The Bet (5): Flames of Conscience

"Ugh."

Tae-il groaned, finally closing his weary eyes after glaring at the monitor for what felt like ages. They were sticky from the heat and humidity, but he leaned back in his chair and pressed firmly on his stiff eyelids.

"This is tough."

Composition and arrangement were basically done. He'd even gotten a rough handle on the lyrics. Most of the work was finished, but one nagging issue refused to budge.

Ding.

Whenever something wouldn't click, he habitually scratched his nails across the guitar cradled in his lap.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you..."

Two tracks glowed on the Cakewalk DAW software on his screen. One was his pure 100% original composition, twisted and prodded until its structure had grown insanely complex. In a fit of greed, he'd ramped up the difficulty without realizing it, but now—with a fresh mindset—he'd stripped it back to basics, simplifying ruthlessly.

The melody line is key. But it can't encroach on the vocal's expressiveness.

It wasn't meant to be flashy from the start. Vocals were the star. He'd toned down the bass and guitar solos to keep them understated and concise. Still, he'd left some room in the arrangement for live performances down the line.

If Arisugawa's up for it, she could do an acoustic version with just an acoustic guitar.

Band music might not have the dense, seamless flow of electronic tracks, but it delivered palpable space and live energy. Humans could pour out irreplaceable vibes, uniting stage artists and audience below. Iris could pull it off. She'd captivate not just the crowd but even her bandmates, drawing everyone into perfect harmony around her.

"The title..."

Tae-il's fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping lightly as he hesitated. His song was definitely rain-themed. But it felt less melancholic than before—maybe mirroring his shifting mood. Once a stifling downpour of gloom, now it was lighter, fresher.

"Like fox rain..."

His fingers struck the keys. Fox rain—a term shared across Korea and Japan. Settling on it tentatively, Tae-il dropped his gaze.

The real problem wasn't fox rain. It was this track.

BURNING.

"What do I do with you..."

Crossing his legs and leaning forward, Tae-il propped his chin on the desk as the chair creaked. He played the scratch track with mixed feelings.

The intro was serene. Crisp piano notes drew listeners in. Then Iris's vocals kicked in low and androgynous, like a soliloquy. People would be shocked. Low notes were tough even if highs got all the love—especially for a woman. Tae-il still believed Iris had a blessed range.

As her monologue faded, the piano morphed from hyper-realistic Unreal Engine gloss to cute, 8-bit synth charm. Band sounds flooded in: drums, bass, guitar in smooth verse flow. Lead guitar joined, filling the lingering thinness. Tempo held steady, but rhythm shifted sharply. Ayane's subdued slap bass harmonized with Iris's climbing highs. In the chorus, drums accelerated, guitar tones sharpened into dazzling clarity. Iris unleashed her piercing highs. BURNING's undisputed climax was her endless ascents.

Iris's soaring voice snapped Tae-il from his daze.

"Haa."

He sighed. It wasn't chords or melody. Pure and simple: BURNING's parts were distributed too perfectly.

Tae-il rubbed his temples. Some songs were brutally hard to sing yet irresistibly singable. Spot one in karaoke, reserve it slyly, belt it out with friends—highs be damned—pouring out every ounce.

"Too good to scrap..."

A pro who'd dominated for over a decade had crafted it. Worlds apart from Tae-il's level. Simple on the surface, but dissecting it revealed chasms.

"Haa. In canon, Ayane composed it in middle school, finished in high school...?"

Tae-il envied her landing a track by a producer near-god in anime music. BURNING was the original anime's OP—and the band's debut stage song. Canon: Ayane composed, Iris wrote lyrics, advisor teacher arranged.

Tae-il eyed the scratch track suspiciously. The summer heat? Staring at it felt like he'd burst into flames himself.

"What a hot potato..."

Too precious to ditch, too guilty to use. Japan's famous progressions: royal road, Komuro, Cannon (money code). BURNING blended royal road and Cannon masterfully. Pro polish on common chords guaranteed quality. Voice-acting focused, so playability wasn't extreme. It let singers unleash crowd-pleasing power vocals—upbeat, exhilarating. Perfect for Tae-il's band now, maximizing strengths.

"Tough."

Recreating it succeeded; he could visualize it eyes closed. But conscience nagged: Can I use this as-is?

"Plagiarism or ghostwriting, huh..."

Tae-il eyed his secret plagiarized masterpiece wryly. If styles matched, he might've bent ethics with a "maybe?" No such luck—BURNING diverged sharply from his. An amateur churning tracks couldn't bridge that polish gap proudly.

Laymen might buy it, but pros? All her compositions? Why the wild quality swings? Is she...?

Japan rivaled China in copyright rigor—obsessive even with lyrics.

"And I'm Korean..."

Better avoid hooks entirely. A Korean artist caught plagiarizing or ghosting? Scandal in Japan and Korea. Insult to his revered cousin, Shin Seong-il.

Conscience and risk calculus: Tae-il shelved BURNING.

"On hold. If I use it..."

Insurance first. Still uneasy, he stared.

Doubts deepened. Past promised bedtime with Iris, his phone buzzed.

"A call? At this hour...?"

Curious but zoned in, Tae-il grabbed it blindly and answered.

"Yeah, Tai—"

"Gah!"

The ear-shattering scream made Tae-il wince, yanking the phone away. Checking the screen: Arisugawa Iris.

