38 – 『Rough』(4)
38 – 『Rough』(4)
38.
I finished signing Suyeon up for the academy.
Mom offered her card, but I paid with my own money. This was exactly the kind of thing money should be used for—what else would I spend it on? I still had plenty left over from what I’d gotten from Jin Sohyang anyway.
“When would our Suyeon like to take classes?” Lee Ji-yoon asked.
“I think weekends would be best,” Suyeon said.
“Alright. Then Saturday and Sunday—would that be okay?”
At Lee Ji-yoon’s words, Suyeon glanced at me. She was probably worried that if she started lessons like that, she wouldn’t be able to work with me at Haul Studio on weekends anymore.
I nodded to show it was fine.
We lived together. I saw her every day, and learning from Lee Ji-yoon was far better than learning from me. Besides, the song we were working on had finally reached the point where she could practice on her own.
“So, Suyeon. Do you want to become a singer?” Lee Ji-yoon asked.
“Yes.”
“Is your immediate goal to become a trainee?”
“No. My first and most immediate goal is to get into Seolwon Arts High.”
At the mention of Seolwon Arts High, Lee Ji-yoon nodded as if it made perfect sense.
But it was her question about being a trainee that stuck with me.
True, to debut, Suyeon would normally have to become a trainee first. But I didn’t want to send her to a company right now.
If she became a trainee now, she’d almost definitely be pushed toward becoming an idol, and that wasn’t what Suyeon wanted.
It was much better to prepare a song, bring it to a company, and debut her directly as a singer without trainee life.
Come to think of it, I’d been so focused on Seolwon Arts that I hadn’t even considered which company she should join.
Which company would suit Suyeon?
The Big Three came to mind first, but a big agency wasn’t automatically good. The bigger the agency, the more selective their backing was. They didn’t support all their artists—only their main idol groups. Everyone else got less attention.
That could delay a debut for years. Worse, they might force her to sing songs she didn’t even like.
So we needed a company that respected the singer as an artist.
A few good ones came to mind. One of them was even a company I owed a debt to.
“Seolwon Arts High, huh.” Lee Ji-yoon suddenly spoke while I was thinking. “Speaking of which—Hajun, you’re a student there, right?”
I nodded.
Then she thought for a moment and asked, “If you’re Sohyang’s friend, that means you’re in the Practical Music Department too?”
“Yes.”
“Then… do you happen to know someone named Han Goyo?”
Her name popped up so suddenly that I blinked.
Why was Goyo coming up now? Did Lee Ji-yoon know her?
Beside me, Suyeon flinched.
As expected, that name got a reaction from her. That stage must have left a real impression. I could feel Suyeon consciously reacting to the name Han Goyo.
It wasn’t a bad thing. Simply being conscious was fine, but using that awareness as motivation to improve was ideal.
“You know Han Goyo?” I asked.
“I used to teach her.”
“She trained here too…?” Suyeon muttered quietly.
Hmm.
So Han Goyo learned from Lee Ji-yoon. That was news to me.
Well, no matter how monstrous your talent was, without fundamentals, it was useless. And Goyo’s fundamentals were incredibly solid. You couldn’t build that alone.
Of course she’d had a teacher.
But to think that teacher was Lee Ji-yoon.
“Since you go to the same school, I thought maybe you’d know her,” Lee Ji-yoon said.
“Yes. I know her.”
“…Is she doing well?”
“Yes.”
I guess she was. She came to school fine, and we still talked here and there. Although she was so expressionless it was hard to tell how she really felt.
“That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing well.”
Lee Ji-yoon let out a sigh of relief. She popped a candy into her mouth, then continued.
“I heard she got into Seolwon Arts, but we lost contact after that. Goyo isn’t the type who keeps in touch.”
Yeah. That was true.
If she messaged you three or four times a week, that counted as often.
“If you happen to see her, could you tell her something for me?”
“Sure. What should I say?”
