59– Main. (5)
59– Main. (5)
59.
The third and final day of the Winter Festival.
Early that morning, Yoon Hajun was standing in the small performance hall, looking toward the stage for rehearsal. Before going on stage, this was their one and only rehearsal.
Yoon Hajun approached the rehearsal with a serious expression. He went over the stage movement they had practiced repeatedly, checking it once more, and clearly conveyed to the staff exactly what he wanted.
For the stage of “MAIN,” he couldn’t use any elaborate production. He wanted to do it badly, but realistic constraints—prop limits, lack of time, and several other factors overlapping—meant he ended up preparing the staging with just a single prop, lighting, and costumes.
Because of that, there could be no mistakes. The timing of the lights going out and coming back on, the moment the colors changed—everything had to be perfect.
Soon after finishing the rehearsal, Yoon Hajun muttered to himself,
“…That’s a shame.”
“What is?”
Seo Chaerim asked at his murmur. She had been watching Yoon Hajun the entire time he rehearsed, her gaze full of interest. At her question, Yoon Hajun replied,
“The time and all the other restrictions. There’s a lot I want to do, but it’s just not possible.”
“What, in terms of staging?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. You want to do stage direction too?”
Normally, producers don’t involve themselves in stage direction. That’s either handled by professional directors, or the singer comes up with it themselves.
“It’s not that I want to do direction on its own,” Yoon Hajun said politely. “It’s more like… if it’s a song I made, then I want to direct it too. That kind of idea.”
“You directed ‘Fault’ and ‘Come Home,’ too, right?”
“Yes.”
“What about ‘Rough’?”
“Honestly, I didn’t do much for that one. I rearranged the song to suit the stage, but the performance itself was all prepared by Jin Sohyang and the company’s choreographer.”
“But you handled the lighting and props, didn’t you?”
“That’s true.”
At that answer, Seo Chaerim let out a quiet, intrigued hum. She’d heard of producers who even decided album jackets and image concepts, but still…
He definitely has good sense.
This time, the stage outfit for “MAIN” had also been chosen by Yoon Hajun. More precisely, he’d discussed it with Jin Sohyang, who had plenty of stage experience, and the two of them picked it together.
Either way, for a seventeen-year-old, his sense was quite good. Seo Chaerim looked him over carefully. He was tall—tall even by adult standards.
His shaggy hair made him look a bit stuffy, but his face itself wasn’t bad. And with his slim build, clothes fit him well.
“Are you really into clothes?”
“…Pardon?”
“No, it’s just—when I saw you talking with Sohyang last time, you seemed to know a lot about clothes. Accessories too.”
“It’s not that I’m interested in them normally. I just studied because I thought I’d need them for the stage.”
“So you weren’t interested before, you just studied because you thought it was necessary?”
“Yes.”
Yoon Hajun answered plainly.
At that, Seo Chaerim nodded. Then, in a more serious voice, she asked him,
“If you debut as a composer, how do you plan to work?”
“How do you mean?”
“There are different types of composers. Ones who tailor songs to people, ones who make songs first and fit people to them, ones who work on commission, or ones who pick someone and keep working with them long-term.”
“…I’ll probably be the last one,” Yoon Hajun said after a pause. “That doesn’t mean I’ll only ever work with one person, but I think there’ll be someone I work with the most.”
And that person was, of course, Yoon Suyeon.
After that, Seo Chaerim kept pressing him with all kinds of questions. Even while wondering why she was asking these things, Yoon Hajun answered each one sincerely.
“Alright. Got it.”
After hearing his answer to the final question, Seo Chaerim murmured that and nodded. Seeing her like that, Yoon Hajun lightly furrowed his brows.
This person is really strange too.
§ § §
The third day of the Winter Festival began.
The opening stage announcing the start of the day was performed by Jung Eunhye, a second-year composition major and scholarship student. Known for creating emotional songs with acoustic guitar as her main instrument, Jung Eunhye had sharpened her blade and prepared thoroughly for today.
It wasn’t just for grades. If anything, it was for the standing of the second years. As things stood now, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Seolwon Arts High’s second-year presence was practically nonexistent.
Among the third years, there were six idols currently active in the industry. But in the second year, there wasn’t a single one actively promoting.
There were plenty of trainees, but trainees were still just trainees. Because of that, the second years were constantly—and often unconsciously—compared to the third years. And on top of that, the incoming first years were being called a “golden class.”
That wasn’t just student talk. Teachers and entertainment agencies were saying it too. It didn’t matter that the only currently active idol among them was Jin Sohyang.
Starting with Han Goyo, then Kang Seonghun, Kim Taeyoung, and even Yoon Hajun—there was a cluster of overwhelmingly talented kids. The spotlight at practical music concerts and festivals had gone straight to those first years.
This Winter Festival was no different. On days one and two, the stages that became hot topics were all first-year performances. The second years had taken a massive blow from that.
