with a “too much hassle,” but today a strange mood had settled over me.

Games aren’t fun anyway, and I was already bored out of my mind.

More than that, after four long years of watching this kid slam into the wall of the debut team over and over, she had finally received a song of her own and was ready to step out into the world.

Getting a front-row seat to that debut process sounded genuinely interesting. I was also curious what kind of advice I might be able to give her.

“Alright. I’ll come.”

Even after the call ended, Naeun’s cheer seemed to echo in my ears.

“Ugh, who can even keep up with that energy.”

I dragged myself out of bed and threw on something passable for going outside.

I was going to wrap myself up tight anyway, so as long as no reporters tailed me there wouldn’t be a problem.

I tugged a black ball cap low over my eyes and pulled on a mask that covered half my face, the motions automatic by now.

Not long after, I arrived in front of the company building.

We really are stuck together like glue, aren’t we.

Five years ago, when I had flung the contract-termination papers and walked out, I had been certain I would never set foot in this place again.

Yet ever since I joined the audition I had lost count of how many times I’d been back.

The automatic doors slid open and the familiar lobby air washed over me.

Even the reception-desk staff recognized me now; despite the mask they gave me a little bow of greeting with their eyes.

I returned a light nod and stepped into the elevator.

Ding-.

The doors opened on the practice-room floor, and at the far end of the hallway a familiar figure was already fretting and pacing.

“Unnieeeee—!!”

Naeun’s giddy tug pulled me straight into the practice room.

But we weren’t the only two people inside. A woman standing with her arms crossed in front of the wall of mirrors spotted me and her eyes went round.

“It’s Han Jiyoung! Whoa, I’m a huge fan. Episode 4 that just aired! That stage was seriously amazing, you know?!”

The sheer intensity of the greeting from a complete stranger left me blinking as I dipped my head.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

I accepted the praise vaguely and muttered to myself.

Episode 4 already aired, huh.

Spending all my time at home living the freeloader life had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠apparently erased my sense of the days of the week.

The woman strode right up, stuck out her hand with zero hesitation, and introduced herself.

“I’m Ari, the idol choreographer.”

Ari?

My eyes widened a fraction. Even someone as out of the loop on the idol world as I was knew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that name. Of course I did.

She was the choreographer who had crafted countless mega-hit dances for every famous group you could name in Korea just by saying her name.

The fact that an industry top-tier choreographer was standing in this practice room told me exactly how hard Kim Taesung was pushing for Naeun’s solo debut.

Ari pumped my hand up and down enthusiastically and poured out praise.

“How can you sing that well and dance that well too? I stared holes through you in that qipao doing the fan dance, you know? Every single line of movement was just incredible! Have you ever taken dance lessons separately?”

“No, I haven’t……”

“Ah! You haven’t! Of course it’s pure natural talent!”

She sliced my answer clean in half with her exclamation of wonder, leaving me speechless with my mouth clamped shut.

Kim Taesung really brought in a handful, didn’t he.

Her tension looked like it easily doubled—no, tripled—Naeun’s.

Ari seemed to realize her own excess and suddenly laughed it off with a hearty apology.

“Ahaha! I talked way too much, didn’t I?! Sorry. Between Ria and everyone else, I hear so much about you that I guess I built up this weird one-sided closeness. I was way too familiar just now, right?”

“No, it’s fine.”

I answered like it was nothing, but inside I let out a deep sigh. High-tension people like Ari weren’t just one or two in my orbit.

Moments like this made me miss the quiet Han Doyun who was probably somewhere plucking an acoustic guitar without a word.

Then Naeun, unable to wait any longer, bounced in between us.

“Ah, stop that! My first stage! I want to show Unnie already!”

At that, Ari nodded and added,

“Right! The choreography isn’t completely locked yet, but it’s not that hard.”

I furrowed my brow slightly.

Why is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she explaining that to me?

Not that hard. Don’t tell me she was about to ask me to dance this cringey idol choreography with them again? An ominous premonition began to crawl up my spine.

Either way, Naeun dashed over to the audio system and hit play, filling the practice room with music.

I crossed my arms and waited for the accompaniment to spill from the speakers.

What kind of song is it going to be.

Merchant Kim Taesung had handed it over as a solo debut track, so I figured it would be something chasing the current trends.

But the sound that finally ripped out of the speakers completely missed my expectations.

Huh?

This was the pop-rock sensibility that had been all the rage around 2009, when second-generation Korean idols had swept the music scene.

The moment the track started, Naeun’s eyes changed. As the bouncy, cheerful beat kicked in, her small body rode the rhythm as lightly as a spring.

I watched her stage, completely absorbed.

The smart use of electronic accents, the chorus that latched onto your ear after a single listen.

Above all, the choreography didn’t show off flashy, complicated technique; it simply and cleanly hit every point, maximizing the song’s charm.

It perfectly revived the nostalgia of the 2009 era while reinterpreting it in a polished way that fit modern tracks.

Impressive. Kim Taesung.

Pure admiration rose inside me.

The song was like a custom-tailored outfit that perfectly matched Naeun’s signature bright, clear energy and that bouncy image of hers.

I couldn’t imagine anyone else digesting this track so perfectly.

When the roughly three-minute song ended and she finished the last cute ending pose, Naeun didn’t even catch her breath before scurrying straight over to me.

Her eyes sparkled like stars as she asked in a voice thick with anticipation.

“How was it? Unnie!!”

I nodded without a second of hesitation.

“It’s so good. The song really suits you.”

My honest praise made Naeun split into a huge grin like she had just won the whole world, giggling away.

“Right, right?! The second I heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the guide I knew this was totally mine! And Teacher Ari made the choreography fit so perfectly that it’s just fun to sing!”

While Naeun chattered excitedly, bouncing between me and conversation, she casually dropped one more line.

“But about this song. Apparently five years ago, the CEO was going to give it to you, Unnie.”

“……What?”

A blank sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.

This is that song?

It felt like someone had cracked me over the head.

Come to think of it, five years ago I had never even properly listened to the melody all the way through.

I had taken one look at the bizarre cat-ear concept art Kim Taesung had shoved at me, recoiled in horror, and drawn a hard line that I would never do it.

Back then, the very idea of debuting with a dance track while dancing on stage had been an unacceptable compromise to my artistic ego, which had been soaring through the stratosphere.

I had been locked inside the stubborn conviction that I had to become an artist who competed with nothing but my voice and a single guitar.

But now that I was facing the song in its complete form, the feeling was strange.

What was Kim Taesung thinking when he wrote this back then?

There was no room to doubt the quality of the track.

It hadn’t been stamped out of a factory with pure commercialism in mind.

It meant he had written it while keeping my voice and image of that time in mind, calculating how to introduce the singer known as me to the world.

As a fellow musician, I suddenly burned with curiosity about what potential and color he had discovered in me to match me with this energetic pop-rock of all things.

But my meager pride would not allow me to go find Kim Taesung now and ask, “Why did you give me this song back then?”

That left only one answer.

Then I’ll just have to figure it out myself!

Music isn’t something you complete with your ears alone; you finish it by colliding with it using your whole body.

If I danced to this tempo myself, I would understand with my entire body the intention and groove he had poured into the track.

On top of that I could learn more about performance rhythm, and while I was at it I could give Naeun feedback too—wasn’t that the perfect case of killing two birds with one stone?