“Just… that I miss her.”
“Okay.”
I nodded.
Before I knew it, vacation was over.
Suyeon finished registering at Lee Ji-yoon’s academy and would now attend every weekend.
And me? Same as usual.
I worked on Suyeon’s festival song, continued composing Unsent Recipient, and prepared for the ‘Rough’ recording.
Life was definitely still busy, but after how insane things had been, it actually felt… relaxed.
Thanks to that, I got a whole five hours of sleep for once.
“You’re not sleeping today?”
On the first day back at school for the second semester, Kim Taeyoung—who I hadn’t seen in a while—asked me that.
“I’ve been getting more sleep lately.”
“That’s a good thing.”
He said that and let out a huge yawn.
I looked at him. “You look dead tired, though.”
“I’m so stressed I can’t even sleep. I’m seriously going crazy.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? The Blue Aka project. Senior is grinding me to death because he wants the song finished for the festival performance. He’s terrifying—huge build, scary face—he stares me down while I’m working, I literally can’t breathe!”
He poured out his complaints. He’d already been saying similar things during the concert. Guess they were still overworking him.
“Damn it. This isn’t the school life I wanted.”
“What kind of school life did you want?”
“Get a girlfriend, sing sweet love songs to her, and eat delicious food together?”
“…Good luck with that.”
Step one: acquire a girlfriend.
“So it’s my turn now, right?”
“For what?”
“The song. Don’t play dumb. I gave you my festival slot, but every time I ask for a song, you send me the middle finger! You bastard, have some humanity!”
“I was busy. Besides, even if I made you a song now, would you even be able to sing it? You’re performing as the vocalist for Blue Aka at the festival, right? That’s a guest stage.”
“Yeah.”
A guest stage—meaning the ones performed by Seolwon Arts graduates. That probably meant Wonsungmin got invited, and he planned to put Taeyoung as his vocalist.
“It’ll be hard right now, but I can do it for the Winter Festival.”
“Hm.”
The Winter Festival. The main event of the second semester.
Unlike the first-semester event, it was organized by both first-years and second-years. Naturally, the schedule was longer—two nights and three days.
“So I’ll get a song then, right?”
“I mean, yeah.”
“At last—my era has arrived!”
He started freaking out with excitement. I clicked my tongue.
“It’s not set in stone. Don’t lose it.”
“You little—”
“Do songs write themselves overnight? If I’m writing your song, I have to make it from scratch, and I have no idea how long that’ll take.”
“Ugh.”
He nodded, conceding there was no way around that.
“Well, fine. Then what kind of song will you make for me?”
“I’ll need to hear your story first.”
“Huh?”
“The song you can sing best will be the one about your own story.”
He looked unexpectedly flustered, like the thought had never even crossed his mind.
I smirked. “If you don’t want to talk about it, forget it.”
“…No. Yeah. I knew I’d have to talk about it to you someday.”
I already knew what he meant. Probably the story of why he quit piano.
I didn’t push.
“Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
The conversation ended there, and Kim Taeyoung fell into thought.
Ah. Finally, some quiet.
After that, classes were the same as always.
For my major, I was still studying under Teacher Ha Hyoju. I could switch if I wanted, but she suited me best. She explained things well and knew a lot.
Still, it was odd. I’d never heard of a composer named Ha Hyoju. How did an unknown composer become a teacher at Seolwon Arts?
Well, her skill was undeniable.
Unlike the first semester, the second semester had major classes twice a week. Plus festival prep, plus events, plus major exams.
That made booking practice rooms extremely difficult.
For everyone else, that is.
I was a scholarship student.
Practice room access: free pass.
If you’re jealous, go earn the scholarship yourself.
“Still got those dramatic dish names, huh.”
After class at lunch, we went to the cafeteria for the first time in a while. Kim Taeyoung glanced at the menu and muttered.
Today’s lunch:
Jealousy Toward the Sky, and Warmth of the Earth.
What were those?