It wasn’t that they were deeply attached to year-based pride, or wanted to pull seniority nonsense over a one-year age gap—but losing out to first years still didn’t feel good.
These were students who had lived believing themselves to be talented as Seolwon Arts High students. Naturally, their pride was strong. They couldn’t just keep losing.
“Oh.”
Watching Jung Eunhye’s prepared stage, Yoon Hajun let out an impressed sound. The song she prepared was her specialty—an emotional piece.
The acoustic guitar melody made you feel at ease, but the voice layered on top of it was very unique. How should he put it—it almost sounded whiny?
Not in a bad way, though. It was actually very cute. And with that voice singing softly, almost whispering, smiles naturally formed on people’s faces.
“The song’s good.”
To be able to make that distinctive vocal work so well—Yoon Hajun nodded, genuinely impressed. Beside him, Seo Chaerim asked,
“Could you do something like that too?”
“No way. I can’t make that kind of style.”
“Why? You’ve tried a lot of different genres so far.”
“That’s true, but… that kind of soft, murmuring emotional song—I just can’t do it.”
More than anything, remembering how much he’d struggled making ‘Come Home,’ he really didn’t want to try again.
After saying that, Yoon Hajun refocused on the stage. His stage was the ending stage of Part 2—the very last performance. Because of that, he could watch Part 1 with a relaxed mind.
So he watched the first half, offering praise here and there. When she first heard it, Seo Chaerim thought he was being sarcastic. No matter how she looked at it, the quality was far below what Yoon Hajun made himself.
But watching him praise the stages with sharp, focused eyes, she realized that wasn’t the case. He was genuinely praising them.
And at the same time, he was thinking about what he could learn, how he would have made it differently. Seeing that, Seo Chaerim honestly felt admiration.
He’s incredible.
With talent like that at his age, it would be easy to be arrogant. Yet instead of arrogance, he thought himself lacking and studied what he could learn from others.
Is that why he can make songs like that at his age?
Quietly, Seo Chaerim reflected on herself. Then, like Yoon Hajun, she fixed her sharp gaze on the stage.
Part 1 ended like that. Then came lunchtime. Jin Sohyang, Han Goyo, and Seo Chaerim ate together, while Yoon Hajun ate with Kim Taeyoung.
At first, Yoon Hajun had planned to eat with the other three, but Kim Taeyoung said he had something to talk about because of yesterday’s stage, so they split off.
“Why?”
While eating the school lunch, Yoon Hajun asked.
Kim Taeyoung took a short deep breath, then said,
“I was freaking amazing yesterday, right?”
Yoon Hajun stared at him, dumbfounded. So this idiot dragged him out to eat just to say that?
“…Don’t tell me that’s what you wanted to say.”
“Of course.”
At that answer, Yoon Hajun seriously considered whether it would be okay to throw the spoon he was holding. Oblivious to those thoughts, Kim Taeyoung grinned brightly.
“So? My stage yesterday was insane, right? You admit it too, right? Huh?”
“What are you talking about, you idiot.”
“That I did your song justice.”
“…Yeah, you did.”
Yoon Hajun nodded honestly. Kim Taeyoung’s stage yesterday was impossible to deny. Even as the composer, Yoon Hajun had been impressed.
Then Kim Taeyoung spoke in a firm voice,
“That song—it’s my song.”
“…What?”
“That song is mine. Just because you debut as a composer doesn’t mean you can give it to someone else. I’m the one who’s going to sing it. When I debut, I’m putting it in my debut album as the title track.”
“So that was the point?”
Kim Taeyoung nodded.
“I’ve done tons of stages, but none of them satisfied me like yesterday. So when I debut, I’m going to sing that song as much as I want.”
“Do whatever.”
Yoon Hajun replied indifferently. Then, after taking a sip of the drink that came with the lunch, he smiled faintly.
“You know you’ll have to pay then, right?”
“…Huh?”
“You said you’re using my song. Obviously you have to pay the composition fee, producing fee, all of it.”
“…Ah.”
“You’re not seriously planning to just take the song and hand the producing off to someone else, right?”
“N-no. Of course not. Obviously, if it’s officially released, I’ll pay everything. Do I really look that shameless?”
He didn’t look shameless—but it was obvious he hadn’t even thought that far. Thinking that, Yoon Hajun chuckled.
Kim Taeyoung becoming a world star and choosing his song as his debut track.
Not bad.
After wrapping up the conversation, Yoon Hajun headed to the waiting room. He wanted to watch Part 2 as well, but there was too much to prepare.
“Then let’s start right away.”
Yoon Hajun said that to the three gathered in the waiting room. At his words, Jin Sohyang, Han Goyo, and Seo Chaerim nodded. There was a lot to prepare before going on stage.
Makeup, hair, and even costumes. Just preparing all that took over an hour. And that was only because they’d simplified things as much as possible.
According to Jin Sohyang, preparing for a concert usually took around two hours. In any case, Jin Sohyang, Han Goyo, and Seo Chaerim began preparing for the stage.
