96 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (13)
96 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (13)
“How’s it going—are you ready?”
At Yoon Hajun’s question, Yoon Suyeon let out a long breath—whoosh—then nodded.
Could she really do well?
She had prepared for today with everything she had. She had even asked Han Goyo for help, and after thinking through all sorts of things on her own, she had reached her own answer.
The problem was whether the answer she reached was actually right.
I’ll find out when I do it.
Yeah. This was something she would only know by trying.
Yoon Suyeon relaxed her stiff expression and stepped into the recording studio.
It wasn’t her first time recording with her brother, but for some reason, she was unusually nervous today.
Why?
Was it because she hadn’t matched with her brother before going into the session?
No, that had happened before too.
Then… was it because she had interpreted her brother’s emotions however she wanted?
Yeah. That was probably it.
After talking with Han Goyo, Yoon Suyeon had reached her own answer: figure out what her brother felt when he made this song, and sing based on that.
But in the end, that was Yoon Suyeon deciding what Yoon Hajun’s emotions were, on her own.
Unless she asked Yoon Hajun, she could never be sure her guess was right.
That was why she felt anxious.
What if I’m wrong? What if he’s disappointed? Was it a mistake to try to change my singing style?
As those thoughts piled up, Yoon Suyeon shook her head hard.
No. It wasn’t wrong yet.
And this time, thanks to the help she got from Han Goyo, she realized something.
If she kept going like this, she would never beat Han Goyo.
To beat Han Goyo—to sing her brother’s song more perfectly than anyone—
Change was necessary.
“I’m starting.”
Yoon Hajun’s voice came through—gentle.
Other people said Yoon Hajun in the studio was scary. But until she watched Star Kingdom, Yoon Suyeon couldn’t understand that.
To Yoon Suyeon, Yoon Hajun had always been a gentle brother.
That didn’t change even in a studio for work.
The song flowed through her headset.
A bright melody, paired with a tempo that didn’t match it—slow.
A strange dissonance.
But it didn’t sound bad.
“I’ve never doubted myself.”
Yoon Hajun took a sip of water and watched Yoon Suyeon sing.
Hmm. The start is pretty good.
Well, the beginning wasn’t that hard.
And if it was Suyeon, this much was obviously possible.
Even as he thought that, a proud smile formed at the corner of Yoon Hajun’s lips.
Whether she knew it or not, Yoon Suyeon kept singing.
Slowly, the song’s emotions began to surge—bright to gloomy—and the tempo sped up.
So she wouldn’t get swallowed by the emotion,
so she wouldn’t get pushed by the tempo,
Yoon Suyeon sang with everything she had.
“Because the people around me were overflowing with talent. I thought I was overflowing with talent too.”
The lyrics of 『To Live On』 were extremely difficult for Yoon Suyeon.
Why were we born?
Why do we live?
Why did “talent” even exist?
Questions like that.
Lyrics that asked those questions, then got tangled in them.
When she first got these lyrics, Yoon Suyeon couldn’t understand them.
Why would her brother write something like this?
From Yoon Suyeon’s perspective, Yoon Hajun was a genius.
When he sang, when he quit singing, when he started making songs—her brother did all of it so easily, like he was used to it.
But in these lyrics, he denied his own talent.
He said it was only because the people around him were geniuses that he firmly believed he could do that much too—
“That it was only an illusion.”
“That there was nothing.”
“That there was nothing in him.”
“That he was just an ordinary person.”
He realized it, and he was confused—confused that the talent he had believed in so firmly was actually nothing at all.
That feeling came through in the lyrics.
And so, when she tried to interpret this, Yoon Suyeon suffered.
A “what if”—a “no way”—kept rising in her head.
No way… is this why my brother abandoned singing?
No way… is this why my brother gave up being a vocalist?
No way… is this why my brother started making songs?
Because he thought he had no talent?
She thought it was impossible.
She desperately denied it.
But the more she listened, the more that thought turned into certainty.
Her brother believed he had no talent as a vocalist.
So he quit singing.
