Scout
‘I once wished my mom and dad were just outright vicious people.’
That was why Niel couldn’t cut ties with her parents.
Even if their gestures were twisted forms of love, they were the only ones who had always treated her with genuine sincerity—a cruel irony.
Her father, who scraped together every penny he had and didn’t have just to send her pocket money so she wouldn’t feel down around her friends. The cash was meant for her to buy all sorts of clothes, yet he wore the same work uniform every single day.
Her mother, who stormed into the teacher’s office when Niel was bullied at school, shielded her fiercely, and ultimately forced the perpetrators to transfer schools. Niel hated her so much back then, but in that moment, she felt like her mother was the only person in the world truly on her side.
Just when, and where, had her life gone so wrong?
Was it when I noticed Dad was about to get scammed but couldn’t bring myself to warn him clearly? Failing to get into Yale? Or falling in love with the violin? No, if none of that, then maybe I was the mistake just for being born?
Negative thoughts chained endlessly, one after another.
To escape the suffocating hardship of the present, her mind drifted to a radiant past.
‘Prodigy at First Sight.’ That was the nickname fans on Maestro had given to Yudex, for her ability to play any score perfectly on first sight.
Young Danielle loved the little praises her mother never gave her. Shorten it to ‘Super Prodigy,’ and it sounded cool—perfect for an elementary school kid’s sensibilities.
At the same time, the current Niel felt awe at Nami’s skill.
She wondered if those overly fanboyish, teary lines on Trikipedia calling her a genius who’d never appear again in human history might actually be true.
‘Violin beginner for one year? Isn’t that a real super prodigy?’
Even asking her music school classmates to sight-read Walton’s piece wouldn’t get them over 99% accuracy easily.
And unlike Niel, whose fingers had stiffened up, Nami was just a kid.
Even with 100% now, Niel couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d already lost.
At that moment, Niel’s scoreboard flickered.
#1 Judex: Accuracy 99.87%
#2 NoName: Accuracy 99.32%
It dropped bit by bit, little by little.
‘What’s wrong? I played it right. No way...?’
Niel had experienced this before. Suddenly, the violin notes would drift ever so slightly off.
Trying vibrato with her fourth finger confirmed it. The arcade violin’s string was on the verge of snapping.
“Nami, maybe pause the game and restart...”
Niel tried calling out, but Nami seemed too focused on playing to hear.
Her tiny fingers strained desperately to press the strings—it was heartbreaking to watch.
‘Wait... why do I have to win? Wait, why did I even make this bet?’
It was pride. The self-respect of someone who’d devoted her life to the violin.
A rebuttal to Professor Pisujeong’s claim that she lagged behind Nami.
If she eased up now and played gently, the string wouldn’t snap, and the duel would end in Niel’s perfect victory.
But even now, Nami was playing on, oblivious to her finger skin tearing, all because Niel wanted her to apologize to the group herself.
[If it’s necessary, then yeah, you should do it.]
In that instant, Niel’s mind went blank.
Nami was right—she should apologize in person.
The decision didn’t take long after that.
Niel swung the bow hard.
The fluffy white bow hair grated fiercely against the string.
With a twang, it shot into the air, then flopped limply to the floor like a head yanked by the hair.
Nami’s eyes went wide in shock.
“You win, NoName.”
She was a remarkably mature kid for her age. Over the four performances, Danielle had been inspired by Nami’s effort.
So it made perfect sense for NoName to win the bet as agreed.
“Niel unnie, you okay? Did your hand get hurt?”
“Huh? Nah, I’m fine. Strings snap all the time when you play.”
“But this isn’t even ours—shouldn’t we pay for it?”
“...Gasp! What do we do?!”
In the end, Nami covered it. Danielle’s adult pride lay utterly shattered.
“I’m truly sorry for everything up until now...”
Danielle bowed over 90 degrees. Any further, and her head would hit the floor.
Contrary to Niel’s worries, the group’s mood was excellent.
Part of it was genuine emotion from her sincere apology, but mostly because her secret weapon was insanely effective.
“This is a summary of just the final exam scope? You worked so hard on it—can we really use it?”
“Yes, I compiled every past exam from the five years the professor posted. Study this, and you’ll nail most questions.”
“What about you missing the last group meeting?”
“I emailed about that—up to three absences don’t deduct points, so it’s fine.”
“Ahh.”
“This is insane! One day of studying, and boom—A+! Thanks, Danielle!”
