22- Major Exam (3)
22- Major Exam (3)
22.
The practical music major exam is divided into three stages:
Performing your original composition on your major instrument.
A Q&A session based on the submitted composition and work summary.
Playing the chord sheet on piano.
And right now, Yoon Hajun had only finished stage one.
Yet the exam room was silent.
Department heads, major instructors—everyone was quiet, lost in the memory of what they had just heard.
From a technical standpoint, his performance wasn’t anything extraordinary. It was literally just the basics, executed cleanly.
And yet—for some reason—emotion flooded in.
That’s what makes music so strange.
“I got too immersed…”
Meanwhile, Hajun let out a small sigh and covered his face with his hand. Once again, he had gotten emotional during the performance.
He had told himself over and over not to lose control, but it just never worked. Whenever he played “Return to Sender,” he couldn’t suppress his emotions. Regret over his past and vicious self-loathing mixed together, and his feelings spilled out.
At least he didn’t make any mistakes. If he had made even one, it would’ve been a disaster.
“Let’s listen to the track now.”
“Yes.”
The department head broke the long silence, eyes full of anticipation as he looked at the laptop. It held Hajun’s full composition.
He couldn’t wait to hear it. Even with just guitar, the melody had been outstanding. What would it become once the full instrumentation came in?
He wasn’t the only one. The other three teachers also looked eager.
Ha Hyoju clicked play.
Music flowed from the speakers. It began with the sound of a pencil scribbling. Not loud—subtle enough to miss if one didn’t focus carefully.
So they focused.
The scratch of a pencil—like someone writing a letter.
The pencil stopped, and the actual song began.
Ha Hyoju closed her eyes and listened.
“Return to Sender” was very different from his previous song, “Blame.”
“Blame” was impactful on first listen, but exhausting to hear often—harsh instruments, constant tension, emotionally draining.
But “Return to Sender” was easy to listen to. A gentle piano formed the base, and other instruments layered in harmony. There was no explosive climax, but the progression never felt dull. The flow was natural.
The last forty seconds—when the melody brightened—were so masterfully done that even Ha Hyoju felt a burst of admiration.
This wasn’t just talent. This was experience.
When did he start composing, to have this kind of maturity at his age?
The two-minute song ended.
As soon as it finished, the department head asked, “The structure is very free. Until around one minute twenty seconds, it’s full of regret, but the last forty seconds are bright. Is that meant to express letting go of the past and making a resolution for the future?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And what’s the meaning of the pencil sound at the beginning?”
“It represents the sound of writing a letter.”
Hajun paused, then added more, sensing that wasn’t enough.
“The past is already gone. Once it’s gone, you can’t meet it again, and it can’t hear you. So I wanted to portray the feeling of sending a letter—even if no one will ever read it.”
“Is that why the title is ‘Return to Sender’?”
“Yes. Because the past can never be returned to.”
Hmm.
The department heads nodded. It wasn’t some never-before-seen concept, but the idea fit the song perfectly.
The title, the pencil sound at the beginning, the emotional progression—everything aligned. Nothing in the song was meaningless.
A smile appeared on Ha Hyoju’s lips. Hajun’s piece had exceeded expectations.
“How unfortunate.”
At that moment, Kim Jingyu spoke.
Hajun’s heart instantly lurched.
Unfortunate? What part? Did I mess up something I said?
But then Jingyu grinned playfully. “It’s a shame we’re only hearing the instrumental. I want to hear a version with vocals. Do you have a guide recording or something?”
“Ah, no, I don’t.”
Hajun sighed in relief.
Then Ha Hyoju spoke. “Do you have plans to add vocals? Honestly, it would be a waste to only use this as a submission piece.”
The department heads nodded. They agreed—it would be a waste to leave it as just an exam song. With a bit more length, it could be released as an actual track.
Hajun looked conflicted.
Plans? Of course he had plans. He wanted to work on it with Suyeon. Maybe upload it to Cloud.
He was thinking when one of the department heads, Lee Sangkyu, said, “If you’re interested, come see me.”
“…Sorry?”
“You know our school collaborates with multiple entertainment companies, right?”
“Yes.”
Everyone knew that. It was one of the main reasons aspiring artists came here. The school works with many agencies, giving students real opportunities—not just auditions, but music releases, MV appearances, and more.
“Same thing here.”
In other words—if he wanted, they could release it officially.
“Ah… thank you.”
Hajun bowed slightly, eyes wide in surprise. He hadn’t expected this at all.
Sangkyu looked pleased. “Then lastly, let’s hear the chord sheet on piano.”
“What a shame. It’s already the last part.”
“I know, right? I wish we could hear it a few more times.”
That was basically the highest praise possible.
Hajun nodded and went to the piano. His piano performance was similar to his guitar. No flashy techniques—simple, clean, and without a single mistake.
Seeing that, the department heads and teachers smiled. That kind of consistency showed just how hard he had practiced.
Soon, the performance ended.
