Just Sing It Better Than the Sample
Weird...? I never had a tremor, did I?
Time flows like a river.
It felt like only yesterday that I'd done my first Veteran Guest Seat stream, and yet somehow it was already the morning before my final vocal lesson.
...Two days. It had been two days since that Veteran Guest Seat stream, and here I was going on about time flowing like a river. I sounded like someone with a screw loose.
On any ordinary day I would have been sprawled across the bed in the wash of the air conditioner, tending to my own affairs in a leisurely, elegant, positively gorgeous manner. Tragically, today's Lee Hari had abandoned that elegant, gorgeous life and stepped outside, where the sun was indiscriminately carpet-bombing the world with sunlight.
Before tomorrow's last session, I meant to run a final check at a karaoke room — one last bout of special training.
Which was why I was currently inside one.
Mic in hand, I summoned everything I had learned and poured it into the song. I hadn't captured it perfectly, but for a first pass, surely this much—!
...The score sat wrong with me, in a way I couldn't quite shake. No matter how I turned it over, an 88 was absolutely not a score fit for the sole disciple of a genius singer-songwriter. Shouldn't the first digit be a 9, at the very least? This machine had to be broken.
Well. In the end, the one listening to my singing would be a person, not a machine. I decided not to spare another thought for whatever score some obsolete karaoke box felt like handing out.
"...How was it?"
Instead, I demanded a verdict from Eunha, whom I had recruited as today's judge.
Honestly, I'd toyed with the idea of calling Yeryeong too, for the sake of Medongbu unity. But Eunha lived close enough that one good stumble would plant my nose on her doorstep, and Yeryeong did not. The moment I summoned her over a personal matter, it could curdle into a boss abusing her authority, so I clenched down on the impulse and let it go.
Then what made Eunha different? Eunha had been the one to speak up first, saying it had been a while and we ought to go out and have some fun.
Without that, I probably would have agonized over today's karaoke training for ages.
Right. When it came to bonding, a team dinner was the iron rule. I shouldn't even think about dragging everyone to a karaoke room. Pick a day sometime and just do a dinner. Last time we'd had hanwoo, that premium Korean beef, so maybe a different place would be better this round?
I turned the thought over while I waited for Eunha's answer. Her eyes had gone about 1.2 times wider than usual, which didn't look like the prelude to a bad review.
"...You've really grown a lot."
Admiration was threaded through her voice.
As expected.
I grinned and answered the praise in kind.
"Right?! Even I was shocked by my own growth, I'm telling you!"
"It's not like I have any deep expertise in singing, so I can't put it very well, but... your voice has come into its own? That's the feeling I got."
...Yes. This was the praise I'd wanted to hear.
My teacher possessed extraordinary skill and bestowed instruction more precious than gold — a true master. Unfortunately, precisely because that skill was extraordinary, she was extremely stingy with compliments.
And I was a frustrated monster, starved for recognition. If I did well, I wanted to be told I'd done well, and told generously. I couldn't be the only one. People feel good when they're praised, don't they? Praise can make even a whale dance, can't it?
Beyond that, I had to win Loe's approval if I was going to collect the autographs that were Eunha's share and Yeryeong's.
For my own satisfaction, and for employee welfare, I had to draw that approval out of Loe. That was why I had abandoned the elegant, gorgeous life of my bed and was out here running karaoke drills.
...And, maybe because someone was actually listening, the drills were far better than practicing alone at home, lonely and pitiful.
If I'd known it would be like this, I should have done it all the time!
And the next day.
"That concludes the lesson."
Regrettably, the special training appeared to have produced no results — and that was after I'd gone and brought Eunha in for it.
...Good thing I hadn't made a habit of it. If I'd called her out again and again only to end in a miserable result, I wouldn't have been able to look her in the eye.
Still, it was the final lesson, and I had never imagined she would withhold praise all the way to the end. Wasn't this usually the moment for at least a little empty flattery?
Could it be that the 88 the karaoke machine had given me was, in fact, a ruthlessly objective and painfully accurate score?
In the end I couldn't hold it in, and my mouth opened on its own.
"...Teacher?"
"What?"
"At my current level, would it be enough to satisfy you? Enough to get the autographs?"
