Bet (11): The Plagiarism Heart-to-Heart
'This isn't what I wanted...'
He nodded along in a daze, but deep down, Shin Tae-il was utterly confused. Sure, part of the reason he wanted to meet Yahiro was the upcoming BARD concert, but the bigger motivation was hoping the man could offer a clear answer to the dilemma weighing on Tae-il's mind. Plagiarism. Or to put it more plainly, theft—or straight-up ripping off. Any creator would feel the same. It wasn't just about his accumulated experience being invalidated; it could negate his entire life's work. A fatally damaging crime.
Of course, Tae-il's situation was a bit different from your typical plagiarism scandal. Strictly speaking, it was plagiarism, but in a bizarre twist, there was no victim—only a perpetrator.
'Those two must've been floored when they heard it.' They'd probably doubted whether such a weird scenario could even exist in the real world. Truth be told, Tae-il knew it too. There was no set "right answer" to this problem. The outcome and choice rested solely on his conscience.
Yet he still needed an excuse. Just like how Tenma Izumi had gently nudged his back when he'd been stuck in a rut, unable to move forward. He craved reassurance from someone superior, more experienced, a better musician—something to give him the push of courage he'd been hesitating to find.
Luckily, this meeting wasn't just with Yahiro; BARD's vocalist, Izumi, was there too. Tae-il had been a little worried Yahiro might brush off his serious consultation as a joke and tease him mischievously. But with Izumi, he felt safe.
'Izumi-san will definitely give me heartfelt advice.' And maybe more than advice—she might even voice the answer he'd been desperately waiting for. About BURNING. The song's awkward, egg-on-his-face limbo.
Exposing his shame in front of bandmate Iris was mortifying beyond words, but Tae-il needed answers more than he dreaded the humiliation.
"You two already know the gist since you've heard it..."
"Yeah. Let's hear what you have to say."
The one Tae-il needed to explain to was Iris. She listened intently, looking more exhausted than usual.
"Right now, I've got two songs."
"I know." She'd heard about it during their late-night call.
"The thing is..."
Tae-il lacked confidence throughout his explanation. His confession could easily rub Iris the wrong way. One song was like his own child, crafted with painstaking care. The other? Something he'd composed, sure, but built on stolen basic chord progressions—like picking up a baby from under a bridge. The nuance was slightly different, but it was undeniably not purely his creation.
Iris's face twisted in disbelief after hearing it all. Tae-il quietly gauged her reaction. It felt like all the teasing banter they'd shared had been a lie, their dynamic flipping back to her holding the upper hand.
And it didn't stop there.
"Alright. Should we give you two some space?"
"I'll be out on the terrace."
"Huh?"
Yahiro and Izumi suddenly stood and headed for the terrace. Tae-il panicked and tried to stop them.
"Wait, why are you two leaving all of a sudden...?"
"Kid, about that problem you mentioned."
Yahiro glanced at Iris, who was sitting next to Tae-il, and let out an involuntary wry smile.
"We want to help, but... yeah, it's tricky."
"Yeah."
"What do you mean, 'tricky'?"
Exposing his flaws in front of the one girl who least wanted to see them. Tae-il felt an intense wave of shame. It rivaled—or surpassed—the humiliation Iris had just felt.
He'd even invoked their bet to buy a month's time without showing her the song. Who knew how much she'd been looking forward to it? During practices, she'd subtly approached him with expectant vibes.
And it wasn't just her. She'd spoken positively about him to others, openly calling him the leader.
Yet after building up all that anticipation, all he had was this plagiarism consultation? He deserved her contempt.
For Tae-il, it was the worst possible turn of events.
'Anyone but Arisugawa...'
He didn't want her disdain. Didn't want her hate. After all, she'd been the singer he'd dreamed of writing for since his past life.
To the dazed Tae-il, Yahiro drove the nail in further, telling him not to push it.
"Sorry, but this feels like something you should hash out with your bandmates, not us."
"I agree."
"No, it's awkward to talk to the girls about it..."
That's why I'm consulting you guys.
Tae-il swallowed his retort. Iris was watching curiously. Like a bolt from the blue.
He scowled where she couldn't see, reining in his emotions. Izumi's face briefly saddened, but Yahiro quickly ushered her out before Tae-il noticed.
When Tae-il opened his eyes again, only Yahiro remained, half-leaning into the terrace, meeting his gaze.
"Kid. No, Taiichi."
"Y-Yeah...?"
"I still think of myself as half a bandman. Compared to Izumi, NA.IN, or Akitora, I'm way too worldly."
"That's..."
"So take this worthless advice from a senior in the industry to heart."
Yahiro clicked his tongue and scratched his head.
"Anyway, here's the deal. You're not a bandman yet."
"Huh?"
"Remember that. Figure out why. Think about why seeing you pissed me off."
With that, Yahiro stepped out, closing the window behind him. He flashed Iris a grin, wagged his finger like a sly fox as if to say "have a good talk," and sauntered off.
"Ha."
It was hot. The AC was blasting, freezing cold, yet his forehead throbbed.
