Birth of an Artist
In the world of recording work, there are melodies that feel familiar. Like Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart—classic pieces so deeply embedded in human society that you couldn't extract them even if you wanted to. The moment you hear the first note, you think, Aha! I've heard this melody before! Band songs are the same. There are hooks that lodge in your ear the instant you hear them and linger for ages. Even if the song itself isn't your taste and you hate it, that damn intro still burns itself into your brain.
Synth. Guitar. Bass. Drums might be a bit trickier, but there are definitely songs that pull it off. The possibilities of music are endless. Assigning meaning to sounds—even insects do that—it's a privilege inherent to any creature capable of it. But freely manipulating those sounds? That's a privilege unique to humanity alone. And among the masses, only a rare few can wield it freely: artists. The birth of an artist. Tae-il was facing the first glimmers of it right now.
"Good?"
"Yeah."
Asakura gave a faint smile at the sight of Tae-il, whose lips hadn't come down since filming started.
"You little devil."
The members were embarrassed, but Tae-il didn't care—he just grinned ear to ear at their growth. To an outsider, he'd look like a total perv.
Well, I'll just watch quietly for a while.
Asakura had a rough idea of how this bizarre Light Music Club operated. As a teacher, she felt she should put a stop to it. The situation this club was in was surprisingly common in powerhouse schools strong in arts and athletics. If anything, it was even messier here.
These kids are the tame ones.
Kids who screw up always try to hide it from adults, like idiots who think the teacher won't notice them goofing off in class. Adults can see right through it. But with their inexperience and lack of ability, they flail around not knowing how to cope. She'd witnessed too many students' lives get tangled up in that swamp called "quagmire."
"Do it right. Band or whatever."
"Of course."
Tae-il replied with a face brimming with confidence. Shameless.
Usually, kids like this are the most dangerous...
The worst ones were those who messed up without even realizing it, but Tae-il was hard to pin down. If he just shaped up, this Light Music Club might end up on a healthy path.
I'll watch quietly for now...?
If she could step in as a teacher and fix it, she would. But the world wasn't that simple. Especially not with boy-girl dynamics—adults meddling didn't guarantee a fix.
It just got more annoying. Like back then.
Yuuma High. A school with prestige matched by its endless incidents and accidents. Why had she graduated from this dump and come back? She regretted the choice sometimes, but her job satisfaction was higher than anyone's.
For my daily life, at least...
Asakura secretly cheered on her favorite student amid this crew of oddballs.
* * *
"Haa."
Ayane exhaled all the breath she'd been holding. Her hands trembled. Her shoulder ached dully under the strap's pressure.
"Wanna take a break?"
"Yeah."
Ayane nodded at Tae-il's suggestion.
"Ayane can do more."
"Got it."
Tae-il went along with her stubbornness. The digital clock on the practice room wall already showed 13:00. They'd aimed to wrap before lunch, but lunch was slipping away. They'd gathered in the morning, and four hours later, only Ayane hadn't finished filming.
The others hadn't had it easy either, truth be told.
If Ayane played a different instrument, we'd be done ages ago.
The delay was all Tae-il's greed. Ayane knew it. That's why she pushed through the numbness in her fingers without compromise.
This isn't because I'm the bassist.
Tae-il thought bass was usually overlooked in a band. Unless the frontman was exceptional. Famous bands often relied on their bassist as the production core—without one, they wouldn't roll. Garage bands without bass even hacked effects pedals on guitars to fake that sound, using every trick in the book.
The heavy throb like a heartbeat. A rhythm so pure it pierced everyone, young or old, without a hint of frivolity. Bass enriched the sound and expanded the repertoire. World-famous bands all had killer basslines. Melodies anyone would recognize. Introduced to them through his cousin Shin Seong-il, Tae-il gradually fell for the sounds that captivated the world.
Bass was the band's foundation—and humanity's first love. At least, that's what Tae-il believed. And Ayane was playing that hazy allure of first love, that foundation, enchanting everyone.
"Perfect."
