94 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (11)
94 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (11)
“So why did you call me?”
Han Goyo said it as she looked at Yoon Suyeon. Yoon Suyeon still wore a confused expression.
Han Goyo quietly folded her arms and glanced around. They were in one of the practice rooms inside the school. Yoon Suyeon had refused her suggestion to talk in the classroom and had deliberately brought her here.
Why?
Don’t tell me she wants to fight.
Han Goyo’s neat brow creased slightly. No way. Probably not.
Sure, she knew the kid didn’t like her. But still—she was her friend’s little sister. There was no way she would drag her here to pick a fight, right?
Even so, Han Goyo subtly increased the distance between them. Yoon Suyeon was fully inside the practice room, while Han Goyo stayed by the entrance with her shoes still on.
From this distance, even if something happens, I can run.
While Han Goyo was thinking that, Yoon Suyeon suddenly opened her mouth.
“The reason I called you is…”
Han Goyo startled and reflexively pulled back, ending up in an awkward stance.
Yoon Suyeon stared at her like she couldn’t believe it. “…What are you doing?”
“Huh? N-no, it’s nothing. I just stepped on something for a second.”
Han Goyo straightened, pretending nothing had happened. But her face was already tinting faintly red.
So embarrassing.
Yoon Suyeon’s stare—like she’d just seen something weird—was mortifying. Her face felt like it was getting hotter and hotter.
Han Goyo forced herself to stay calm. “So why did you call me?”
Please. Let’s just get to the point. How am I supposed to admit I got scared of my friend’s little sister for a second?
“I have something to ask you.”
Yoon Suyeon accepted the dodge without pressing. From her perspective, there was no particular reason to dig into it. Han Goyo was quietly grateful for that, so she asked in a more even voice.
“What is it?”
“I want help with singing a song.”
Han Goyo blinked.
So she was asking her for help with singing. Why?
Yoon Suyeon didn’t like her. No—more than that, it felt closer to dislike than indifference. Yoon Suyeon had never said it outright, but Han Goyo could tell.
Because it’s the same.
The way Han Goyo looked at Yoon Suyeon, and the way Yoon Suyeon looked at Han Goyo—they were the same.
That was why Han Goyo couldn’t understand it.
“Why me?”
At Han Goyo’s question, Yoon Suyeon fell silent. After hesitating for a moment, she answered.
“Because out of everyone I know, you sing the best.”
And because you’re the one who knows my brother as well as I do.
Han Goyo looked surprised. She hadn’t expected her to be that straightforward.
Yoon Suyeon stuck out her lips in a sulky pout.
This is exactly why I didn’t want to ask her.
It wasn’t only that she didn’t like Han Goyo. It was pride—the pride of having to ask someone she saw as a rival. But she’d already decided she wouldn’t lean on her brother this time. And aside from her brother, the only person who could help her like this was Han Goyo.
So she had no choice.
Yoon Suyeon shoved down her childish pride as hard as she could. But feelings were one thing—her expression was another. Her face twisted like she genuinely hated this.
Han Goyo let out a short snort. “Let me ask one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Is this because of that argument with the class vice president?”
“Um… I’m the vice president.”
“Oh, right. You are. Sorry. I’ve never been vice president, so I just assumed you were the class president.”
She’s subtly picking at me, isn’t she? It already bugs me that I’m vice president, too.
But Yoon Suyeon didn’t say that out loud. She couldn’t. She was the one who needed something right now.
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Hm. I see.”
Yoon Suyeon’s voice came out sharper than usual. And as if she liked that reaction, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Han Goyo’s lips.
Wow. I didn’t know it before, but she has a nasty personality. Does my brother know she’s like this? If I seriously told him right now, would he even believe me?
While Yoon Suyeon was thinking that, Han Goyo asked, “What kind of help do you need?”
“You can help me?”
“If it’s within what I can do.”
Yoon Suyeon looked surprised. She’d assumed she would be rejected. That was why she’d been planning to bargain.
“Uh… um. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. You’re my friend’s precious little sister.”
If Yoon Suyeon had come up with a bright smile or acted friendly with obvious pretenses, Han Goyo would have rejected her. But she hadn’t. She’d been honest.
Han Goyo liked that.
And she was Hajun’s little sister.
Most of all, it was help she needed because of a fight with that class president who had insulted Hajun.
Fine. Just this once, she’d help.
“So what do you want me to help with?”
Han Goyo spoke as she took off her shoes.
§ § §
“What the hell? Why are you the only one here?”
I came to the practice room for the first time in a while, and for some reason, only Kim Taeyoung was there.
Where’s Goyo?
When I looked at him with that question, Kim Taeyoung answered with a wounded expression.
“How would I know that?”
“Fair, but… you haven’t been practicing with Goyo in here lately?”
“I’m a trainee. How the hell would I be practicing with Goyo?”
Ah. Right. That’s true.
It had been a while, so I forgot.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’ve got a week off from the company.”
“What trainee gets days off? For a whole week?”
“The company’s doing construction. What do you want me to do, idiot?”
Ah. Yeah, you can’t help that.
Still, talking to Taeyoung for the first time in a while made me feel a bit better. Working was fun, but I got stressed without realizing it.
“When did the construction start?”
“Yesterday.”
“Then you’ll be coming to the practice room until next Tuesday.”
“Yeah.”
It felt strangely nice. I mean, “back then” was only a year ago, but still. Back then, the three of us—Taeyoung, Goyo, and me—used to practice here every day. Now it was hard to do that.
“What’s it going to be like next year?”
“Who knows. Probably even harder to meet.”
“Yeah.”
By next year, both Taeyoung and Goyo would debut, so it would be even harder to see them. It was already really hard to see Jin Sohyang.
