42 – turning point (3)
42 – turning point (3)
42.
Lately, Yoon Suyeon lived the busiest—and most fulfilling—days of her life.
She sang, studied, and after school, did the homework Lee Ji-yoon assigned. That alone made five days fly by in an instant.
Then came the weekend, the days Suyeon looked forward to the most. In the morning, she went to the academy and took lessons from Lee Ji-yoon. Originally, the lessons were supposed to last four hours, but they always dragged on for six or seven. Whenever Ji-yoon liked a student, she went straight into passionate special-lecture mode.
And once the lessons ended, Suyeon went home and talked with her brother about music. Those conversations were full of excitement for the future.
Yes—right now, Suyeon was preparing for her future. In the short term, for the festival in October. In the long term, for the life she would someday achieve as a singer.
The problem was that preparing for the future wasn’t easy.
Schoolwork was fine. Suyeon had always been good at studying.
What caused trouble was Ji-yoon’s homework.
The homework itself sounded simple: practice a song and sing it in your own style.
When she first heard it, Suyeon thought, Easy.
Singing was always fun. Honestly, she didn’t even consider it homework.
But when she actually tried, it was incredibly difficult.
She just couldn’t sing the way she imagined. In her head, the image was clear, but when she opened her mouth, it didn’t sound right.
During the previous homework, Suyeon ended up disappointed in herself.
She didn’t like that at all.
What should she do?
She thought about it for a long time, and in the end… she asked her brother for help.
I really didn’t want to do this.
She wanted to grow without relying on him. She wanted to be able to say, I’m the one who can sing your songs the best.
But there just wasn’t enough time.
Suyeon looked at her phone.
Not long after, her brother replied.
[What?]
At that short reply, Suyeon explained her situation honestly.
About a minute later:
[What song are you practicing?]
She answered quickly.
—At the End.
His response came just as fast.
[Got it.]
That was it. No further explanation. No saying what he would do.
But from that reply, Suyeon felt a strange, solid reassurance.
If it was her brother, he would figure something out.
She truly believed that.
§
“Hmmm.”
“What?”
Taeyoung asked as I stared at my phone and let out a small groan.
I shrugged. “My sister’s doing her homework. It seems a bit hard for her.”
“Homework? You gonna tutor her in academics?”
His tone didn’t say it out loud, but I could hear it: With your grades?
And yeah, he wasn’t wrong, but it was still annoying.
“No. Vocal stuff.”
“Ah, right. Your sister’s aiming for the vocal major too, huh?”
I nodded.
“At the End,” huh.
I’d only heard the title, but I already understood why she was struggling.
“At the End” was a song sung by a male vocalist, and in a very low voice at that. It didn’t suit Suyeon’s voice at all.
I was sure even Lee Ji-yoon knew that.
But I didn’t think she assigned it to bully Suyeon. It was probably to gauge Suyeon’s current level. Even if she couldn’t pull it off, Ji-yoon wouldn’t scold her.
Still… it bothered me.
It pissed me off a little that she’d judge Suyeon’s level with something like that.
“This actually works out,” I said.
“What does?”
“Today’s major class, right?”
“Yeah.”
I stopped there. I was going to rearrange “At the End” during class—not some elaborate overhaul, just enough to make it something Suyeon could sing.
“Hey, finish your sentence.”
“It’s fine. Like you’d understand anything.”
“Say it so I can understand, you psycho!”
Taeyoung yelled. He was loud as hell.
§ § §
As the price for ditching class after getting inspired, Hajun had to endure his homeroom teacher’s nagging and clean the classroom alone for a week.
Honestly, for skipping class, that was pretty light. Normally, skipping without permission earned demerits.
And the reason he got away with just cleaning was simple: no one expected Department Head Lee Sanggyu to show up.
Homeroom teacher Park Jong-seo of Class 1-8 let out a deep sigh.
Originally, he planned to give Hajun demerits. Hajun was infamous for having terrible class attitude—always sleeping. Plenty of teachers were just waiting for a chance to penalize him.
So of course, he should have received demerits.
But the one who objected was Department Head Lee Sanggyu.
And he didn’t defend Hajun with empty excuses. He had a valid point.
Outstanding Student Scholarship Recipient.
The scholarship given to the top scorer in the practical major exam.
