4 - Snow Forecast (1)
4 - Snow Forecast (1)
There is a band called Blue Aka.
They are actually more famous overseas than in Korea and are known for producing highly experimental music. The band has four members—a vocalist, guitarist, bassist, and drummer—but the most famous among them is the guitarist, Won Seongmin.
He was once called a child prodigy. His unique finger technique is legendary, and he frequently collaborates with well-known foreign bands. A true world-class musician.
And that Won Seongmin was standing right in front of me.
Seriously.
I’d seen an interview where he casually mentioned running a studio as a hobby, but I never imagined it was in my neighborhood.
“You know Blue Aka?” Seongmin asked.
“Yes. They’re famous.”
“That’s surprising. Not many people in Korea know Blue Aka.”
He gave a wry smile.
That was true. Blue Aka was fairly niche domestically.
“Still, it’s nice to meet someone who knows Blue Aka.”
“Same here.”
I was the one who was truly thrilled.
Seongmin wasn’t just famous as a guitarist—he was also Blue Aka’s producer. Every Blue Aka album had been shaped by his hands. And now, this man was saying he’d teach me guitar.
“Are you really going to teach me guitar?”
“Well, yeah. But if you’re uncomfortable with it, feel free to refuse.”
I shook my head violently.
Who in their right mind would refuse lessons from a world-class guitarist? And on top of that, he wasn’t even charging me—he just wanted to hear my songs. There has never been a deal more profitable than this.
“I really want to learn.”
“Then is now a good time?”
Of course it is.
Even if it isn’t, it is.
§ § §
How should I put it?
Won Seongmin is a very peculiar person.
First of all, he never drops polite speech. Even after I told him he could speak casually, he said formal speech was more comfortable and continued using it. He also insists that I call him sunbaenim. According to him, “teacher” feels embarrassing, and “boss” feels uncomfortable.
Lastly, he hates talking about himself.
That part was a bit disappointing. I wanted to hear stories about Blue Aka.
But aside from that, he’s an amazing teacher.
Usually, geniuses are terrible at teaching others, but Seongmin was different. From the most basic fundamentals to the things you absolutely must not overlook, he explained everything so clearly that even someone like me could understand. He never relied on vague ideas like “feel” or “inspiration,” which most geniuses love to talk about.
Just for that alone, he’s a perfect ten out of ten as a teacher.
On top of that, he listened to my songs and gave extremely solid feedback. Honestly, that was my favorite part.
“I think you should lower the key here,” he said. “It sounds a bit high for you.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m not the one who’s going to sing it.”
“Really? That’s surprising. I assumed it was your song.”
“It’s just a guide.”
“Then who’s the original singer?”
“My sister.”
I answered calmly.
Seongmin looked a little disappointed.
“So you’re not planning to become a singer?”
“No.”
I answered without hesitation.
“That’s a shame. I think you’d make a really good singer.”
I gave a bitter smile.
I used to think that too.
Objectively speaking, my vocal skill is quite good—for my age. But my limit ends there. No matter how much I practice, my singing will never go beyond this point. If I’d realized that earlier, I would’ve given up on becoming a singer much sooner.
“When you meet my sister,” I said, “you’ll change your mind.”
Instead of explaining further, I kept it short.
Seongmin’s eyes lit with interest.
§ § §
“Suyeon, want to go to karaoke after school?”
At her friend’s sweet invitation, Yoon Suyeon let out a sigh.
That friend inviting her to karaoke was rare. Normally, she would’ve agreed immediately, but today she couldn’t—because she already had a more important promise.
“Sorry.”
Her friend stared at her in shock.
What?
The great Yoon Suyeon refusing karaoke? Did the sun rise in the west today?
“I’m really sorry.”
Ignoring her friend’s exaggerated reaction, Suyeon apologized again and grabbed her bag. Normally, she would’ve stopped by the health-and-beauty store or the fish-shaped pastry stand for at least an hour. Today, she didn’t even glance at them.
“I’m home!”
She burst through the door, calling out with unusual excitement, breathing hard from running. Her chest felt like it might burst from anticipation.
“You’re back?”
Yoon Hajun came out of his room to greet her.
Seeing her brother, Suyeon smiled. Lately, he’d been paying her a lot more attention, and that alone made her happy.
Not only that—today, Hajun was going to teach her how to sing. She had even turned down karaoke and run straight home for this.
“Do you want to start right away?” he asked. “Or rest a bit first?”
“I’ll start now.”
Hajun nodded.
Originally, he’d wanted to send Suyeon to a vocal academy. After quitting his own lessons, they finally had enough money for hers. But Suyeon refused. Instead, she said she wanted him to teach her.
At first, Hajun rejected the idea. No matter how solid his theory was, he wasn’t on the same level as a professional vocal trainer—and Suyeon’s skill had already surpassed his.
But she kept begging, and in the end, he gave in. He owed her too much to refuse so coldly.
And so, Suyeon would learn from Hajun.
Wearing comfortable clothes, she entered his room. It was extremely bare—just a desk, a chair, a bed, and a laptop. He used to have posters everywhere.
When did he take them down?
“First, sing something,” Hajun said, sitting cross-legged on the bed.
Suyeon hesitated.
“What song?”
“Anything.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“You sang out of nowhere last time too.”
Right.
She had.
Suyeon nodded obediently and thought for a moment. If possible, she wanted to sing the song she was most confident in.
Soon, she made her choice and began singing.
“In the empty movie theater after the show ends,
I sit alone, waiting for someone…”
Movie Theater.
A song that had dominated the charts for nearly three years.
Hajun watched her sing without any backing track and let out a quiet sigh of admiration.
As expected.
He’d felt it before—Suyeon’s tone was truly special. A moist voice that reminded him of night fog. Just listening to her pulled you straight into emotion.
We’re siblings…
So how could we sound so different?
One of us had a plain, ordinary tone. The other had an overwhelming one.
But being jealous of his sister would be meaningless. He was the one who failed to recognize her talent—and crushed it—in the past.
Suyeon finished and looked at him expectantly.
“How was it?”
“Good.”
A short answer, but completely sincere.
Her volume, diction, and even vocal production were excellent. In other words, her fundamentals were solid.
“That’s it?”
Suyeon pouted, clearly dissatisfied.
Hajun sighed.
She was expecting more—he couldn’t disappoint her. Since she’d asked him to teach her, he had to do it properly.
Thankfully, she wasn’t perfect.
He could already see several weaknesses—areas he could help improve.
Getting off the bed, he said, “First, drop all the unnecessary vocal tricks. Adding technique for no reason just makes the song messy. Especially for your style, singing cleanly without embellishment suits you better.”
“If I take out the technique… how?”
“For example, just now, when you sang ‘why am I still waiting for someone, why can’t I forget,’ you used vibrato. For your style, that’s too much. And you used throat vibrato, which makes it worse. It would sound much better if you used clean head voice instead.”
“Vibrato? Head voice? Throat?”
Suyeon blinked, completely lost.
Hajun shook his head.
She didn’t even know the terminology.
That’s what geniuses are like.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s start by learning the terms.”
And so began Suyeon’s first real music lesson.