Loe, hearing that, said nothing for a while and only flicked the index finger of her left hand. How much time passed, I couldn't say. Then she snapped her fingers, and at last answered.
"You've met the minimum conditions, so it's not impossible."
Uh. Um....
Wasn't that just impossible, wrapped in nicer paper? The thought flicked through my head.
Surely she didn't find it impudent — me, already given the teaching materials, still trying to walk off with three whole autographs? ...Should I have asked for only two, and left mine out?
In a flash I ran through every hypothesis I had. They chained one into the next, until Loe's voice cut the chain.
"You've heard all the lessons, so.... It's about time I gave you this."
With that, she held out a USB. At a glance, it didn't look especially expensive———
"Inside are the sheet music, the lyrics, the instrumental, and a sample track."
It was precious enough that if I lost it, I wouldn't have a word of defense even if they buried me. My hands began to shake, entirely against my will.
Weird...? I never had a tremor, did I?
Desperate to escape the pressure of being responsible for this terrifying object, I carefully offered my opinion.
"...Um, I might lose it, so wouldn't it be better to just send it by email after all?"
"I like this better. It feels like giving and receiving."
...If the person giving me the song wanted to hand it over on a USB, what was I supposed to do? No matter what happened, I simply would not lose it. That was all.
She must have read the burden on my face, because Loe added something more.
"You just have to sing it better than the sample. Then you can have the autographs. ...I'm sure you can."
...This counted as encouragement, right?
Encouragement, from Loe. I'd received something rare.
In that case, there was only one thing for me to say.
"Understood!"
...I didn't know, back then.
The true nature of the sample track Loe had mentioned.
Even if I had known, my answer wouldn't have changed.
Vocal training was over, which meant it was time for the three-way meeting between my manager and Loe's.
The subject, of course, was my original music video.
The concrete schedule, how much to reveal ahead of time, the method of release — that sort of talk was waiting.
But there was something I had to do first.
"Teacher, I've learned so much over these five weeks. As a small token of my thanks, I prepared a gift...."
Saying so, I brought out the present I had kept hidden.
"A tea set, and tea that's supposed to be good for the throat."
So. As for how Loe reacted to the gift—
"...Mm."
Hmm.... She was wearing the mask, so I couldn't tell whether she liked it. Her voice didn't sound particularly surprised, either.
...She didn't already own that tea set, did she? The surprise was failing here?!
"Do you already have one?"
"...No. I don't."
And then the silence began to stretch. ...I can't—I can't breathe!
In the end, the one who broke first was me.
"D-do you like it?"
"I like it. ...But it feels a little short."
So saying, Loe drew a marker from her pocket and signed one of the saucers. Then she held out a saucer and the marker to me.
"Let's trade autographs."
"...What?"
"You're my first disciple, so I wanted to mark the occasion. Make something that symbolizes the bond between master and disciple, and split it between us. You keep the saucer with my autograph, and I keep the one with yours.... Mm. I think this is good. Don't you?"
"I-it won't rub off, will it?"
"Don't worry. I'll coat it before I give it to you."
...I was certain.
Loe was an otaku. And not a casual one — an otaku whose inner cultivation could stand toe to toe with mine.
The proof was right there. Beyond that earlier first disciple line, she had used the phrase bond between master and disciple, words that pluck at an otaku's heartstrings. And she had come up with the idea of each of us keeping an object that symbolized that bond — an idea that stirred an otaku's very soul.
...Right. As an otaku, I could not let this pass.
This was a chance to make an otaku's romance real.
So I signed without a moment's hesitation.
I signed the saucer, finished the three-way meeting, and went home. Fortunately, nothing like losing the USB occurred.
"Well then. Shall we give the sample a listen?"
What kind of song would it be? Personally, I was hoping for something a little gentle, but with the high notes driving hard upward.
Thinking that, I hit play.
I finished listening to the sample.
And my face had gone stiff.
The song was good. Extremely good.
The problem was that the voice singing the sample was a very familiar one.
...Yes. The person who had sung the sample was none other than Loe herself, the one who composed it.
Loe had said, quite clearly, that if I sang it better than the sample, she would give me the autographs.
I played the sample again.
"...You want me to surpass this?"
It seemed I would have to give up on the autographs earmarked for employee welfare.