31 - Giant Killing (3)
31 - Giant Killing (3)
31.
“Yeah, that should be enough. Let’s take a short break.”
“…Okay.”
At the words of Yoo Sung-eun—an alumna of Seolwon Arts High and a currently active composer—Han Goyo nodded. Then she simply squatted down and started drinking chocolate milk.
Watching her slurp milk through a straw, Yoo Sung-eun let out a sigh. She had agreed, at the teachers’ request, to help prepare the opening stage of the Practical Music Concert… but she never imagined her partner would be someone like this.
Of course, she knew. The opening stage was given to the most talented first-years. But still, there were limits. What kind of first-year was on this level?
No wonder the teachers said she was the best in school history.
She couldn’t deny it. This kid was a historic-level genius. No matter what song she sang, she pulled it off flawlessly. Especially ballads—if they recorded her right now and released it, it would sound like a finished track.
Why hadn’t a company already snatched her up?
Did all the agency people suddenly go blind? No, that couldn’t be it. Top of Seolwon’s entrance exam, stunning visuals, that fragile, breakable aura that somehow turned into charm…
Entertainment companies in Korea weren’t stupid enough to leave a girl like this alone.
While Yoo Sung-eun was lost in thought, Han Goyo was just quietly drinking her chocolate milk.
For Han Goyo, this summer vacation was surprisingly pleasant. From morning till night, she had to be at school. Which meant… she could escape that suffocating house.
That alone made this vacation meaningful to her.
However, there were moments when she felt something missing. Or should she call it regret? Or emptiness?
Something hollow and vacant inside.
It was a strange feeling.
She had always been empty, so why did it bother her now?
“…Ah.”
At some point, the chocolate milk ran out. Realizing that, Han Goyo stood up and said to Yoo Sung-eun, “I’m going to go buy more milk.”
“Ah, yeah. Go ahead.”
With that, Han Goyo left the practice room. She walked to a nearby convenience store, bought three chocolate milks, and headed back.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
Someone walking ahead of her—his back looked strangely familiar. That messy mop of hair that was frustrating just to look at.
No way… could it be?
Han Goyo shook her head.
Impossible. He said he’d be working on music with his sister during vacation. Someone like that wouldn’t come to school during break.
Even so, her eyes subconsciously followed where he disappeared.
That empty feeling was still there.
And, as always, she didn’t know why.
§ § §
At night, I worked on songs with Suyeon. During the day, I arranged Jin Sohyang’s track.
It was vacation, but I only ever met two people: Jin Sohyang and Suyeon. And even those meetings were purely for work—meetings with Sohyang, songwriting with Suyeon.
Thanks to that, the production was going smoothly. Jin Sohyang’s song was nearly complete.
But Suyeon’s…
“Sigh…”
I hadn’t even managed to sketch it properly. The more I worked on it, the harder it got. I scratched my head in frustration and flopped onto the bed.
A song that’s comfortable and impactful.
Just hearing that sounded like hell. It was like making aglio e olio with nothing but garlic and olive oil, yet somehow making it taste god-tier.
Seriously. Every time I did something like this, I realized how lacking my talent was. What would Kang Seonghun have done?
…Nope. Stop comparing myself to others. I don’t have what they have. Wanting it won’t make it appear. All I’ll get is self-hatred.
I sat back up to get back to work, when my phone buzzed.
Who was messaging me at this hour?
I checked my phone. Sohyang.
[The choreography is done.]
[Already?]
[The teacher worked really hard on it! ✨]
A cute emoji followed. Moments like this reminded me—she was still just a kid.
Alright then. Starting tomorrow, we’d practice with the choreography. In about two days, I could bring Suyeon to watch.
And next week was the preliminary stage. Well, more like a rehearsal. The Practical Music Concert takes place in a huge auditorium in a park. The stage is enormous. No student has practiced in a place like that before.
So they have a mid-stage rehearsal—go see it in person, try staging, get used to the space.
That meant… I’d get to see Han Goyo’s stage, too.
What kind of stage would she prepare?
Would it be the same as in my previous life?
If so, it’d be insane. A finished genius Han Goyo paired with a professional composer. It really was incredible. It was so good that people begged the school to release it as an official track.
“…I can do this, right?”
I muttered to myself with my eyes closed. Every night, it was like this. Memories of my failed past kept dragging me into negative thoughts.
I forcefully shook my head.
It’s fine. I can do this. I’ve done well so far. I’ll keep doing well.
After telling myself that, I got back to work.
§
“How is it?” Jin Sohyang asked carefully.
I thought for a moment and looked at the laptop screen. On-screen, a woman was dancing to my arranged version of “Rough.”
She was Hwayangyeonhwa’s choreography director, right? As expected from an idol choreographer—she was insanely good. And she captured exactly what I wanted: sticky, obsessive, almost suffocating energy.
Especially her hands. Every time her fingertips grazed something, it gave me chills. Not sexy, not alluring.
More like… binding. Like she was about to restrain you so you couldn’t move—just with minimal gestures.
And when the dance break came, she went all out, taking over the stage completely.
“It’s good.”
Even with my lack of dance knowledge, I could tell—it was amazing. Hearing my answer, Sohyang let out a breath of relief.
“Then I’ll practice with this.”
“How will you practice?”
“At night with my teacher, and during the day here.”
“That’s best.”
“Oh, and…”
“Yeah?”
I looked at her. She hesitated, then spoke carefully.
“Backup dancers are probably impossible, right?”
“The school won’t allow it.”
Our stage was just the opening act for the seniors’ graduation stage. And a first-year idol bringing in professional backup dancers? We’d get crucified by the seniors.