No matter how much Seolwon cared about written academics, it was still an arts school. They valued practical skills more.
And Hajun had received the highest score in the practical evaluation.
He didn’t just skip class randomly—he skipped because he was inspired. Giving immediate demerits for that would be harsh.
So the department head suggested a warning first. If it happened again, then demerits.
The funniest part was that even the major class teachers agreed with him.
Sure, Hajun was an outstanding student in his major, but still…!
It can’t be helped.
Park Jong-seo sighed. It felt unfair, but there was no choice.
Seolwon Arts High never treated students equally. They separated classes based on grades. They gave scholarship students special privileges. If someone debuted, they made up any excuse—field work, whatever—to let them work.
And right now, Hajun was the standout student of the Composition major. If Han Goyo was the star of Vocal, Hajun was the equivalent in Composition.
In other words, as one of the department’s biggest prospects, he received the lightest possible punishment.
“Excuse me, teacher. I finished the cleaning.”
At that moment, Hajun walked into the teachers’ office.
Park Jong-seo nodded. “Did you clean properly?”
“Yeah, well.”
Hajun gave an awkward grin—a fitting smile for his age.
Fine. Let’s think positively.
It wasn’t like he caused trouble, smoked, or skipped school entirely.
He was just… in the practice room.
“From now on, don’t ever skip class like that,” Park Jong-seo said.
“Uh, yes. Understood.”
Hajun mumbled his reply, and from that, Park Jong-seo became certain.
This kid was absolutely going to do it again someday.
“Sigh…”
He let out a long sigh.
§ § §
“Did you finish cleaning?”
After cleaning and heading to major class, Teacher Hyoju teased him.
I nodded.
There wasn’t a single major teacher who didn’t know I skipped class because I got “inspired.” At first I didn’t realize it, but… it was kind of embarrassing.
They treated me like some artistic genius and told me they were “looking forward to it.”
Honestly, it was embarrassing.
“So what are you doing today?” Teacher Ha asked.
“I’m going to try arranging a song.”
“An arrangement? Oh? Which one?”
“A song called ‘At the End.’”
“Hm. I’m looking forward to it. You’ll let me hear it right away, right?”
“Yeah.”
By “let me hear it,” she meant that if anything sounded off, she would point it out on the spot.
The more classes I took with Hyoju, the more I realized she was seriously incredible. In terms of pure composition sense, she was even better than Won Sung-min.
There was no way someone this skilled wasn’t famous.
What the hell was her background?
I’d asked her before, but she never told me. Something about “mystery being more attractive.”
I didn’t get her at all.
Anyway, I listened to the original track of “At the End” on the streaming site, then opened my DAW and began arranging.
Since Suyeon would be singing it, I raised the key entirely. I removed the overly dramatic emotional parts. Instead, I added piano to match Suyeon’s rich emotional tone.
Once I got that far, I played it back.
But something felt off.
Ugh. Something’s weird. What is it?
“If you’re arranging it this way, why not just kill the guitar line completely? Then boost the piano more…”
At some point, Teacher Ha had moved next to me. She snatched my keyboard and mouse, tinkered for a moment, and just like that, the awkwardness was gone.
“When you do this kind of arrangement, you shouldn’t use instruments half-heartedly,” she said. “It’s better to boldly sacrifice one instrument and bring out another.”
“Ah.”
“You tend to use too many instruments. Sure, combining them for synergy can make the harmony rich for the climax, and that’s nice, but depending on the song, sometimes you need to strip things down. Like when you added everyday background noise that one time.”
“Hm.”
I got it.
So that was one of my bad habits. I always tried to pack the climax with instruments to make it full and rich.
“Try practicing this style too. It won’t hurt.”
“Yeah. I’ll try that.”
It was a really good point.
Don’t force instruments. Focus on one.
Hmm… maybe I’d make Taeyoung’s song like that.
After that, Teacher Ha taught me several more things. Seriously—choosing her as my major instructor was the best decision.
“So, when are you going to let me hear the inspired song?” she asked.
“Once I finish it.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
She gave me a mischievous smile.
I nodded.
If it were any other song, I wouldn’t be so confident. But that inspired song—I was sure. Once I added the instruments I had in mind, it would be incredible.
While I worked, time flew, and major class ended.
Hmm. I’ll finish this in the practice room.