“Good work.”
“We’ll be expecting more from you.”
“Ah, thank you!”
Hajun bowed and left the room.
Once he was gone, the teachers exchanged looks.
“There was a student like that?”
“Why did he enter as a vocal major at first?”
“Seriously.”
“Oh, I actually heard the reason.”
At Ha Hyoju’s words, the department heads and Kim Jingyu turned to her.
She recalled the story Hajun had told her.
“He said he originally planned to be a vocalist, but after hearing his younger sister sing, he switched to composition. He said he wanted to make use of her talent.”
“Oh wow, the sister must be incredibly good.”
“Does that mean she’ll probably enroll here too?”
“Most likely.”
Even before enrolling, Yoon Suyeon’s value had gone up.
They kept talking about Yoon Hajun until the next student came in.
Talented students are a joy to watch—and they naturally make you proud.
§ § §
“Did the exam go well?”
After leaving the exam room, Hajun was greeted by Kim Taeyoung.
Hajun nodded. He felt completely drained. But at least, the first hurdle was cleared. All that was left was to wait for the scholarship results.
“Wanna hit karaoke?”
“Karaoke? Out of nowhere?”
“I’ve been practicing the same songs nonstop and I’m going insane.”
“Hi.”
At that moment, Han Goyo appeared. As usual, without a sound.
Taeyoung flinched and sighed. “Can you try making footsteps like a normal person?”
“?”
“…Forget it. Anyway, we’re going to karaoke. Wanna come?”
Goyo hesitated, then glanced at Hajun. As if making a decision, she nodded.
“Yeah.”
This time, Hajun was surprised.
Wait. Han Goyo is coming to karaoke?
“Good. Three is better than two. And I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something.”
With that, the karaoke party was formed in an instant.
They headed to a karaoke place near school—a spot famous for high-quality rooms, already packed with Seolwon students. Well, exams were over. Of course everyone wanted to unwind.
The Practical Music students waiting for their turn widened their eyes when they saw the trio.
The three most famous first-years in the department.
They were talented, yes—but more than that, they were known for their impenetrable walls. Many had tried to get close. None had succeeded.
Goyo answered people in one-word replies or ignored them entirely.
Taeyoung smiled but subtly kept everyone at arm’s length.
And Hajun? There was no time to approach him. He slept during class and disappeared to the practice room every break.
And now… those three had appeared together in karaoke.
Naturally, people were curious.
How do they sing? What songs will they pick?
‘I want to hear…’
Whether they knew or not, the trio waited blankly for their turn. Soon, their turn came, and they entered the room.
“I’ll go first.”
“Go ahead.”
Taeyoung grabbed the mic first. He belted out an energetic rock song—probably venting stress.
Next was Han Goyo. Contrary to expectations that she’d sing a ballad, she chose an idol song. Watching her sing a cheerful love song with a totally blank face was… surreal.
Then it was Hajun’s turn.
Goyo and Taeyoung stared at him with eager eyes. They had never heard him sing live before. He had said he entered as a vocal major once—so how good was he, really?
Hajun stood up, took the mic, and sang.
Taeyoung let out a thoughtful “hmm.”
How to describe Hajun’s singing? It was like his personality—plain and honest. No flashy techniques, no excessive vibrato. His tone wasn’t particularly unique.
But his fundamentals were solid, and his breathing was steady. Most importantly, it was obvious he enjoyed singing.
When he finished and sat down, he felt a bit embarrassed. Singing in front of Taeyoung and Goyo… their vocals were on another level. Their voices were unique and charismatic. Hajun had none of that.
“You’re really gonna quit singing? That’s a waste. Why not keep it as a minor and try being a singer-songwriter?”
“No.”
Hajun refused immediately.
Singing was fun—but only at the level of a hobby. He was nowhere near good enough to be a singer. And lately, he had found joy in composing. Writing songs and designing stages was far more exciting than he had expected.
After singing for a while, they took a short break.
Taeyoung looked at Goyo and Hajun. “So, what are you two doing for the school trip?”
“School trip?”
“The class competition.”
With exams over, it was time for the school trip. Each major spends two nights and three days together, and on the second night, there’s a competition. It’s a long-standing Seolwon tradition: Odd classes vs. Even classes.
Each major has its own format—for Practical Music, it’s a talent show. Each class selects a few students to perform. Students score the acts, and totals are compared. The winning class gets a small prize.
“Even if they’re ‘geniuses,’ they’re still just kids,” Taeyoung thought, amused.
He looked strangely serious.
I chuckled.
A school trip, huh. I did go in my past life, but I don’t remember much.
“Goyo, you’re going up, right?”
“Probably.”
“Good. Then I’m going up too.”
Taeyoung turned to Hajun.
“…You’ll help, right?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You’re not gonna bail on the class battle, are you?”
“…Well, I hate losing.”
Hajun replied.
At that, Goyo frowned slightly. And Taeyoung grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction.
.