Finally. Tae-il beamed, clapping like a seal at Ayane's playing.
The long shoot was over.
"Yay! We finally finished!"
Cheers erupted from behind. Iris.
She'd started first thanks to her top skill, and now her boredom was at an end—she beamed with joy.
"Great job, Ayane!"
"Uh, yeah..."
Ayane sighed in relief. Even with the AC on, gripping her hands tightly revealed a solid heat. Like a weapon forged in a smithy, it instilled confidence. Then, to cool that heat, a relatively cool hand overlaid hers.
A shadow blocked her view; Ayane looked up.
"Shin-ssi...?"
"Good work, Ayane. Now rest up."
"Hehe..."
Ayane giggled dopily, thunking her head against Tae-il's solar plexus.
"Ayane?"
"Sorry. Ayane just wants to stay like this a bit..."
"...Okay."
Gently stroking her feverish head, Tae-il replayed her performance in his mind. He was proud of Ayane. The original work specified it: Katsuragi Ayane was born with composing talent. But unlike the others, no mention of instrumental skill. Fandom debates raged about her talent. During events like Gal Cup, it got bad—some said she dragged the band down, didn't fit. Her mental issues piled up anti-fan images in key episodes. Inevitable.
Still...
Ayane had pulled through. In the original. And now, in reality, she'd hit the level Tae-il wanted, at least partially. He'd worried about overloading her, but it was unfounded. He believed: someday, she'd love music. And.
Ayane will be the band's core.
Then his own role might fade.
Eh, whatever.
If that day came, they'd just enjoy the music they wanted. Tae-il hugged his proud Ayane tight.
"Rest up."
"Yeah."
Ayane, basking in accomplishment, didn't cling.
"You all worked hard."
"Yeah."
Yuuya, who'd toiled on filming, stretched.
"But is it okay?"
"Huh?"
The subjects seemed satisfied, but Yuuya, the actual videographer, tilted her head.
"The playing level."
"Ah."
Tae-il smiled wryly at her point. Yuuya studied bands diligently to help. At home, she binged live videos until her YouTube algorithm broke. Vaguely, she grasped objective playing levels. Her senses weren't perfect, but she had a great benchmark: Shin Tae-il. She'd filmed and edited him, so this seemed underwhelming.
"Really okay like this?"
"Yeah."
Tae-il grinned. Utterly pleased. Yuuya didn't push.
Ayane tottered over, somewhat recovered.
Tae-il welcomed her.
"Haha. Gimme the bass. I'll carry it."
"Thanks..."
"Nervous in front of the camera?"
"Y-yeah..."
"Get used to it. You'll deal with it daily later."
Tae-il chuckled, recalling Ayane's original debut freeze-up.
"Ayane on TV?"
"Who knows?"
"You'll get famous and end up there. Don't you know, Gloomy Girl?"
"Stop calling Ayane Gloomy Girl!"
They were nobodies now, but who knew the future. Tae-il imagined it: the arena. The dream stage for the chosen.
"Yuuya-senpai."
"Yeah?"
"Can I check the footage quick?"
"Sure. Here."
Tae-il took the camera from Yuuya and reviewed. Live was flawless—he'd OK'd instantly—but video fell short, as expected.
"Ooh."
Still, the visuals were clean. No extra lights, yet the members looked pretty and crisp.
"'Cause you shot it, senpai? Looks great."
"Heh."
Yuuya puffed up at the praise. Filming wasn't just pointing and shooting. It took skill. Even simple performance vids changed vibe by angle and framing. Tae-il, who'd underestimated it, kept consulting her.
"Farther back here... like this. How's that?"
"Hm..."
"Yuuya looks chill, but she's got chops at filming. Leave it to her."
"Cool. All yours then, senpai."
"Yay!"
Asakura was right. Yuuya nailed it. Footage came in two flavors: faces in or out.
Hm...
Ayane shone on video. Rena too. A few effects, and it'd kill on TikTok. Sakuya and Iris were the issue. Tae-il quietly deleted Iris's file and handed back the camera.
