79 – Like Brother, Like Sister (3)
79 – Like Brother, Like Sister (3)
79.
“Hyung.”
The first weekend after Yoon Suyeon enrolled at Seolwon Arts High. After coming back from Lee Jiyoon’s academy, Yoon Suyeon lounged on the sofa as usual and called out to her older brother, Yoon Hajun.
Yoon Hajun, with his head practically buried in his laptop, replied, “Huh?” without looking up.
Watching him, Suyeon rolled the candy in her mouth and slightly pouted.
If there was one sight she’d seen the most on this sofa, it was this: her brother sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, working on his laptop.
She knew he couldn’t help it because he was busy.
But still.
Couldn’t he pay a little more attention to her?
Didn’t he even wonder how her school life was going, what people were saying to her?
Suyeon let out a long sigh and, in a mildly dissatisfied voice, said,
“Hey. How do you usually live at school?”
“Why all of a sudden?”
At Suyeon’s out-of-the-blue question, Hajun answered with a slight frown.
Hmm. He wanted to brighten the melody progression here a bit.
Should he put the laptop down for a moment and try it on the guitar?
“Because teachers keep saying stuff like, ‘Are you really Hajun’s younger sibling? Really?’”
At Suyeon’s words, Hajun froze mid-motion—he’d been about to close the laptop and grab the guitar.
Then, looking a little awkward, he scratched the back of his head.
Well…
He couldn’t exactly say he didn’t get it.
If Yoon Hajun was the kind of student who slept through class, Yoon Suyeon was the kind who listened with more passion than anyone.
Of course the teachers would be shocked.
“Uh… well. I’ve just been busy. Too many things I have to do.”
“That doesn’t mean you only sleep during class, right?”
“Haha.”
Hajun didn’t answer.
He just gave a dry laugh.
And that was enough to confirm it.
So he really did just sleep.
“Other than that, did you hear anything else?”
Hajun folded his laptop and finally looked at Suyeon.
And seeing him actually pay attention to her at last, Suyeon smiled.
“In practical classes too, I heard similar stuff. The nuance is different, though.”
“What did they say?”
“Like… ‘So you really are Hajun’s sibling.’ That kind of thing?”
Unlike the teachers who handled written classes, it was meant positively.
Hajun nodded like it was obvious.
“Yeah. The practical teachers like me.”
“Yeah, it seemed like it.”
In the first practical class—the temporary class where teachers got assigned—Suyeon was getting a flood of eager offers.
Some of it was her talent, but being Hajun’s sibling also played a part.
The moment people heard she was Hajun’s sibling, they started expecting things from her.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Just… it feels like you’re always being judged as ‘my sibling.’”
“I don’t care.”
Suyeon shook her head. Maybe for other people it would bother them, but Suyeon didn’t hate being judged as Yoon Hajun’s sibling.
Hajun was the one who’d led her onto the path of singing.
And more than anything, the songs Hajun made were the best.
“So how are classes?”
“Um… it feels the same as middle school. Since practical class is only once a week, it doesn’t really feel real.”
“In second semester it’s twice a week, and when you’re a second-year it’s three times a week, so just hang in there a bit. Plus, you can use the practice rooms and recording rooms freely.”
“Oh, I love that! So every day after class, Yeonji and I go practice in the practice room.”
“Yeonji, as in your friend?”
“Yeah. Same middle school. You know, I told you before. That I had an idol trainee friend, and there was someone aiming for Seolwon Arts High too.”
“Ah.”
Now that she put it that way, it vaguely rang a bell.
Not that he actually remembered clearly.
“Did you make other friends?”
At Hajun’s question, Suyeon frowned.
Other friends…
Since she’d been admitted as second place, quite a few kids had approached her to get closer.
But.
“Not really. I did get close to some, but I’m keeping my distance for now.”
“Why?”
“At first it was fine, but every time we talk, they keep asking: what are you doing for the school event, do you have someone you work with, do you want to work with me… There are so many kids like that.”
So they were already either trying to check her, or laying groundwork to get her to work with them for the event.
People approaching with an agenda.
Of course she didn’t like it.
So Suyeon was deliberately keeping her distance.
“I’m going to sing a song you made at the event anyway. But it feels like they keep pestering me, so it’s annoying.”
“Yeah. Kids are all like that.”