And Yoon Hajun helped them. Putting on the necessary accessories, checking makeup, switching colors after looking at them, and finally the costumes—
“…Once you’re dressed, call me.”
Yeah, that part was too much for him.
By the time the three finished getting ready, the 27th performance was underway on stage. That meant there were only three performers left before Yoon Hajun’s stage.
“Haa…”
Before going on stage, Seo Chaerim let out a breath. Han Goyo sat blankly in her chair with her eyes closed, while Jin Sohyang lightly warmed up her body.
“Don’t you have anything to say before we go on?”
Seo Chaerim said to Yoon Hajun.
He hesitated for a moment, then said,
“I’m not good with words. I watched everything you practiced, and I know how great you all are. So… just show all of that on stage.”
“That’s cliché.”
“I told you I’m bad with words.”
At that, Seo Chaerim let out a small laugh.
Then Han Goyo stood up. As she headed out of the waiting room, she said,
“That’s enough.”
“Yeah. That was more than enough!”
Jin Sohyang clenched both fists lightly in a fighting pose, then followed Han Goyo out of the waiting room. Watching the two of them, Seo Chaerim muttered to herself for a moment.
Now it feels like I’m the only bad one.
“Well, it wasn’t bad.”
Then Seo Chaerim also left the waiting room. It was finally their turn.
After the three left, Yoon Hajun, now alone, let out a light breath and followed them out as well.
“What are you doing? Why are you following us?”
“I’m the one who has to set up the stage prop, remember?”
After saying that, he moved ahead of them toward the stage.
Soon, the 29th performance ended. All that remained was the ending stage that would close the Winter Festival.
Confirming that the stage was empty, Yoon Hajun carried the single prop he’d prepared in advance onto the stage. With the staff, he set it up in the spot he’d already planned.
Then he came back down from the stage. He wanted to say one last thing to the members, but there was no time. And he’d already said everything that needed to be said.
All that was left was to watch from the audience.
Leaving the waiting room, Yoon Hajun went to the seating area and took his seat.
§ § §
The audience watched the stage with expressions full of anticipation. They were tired and bored after seeing fifty-nine performances, but this stage was different. This one demanded their full attention.
It was the ending stage of the Winter Festival—and at the same time, Yoon Hajun’s stage.
Yoon Hajun. At some point, he had become a celebrity at Seolwon Arts High.
Jung Eunhye, who had prepared the opening stage of day three, and Kang Seonghun, who had closed day one, leaned as far forward as they could.
So far forward it almost looked like they might fall.
The stage was dark, the lights still off. In that darkness, faint silhouettes of people could be seen.
Wait—silhouettes?
More than one?
He’d thought Han Goyo would be the only one again. Were others performing too?
At that moment, the lights came on.
But only on the left.
A red light illuminated the person standing on the left side of the stage. Seeing that, Kang Seonghun frowned.
Jin Sohyang?
The one on stage was Jin Sohyang.
Why?
He couldn’t understand it.
In Kang Seonghun’s view, the only merit Jin Sohyang had was the title of “currently active idol.” Her singing ability wasn’t even average.
So why had Yoon Hajun put Jin Sohyang on stage?
Then the melody began to flow—heavy and gloomy. Piano and violin filled the stage with their sound.
To that melody, Jin Sohyang began to sing.
—I never thought about it.
Her singing was different from usual. Matching the heavy, somber melody, she sang very slowly in a low register. Because of that, her voice felt strangely new.
—That being loved by someone could hurt.
Slowly, Jin Sohyang began to move. Slow movements that matched the melody—delicate, precise movements.
At the same time, a prop that hadn’t been visible revealed itself under the light.
A partition?
The prop standing on stage was a massive partition, like a wall dividing space. Seeing it, Kang Seonghun wore a completely baffled expression.
What kind of stage did you prepare, Yoon Hajun?
A small space created by the partition. Inside it, Jin Sohyang danced. Not a powerful dance, but one that emphasized delicate yet beautiful lines.
—It feels like I’ve become the protagonist of a drama.
The lyrics of Jin Sohyang’s part were endlessly bright, in contrast to the gloomy melody. Lyrics about someone who had never been loved, now feeling like the main character after receiving love.
With Jin Sohyang’s dance added, the stage came together surprisingly well.
Then Jin Sohyang lightly turned her body and leaned gently against the partition.
—Let’s move forward together.
Her singing ended.
And the red light went out.
Instead, a blue light turned on at the right side of the stage.
At the same time, Seo Chaerim was revealed.
It wasn’t just the lighting that changed.
The melody changed as well.
The heavy, gloomy tune grew slightly lighter. The violin faded out, replaced by guitar and drums.
And to that melody, Seo Chaerim opened her mouth.
—The future we said we’d move toward!
A husky low voice, hard to tell whether it was male or female. That captivating voice asserted its presence on stage.
“…What is this?”
Watching that, Kang Seonghun wore a confused expression.