"How was it?"
"Skip the no-head versions."
"Really? Thought they were fine..."
"Better to ditch 'em."
Some YouTubers leaned harder on sex appeal than playing. Tae-il didn't judge. But.
We're still minors...
Future unknown. But avoid embarrassing archival clips.
"How'd your shoot go, Sakuya?"
"Me? Well..."
Sakuya scratched her head shyly. Instrument pros but camera newbies needed tons of retakes. Maybe extra nerves knowing it'd go online.
"More embarrassing than I thought."
"You? Embarrassed?"
Tae-il blinked. Sakuya saying that?
"I'm a girl too, y'know."
She pouted.
"Sorry?"
"If you're sorry, make time later to watch me practice guitar."
"I'd do that anyway..."
"Answer."
"Yep."
Sakuya legally snagged Tae-il's time. Meanwhile.
"Ahaha! Rena-chin's practice vid is hilarious!"
"Wanna die?"
Iris, who'd snuck Rena's phone vid, teased relentlessly. Rena's flub-fest—despite practice—felt fresh even to her.
"Rena-chin, nervous? Huh? Home-proof mistakes everywhere?"
"Yeah, I was. Funny?"
"Want big sis to teach? I learned drums eyeballing Shin Tae-il, y'know..."
"Piss off. If I learn, it's from Shin. Not you."
"Whyyy!"
Iris whined, clinging to Rena. Sakuya, who'd flubbed similarly, sighed.
"Interviews feel familiar, but..."
"Familiar?"
"Showing my amateur side to others?"
"Ah, embarrassed?"
"Like pride or whatever..."
Like creators hiding unfinished work.
"Worse part?"
"Ayane clearly outdid me."
And Tae-il demanded more from her.
"Ehehe."
Ayane, hogging Tae-il's arm, giggled shyly at the praise. Pretending nonchalance, but smugness leaked.
Sakuya scowled.
"Losing to her pisses me off."
"Heh."
"You'll catch up soon, Sakuya."
"Better."
No more settling for second; Sakuya sighed.
"Anyway, more today?"
"Nah."
Group practice tempted, but too rude to Yuuya and Asakura.
"Dissolve then?"
"Why?"
"Huh?"
Sakuya's retort made Tae-il tilt his head. He'd zoned out—now Sakuya pinned his other arm opposite Ayane.
"Hey?"
Tae-il, planning edits at home, panicked.
"Guys! Tae-il's free now!"
Sakuya yelled. Yuuya and Asakura, deep-talking in the corner. Bickering Rena and Iris. All grinned, closing in.
"Uh, hey...?"
Ominous. Fall not even here, yet discharge chills hit. As Tae-il shivered, Iris shouted.
"Shin Tae-il discharge party then!"
"Ayane super agrees!"
"Ayane!?"
Tae-il, secretly craving rest, freaked as it locked in.
"We joining okay?"
"Obviously!"
Torturer Asakura, bandmates, even non-member-but-kinda Yuuya qualified.
"Big party room like last time?"
"Teacher's here, maybe not...?"
"Karaoke then?"
Kids eyed her; Asakura shrugged.
"Whatever suits you. Anywhere's fine."
"Really?"
"I'm not that out of touch with youth trends."
"Liar, sensei..."
"Yuuya?"
"Zip."
Asakura glared; Yuuya mouth-zipped with hands.
"Our sports team's fave spot for dinners?"
"Sounds good. Where?"
Not far, fittingly.
"Hey. My opinion...?"
Chaos of suggestions; Tae-il timidly piped up.
"Or Live House on a whim?"
"Bother?"
"Akihabara spot. Central Dogma. Peeped it once. Private rooms for groups."
"Central Dogma...!"
"What, Rena knows? Otaku thing?"
"Shhh!"
"Pretend you didn't hear!"
"Hey!"
Three girls or more, plates shatter. True.
"Haa..."
In the girly squeals. Tae-il's meek protest ignored utterly.