I said goodbye to Teacher Ha and left the classroom, then headed up to the practice room.
“You’re here?”
“Hey.”
Inside, Taeyoung and Han Goyo were waiting.
Taeyoung stared at his phone with a serious face. Han Goyo was just spacing out, doing absolutely nothing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Playing a game, but I’m not getting what I want,” Taeyoung said.
“Nothing,” Han Goyo said.
Seriously. Weirdos.
I sat down and pulled out my laptop to finish the arrangement.
“Oh, is that ‘At the End’?”
While I worked, Taeyoung came over.
I nodded.
He hummed. “Nice arrangement. Is it for your sister?”
I nodded again and waved him off.
Taeyoung muttered, “Am I a fly to you?” and went back to his seat.
I was about to resume when someone tapped my shoulder.
A light poke, poke.
This bastard, Taeyoung again? I said not to bother me—
“Hey, Taeyoung. Cut it out.”
I shrugged my shoulder and turned around.
“?”
It wasn’t Taeyoung.
It was Han Goyo.
So close that if I leaned forward even a little, our faces might touch.
I froze.
Long eyelashes. Pale skin. Emotionless eyes.
And… she smelled nice.
“It wasn’t me, dumbass!” Taeyoung shouted defensively.
I ignored him, leaned back a little, and looked at Han Goyo.
She didn’t say a word. She just pointed at her own face.
“What?”
“Me.”
“Huh?”
“My song?”
“……”
“You said you wanted to work with me.”
A strange pressure filled the air.
Why the hell should I feel pressured?
As I stared at her, Taeyoung yelled again.
“Hey, Han Goyo! No cutting in line! I’m next in queue!”
“Then I’m after?” Han Goyo asked.
“Huh?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
And just like that, Han Goyo ended the conversation one-sidedly and sat right back down, as if nothing happened.
I sighed.
Did she not know how conversations worked?
Well, I was planning to work with her after Taeyoung…
Though it wouldn’t be just her. If things went the way I was planning, it would be at least two—maybe three—people on that project.
§ § §
“You’re here?”
Saturday, 1 p.m.
Lee Ji-yoon greeted Suyeon with a wide smile.
These days, she lived for the weekends when she got to see Suyeon.
Ji-yoon loved talented students, and Suyeon was one of the most talented she’d ever seen. On top of that, the girl worked incredibly hard.
A cute, pretty kid with amazing talent—and she worked hard? How could anyone not adore her?
“Yes! Hello!” Suyeon answered with a bright smile.
So cute Ji-yoon almost wanted to hug her.
Barely restraining herself, Ji-yoon asked, “Did you prepare the homework I gave you? Shall we listen right away?”
“Yes.”
Suyeon nodded, then pulled a USB from her pocket and held it out carefully.
“Um… the original ‘At the End’ didn’t suit me at all, so my brother rearranged it for me. Would it be okay if I sing with this version?”
“Hm. An arrangement?”
Now that she thought about it, Suyeon’s brother was in the Composition major, right?
Tsk. This is a bit tricky.
Ji-yoon already knew “At the End” didn’t suit Suyeon. She’d assigned it because she wanted to understand Suyeon’s style—to see what genres fit her, and which ones didn’t suit her yet but had growth potential.
“Is it not okay…?”
Suyeon fidgeted with her fingers and looked up at her.
Ji-yoon smiled. “Of course it’s okay.”
Well, this wasn’t what she’d intended, but Suyeon had gone as far as to ask her brother to rearrange it. It would feel wrong to reject that.
She could assign another song as extra homework later.
As she sat down, Ji-yoon found herself thinking about Suyeon’s brother.
The first day Suyeon came here, the song she sang—her brother made that too, right?
Ji-yoon moved her fingers lightly.
That song was pretty good. Not enough to make her want to steal it, but good enough to release immediately.
And it was also the song Suyeon sang the best.
Sure, Suyeon still sounded great now, but she hadn’t surpassed that performance yet.
Maybe that genre really suited her?
But other songs in similar genres didn’t sound as good.
So was the special factor the song itself?
Or the brother who made it?
As Ji-yoon thought that, the melody began to flow from the speakers.
Suyeon started singing along—more joyfully than usual.
Her face looked sad, but the emotion in her voice said otherwise.
Listening, Ji-yoon blinked in surprise.
Oh… this?