"Arisugawa...?"

"Uh..."

Tae-il glanced at the clock: 2:00 AM. Undeniably dawn.

"Okay, okay, lower your voice. Thought my eardrums burst."

"Nah, but I'm wide awake now."

Tae-il wedged the phone between cheek and shoulder, shut down the PC, set aside the guitar. Before bed, he peeked out the window. Ayane's room across was dark. Lights off, he flopped onto the bed.

"Heh. You stayed up just to check if I was asleep?"

"Really?"

Listening closely, her voice was indeed huskier.

"Too hot?"

Tae-il broke a sweat at her admission—she'd tipped off Kiriko to check.

"Kiriko get night pay...?"

"Ahaha..."

Tae-il forced a dry laugh. Peak power play.

Kiriko dozed off—call delayed an hour. Iris grumbled.

"Haha. Headache's you, Arisugawa."

"Nothing!"

Intangible pressure through the line—he backed down.

"Anyway, thanks. Nearly pulled an all-nighter."

"Yeah, and some stuff."

"Stuff."

"No comment."

Iris hesitated. Tae-il switched to speaker, lounging comfortably, eyes shut.

"You there? Arisugawa."

"Why apologize outta nowhere."

Casual reply, but her tone wasn't light.

"Haha, why apologize? I suggested the bet."

"Sure?"

More backstory lurked, but Tae-il—guilty himself—let it slide.

"Nope."

Usually insomnia lingered despite fatigue; now he was wired.

"Your voice perked me right up."

"Ahaha!"

True. Perfect timing an hour ago—doubts wouldn't fester; no sleepless night.

"Animal Husbandry Club morning to afternoon. Evening meetup."

Days ago, Yahiro—rarely initiating—reached out. Usually Tae-il's role. Yahiro needed nothing; superior in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fame, skill, everything.

Must be big...

Plus ticket ask. Tae-il happily agreed to meet.

Meeting Yahiro...

Tae-il recalled tomboyish Iris on the line. Spill pre-emptively to dodge hassle.

"Arisugawa, got BARD signatures?"

"Meeting Yahiro soon. Thought you'd want one."

Silence. Tae-il preemptively plugged ears with pillow.

"No way..."

He'd kept ties to Yahiro only. Her reaction confirmed wise.

"Concert prep's crazy."

"Probably. Taking Ayane."

Rambling ensued.

"Perfect my ass. Ease up on ecosystem wrecking, dummy Arisugawa."

"Invasive gold digger, splurging ain't rational."

Tae-il half-tuned her lecture, eyes closing. Chatting with her? Mind emptied lightly, flooding with Iris: directing her singing, emotional depth, guitar on stage? Directing endless.

And always ending: Not canon Iris—my 3D real Iris singing BURNING...

Right. Our band's vocal is Arisugawa...

A tad cowardly, listening to her: "Hey, Arisugawa."

"The bet. Can you check two songs?"

"Not quite..."

Regretted voicing. Too late—pissed Iris wouldn't budge.

"...Details on bet day."

"Sharp as ever."

"As if. Wouldn't even if you begged."

Past life: Friend-recommended Durban-based rhythm gacha. Quit in two weeks. Rookie pitfall: Gorgeous kimono Ayane emptied his wallet unwittingly. Born his "independent trials yes, probabilities no" era.

"Thanks, saved. For real..."

Arms over eyes, he sighed.

"Dunno. Rain ASMR maybe."

Who knew? ASMR wouldn't cure chronic insomnia. No answer; Iris cleared throat.

"I'm not a kid..."

"..."

Tae-il pouted. Unseen, yet Iris giggled, asking song picks.

"Me."

"Nope?"

She huffed, warming voice—husky cleared swiftly.

"Ooh. Voice back?"

No reply; he relaxed. Low expectations. But Iris lullaby? Rare. Eyes shut, ears open.

"Huh? This..."

Surprise lit Tae-il's face. K-pop—a familiar track.

He chuckled, eyes closing anew, tuning to her song.

Sweet whispers: lover's nocturne letter. Flawless pronunciation, soothing timbre flowed from speaker.

Falsetto softened power parts—for him. Serene, lullaby-calmed pitches.

Dawn. Not lovers, but Iris's letter reached Tae-il swift. Sleep well.

Syncing breaths to her exhales.

Sleep claimed him gently.

"Shin Tae-il, asleep?"

Iris giggled. Steady snores loud, like bragging I'm sleeping!

"Good he conked out."

Could hang up, but Iris clung to the phone. Truth: words pent up for Tae-il. Leader face kept her mum—now spilled.

"Y'know, since you're asleep."

Spreading legs? Three-timing worse. Freewheeling like scandal-plagued Yahiro? Really strangers with Izumi? You're BARD's 0th gen fan, right?

"Tenma Izumi's confession song protagonist... not you, right?"

Eyes shut.

"Agh, dunno. You tangle my brain. First time ever."

She tousled her hair self-mockingly. Men complicating her head? Never. Not once.

"Rena-chan's fault maybe..."

Perhaps. But rooftop pleading tugged—not solely Rena.

"..."

Covers to chin, curling bear-like against chill sheets.

Tae-il slept. Iris's turn.

"Suck at that song, dummy Shin Tae-il."

Returning "dummy," she drifted off.

Even breaths intertwined. Till morning.