Buffalo wings and vegetable salad.
It was honestly impressive that they came up with names that overdramatic. Who named food like a chuunibyou novel?
But hey—the food was good.
“Oh, right. Did you hear about Kang Seonghun?” Taeyoung asked.
“What about him?”
“He’s skipping all his classes this week.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Something like field training or whatever. He said he’s going to start hardcore training.”
“How do you even know all this?”
“I keep in touch with him.”
Ah. Right. He said during the concert he was going to meet Kang Seonghun’s little brother.
Kang Seonghun and Taeyoung. What an odd pair.
“I didn’t know you were close with him.”
“He’s got skills. Someone like him will definitely do well when he debuts—no harm in getting close early.”
I was a realist too, but this bastard was just as bad.
“Oh, right. I’m skipping class tomorrow and the day after too.”
“Huh? Why? You planning to be ‘sick’?”
“Hell no. I’ve got a project.”
“You’ll get hit with a bunch of penalty points if you skip.”
“It’s fine. I’m doing field work too.”
He made a face as he understood what I meant.
“Are you debuting?”
“I mean, composers don’t ‘debut.’ I’m just working with someone.”
“With who?”
“Jin Sohyang. You know the ‘Rough’ stage at the concert? She liked it and asked to work together. Oh, don’t tell anyone.”
“I’ve got no one to tell.” Taeyoung nodded slowly. “Hmm. Jin Sohyang, huh. Well, yeah. With a ‘Rough’ like that, I get it. I was shocked too. I never thought she could pull off a stage like that.”
“She practiced hard.”
“You could tell. Still, the most shocking one was Han Goyo though.”
Taeyoung sighed.
He was a vocal major too. Same year.
After seeing that stage, there was no way he wouldn’t be affected. Actually, it wasn’t just him. Every Practical Music student who saw it was probably thinking about Goyo right now.
I could sense the tension on the faces of the other vocal majors.
“Ahh. I need to ask her sometime,” Taeyoung muttered.
“Ask what?”
“How the hell she sings like that.”
“I just… sing.”
In response to his question, Goyo answered.
Kim Taeyoung looked dumbfounded. Well, yeah. If someone asked what you were thinking when you sang, and you said you just sang, anyone would lose it.
“The world is unfair,” Taeyoung muttered.
“It always has been.”
To make future world-star Kim Taeyoung resent his own talent… amazing, Han Goyo.
And yet, despite doing a performance like that, Goyo was the same as ever. Expressionless. Quiet. Just… Goyo.
Though something had changed—not emotionally, but physically.
Han Goyo was sitting right next to me.
Normally, she would’ve sat a little farther away.
“Why are you sitting here?” I asked.
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Then it’s fine.”
Well, I guess so.
Whatever. There was no understanding this weirdo anyway.
But the more time passed, the more curious I got.
Why did someone like Han Goyo disappear in the future? Did something happen?
If she wanted to debut, she could do it instantly. Right now, multiple agencies were after her. Just this morning on the way to school, she’d gotten so many calls you couldn’t count them on two hands.
Ah—right.
Ji-yoon asked me to pass on a message.
“Oh, by the way. Do you know someone named Lee Ji-yoon?”
“…Yeah.”
“She asked me to pass on a message.”
“What is it?”
“She said she misses you.”
No reply came. Goyo only gave a small nod.
She didn’t ask how I knew Lee Ji-yoon, or anything else. It didn’t interest her.
Seriously… she was impossible to read.
The rest of the day was the usual.
Goyo sat next to me, silently reading.
Taeyoung, burning with pride, practiced singing like a madman so he wouldn’t lose to her.
And I quietly played guitar while thinking about Suyeon’s song.
Every time I played, both Goyo and Taeyoung snapped their heads toward me like hungry cats hearing a can of tuna.
Stop it. It’s not for you.
And so the day ended.
The next day, I headed to ROC Entertainment to work on ‘Rough.’