Being rejected by the veterans weighed heavily on Tae-il. And not just rejected—they'd shoved him toward an unplanned player, Iris, telling him to sort it out through dialogue.
He tried to play it cool, but facing alone the one person he'd least wanted to show the song to left him seeing stars.
"Hoo..."
Tae-il closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. As he turned,
"Melodrama over?"
"It wasn't that melodramatic..."
"Looked the same to me. Real-life drama's not like the movies, huh."
"Ahaha..."
With Izumi out of sight, Iris seemed to snap back to her usual composure in an instant. As expected, she was more at ease with Tae-il than with Izumi or Yahiro—her shoulders slumped in relief, the tension finally draining from her body.
Iris slumped into her chair like she'd collapsed and muttered laboriously,
"This whole day's not a dream, right?"
"Afraid not."
"Gonna get a signature later. Make her write 'I love you.' She will, right?"
"Probably."
"Shin Tae-il, you're a zeroth-gen fan, aren't you?"
"..."
Silence was affirmation. Iris let out a hollow laugh, shot a glare at Tae-il—who was avoiding her eyes and staring at the floor—then stretched.
"Ugh! Knew it. Truth's this anticlimactic, huh."
Until her suspicions had hardened into certainty, complex emotions had swirled. But now that it was laid bare before her, there was nothing left to feel.
"Plagiarism, huh..."
Tae-il flinched at Iris's murmured word. Any relational advantage he'd held was gone. Like a grappling match where Iris had mounted him, pummeling away unilaterally.
But then,
"What a lame dilemma."
Iris casually discarded that dynamic like it was no big deal. Her nonchalant response made Tae-il's fears seem unfounded.
Instead, he got emotional.
"Lame?! This is seriously important!"
"Eh?"
Iris jumped in surprise. She'd never seen Tae-il this worked up and emotional.
As she recoiled, Tae-il unwittingly slammed his fist into his thigh. His clenched fists trembled.
"This could decide my whole life! A choice I finally psyched myself up to make, and it might all go down the drain..."
"Whoa, hold up. That's weird. How's this deciding your life?"
"What?"
Tae-il blinked dumbly. Iris stared at him like he was absurd.
"Strictly speaking, this isn't about 'your life'—it's about the 'lifespan of our band,' right?"
"Well..."
"If the band folds, what happens to me?"
"Arisugawa..."
She'd end up like Shoko—abandoning her singer dreams, forced into an unwanted engagement. Shoko had accepted it, but Iris's personality wouldn't allow it.
Yeah. If the band crashed here, it was Iris's life that would end, not his.
As Tae-il fumbled for words, Iris clicked her tongue.
"I thought you'd prepared some killer song or something. And it's just this?"
"I did revise it..."
"Oh?"
"I wanted to show you the best possible song. Since it's one you'd sing... not just anyone."
Tae-il mumbled, and Iris roughly swept back her fallen bangs.
"God, you're so dense. No wonder Ayane keeps striking out."
"Why bring up Ayane all of a sudden...?"
"Whatever. Shin Tae-il. What'd you just say? A song for me to sing?"
"Well..."
"That's what's wrong!"
Iris shot up from her chair, jabbing his forehead accusingly. Tae-il shrank back like a frightened animal.
"You..."
Normally, Iris would've grinned ear-to-ear at Tae-il acknowledging her vocals, her talent as a singer, hyping her as the vocalist. It was her deepest desire for self-realization and validation, fulfilled only through him.
Unrecognized by her father. Barely tolerated by childhood friend Rena on bended knee. Tae-il's sincere praise and cheers had rooted in her as pride.
Emotions twist, sprout. Unbeknownst to her, Iris already treasured Tae-il deeply.
She'd reached the point where letting go psychologically was hard. She was human too—wanting to be with those who affirmed her, not the jealous crowd from middle school.
Anyone would. Like Ayane, Iris had started depending on Tae-il bit by bit. A first for her, always bold and independent.
But seeing her unwitting crutch acting pathetic pissed her off.
"You said it before, right? 'I want to make a band where I'm in it.'"
"I... did?"
"You did!"
It might've been unconscious for Tae-il, but it resonated deeply with her.
"I've already failed big once. Became everyone's laughingstock. Dreaded going to school. Even Rena's comfort didn't help!"
Trauma earns its name. Even now, seeing Zenjiro or her middle school friends made cold sweat break out. She feared it haunting her on stage too. Once, she'd considered quitting—clowning in a band that wasn't hers, mocked and discarded, laughed at by the masses until she was broken.
But she hadn't.
"Always."
Tears welled in Iris's heated eyes.
"I've been searching."
She believed there had to be a band that'd accept her. If not, she'd make one. Nights in her room, singing and playing BARD songs, lost in countless fantasies and dreams.
And she'd found it. Her muse in a malicious video uploaded to mock her—a fool who saw it that way.
Iris pressed her forehead to Tae-il's. His body heat seared through.
As she slowly opened her eyes, there he was—like on the rooftop—a teary-eyed, clueless coward.
"Shin Tae-il."
"Wh-what...?"
