14 - It's Quiet (3)
14 - It's Quiet (3)
14.
After that day, I started running into Han Goyo a lot.
We didn’t talk or anything like that. At most, if our eyes met, she would give a slight nod. Not even a proper greeting—just… something.
“What the hell is up with her?” Taeyoung muttered.
“With who?”
“Han Goyo. Doesn’t it feel like we keep seeing her lately?”
“Well, she uses the same practice room as us. Other than us, she’s the only one who practices this often.”
“…True.”
I nodded.
While violently tearing apart today’s lunch menu item—The Bird’s Glorious Afternoon (grilled chicken thigh)—Taeyoung continued complaining.
“But why does she keep ignoring me?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, right? When she meets your eyes, she nods every time. But when she meets mine, she just turns away. Do you know her or something?”
“I already told you everything.”
“So I’m just invisible to her?”
Honestly, that sounded pretty normal for Han Goyo. If anything, I was the abnormal one.
Still… I was curious. Did she need something from me?
If she did, she’d just say it.
“I dunno.”
If she needed something, she’d speak first.
§ § §
School life was insanely busy.
After regular classes, we either went to major lessons or stayed in the practice rooms until late at night. Practice room time was technically optional—some students went straight home.
I couldn’t afford that.
For the ordinary to catch up to the extraordinary, time has to be sacrificed.
And soon, even optional practice time would disappear. Performance practice would start, followed immediately by event preparations. Once that happened, there would be no free time left at all.
So Taeyoung and I spent as much time in the practice rooms as possible, going home late every day.
Naturally, that meant giving up on regular classes.
And giving up on classes meant giving up on exams.
My midterm results were… pathetic. The worst in my entire life. Honestly depressing.
And because I even sacrificed studying, I barely saw Suyeon.
She had her own classes and academies. On weekdays, we only exchanged brief greetings. But on weekends, we spent the entire day rehearsing at Howl Studio.
At this point, Howl Studio had basically become our weekend hideout.
All thanks to Won Sungmin.
Aside from using the recording booth, he didn’t charge us for anything else. He said it was an “investment in talented juniors.”
And Suyeon was definitely worth investing in.
“Too bad,” Suyeon muttered during a break.
“What is?”
“I want to learn more and sing more… but there’s no time. I know there’s no helping it, but still…”
She scratched at the bottle cap with her fingernail.
It hurt to watch.
Honestly, I wanted to work with her more too. Even natural talent becomes meaningless if it isn’t polished.
But there just wasn’t enough time.
“For now, let’s just do everything we can,” I said.
“Yeah.”
She smiled brightly.
After finishing piano lessons with Sungmin, I opened my laptop. It was time for a new recording.
“Suyeon.”
“Yeah?”
“Pick the song you like most from these.”
I’d chosen the first song, Runaway. But from the second song onward, I wanted her to decide.
I laid out all the arranged tracks and handed her the laptop.
“I just pick?”
“Yeah. Listen and choose.”
She nodded and hit play.
The songs I’d prepared flowed from the speakers. Suyeon listened with a serious expression.
Watching her made me nervous.
What if she didn’t like any of them?
After the last song ended, she stayed silent. She frowned, thinking, propping her chin on her hand. She replayed a few tracks again, clearly debating.
After a long while, she finally looked up.
“I want this one.”
Music started playing.
I blinked.
That was… unexpected.
“Seriously? That one?”
“Yeah. I like it.”
The song she chose was Actually.
A track from my debut album. A song I both loved and hated.
A confession to my family who believed in me. A song where I admitted that I had no talent, that I knew it all along… but couldn’t say it.
I never thought she’d pick this one.
Then again… it fit her too.
She also couldn’t tell me how she really felt.
“…Alright.”
I nodded.
Actually already had a finished arrangement—but we couldn’t record it yet.
The lyrics were the problem.
They were written for me alone.
To give this song to Suyeon, I’d have to rewrite them.
I’d write her truth into the lyrics—her dream she gave up for me, her feelings she never said.
§ § §
While working on Suyeon’s song, the first Performance Practice class finally began.
Performance Practice.
Exactly what it sounded like—practice for performing on stage.
Vocal majors sang on stage with cameras pointed at them, fixing posture and habits. Composition majors learned stage direction.
The class was graded through the event.
It took place in the school’s small concert hall, a 200-seat venue. Odd and even classes were combined.
The class was taught by two vocal instructors and two composition instructors. One of them was Ha Hyoju, my major teacher.
As the overview began, I scanned the other students.
This was my first time seeing the odd-class composers.
Ah—one familiar face.
Kang Seonghun.
Top academic student. Highest output among Seolwon’s composition majors.
He was said to be CM’s successor—but his style was even more polarizing than hers.
Pure hook songs. Addictive melodies repeated relentlessly.
People said he recycled his music.
Even so, every song he released hit the charts. Idols lined up to work with him.
I watched his bored expression—then met eyes with Han Goyo.
She nodded.
I nodded back, then looked away.
Once the explanation ended, real practice began.
Performance practice itself wasn’t anything special. It was mostly self-directed.
Vocal majors practiced on camera, reviewed their footage, and fixed habits. Or they watched famous singers to study gestures and stage manners. If they got stuck, they asked a teacher.
Composition majors focused on structuring stages and designing direction, setting everything up when it was their turn.
But there was something even more important for composition majors.
Finding a vocalist for the event.
Unless you planned to play piano yourself, you needed a vocalist—and the sooner, the better.
Realizing this, most composition majors stopped working on stage direction and watched the vocalists instead.
They analyzed.
Does this voice fit my song?
How strong is their singing?
Once they decided, some began approaching vocalists.
The most popular was Kim Taeyoung.
I don’t praise him often, but he really is insane. Naturally, he becomes a world-class singer in the future.
Next was Jin Sohyang.
Her technique wasn’t the best, but her tone was unique—and more importantly, she was already an idol. Her stage experience alone was a massive advantage.
While watching composers approach vocalists, I met eyes with Han Goyo again.
No one stood around her.
Or rather—people approached, but she refused everyone. Without a word. Just a shake of her head.
Even Kang Seonghun had been rejected.
I clicked my tongue.
Han Goyo was not a good choice for performance or events.
In the event, the composer controls everything. You have to communicate constantly with your vocalist, discuss concepts, and build the stage together.
Han Goyo doesn’t talk.
She has zero social skills.
You can’t build a proper stage with someone you can’t communicate with.
To score well at the event, being able to sing isn’t enough.
I stopped paying attention to her and scanned the room.
No time to waste.
Before someone stole a good vocalist, I needed to secure mine.
But who?
I watched the vocalists rehearse.
…No one stood out.
They were all decent. Not bad enough to dismiss—but not good enough to excite me.
Working with Suyeon had ruined me. She’d raised my standards too high.
That’s the downside of having a genius nearby.
Your expectations become ridiculous.
Who should I recruit…
While I was thinking—
Han Goyo stepped onto the stage.
It was her turn.