44 – Festivities (1)
44 – Festivities (1)
44.
In life, there are moments when you reach a critically important crossroads.
And depending on the person, sometimes you get to choose that path with your own hands.
Right now, that was me.
I held my breath and looked at the faces around me. Everyone looked deadly serious. It was hard to believe these were the same classmates who normally laughed and joked around.
“You guys ready?”
Class rep Moon Seonggwang asked.
The others nodded.
At the same time, everyone stopped breathing, and Seonggwang slowly opened his mouth.
“If you don’t throw, you lose! Rock, paper, scissors!”
Whoosh—hands shot forward.
I glanced around.
Seonggwang: paper.
Two others: paper.
And me?
Scissors.
After confirming it, I quietly raised my hand.
I won.
I did it.
With my own strength, I had decided one of the important crossroads of my life.
“So I get to choose our team’s order, right?”
The others nodded with reluctant expressions.
A huge grin spread across my face.
We were deciding the order of the festival stage.
Midterms were over, and the festival was approaching. The whole school was buzzing with energy.
Seolwon Arts High’s festival ran for two days.
Day 1 at lunch: sports events and a bazaar selling various items.
That evening: special stages by the Korean Traditional Music Department and the Practical Music (Performance) Department.
And Day 2—the alpha and omega of the festival.
Clubs hosted various events, the Art Department put pieces on display, and the Entertainment Department prepared activities.
And at night?
A joint stage by Korean Traditional Music and Practical Music.
It was the highlight of the entire festival, attended by entertainment company scouts and even local residents.
So the stage order was a big deal.
There was also a subtle power struggle—not just even vs odd classes.
The real rivalry?
Our department vs the Korean Traditional Music Department.
There was no judging or scores since it was a festival, but everyone cared about who put on the better stage.
It was childish ego, maybe, but hey—we were high schoolers.
Still young, still competitive.
Anyway, the important thing was that I got to pick the slot I wanted.
Seolwon Arts High had some… old-fashioned tendencies.
First-years went first.
Then second-years.
Then third-years.
That was the rule.
Honestly, I’d love a late slot, but that was impossible.
“Then I’ll take fourth.”
“Our class goes last?”
“Yeah.”
I couldn’t throw Suyeon—who had zero stage experience—up first. And early in the lineup, the audience was pretty empty.
I couldn’t have her perform to a half-dead crowd.
“But who are you putting on stage?”
I’d been lost in thought when Seonggwang asked. The others nodded, also curious.
Looks like they had high expectations for my stage.
Well, I had made some noise at school events and concerts.
“My little sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. I’m doing the stage with her.”
After saying that, I went back to my seat.
Not long now until Suyeon’s first stage.
§ § §
Seolwon Arts High took the festival very seriously.
More precisely, they took the stage seriously.
Which was why they gave all kinds of support to students preparing performances.
And honestly, that made sense.
If you killed it on stage, entertainment agencies could scout you on the spot.
And that became the school’s prestige.
So of course, the school was invested.
And I was legally skipping class to be in the small performance hall.
My excuse? “Stage practice.”
Suyeon wasn’t here, but there was no way I was wasting this chance.
Definitely not skipping class just to skip class.
No, no.
The real reason I was here was to watch other people’s rehearsal stages.
I planned to make Suyeon the star of the festival.
To do that, I needed to know exactly what the others were preparing.
Everyone on stage was a rival.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t watch the second-years, third-years, or Korean Traditional Music Department rehearsals.
But I could watch the first-year Practical Music rehearsals.
And honestly, that was enough.
Because in my opinion, Suyeon’s toughest rivals were among the first-years.
Not that I looked down on other grades or departments.
It was just that this year’s first-years were abnormally talented.
I mean, seriously—Kang Seonghun, Han Goyo, and Kim Taeyoung were all in the same grade?
Kang Seonghun — future top pop composer of Korea.
Kim Taeyoung — future world-class star.
Han Goyo — the greatest talent in Seolwon Arts High history.
How was that fair?
What kind of busted game balance was this?
“You’re here already?”
As I was thinking that, Kim Taeyoung sat down next to me.
I blinked.
“Aren’t you on the special stage?”
“I am.”
“Then why are you here? Special stage has separate rehearsals.”
“I’m still a performer. Why waste a chance to skip class legally?”
I stared at him with disappointment.
He added, “And I’m curious about the others’ stages.”
“Excuse?”
“Yup.”
He answered confidently.
I sighed and looked at the stage.
I was curious about Jin Sohyang’s and Taeyoung’s stages too, but oh well.
Still, getting to see Han Goyo and Kang Seonghun was already amazing.
I took a sip of water and watched Goyo preparing diligently.
In my previous life, both Goyo and Seonghun performed at the festival.
And they were decent.
But I didn’t expect them to do the same stage this time.
Goyo showed a completely different level at the Practical Music Concert.
If she kept that level…
Suyeon’s greatest rival would be Han Goyo.
Seonghun? He’d do fine on his own.
As I thought that, Goyo and I made eye contact.
She looked at me.
I casually waved.
Goyo paused for a moment… then waved back.
“She can wave?”
“Of course.”
“I thought she didn’t know how to greet people. She only nods at me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
As I chatted with Taeyoung, Goyo finished prepping for rehearsal.
The staff cleared the stage, and Goyo stood in front of the camera.
She wasn’t dancing or anything—just holding the mic.
But even that gave off a powerful vibe.