She nodded, expecting that answer. Then added,
“Then… would having just one person on stage also be hard? Not a dancer, just someone to help in the intro…”
“The intro? What kind of help?”
“Our choreographer said it would be great if someone was tied to a chair in the beginning. From ‘I don’t know how to express my heart’ to ‘It’s hard to express my love.’ During that part, if I touched them gently—like something precious—with just my fingertips, it would look amazing…”
A person tied to a chair. I imagined it.
A man tied to a chair. Red lighting. Sticky music played. Sohyang walked toward him and gently caressed his face and hair.
Like he was something precious.
Carefully.
Only with her fingers.
And then she sang?
“…That’s good.”
No—“good” was an understatement. It was incredible. This would make an insanely strong impression. I was struggling with stage direction, but this solved it.
I couldn’t reuse the transparent tarp from last time. I could, but it didn’t match the song’s tone at all. I was stuck on how to stage it, but this was perfect.
“All I have to do is sit tied to a chair, right?”
“Yes!”
“Then it’s basically a prop.”
Was it okay to treat a person like a prop? …Well, he wouldn’t be doing anything anyway. Probably fine. I’d still ask Ms. Ha Hyoju to be sure.
I messaged her. A reply quickly arrived: It’s fine.
“Yeah, teacher says it’s fine.”
“Great!” Sohyang smiled.
Now, who should I put on stage?
I thought for a bit and asked her, “Do you have anyone who can help?”
“No… Everyone at the company is busy… And hiring a backup dancer just for this is a bit too much, right?”
“Yeah, that’d be overkill.”
“What about you, Hajun?”
“Hmm.”
Someone who can be on stage… Taeyoung? No, he was dying every night practicing with Blue Aka. His desperate voice messages wore me out just listening to them.
Okay, not him. Then Goyo? No, she had to perform. Suyeon had to watch the stage. Then… Senior Won Seongmin?
I imagined him tied to a chair.
Instant regret. It felt like a bandit captured for bounty. Horrifying.
“…I’ll just do it myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s only for the intro anyway.”
It sucked not being able to watch the stage from the start, but oh well. And I wasn’t even doing anything complicated.
“Oh, then… I have one more request…”
“What request?”
“The choreographer asked if we could also… cover your eyes…”
“…Your choreographer doesn’t have weird hobbies, right?”
“…”
She did not answer.
§
Hajun and Jin Sohyang discussed the staging—lighting colors, where to use the wind machine, costumes—scribbling the stage concept into a notebook.
Once the concept was set, they started full rehearsals. The school lent them a camera, and Hajun called Suyeon.
“Who’s the audience role?”
“My sister.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Sohyang nodded. In truth, she didn’t need an audience. She was a pro idol, used to countless eyes watching her.
But Hajun had a different reason—this was for Suyeon.
A chance to see a professional idol prepare a performance up close? That’s rare. Vital experience for Suyeon, who would perform at the festival in October. And she was a fan of Jin Sohyang.
“A chair with wheels would be best, right?”
“Yeah. Since the stage theme is red, I’ll prepare red ropes and a blindfold.”
“What about costumes?”
“I think I can get sponsorship. The school said they’ll use me for promoting the Practical Music Concert, so the company said they’d support me a bit. Not huge support, but makeup and wardrobe sponsorship. That’s more than enough.”
“Yeah.”
While they were talking, someone knocked. Hajun got up and opened the door.
Outside was Suyeon—dressed to the max, clearly nervous, breathing heavily.
Hajun smiled. “You’re here?”
“Y-Yeah. Um… where’s Sohyang unnie…?”
“Inside. Come in.”
Suyeon walked in—then spotted Jin Sohyang in comfy practice clothes.
And instantly screamed.
“Kyaaaa! Unnie, I’m really your fan! I bought all your albums and I have your merch! And look! Look! I even brought the lightstick!”
“Ah, thank you!”
Despite the chaos, Jin Sohyang calmly smiled. As expected from an idol—dealing with an overly enthusiastic fan without flinching.
Meanwhile, Hajun sighed.
Suyeon kept bouncing and rambling. They took pictures together. She got an autograph. Then she turned to Hajun, euphoric.
“I can die happy now.”
“I think I’m going to die too.”
Specifically—from secondhand embarrassment. It was worse than I imagined.
Still, once practice began, she stayed quiet. Sitting in the seat prepared as the “audience,” Suyeon waved her lightstick while watching Sohyang.
Her brows furrowed. Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
She focused deeply on Jin Sohyang’s movements.
An empty chair. Sohyang caressed it as she moved—not powerfully, but slowly, like a snake. Slithery waves, creeping forward.
All while fully aware of where the camera was—acting with her eyes.
Next to Suyeon, I spoke.
“Watch carefully.”
“Yeah.”
Suyeon didn’t ask “watch what.” She understood why I brought her.
Learn.
I told her—I’m putting you on stage at the October festival. So watch this. Learn how to seize a stage. Learn how to perform. Take everything. Steal it with your eyes.
“If she dances like that, how does she hold the mic?”
“She’ll use a headset mic.”
“Singing while dancing looks so hard.”
“She’ll use AR.”
It was the method solo dance singers and rappers often use—sing live over a pre-recorded vocal track. Not lip-sync. She still has to sing the whole thing. The AR just fills in where needed.
Soon, Sohyang’s first run-through ended. It wasn’t perfect yet, but we could already see the shape of the stage.
“What do you think?” I asked Suyeon.
She grinned brightly.
“Yeah—working with Sohyang unnie seems like a good idea.”
…What kind of answer was that?
I had no idea what she meant. But she seemed satisfied.
And somehow… so was I.