Most kids who got into Seolwon Arts High had strong egos.
It was a prestigious arts school—getting accepted itself proved you had talent—so their pride was intense.
“And most of all, the first-place admit is really annoying.”
“First-place?”
That would be Jeong Jinhoo.
“Compared to the other kids, it’s like Jeong Jinhoo—the first-place admit—looks down on me. Like he’s treating me as someone below him. He’s just… obnoxious.”
Hearing Suyeon—who barely ever used crude words—say things like “annoying” and “obnoxious” meant one thing.
He really was annoying and obnoxious.
“Hm. So it’s like, ‘I’m first place, you’re second place, so you’re under me’?”
“Probably. And he has this… aura. Like, ‘The only one worth talking to is you, second place, so be honored.’ That vibe. What is he, a king? The way he dismisses what other people say makes me want to smack the back of his head.”
When had Suyeon gotten so aggressive?
At Suyeon’s muttered, “Anyway, I just don’t like him,” Hajun nodded.
Just hearing about it made Hajun understand why Lee Jiyoon had asked him to “crack Jeong Jinhoo’s head.”
Even secondhand, he sounded obnoxious.
“Let’s hit him with a big one at the event.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.”
Suyeon nodded.
Watching her, Hajun turned back to his laptop.
The first event was the freshman concert in June.
Right now, Hajun was working on a song for that.
A song that would crack Jeong Jinhoo’s head—and make Yoon Suyeon the top student.
§ § §
[When it’s time for the music video shoot, I’ll contact you. Like I said before, for this album’s music video, we’re planning to combine all the tracks into a single video.]
“So you mean you’re going to put all six songs into one music video?”
[Yes. About forty seconds per track—just the highlight parts. We’ll shoot those and connect them, using locations and props to transition naturally between segments.]
“Then Goyo and I are last.”
[Right. I’ll contact you then. This weekend we’re planning to work with Taeyoung, so we can do it either next weekend or the weekend after.]
“So the album can only be released after the MV shoot and post-production, meaning the earliest would be about a month from now?”
[Exactly.]
A month from now would be one week after Star Kingdom finished airing.
The timing was pretty good.
After ending the call, Hajun looked at the TV.
It had been two weeks since Star Kingdom finished filming. Today was finally the first episode.
Since they filmed for almost two weeks, episode one had to be edited a while ago.
Maybe because it was only a three-episode pilot—filming everything in advance and then airing it.
Since it wasn’t an audition program but a competition program, it was possible.
“So you’re in this program, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Ooh, I’m excited. I already messaged all my friends. Like, ‘My brother’s on TV.’”
“Friends?”
Didn’t she say she barely had friends at Seolwon Arts High?
Didn’t she say she was keeping her distance?
At Hajun’s look, Suyeon spoke in an incredulous tone.
“I only don’t have friends at Seolwon Arts High. I’ve always had lots of friends.”
“Ah. Middle school friends?”
“Yeah.”
Must be nice. Hajun barely remembered middle school.
Sometimes random people who were probably middle school friends contacted him, but he didn’t know who they were, so he just replied vaguely.
“Did you tell your friends?”
“No. They already knew without me saying.”
Jin Sohyang had figured it out herself after running into him during filming. Han Goyo and Kim Taeyoung knew the air date too—maybe they heard it from Won Seongmin. Seo Chaerim obviously knew because her manager Jung Jaeho had followed the entire shoot.
Other than those people, there wasn’t really anyone to tell.
“Mom bragged to her friends too. That her son is on TV.”
“At best, I’ll barely have any screentime.”
At his mom—who looked the most excited out of everyone gathered in the living room—Hajun clicked his tongue.
He honestly didn’t expect much.
There were seven teams. One hour ten minutes divided among seven teams was only about ten minutes per team.
And Blue Aka had five members. Even within those ten minutes, they had to split it among themselves.
And Hajun wasn’t even a formal member.
He was a guest producer brought in for a one-off.
So of course his screentime would be cut down.
Worst case, he’d be edited out completely and only appear for a second.
The bigger your expectations, the bigger your disappointment.
So he didn’t expect anything.
“Ah, it’s starting.”
Star Kingdom began.
The Star Kingdom logo appeared, and the announcer-turned-MC posed at the camera.