The elective ‘Psychology of Human Relationships’ was group-meeting heavy, but grades hinged on the final exam. The final report variance was just 1-2 points—peanuts compared to one extra correct answer on the test.
Woo Da-yeon, in her graduation semester where every point mattered, apologized profusely for overreacting earlier.
Niel’s atonement ended in a warm, fuzzy atmosphere.
Asking for forgiveness wasn’t the grand ordeal she’d imagined. It was almost disappointingly easy—which made her wonder why she’d put it off so long.
“But Nami, what brings you here so early? Class hasn’t even started.”
Woo Da-yeon gripped my shoulders from behind and asked. It was 2:50 p.m. The professor’s 45-minute lecture had to end before group meetings began.
“Finished early today, so I thought I’d drop by. Heard auditing’s open.”
Truth was, the class was just an excuse. I had private business with Danielle, so I’d wait until it ended.
“What about?”
Da-yeon kept prying.
“Business secret—can’t tell just anyone.”
“Haha, got it, won’t ask!”
“I’m serious.”
Did Niel like animals? Lion, leopard, or king cobra maybe?
The classroom was crammed with long six-person tables. We grabbed seats in the empty middle.
Danielle on my left, Woo Da-yeon on my right—laptops open, they formed a sturdy shield against outside interference: whispers from other college kids.
“Nami, you’re so popular. You could just teach the class up front.”
“I’ll stay quiet and leave.”
“Just enroll at Korea University already. Aren’t you basically VIP?”
“Dunno.”
I really didn’t—I had zero interest in this country’s curriculum yet.
“Who’s the professor here?”
“He’s the best—perfect! Hot, great voice, fun classes, one final exam with generous grading.”
“No midterms?”
“Yep. That’s why it’s the ultimate easy elective.”
Weren’t exams usually three? Two mids and a final?
“Who decided that?”
“Professor Cheon. Oh, but there are quizzes instead?”
“No quizzes either?”
“Then how do they differentiate?”
“Everyone gets good grades. Does someone have to fail?”
“Well... not necessarily.”
My whole worldview was shaking. Had Professor Cheon brainwashed me this whole time?
A tall middle-aged professor soon entered through the front door.
“Everyone’s so lively on a Monday. Something good happen?”
The murmurs stopped, replaced by piercing stares from all sides.
Overwhelming. Should’ve waited outside.
I’d only joined out of curiosity—my first college class in ages, after two lifetimes. These people had no sense of restraint.
I slid my butt forward off the chair, sinking lower bit by bit. A little more, and my head would dip below the desk.
Then my eyes locked straight with the professor’s.
“Oh!”
““Wahahahahaha!””
His short exclamation set off the students in peals of laughter.
What came next was even worse.
“Isn’t this the legendary Pokémon that only appears at Korea University—NoName! Honored that someone more famous than our president chose our class. Let’s give her a big round of applause!”
Please, no.
“Kihik.”
Even Danielle beside me was doubled over laughing.
I finally hid my face under the desk.
There was good reason I’d marked Danielle as a candidate for the first season of Kariri’s Safari Dream—or whatever it was called. Safari Dream trainee.
First, her long Maestro career meant she knew anime songs, Vocaloid, and utaite culture inside out. In other words, she was an otaku.
The app, made to popularize classical music, inevitably devolved into rhythm-game fate: plastered with Japanese songs.
Fluent in Japanese and English at native level? Bonus points.
Second, her unmatched skill in one field secured main content right away.
If word got out that a mysterious amateur who’d vanished from Maestro years ago returned as a VTuber, initial buzz was guaranteed.
Of course, I’d just propose it—the rest was up to Kariri and Danielle.
It had to appeal to Kariri more than me.
“Niel unnie said playing violin makes you happiest. When exactly?”
She said she didn’t know.
Danielle had lived inertly under her mother’s thumb. No time to ponder what she truly loved or cared about.
“Think about it seriously. Do you want peak violin performance, or the cheers of crowds? If it’s the latter, VTuber could work.”
Uploading videos daily since childhood screamed exhibitionist streak.
Hard life turned her inward, but people change with breathing room.
If she tried VTubing, I promised to help her conquer her claustrophobia too.
“Bit rude to ask, but... how much does Kariri make?”
“Around 5k, I guess? Didn’t ask details.”
“Whoa, 50 million a year? She was quiet lately—VTuber market must be booming. Didn’t know...”
“What? 5k a month.”
“...”
“...”
“Why the hell did I choose classical music?”