“So how’s the event track coming along?”
“My track?”
“No, your sister’s.”
“Hm. Want to hear it?”
Kim Taeyoung nodded, clearly interested.
I pulled my laptop out of my bag. Perfect timing—I’d wanted to play it for someone anyway. I opened the file and played the song I finished yesterday.
A bright but slow-tempo song gradually sped up as it darkened. Then it brightened again and slowed down again.
This song was about me. More precisely, it was about my life.
The bright, slow tempo at the start was how I felt when I first dreamed of being a singer. Back then, I believed my future would shine more than anyone else’s.
The middle section—the dark melody with the fast tempo—was how I felt during my time as a singer.
And the brightening again was how I felt after regression.
Listening with a serious face, Kim Taeyoung let out a sigh when the song ended.
“The structure is similar to 『Da Capo』.”
“Yeah. You could say that.”
“But this one has more… stickiness. Not like it’s an upgraded 『Da Capo』 or anything. More like a totally different charm? The structure’s similar, but it’s definitely a different song. And Suyeon’s singing this?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you trying to show those first-years? Trying to bring back 『Blame』 or something?”
“Damn, that was already a year ago.”
A revival of 『Blame』. That was a funny way to put it. Well, 『To Live On』 was kind of similar to 『Blame』. Not because the structure or progression was similar, but because it was built for the stage.
“So you’re planning stage direction for this one too?”
“I’ve got some ideas, but it’s hard. You know how it is. The kind of stage direction you can do at an event is limited.”
“True.”
The stage direction I did at events was basically just things like tents or partitions. Since it was a school event, the props you could use were limited, and that meant the direction was limited too.
And more than anything—
“Those kinds of setups show up way too often now.”
It felt weird coming out of my mouth, but last year’s winter festival had an oddly high number of tents. I was the only one who used a tent at the freshman concert, but—
“That just means it made an impression. And it’s not just the direction—there were a lot of songs that were similar too.”
“That’s true.”
Students influenced by me were trying to do stages similar to mine. It didn’t piss me off, but it felt… strange.
“So you’re going to keep your sister’s stage normal?”
“I can’t do that.”
I did have a concept in mind. It was just that this time, since I couldn’t actively help with the staging, I was choosing an easier approach.
From installation to timing, Suyeon would have to coordinate directly with the staff and sync everything herself. For Suyeon, who only had one stage experience, that would be tough.
“Well, I’m looking forward to your sister’s stage.”
“Sure.”
Second-years had to attend the freshman concert. It was mandatory, not optional. So there was no way I was going to let it be half-assed.
These days, the second-years kept talking about being some “golden class” or whatever. Because they were called that, they’d gotten a bit lax.
They needed tension. That way, they’d put on better stages, and I’d find people worth working with.
If they got satisfied at this level, they’d stay at this level forever.
“You train hard too.”
And yeah, it won’t happen, but don’t get lax and end up getting caught by Choi Jinho.
Kim Taeyoung snorted. “Don’t worry. I’m doing rigorous training. Later, you’ll be the one asking me to watch you.”
Yeah, sure. So reliable.
§ § §
Later, I got on a call with Jin Sohyang and ran through the plan again.
“So you’re not rearranging it—you’re keeping the song as-is?”
“Yeah. But I’m going to attach a track in front of it.”
“What track?”
“『Rough』. The original version—no rearrangement. I’ll compress the intro, highlight, and ending into about forty seconds, attach that, then transition naturally into the rearranged version of 『Rough』.”
“Ah, so you’re singing both the original and the rearranged version.”
“Right. So you need a transformation on stage.”
“By ‘transformation,’ you mean when the song switches, right? Hmm. Like wearing an outer layer beforehand and taking it off?”
“Exactly.”
I nodded as I worked the composing program.
What I was describing wasn’t some grand staging. It was something singers used all the time. Hwayangyeonhwa had already used it once, too.
But if it was used often, that just meant it worked. The impact was big.
“And at the end, we’ll attach 『Windfall』.”
“And then everyone can come out together.”
“Right.”
“It really was smart to ask you, Hajun.”
At Jin Sohyang’s words, I clicked my tongue.
Honestly, this was the kind of concept any director with experience could come up with. Well, most directors wouldn’t do the arrangement themselves. Hiring just me was cheaper than hiring both an arranger and a stage director.
“Then like we said before, once the freshman concert is over, let’s have a meeting. We’ll decide the stage concept then.”
“So after I practice, and the practical music department concert ends, you’ll officially join?”
“Right. Send the contract to the company.”
“Yes. Hehe.”
Jin Sohyang laughed in a suspicious way.
“Why are you laughing?”
Did I say something weird?
Her flustered voice came back. “Ah, sorry. It’s just… when you talk like that, you really sound like a pro.”
“Now that I signed a contract, I am a pro.”
“That’s true, but… I mean… do you remember what I told you before? What I said after the practical music department concert stage.”
“What, that we should work together later?”
“Yes. When I debut solo, I said I wanted to get a song from you. Back then, I just thought, ‘It’d be nice if it happened,’ but now I’m thinking it really can happen, and that’s why I laughed.”
I scratched the back of my neck.
So that was what she meant.
“Well, when you start doing solo activities, tell me. I’ll produce your album.”
“Yes. I will. Really—yes.”
After that, Jin Sohyang hung up.
Hm. I felt like I was making way too many promises.
Was that okay?
I had to do Taeyoung’s debut song, and Suyeon and Goyo’s too, and now Jin Sohyang’s as well.
Thinking that, I shook my head.
Whatever. Future me can deal with the future.
And if schedules don’t overlap, it won’t be that impossible.
So for now, I’d just do what I had to do.
Suyeon was probably doing the same.