17 - In Between (2)
17 - In Between (2)
17.
There is a singer named Choi Yoonhyun.
She isn’t just known for her singing—she’s famous for her concerts.
Not in the future. Right now. One of the biggest names currently active.
And it’s not just that she’s great live. Her showmanship, stage manners, and even stage directing are all handled by herself—and the results are insane.
For example, she hangs a very thin, semi-transparent curtain and projects stunning visuals onto it with a beam projector, singing behind that sheer fabric. Just watching it makes your chest feel like it’s going to burst.
Now, I’m planning to use that same thin-fabric-plus-projector setup.
…But I’m not trying to copy her flashy visuals.
That concept is already famous because of Choi Yoonhyun. If I just copied it outright, I wouldn’t get a good score. In fact, when I requested fabric and a projector as props for performance practice, Teacher Ha Hyoju looked genuinely worried.
That’s why I decided to use natural scenery instead.
More specifically—a rainstorm.
If Suyeon’s voice is like a soft drizzle on a damp dawn, then Han Goyo’s voice is a torrential downpour. So I inserted heavy rain sounds at the beginning of Blame.
But that’s not all.
Han Goyo gives off an uneasy, dangerous, almost mysterious vibe. So I asked myself: what stage device amplifies mystery more than anything else?
There was no need to think hard.
Dry ice fog.
Han Goyo stands amid drifting fog. On the thin fabric in front of her, heavy rain pours down, partially revealing her silhouette. The lighting is kept as dark as possible, with only a blue spotlight cutting through.
…Is this too gloomy?
Maybe. But I can’t help it.
Blame was originally a depressing song. More accurately, it was originally a pathetic one—and I rearranged it into something melancholic to suit Han Goyo.
In the practice room, I hang the fabric, project the visuals, then ask, “How is it?”
“What is?” she asks.
“You’ll sing behind this. Are you okay with that?”
“I’m fine.”
She nods and steps behind the fabric. I film her with the borrowed camera.
…Her face does all the work.
“This is cheating,” Kim Taeyoung grumbles beside me.
Honestly, Han Goyo’s existence itself is the cheat.
“Aren’t you going to practice?” I ask.
“I already did everything I need.”
“You’re not working with anyone?”
“None of their songs clicked with me.”
He rests his chin on his hand, watching Han Goyo as she practices the extremely simple gestures I taught her.
…She’s not going to mess up, right?
I watch nervously.
Then Taeyoung says, “That’s the method Choi Yoonhyun sunbae used, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t know you could use it like this. Hm. Maybe I’ll try it next time.”
“Do whatever you want.”
I answer lazily and look back at Goyo.
Stage direction is ready—but event prep isn’t over yet.
There’s still something just as important as staging.
“…What the hell do I dress her in?”
Stage outfit. And makeup.
Ah. My head is going to explode.
§ § §
“Oppa, did you get a girlfriend or something?”
“…Huh?”
Suyeon’s sudden question makes me blink.
Girlfriend? Me?
When would I even have time to date? I barely have time to breathe between composing and arranging.
“You’ve been looking at women’s clothing categories a lot lately.”
“Oh. That’s for the school event.”
Students performing at Seolwon Arts High events can borrow outfits from the school’s partnered wardrobe studio. Same goes for makeup and hair—the school has contracts with salons.
You can wear your own clothes too. You can do your own makeup and hair as well. You just can’t use outside salons.
Right now, I’m browsing outfits from that wardrobe studio to pick one for Han Goyo. Only a month and a half remains until the event.
Time flies like hell.
“Hm. I see. Oh yeah—how did the latest recording go?”
“Of course it went well.”
Yesterday, Suyeon and I recorded the second song.
She wrote the lyrics herself—Actually (사실은).
And I’m not just saying this because I’m her brother. It’s incredibly good. Honestly, it’s even better than the first song, Runaway.
First of all, her fundamentals have skyrocketed. Runaway still had shaky parts. This time, none.
She grew in such a short span of time.
She’s my sister, but her talent is ridiculous. How can someone like this exist?
It’s… bittersweet.
“Are you going to upload this one to Cloud too?”
“Of course.”
“I hope you upload it soon!”
“Why?”
“There’s someone who always comments!”
“Comments?”
Come to think of it, after uploading Runaway, I haven’t checked Cloud even once. I’ve been too busy.
“Yeah! Someone named SomSom left four comments saying the song was amazing!”
Suyeon bounces excitedly.
Seeing that makes me smile.
Even with her monster-level talent… she’s still just sixteen.
“When we upload Actually, do you think they’ll comment again? I hope they do.”
Watching Suyeon get this happy over a single comment, I can’t help but smile.
§ § §
Unfortunately, we can’t use the fabric during performance practice. Since multiple teams share the stage, it’s unavoidable.
So I focus only on Goyo’s gestures.
I gave her the easiest possible ones—and yet she still can’t execute them smoothly.
“Is that nerves, or just stiffness?”
Her movements are oddly stiff. Not human. More like a robot.
In the end, I have to cut even those simple gestures.
“…Is this okay?” she asks, sounding concerned.
I actually widen my eyes.
Han Goyo… showing concern?
I’m not one to tear up easily, but—
No. No tears.
“It’s fine. Your face does everything.”
“?”
It’s a shame she can’t gesture, but her mysterious, fragile aura will carry the stage. I’ll just believe in that.
We don’t have time to fix weaknesses. It’s better to cut what doesn’t work and maximize what we do have.
While preparing our stage, I also watch other students rehearse.
This event uses relative scoring. If others do well, your score drops.
I’m confident—but you never know.
The main one on my radar is Kang Seonghun.
In the future, he becomes the most successful composer of our generation. His innate sense is lethal. And he doesn’t just compose—he sets the entire stage concept himself.
His stage partner is Jin Sohyang.
Her vocals are weak, but as a current idol, she has massive stage experience. Their synergy is terrifying.
I watch him directing movements. Then our eyes meet.
Immediately, he sharply furrows his brows and snaps his gaze away—like he’s disgusted just looking at me.
…What the hell?
Did I do something to him?
I don’t remember interacting with him at all. In fact, I’ve never even spoken to him.
“This outfit looks good.”
At that moment, Goyo speaks while looking at the outfit list I gave her.
I nod and check what she chose.
“A white dress, huh.”
A simple dress with East-Asian-style patterns. Not bad. It suits her and fits the stage mood.
“What about hair?”
“Something simple.”
“Makeup?”
“…Not sure.”
How the hell am I supposed to know about women’s makeup?
I chose the outfit based on stage harmony, but I’m not a professional. If this were men’s styling, I’d know a bit. But women’s makeup? All I have is surface-level knowledge from watching performances.
“Then what do we do?”
“You don’t do makeup?”
“I do light base makeup.”
“And the rest?”
“No need.”
So she’s saying she’s naturally stunning and doesn’t need anything else?
It’s not wrong—but the way she says it, completely flat, is kind of irritating.
“What are you stressing about?” Kim Taeyoung asks, walking over.
Doesn’t he have his own practice? Why is he always here?
“Stage makeup.”
“Just let the pros handle it.”
“…Will that be okay?”
Trusting the stylists without deciding a concept first feels risky. Since I cut gestures, everything else needs to be perfect.
“More importantly—did you do something to Kang Seonghun?”
“No. Why?”
“He keeps asking about you.”
…Me?
Why?
We’re in different classes. We’ve never spoken. There’s no reason for him to care.
And earlier, he looked like he outright hated me.
Quietly, I glance toward the stage.
Our eyes meet again.
This time, he doesn’t look away.
He stares straight at me.
And in his eyes—clear as day—
Jealousy.