"One thing I know for sure. I'm truly grateful to you. I see our band formation as fate."
Tae-il's eyes widened. He couldn't grasp her intent.
"When you said you'd written a song for me. Praised my singing. I felt like I could fly."
Iris loved singing more than anyone, but good memories were scarce. People always reacted negatively. Online: clichéd praise or envy. In reality: walking a bed of knives.
She's so full of herself. All technique, no soul. Lacks basics but acts superior. Look at her showing off. If she weren't pretty, they'd all hate her.
Even childhood friend Rena had been indifferent back then.
But this boy was different. Every time she sang, he beamed: "That's it!" Sometimes rambling like he knew her inside out. Embarrassing, like a shaman. But really, it was validation as a singer.
His "you're my only muse" attitude made her smile just recalling it.
"I love that you make songs for me. It makes me happy."
Songs come in two types: ones composers make, hoping a singer loves them enough to take; or tailor-made for a specific singer. Any vocalist prefers the latter. Commercial success aside—it's made for you.
Iris too.
But.
"You're misunderstanding something."
"Misunderstanding...?"
Iris leaned in, noses brushing. Tae-il's gaze shook like an earthquake, reflected in her eyes. His ragged breath tickled her lips.
She closed her eyes. Hands on his shoulders slid to his back.
"We're in a band."
She pulled him into a tight hug.
"It's not just me on stage."
Humans are instruments. The finest made on Earth. On stage, it's not just the vocalist playing and singing. A band harmonizes, each personality shining through.
Finally: everything's discussed with members. Or at least, song details clarified upfront.
Plagiarism aside—the issue was writing solely for Iris, ignoring the rest. As a bandman, that causality was off somewhere.
* * *
Tap tap.
Izumi drummed the railing with her index fingers like a piano. Yahiro, perched on it, watched her curiously.
"Not betting?"
"Nah."
"Their talk's gonna drag. You cool?"
"Fine."
After Tae-il's quiet warning, Izumi had started avoiding railings. Composing and lyric-writing wore her out; walks were her hobby to unwind. Leaning on high railings, staring blankly at the horizon—one of her rare routines.
Lately, though, she couldn't. Tae-il's warning kept popping up, making her uneasy.
So she drummed instead. Monotonous single notes to others became piano melodies in her ears.
Yahiro watched her familiar quirk with interest.
"Composing?"
"Yeah."
"Struck by inspiration? Keywords? Love? Romance? Jealousy?"
"Lost child."
"Lost child? Fits nicely."
Yahiro rested his hand on the railing, eyeing the pair inside. The pre-storm calm hung between them. But soon voices might rise, maybe fists fly in a heated fight.
"Izumi."
"Yeah?"
"When'd we start fighting?"
"Fighting?"
"Over music. Me and Akitora just watch, y'know."
Unlike music-raised NA.IN or industry-family Izumi, Akitora and Yahiro started late by chance. Akitora, low on assertiveness, was content drumming anything. Yahiro too—as long as he shone on stage, genre and difficulty didn't matter.
Thus, musical clashes fell to Izumi and NA.IN. Only recently had Akitora and Yahiro jumped in.
Yahiro squinted at the still-bright sky.
"Around when...?"
"Indie days."
"Ah, after we blew up in the indie scene?"
"Yeah."
BARD's shift started with quiet Akitora's bold statement. During lyrics rotation,
"I wanna make my kind of music."
Hearing it first, Yahiro nearly cried.
'Meetings are gonna be chaos now.' Two fighting was bad enough; adding Akitora made him want to quit.
"Great."
"About time you woke up, Akitora!"
But their reactions were positive, unlike his fears. Like vets welcoming a noob in a stale game, they showered advice.
Izumi, metal-hater, even taught Akitora metal knowledge NA.IN didn't know. Seemed fake.
Result: solid success. He kept pushing, expanding his turf.
With Akitora gone, Yahiro was the odd duck out—watching meetings like a side dish, sidelined. Not bullying, but alienated.
He hated that feeling among friends.
'Damn. If Akitora can, why not me?'
By major debut, all four brawled over songs and concepts.
Yahiro eyed the intensifying pair with amusement.
"Think they'll end up like that?"
"Dunno."
People differ; bands grow in unique environments. Conflict isn't always the answer.
"But."
Izumi stopped drumming, turned. Tae-il sat back-to her; only Iris saw his face. Her expression hardened. Mumbled words grew louder.
"It's fine. Tail will handle it."
"Sure?"
"Yeah. Bet on it."
"2,000 yen on the kid..."
"Wanna?"
Yahiro chuckled at suspiciously eager Izumi.
"Pass. I don't bet to lose."
"Scaredy-cat."
"Hey. Not scared—smart."
Yahiro launched into a risk-management rant. Izumi half-listened. Better to pray for Shin Tae-il's safe growth. She genuinely wanted him to succeed.
Though.
"A hug?"
Even Izumi couldn't fathom why they went from arguing to embracing mid-fight.
"Yahiro? Let go?"
"C-calm down, Izumi! They're still fighting!"
"That?"
"Not jealousy...! Just wait! We're adults!"