For Yoon Suyeon, even thinking that was suffocating.
“And yet, why are you living? Who are you supposed to ask?”
Yoon Suyeon had asked her brother to make the song he truly wanted to make.
And the result was this song.
Something he could never tell anyone.
A secret he alone had kept—
in his heart.
Yoon Suyeon’s hand clenched tightly as she sang.
What was her brother thinking while he made this song?
She didn’t want to know, and it felt like she shouldn’t know—
but if she read the lyrics, she would know.
Her brother’s worries, the pain he felt from them—Yoon Suyeon had never known.
She had no idea he suffered that much.
But now she knew.
Yeah. She had found out.
The reason her brother changed.
The reason he treated her coldly.
The reason he buried himself in songs like a madman.
She knew it all now.
Her brother understood that his talent was lacking, but he couldn’t accept it.
In the end, he accepted it anyway.
And then, he returned to being a gentle person.
At first she thought it was just her delusion, but when she lined up the timing—when her brother became gentle again, and when he stopped singing and only made songs—it matched perfectly.
Yoon Suyeon wanted to ask him.
Why did you worry alone? Why did you hurt alone like that?
If the gentleness she got from her brother was something he could only gain after suffering like this—
then she would never have wanted it in the first place.
I hate this.
Yoon Suyeon clenched her teeth.
She felt disgusted with herself for clinging to her brother without knowing anything.
What did her brother think while making songs?
What did he think while watching someone sing his song—watching someone sing his song on stage?
Did he just feel happy that someone was singing his song?
No. Absolutely not.
Yoon Suyeon could say that for sure.
Because she had seen it.
At her brother’s side, when someone went up on stage, she had heard his quiet hum.
His fingers moving as they rested on his knee.
His mouth, softly—so softly.
So softly it barely stirred the air.
She had seen her brother singing.
Her brother still had regrets about singing.
He gave it up, but he couldn’t let it go.
Yoon Suyeon poured more power into her voice.
Then…
I’ll sing your share too.
I’ll sing the songs you gave up, in your place.
Not just for me—I’ll keep singing with your share too, and let people hear it.
The songs you made. The songs you wanted to sing.
I’ll sing them for you.
Yoon Suyeon immersed herself in the song. Her expression twisted somewhere, and she kept singing.
Watching her, Yoon Hajun felt goosebumps rise on his skin.
What happened to her?
What happened for Suyeon to change like that?
Sure, he knew her growth rate was fast, but wasn’t this too fast?
The image of Suyeon singing in the booth overlapped with the image of Han Goyo singing on the practical music department concert stage.
Not that their techniques were similar—just that her skill was that outstanding.
He tapped the table with his finger.
So she had already grown that much.
It almost felt like he could see Suyeon’s hand reaching toward the hem of Han Goyo’s clothes.
To be honest, he had half given up on winning Singer Star.
Not yet.
Yoon Suyeon still had the enormous wall called Han Goyo—
But maybe that wasn’t true.
He thought he was the person who knew Yoon Suyeon best.
Apparently not.
Suyeon was far more incredible than he thought.
Really—compared to her lacking brother, she was too outstanding.
With skill like that, she could absolutely go up against Han Goyo.
She could seriously aim for first place on Singer Star.
“It’s still raining, but now I’ll look forward to tomorrow.”
Yoon Hajun watched Yoon Suyeon singing in the booth.
Yoon Suyeon was watching Yoon Hajun too.
Their eyes met.
Somehow, it felt like depth had appeared in Yoon Suyeon’s gaze.
Yoon Hajun gave her a bright smile.
But Yoon Suyeon couldn’t smile.
She was still immersed in the song.
What Yoon Suyeon had lacked compared to Han Goyo up to now—persuasive power, and emotional line.
Han Goyo’s persuasive power and emotional line came from her life.
Because she couldn’t trust anyone, she gained loneliness.
Because singing was her only escape, she immersed herself in it more than anyone.
That was how she gained that overwhelming persuasive power and emotional line.