That fragile atmosphere unique to Han Goyo, combined with her delicate features, was captivating.
Then the music started to play.
The moment I heard it, my face twisted in disbelief.
I looked at Goyo.
She deliberately turned her eyes away from me—to the opposite side.
Aggressively avoiding me.
I let out a baffled laugh.
ZWOOOONG… ZWOOOONG.
A chilling waterphone.
Then violins and heavy rain sounds.
The rain faded, and Goyo’s voice came in.
—I wished to be special.
I thought this song was for me.
A very familiar song.
Extremely familiar.
She was singing “Blame”—the song from the Freshmen Concert.
No wonder she asked if she could sing “Blame.”
So this was why?
—Just because someone falls…
the world doesn’t change.
Ah, damn it, Yoon Hajun!
Why did you give her permission?!
I groaned internally and watched the stage.
I’d heard Goyo sing “Blame” hundreds—no, thousands—of times.
We prepared that concert together. I got sick of it.
But that was the old Han Goyo.
The new Han Goyo, awakened at the Practical Music Concert, was now performing an absolutely insane stage.
Even as the composer, I had goosebumps all over.
“What the hell is she?”
Taeyoung muttered beside me.
I nodded.
Seriously, what was she?
Was she really a student?
Or some reincarnator or body-swapper like me?
Otherwise, how did you grow this much in just four months?!
—Because there was never a song…
that was meant for me.
Overwhelming.
Just overwhelming.
The difference in talent was on another level.
It felt like she grabbed the listener’s emotions with her bare hands and squeezed.
Just listening felt like watching an emotional masterpiece of a movie that made you cry.
—But in truth, I already knew…
that I had nothing.
Her stage ended.
At the same time, she looked at me.
Unlike usual, she wore a confident expression.
Well? My song. Not bad, right?
That smug look pissed me off.
Seeing my reaction, she hesitated, then raised two fingers in a V sign.
She emphasized it by stretching her arm out.
“…Yeah, yeah, you’re amazing.”
I had no choice but to nod.
She nodded back.
Then she slowly stepped down and sat next to me.
“How was it?”
“It was great. But why ‘Blame’?”
Did she not have another song? That seemed unlikely.
She took a sip of water and said, “I don’t think I showed it properly last time.”
“Showed what?”
“‘Blame.’ It was lacking.”
…So that performance—the one teachers praised, the one even I, the composer, was proud of—she thought that was lacking?
Chills.
Just how far was she planning to evolve?
Was she going to ascend to heaven mid-song?
This was getting concerning.
…Can Suyeon really be the star of the festival?
She’s too powerful. Like, way too powerful.
“And there’s one more thing I wanted to show you.”
“One more?”
“Yeah. Like… ‘See? I can sing your songs this well.’ Something like that.”
After saying that, Goyo closed her mouth and stared at the stage.
Her expression was the same as always—emotionless.
But her face was slightly red.
The silence felt… awkward.
“Actually, I’m the one who sings Hajun’s songs best.”
Ah, right.
Taeyoung existed.
“What?”
“Hajun made me an amazing song recently.”
Stop. Please.
You idiot.
Goyo’s expression turned icy cold.
She looked away from the stage and directly at me.
Her previously flushed face was now pale.
I never thought I’d think this at my age, but—
She was terrifying.
“What about me?”
“Well, uh… Taeyoung was already scheduled first…”
“My song?”
“I’m working on it!”
Why was I explaining myself?!
As we were arguing, the next rehearsal began.
Kang Seonghun.
Right.
I stopped talking and looked at the stage.
Honestly, I didn’t remember what he did in my previous life.
I think it was some idol-style song with girl trainees.
On stage, Seonghun was talking with four girls.
As expected—idol concept again.
After they wrapped up, he stepped down.
Our eyes met.
He stared at me silently.
For a while.
Then he went and sat in the audience.
…Why was he looking at me like that?
Did I offend him?
I didn’t think so…
Then his rehearsal started.
A heavy, exciting drum beat.
A groovy hip-hop rhythm that made my body move on its own.
The four girls started singing.
—Hands up high,
leave your worries behind.
The melody was incredibly refined.
Almost too polished for a school festival.
And very, very familiar.
I was speechless as I watched the stage.
I knew this song.
Of course I did.
It was extremely famous.
Kang Seonghun’s biggest hit.
“Flowing.”
But why now?
“Flowing” wasn’t supposed to exist for another six years.
He gave it to a rookie girl group, and they stayed at #1 for ten weeks.
So why was it here?!
It wasn’t identical to the version I knew, but the core was the same.
And that alone was ridiculously addictive.
Even Taeyoung next to me was quietly singing along to the lyrics.
I looked at Seonghun.
He was looking at me too.
Our eyes met, and he slowly mouthed—
Look forward to it.
He didn’t speak.
I just read his lips.
Look forward… to what?
I sighed deeply.
Why were both Goyo and Seonghun acting like this all of a sudden?
Did they all take performance-enhancing drugs or something?
Frustrated, I complained to Taeyoung.
“Isn’t this straight-up cheating?”
“What is?”
“I mean, this isn’t fair. Should I bring in a full orchestra? An organ too? Huh?! How is this allowed?!”
“Hmm… You have a point.”
“‘A point’ my ass, you psycho.”
Taeyoung looked at me like I was insane.
I ignored him and stared at the stage.
The difficulty had skyrocketed.
What do I do now?