2 - My Younger Sibling Was a Genius (2)
2 - My Younger Sibling Was a Genius (2)
2.
The first thing I did to prepare for the future was quit the vocal academy I’d been attending.
Since I’d decided to give up singing, there was no point wasting money on ridiculously expensive vocal lessons. Instead, I bought a composition program for my laptop.
Of course, I used Mom’s credit card.
Mom, I’m sorry. This time, I’ll really make a lot of money and be a good son.
To be honest, I didn’t want her help, but right now, I absolutely needed it.
Feeling guilty, I opened the composition program. It would’ve been nice to have an electronic keyboard too, but that was probably too much to ask. Even the cost of this software wasn’t something you could just brush off.
And to think—in my past life, I’d scratched my stomach and casually begged her to buy things like this.
What the hell was wrong with me back then?
I plugged my headphones into the laptop and put them on, then started composing.
The first song I recreated was “Swipe,” the most popular track I’d ever made in my past life. Well… “most popular” didn’t mean it ever charted. Still, it had been fairly well received.
The problem was that I couldn’t record a guide vocal right now. It couldn’t be helped. I’d have to save up my allowance and use a self-recording booth.
I listened to the tracks as I worked, revising them little by little.
Will this be good enough?
Honestly, I was nervous.
Among the students at Seolwon Arts High, there were always one or two absolute geniuses. Still, at this level, I should at least get a decent evaluation at school. If I couldn’t even get good feedback from high schoolers, that would be beyond pathetic.
But what I was aiming for was a full scholarship. And to get one, “good” wasn’t enough.
I needed to be overwhelmingly good.
I didn’t know how long I worked, but at some point, the dark sky outside began to lighten.
Crap. I got too excited after composing again for the first time in ages and overdid it.
If I wanted to grow taller, I really should’ve been sleeping early.
I stretched, stood up, and went to wash up before bed. After quickly cleaning up, I headed back to my room—only to notice the light still on in Suyeon’s room.
Huh?
Was she still awake? Or had she fallen asleep with the light on?
If it was the latter, I should turn it off for her.
I carefully opened the door.
“You’re already up?”
Suyeon, who was studying, looked up at me.
Why was she awake this late? She’d be exhausted.
“You haven’t slept yet?” I asked.
“No. I slept and got up.”
“…It’s five in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
Turns out my sister was way more diligent than I thought.
“What time did you go to bed last night?”
“Around ten, I think.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“You too, oppa.”
Yeah. I really had no right to say that when I stayed up until dawn.
As her older brother, I should be setting an example.
I nodded and quietly left her room. Behind me, I heard the soft sound of her sniffing as she studied.
§ § §
I hate winter.
More specifically, I hate the cold and the dryness.
Sniffling, I pulled my hood tight over my head as the sharp wind made my ears ache.
“Is it here…?”
I checked my phone. Using an old model again after so long felt strange. I already missed my latest one.
Staring at the map on the screen, I frowned. It should be around here somewhere. Why did everything look the same?
I wandered around the identical-looking neighborhood for nearly ten minutes before finally spotting my destination.
Haul Studio.
A self-recording studio you could rent by the hour—the cheapest one in my area. And it looked exactly as cheap as it sounded.
After staring at the shabby exterior for a moment, I headed down to the basement, opened the thick metal door, and stepped inside. Warm air mixed with the smell of dust hit my nose.
“Who is it?”
“I’m Yoon Hajun. I made a reservation for today.”
At my reply, the man sitting at the counter stood up. He had a messy, unshaven beard and looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties—not that old.
“Two hours, right?”
“Yes.”
“Payment is in advance.”
The fact that he didn’t talk down to me just because I looked young instantly made him likable.
I took out my wallet and handed over the cash I’d prepared. Just one session cost a third of all the allowance I’d saved so far. It hurt—but it was necessary.
He took the money and led me to the recording room. Despite the shabby exterior, the equipment inside was surprisingly modern.
“You know how to use it?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t much different from the setup I’d used in my previous life.
He nodded once and left.
After checking the equipment a few more times, I took a USB from my pocket, plugged it in, and played the instrumental for “Swipe.”
It was just a guide recording, not an official take, so I kept it light. Besides, I wouldn’t be the one singing this song in the end. Who would be, I didn’t know yet.
A few names crossed my mind, but I focused on recording.
Recording itself wasn’t difficult. I’d already written this song once before. The melody and lyrics were complete, and I’d sung it hundreds—no, thousands—of times.
What bothered me was my weak producing.
In my past life, I’d almost never produced my own songs. I composed, arranged, and wrote lyrics, but left producing to professionals. From now on, I had to handle that too.
So even though I wasn’t fully satisfied, I recorded and produced it myself.
Thankfully, the experience I’d accumulated over the years hadn’t disappeared. The result wasn’t bad.
Of course, it wasn’t finished—but time was up.
I ended the session with lingering regret.
I just needed to endure until enrollment. Seolwon Arts High had its own recording rooms and studios, and enrolled students could use them just by applying.
“How did the work go?” the man asked as I stepped out of the booth.
I nodded carefully. “Yeah. I think it’s okay.”
“The song sounded good. Did you make it yourself?”
“…You heard it?”
“The door didn’t close properly.”
Damn. That was careless. I’d double-check next time.
“Our studio runs twenty-four hours. Come anytime.”
He handed me a business card.
Haul Studio
Won Seongmin
Just his name, phone number, and address.
I slipped it into my wallet. Honestly, I’d love to work here around the clock too—but my wallet wouldn’t survive it.
After saying goodbye to Won Seongmin, I left the studio. Stepping out of the warm room into the cold air made my body shrink.
“Ugh… it’s freezing.”
Was it because my body hadn’t grown yet? It felt colder than when I was an adult.
I hurried home.
When I arrived, Suyeon greeted me.
“Did you go to the academy?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded while watching TV. I changed clothes and sat down beside her.
On the screen, the idol group Hwayangyeonhwa was performing.
Hwayangyeonhwa… come to think of it, their youngest member was a Seolwon student. If I remembered correctly, the maknae was in my class.
If that was true, I absolutely needed to get close to them. They were going to explode in popularity next year.
“Don’t trust men~, you must not trust them~”
Suyeon hummed along to the childish lyrics.
Her voice—soft and rich—sounded completely different from her speaking voice.
I straightened.
Did I just hear that wrong?
I doubted my ears, but my hearing was fine.
“Suyeon.”
After a moment’s thought, I called her. She looked at me, her still-chubby cheeks ridiculously cute.
“Want to sing a song?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Right now.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“So what? I’m your brother.”
Honestly, that probably made it worse.
But I shamelessly pressed on.
She hesitated, then said, “That’s exactly why I don’t want to.”
“I’ll give you allowance.”
“…What should I sing?”
“Anything you like.”
She thought it over, chewing her lip seriously, then finally smiled.
“I’ll sing Forgotten Season.”
Forgotten Season—an OST from a drama that was hugely popular right now. A cheat-code ballad that made you tear up just listening to it.
Suyeon stood up, cleared her throat once, and began to sing.
“Now I know… that our goodbye wasn’t a lie…”
“Then why… am I still living in the season we shared…?”
For a moment, it felt like time stopped.
Of course, it didn’t actually stop—that was just how shocked I was.
I stared at Suyeon, completely blank.
A moist, emotionally rich voice, like night fog. Clean projection. Clear diction. Even the high notes came out effortlessly.
What… was this?
Suyeon had never learned how to sing. No one knew that better than I did. And yet she was singing at this level.
There’s a word for people like this.
A genius.
In other words, my sister is a genius.