—A head-to-head showdown staking their genres! The kingdom of stars, Star Kingdom!
Wow. That was cringe.
No idea who wrote the script, but the line was painfully cheesy.
But aside from that, the rest was solid.
The way they introduced the teams and brought in the members—the kind of thing that filled you with that “hype” people always talked about.
Then the MC introduced Blue Aka, and Blue Aka came on stage.
Of course, Hajun wasn’t there.
That footage had been filmed when he wasn’t around.
Just introducing teams took thirty-five minutes.
Thirty-five minutes left.
Given the time, it was likely he wouldn’t appear at all today.
Hajun judged that—and sure enough, the remaining time went into the teams’ working footage.
And since seven teams had to split that thirty-five minutes, each team got about five minutes.
And Blue Aka’s segment was last.
Meaning: for the first hour five minutes, Hajun’s face hadn’t shown up even once.
Of course.
“So you’re in the next episode then?”
“Probably.”
From episode one’s structure, he could guess episode two.
Work footage, then the mid-way rehearsal.
That would fill episode two.
Then episode three would be final practice, then the stage competition, and the program would end.
No matter how he thought about it, there was basically no chance he’d get meaningful screentime.
And still, he kept watching.
Blue Aka introduced themselves and got into the work.
But the work vibe was… weird.
“Was it always this chaotic?”
The work wasn’t progressing.
Won Seongmin struggled alone, while the other members just laughed like they didn’t care.
Only Won Seongmin suffered.
Now that he thought about it, Won Seongmin had mentioned the others didn’t care much about this side of things.
On screen, they slapped in captions like “Work that won’t come together.”
They made it look seriously dire.
And then—
“Ah, there’s Oppa!”
He appeared.
Seeing himself in a school uniform with a slightly spaced-out expression, Hajun cleared his throat.
It wasn’t his first time on TV, but it never felt natural.
And right now he was in a high schooler’s body, wasn’t he?
Of course it felt even more awkward.
And the scene itself was strange too.
The BGM, the captions—everything.
They were framing him like some hero who showed up to save Won Seongmin’s suffering.
“Ooh, you’re so cool!”
Suyeon shrieked in excitement.
And Mom nodded along too.
“Right? Our son is so cool.”
At their reactions, Hajun scratched his head awkwardly.
Well… even Hajun had to admit it.
On screen, he looked pretty damn cool.
Was this what people meant by BGM carry?
—Then let’s get to work.
On TV, Hajun said that, then continued working with Won Seongmin, correcting what Won Seongmin was stuck on.
And it didn’t stop there.
He rearranged things on the spot, changed this and that.
The song that had sounded awkward became natural.
Won Seongmin’s stiff expression brightened.
Of course, in reality, days had passed between those moments, so it wasn’t that extreme.
But with editing, cutting and stitching it together, it looked like Hajun solved everything in one sweep.
—Let’s start recording.
And the focus shifted.
He resolved Won Seongmin’s concerns, and suddenly it looked like Blue Aka’s work was being led by Hajun.
It didn’t feel like Blue Aka had brought Hajun in as a guest producer—but like Hajun, as the producer, had brought Blue Aka in as “his band.”
“Wait.”
Hajun made a dumb sound.
Is this allowed?
Watching this, it seriously looked like he was the main character.
While Hajun stared at the screen, the camera angle changed.
Front view of Hajun in uniform, then the camera swung around—
his side, then his back.
Then Hajun disappeared from the frame, and it became a first-person perspective, like the camera was Hajun’s eyes.
And in that view were the Blue Aka members.
—Let’s go.
Hajun’s voice played, and the members nodded.
Then the episode ended.
Hajun blinked.
Technically, his screentime was short.
Across the full hour ten, his face appeared for maybe two or three minutes.
His solo screentime was even less.
But after watching, the only thing that stuck was those two or three minutes.
The directing, the captions—it was obvious they’d put effort into it.
And the preview made it even more blatant.
No longer those lazy eyes—now sharp, frowning, scolding people.
A school-uniformed boy grilling people ten years older than him.
Then Blue Aka’s interviews.
“I’m dying.”
“You get ground down working with him.”
“But he’s a producer you can trust.”
Won Seongmin’s final line ended the preview.
And at the same time, Hajun’s phone started vibrating like crazy.