12 - It's Quiet (1)
12 - It's Quiet (1)
12.
Ha Hyoju was an excellent teacher. As expected of an instructor at Seolwon Arts High.
She understood my explanations perfectly, and she always reminded me that her feedback wasn’t absolute—that I needed to think and judge for myself. I really liked that about her.
“So you’re going to pick Teacher Ha Hyoju?” Taeyoung asked.
“Yeah.”
“What about the other teachers?”
“After hearing how their classes work, there’s no need to waste time trying them.”
Just listening to other students was enough to grasp what each class was like. Why spend four weeks experiencing them firsthand when I could choose immediately?
“Still, you’re lucky. Finding a teacher you like on the first try.”
“You didn’t?”
“Not at all. My teacher yelled at me in the first lesson—‘Don’t take singing lightly!’”
Taeyoung shook his head, looking fed up. Hearing that, I already knew which teacher he meant.
“Was it Jin Mansu’s class?”
“How did you know?”
“He’s famous.”
I had him in my past life too. Incredible skill, but sharp-tongued and picky. Very hit-or-miss depending on the student.
“But man, he sings insanely well,” Taeyoung added. “If the other teachers are disappointing, I might just stick with him. There’s not much time before the event—I need to choose fast.”
“Ah.”
The sound slipped out before I realized it.
Right. The event.
The “event” is a mini-festival held twice a year by the Practical Music Department. But unlike real festivals, outsiders aren’t allowed—except for the third-year event. In simple terms, it’s stage experience.
And the first-year students’ first event is in June.
“So what are you going to do?” Taeyoung asked.
He meant: what kind of stage would I perform?
For vocal majors, it’s simple—get up and sing. But for composition majors, there are two options: perform your own piece on piano, or recruit a vocalist and put them on stage. In the latter case, the composer handles everything: direction, blocking, and the overall performance.
“I’ll recruit a vocalist,” I said.
That was the obvious choice. I needed stage direction experience anyway, and opportunities like this were precious.
“You’re not going to sing yourself?”
“No.”
I’d already given up singing. I wasn’t desperate enough for the stage to throw away a valuable opportunity just to perform myself.
“If the event’s in June, performance practice will start soon,” Taeyoung said. “So… did you decide on a vocalist?”
“That’s the problem.”
Honestly, I wanted to put Suyeon on stage. But outside vocalists are forbidden, and even if they weren’t, she had her own classes.
“How about me?” Taeyoung pointed at himself.
Kim Taeyoung wasn’t a bad choice. Right now, he was just a talkative kid, but in the future, he’d become a world-class vocalist.
Still, it wouldn’t work.
All the songs I’d written were made for female vocals. They were written with Suyeon in mind. I could rearrange them for a male voice, but the event ended right before midterms. I wouldn’t have time to completely rebuild a song.
And I refused to waste one of only two events per year on a compromised piece.
“Thanks, but I don’t think a male voice fits. It’d be too difficult.”
“Ugh.”
He frowned in disappointment, then cautiously asked, “Then… could you help arrange my stage?”
“If I have time, sure.”
The moment I nodded, his face lit up. It wasn’t a difficult task, and having Taeyoung owe me a favor could be useful later.
“You better not bail.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
After getting a promise, he finally went back to his seat.
But seriously… I had a problem.
Who should I use as a vocalist?
I glanced at the vocal-major girls in my class. No one stood out. Sure, I didn’t know all their abilities—but if none of them became famous in the future, that told me enough.
Maybe Jin Sohyang, the idol, would work. But she barely attended school due to her schedule. I couldn’t rely on her.
Then it hit me.
There was no need to limit myself to my class. Performance practice and events group odd- and even-numbered classes together.
That widened the pool.
And among them, one name stood out.
Han Goyo.
Han Goyo…
She would be incredible on stage. I still remembered her performance at the event in my past life—the first time someone else’s song gave me chills.
But could I even recruit her?
Han Goyo didn’t get close to anyone. She didn’t even participate in ensemble classes, let alone festivals.
“My head hurts…”
There was too much to think about.
§ § §
While struggling with performance decisions, I finished Runaway. Just as I’d discussed with Ha Hyoju, I added the pencil-scribbling sound at the beginning—and it worked beautifully.
“How is it?”
When Won Seongmin listened, he was stunned.
“It’s amazing. Especially that pencil sound—it’s a stroke of genius. It forces the listener to focus.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“…And your sister sings unbelievably well.”
“Right? I told you she was insanely good.”
I smiled proudly.
It was time to upload it to Cloud.
After creating an account, I hesitated.
What nickname should I use?
Choose something strange, and you’ll regret it later. I learned that lesson in my past life.
I asked Suyeon if she had a stage name in mind.
[Anything is fine!]
…The most difficult answer in the world.
After thinking it over, I chose something safe.
[Drop pop]
It was the name of Suyeon’s favorite ice cream.
Vocal: Yoon Suyeon
Composer: Yoon Hajun
I filled everything out and uploaded Runaway. If Suyeon didn’t like the name, I could change it later.
Then I waited.
Nothing happened.
Well—expecting instant virality from a single upload is ridiculous. And the song was entirely in Korean. On a global platform like Cloud, it was natural for it to struggle.
“You don’t get full from the first spoonful.”
Muttering that, I closed the laptop.
§ § §
Once real classes began, my mind was barely holding together.
I had to compose a second song for Suyeon, prepare a song for midterms, take guitar and piano lessons from Seongmin on Saturdays, teach Suyeon on Sundays, and attend my own major lessons on Mondays.
And on top of that, I had to prepare for performance practice and the event.
I was losing my mind.
There was no way I could focus on general classes, so I made a decision.
I abandoned them.
In other words, I slept through them.
Giving up written exam scores hurt, but if I tried to hold onto everything, I’d lose everything. A person has to live within their limits.
I reassured myself and yawned loudly.
“Why do you sleep every day?” Taeyoung asked.
“Too much to do.”
I replied half-heartedly while eating lunch. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell if the food was going into my mouth or my nose.
“Why are the cafeteria food names like this?”
“How would I know? At least it tastes good.”
“True. It does.”
Seolwon Arts’ cafeteria food is excellent. They outsource to a professional catering service—it tastes better than most restaurants. The menu is great too.
It’s just the names that are insane.
“‘Rebellion of the Bird Who Fell Into Fire,’ ‘Egg of the Swamp Ruler,’ ‘Rose Soaked in Blood’…”
“The nutritionist must have chuunibyou.”
For reference:
Rebellion of the Bird Who Fell Into Fire = cheese buldak
Egg of the Swamp Ruler = chocolate cake
Rose Soaked in Blood = strawberry ade
After finishing lunch, we stood up. I’d caught up on sleep during class, so it was time to work in the practice room.
Taeyoung and I headed out—
and bumped into someone.
“Sorry.”
A flat, emotionless voice. Eyes just as indifferent as the tone.
It was Han Goyo.