But Yoon Suyeon didn’t have a past like that.
From the start, Yoon Suyeon had lived a life far from the word “tragedy.”
Her father was gone due to divorce, but she received more love from her mother than she deserved.
Her brother had once distanced himself from her, but he was always gentle, and now he cherished her more than anyone.
Yoon Suyeon’s life was happiness.
To her, singing wasn’t an escape.
It was another way to let her happiness burst out.
That was why she couldn’t have the persuasive power and emotional line Han Goyo had.
But Yoon Suyeon obtained it in a different way.
Even if she didn’t get it through herself, but through her brother—
So what?
This song was their song.
Soon, the song ended.
Yoon Suyeon looked at Yoon Hajun.
Yoon Hajun was still smiling.
At that, Yoon Suyeon let a small smile appear too.
“How was it?”
That was Suyeon’s first line when she came out of the booth.
How was it?
Hajun wondered what he should say. Instead, he ruffled Suyeon’s hair over and over.
“You did great.”
Not exaggeration, and not forced praise.
Suyeon really did well.
At this rate, she could put on an insane stage at the event.
Han Goyo and Kim Taeyoung—everyone would be so shocked they’d lose their minds.
Hajun smiled, pleased, imagining it.
Honestly, even he felt like he might lose his mind from shock right now.
That was how excellent Suyeon’s singing was.
And at the same time, Hajun started getting excited.
What would this song be like on stage?
The 『To Live On』 he made was a song optimized for the stage more than as a track.
How good would it sound through the stage speakers?
Could this… maybe beat 『Blame』?
It was awkward to say out loud, but 『Blame』 was considered one of the legendary freshman concert stages.
It was to the point that the reason their names—Han Goyo’s and his—were famous among last year’s second-years, who were now third-years, was because of 『Blame』.
And now there was a song prepared that could break that evaluation.
Well, both 『Blame』 and 『To Live On』 were songs he made.
Still, the stage was Suyeon’s stage.
“How long until the event now?”
“About ten days.”
“Not long at all.”
“Yeah.”
Suyeon nodded.
Watching her, Hajun pulled out the notebook he’d brought and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
Suyeon asked with a surprised expression as she took it.
Hajun smirked.
“A stage needs direction. I wrote the stage direction I came up with in there. I wrote your name at the top, so make sure you check it. I want to watch you do it if I can, but our class times are different.”
“Ah. Okay.”
“You can do it on your own? If there’s something you don’t get, ask.”
“Yeah.”
Suyeon answered and quickly opened the notebook to look through it.
Scratching the back of his neck, Hajun added, “You have to give that back later, okay? It has every stage concept I’ve been planning.”
“Ah. Okay.”
Suyeon looked startled at his words.
Hajun clicked his tongue at that look.
That notebook didn’t just have Suyeon’s stage drawn in it. It had concepts for other stages he’d done up to now, concepts for stages he was planning in the future, and all his ideas.
If it weren’t Suyeon, he would never have given her that notebook.
After reading for a while, Suyeon must have found her stage, because her expression turned serious.
Then she made a slightly puzzled sound.
“A door?”
“Yeah. A door.”
The prop Hajun prepared for Suyeon’s stage was a door.
The direction style was similar to 『Main』, which he used at the Winter Festival.
Instead of partitions, it used a door, and instead of three people, she’d sing alone.
Ah—and there was one more prop, too.
“The lighting notes written in there—make sure you tell the lighting staff. If they don’t listen, drop my name.”
“Drop your name?”
“They like me. Then they’ll do it properly.”
“Got it.”
Suyeon nodded.
Hajun watched her, then lightly patted her shoulder.
“Don’t worry too much. If you do it like today, you’ll be more than fine.”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s record again. There was a part that sounded a bit awkward earlier.”
The moment he finished speaking, Suyeon’s expression turned serious.
Watching that change, Hajun smiled.
That part really does resemble me.
Then Suyeon and Hajun started recording again.
And ten days passed—
and finally, the day of the long-awaited event came.
The freshman concert.