Concert (2)

I stared blankly up at the pure white ceiling.

The tick-tick of the clock hands. The rough, restless pounding of my heart that refused to settle was what finally snapped me awake.

Outside the window, a motorcycle's exhaust roared past. Even with the soundproofing I'd put up, it still managed to be a nuisance.

I checked the facial tracker with a slightly awkward smile. The full-body tracker's charge was at full. Once I got my head on straight, I realized there were only ten minutes left.

I jolted upright, logged into my secondary account, and headed for the stream.

Good — everything was running properly.

During a concert, wearing a full-body tracker and the rest of the gear often made direct control impossible, so I'd handed the main Pangea TV account over to the producer-type figure for this project. The contract had been drawn up airtight, and he was a proven name in the industry, so I wasn't worried about him causing any trouble.

Before I knew it, the timer had flipped to 05:00. At that exact moment, the carefully crafted highlight reel of all twelve of us began to play.

It had been genuinely hard work. I'd given them the mission of editing their own stream VODs into highlight clips, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠small-time streamers almost never had personal editors, so most of them had done it themselves. Naturally, the quality was going to be rough. I'd gone through every single video for review, then handed them off to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the video editor I'd contracted specifically for this project. He'd complained about the extra workload that hadn't been in the original contract — but in the end, money solves everything. Beautiful materialistic society. I'd used the support funds Pangea TV had promised us to patch it up in a hurry.

Thanks to that, we could pull the viewers deep into the immersion right from the concert's opening. Especially the fans of the eliminated contestants, and anyone who'd watched the Wooga-dol audition — they'd feel a lump in their throats. People are just like that. They smile at the memories that have already slipped past.

"I used to be like that sometimes, too."

But in my case, that ending had been a tragedy. Because Lucy had disappeared in the end…

This time, I was going to hold on for certain, so nothing like that would ever happen again.

"Let's go."

The first stage I'd prepared for that purpose. The rest of the full-body tracker was already on. I pulled down the goggles that had been resting on my forehead and covered my eyes.

The world in front of me had already changed.

"We've only got three minutes left. Get to the stage, now!"

I'd briefly muted VRC, and apparently things had gotten urgent. The avatar of the guy playing producer was fretting beside me, hustling me along.

"Ah…"

The others waiting backstage pushed me forward with warm greetings. All I'd done was step out for about fifteen minutes to check the viewers' reactions on my PC — why the drama?

Even as I thought it, I already knew the reason. This was Pangea TV's first-ever concert. And an enormous number of viewers were watching this stream right now. Most of the cast were small-time streamers — how nervous must they be?

"Seo-a, fighting."

"Yeah."

Even then, Lucy's cheer was special. A brief meeting of eyes. Holding onto that fleeting moment, I walked steadily toward the stairs.

A dark stage with not a single light on yet. Ha — we hadn't even properly started, and between the morning rehearsal and everything up until just now, I hadn't gotten a single break. I was a little worn out. This was an opportunity we'd worked so hard to create. Get it together.

I forced my energy up and took my place in front of the standing mic at center stage.

"Thirty seconds remaining."

The staff's countdown. I slowly closed my eyes and counted along with them.

Ah, damn. Doing this was making me nervous. I'd thought I had a pretty strong heart, but I guess a real performance on this scale was different after all.

"Ten seconds!"

I clenched my faintly trembling hands tight — and suddenly I remembered the advice of the vocal trainer who'd spent two months relentlessly chewing me out.

Nervous? Shaking? Then just belt it out first. Even better if it's the intro. Think of it as a simple line or a greeting. How about it? This is a real pro tip.

The image of my usually tiger-mode vocal trainer whispering it like she was sharing a secret made me snort out a laugh. Right. After two months of working that hard…

In that instant, the producer's avatar shouted.

"Now!"

The lights swallowed the darkness whole.

I don't know when it started. I'd pictured this moment in my head countless times.

On the brightly lit stage, I looked out over the overwhelming scale of the concert hall spread before my eyes. Aah — the viewers must be watching this sight right now, too. I'd repeated it endlessly with the staff member playing cameraman, so that the most perfect framing would hit the moment the shot switched.

And at the same time, the song's intro began.

An impressive drum sound, a variation on a breakbeat. Simultaneously, the piano charged in beside it. You could feel a rock sound that was popular and accessible, yet also carried the raw intensity more common in Western music.

I glanced diagonally across and saw Miho seated at the drums, putting on a passionate performance. And the keys belonged to Lucy.

Viewers would be shocked seeing this. Truthfully, the instrument tracks had been pre-recorded — the two of them were just repeating the motions they'd practiced to look convincing in VRC. But I knew how hard they'd worked. Two hours a day, every day, watching YouTube videos so they wouldn't look awkward. That effort was what pushed me forward from behind.

Feeling the pleasant progression of the melody, I gripped the standing mic in front of me. And before the song properly began, I took my vocal trainer's advice and shouted with everything I had.

An ad-lib that might have felt a little silly under normal circumstances spread through the room on a wave of shared anticipation and lifted the atmosphere even higher. At the same time, the voice I'd poured out with all my strength restored my confidence.

Alright. Here we go!

My choice was DAY6's fifth mini album track — the reverse-charting legend, Time of Our Life.

I've said it over and over: in the end, the most important thing is the story. Viewers have to empathize, and above all, they have to be able to immerse themselves. That's why I chose this song. Of course, my vocal trainer had pulled a shortlist of tracks that suited my tone, but the final call was mine. While practicing this song, I'd tasted the meaning of the lyrics countless times, working so they would land properly with the audience.

How about it? The lyrics I'm singing right now — carrying the sincerity of someone who spent two whole months waiting for this day to come.

On the Come on!, I thrust out the hand that wasn't holding the mic. My head swayed in time with the dazzling lights. My neatly tied ponytail swung this way and that, tickling my cheeks.

The memories of the Wooga-dol audition that the fans and I had written together. Were the viewers feeling the same thing I was right now? Honestly, I didn't know. No — I hoped they were.

This moment, too, would eventually become the past. I sang with everything I had, so that when the fans looked back someday, it would be a sight they could feel proud of.

Effort is never wasted.

Originally, this song had been prepared to close out the fourth round of the Wooga-dol audition. How much work had I poured into it? To produce even a slightly cleaner sound, I'd practiced pronunciation every single day. For proper vocal technique, I'd pressed my back to the wall and repeated training in strange postures. Every single rep, how hard my abdominal muscles pulled. But thanks to that, my body remembered. Delicate control of dynamics. And when it was time to push hard, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my body instinctively prepared a step ahead.

I detached the mic and walked all the way to the front of the stage, carrying the song with me. In that moment the camera angle shifted, looking out over the audience from behind my back.

Models shaped like fans were holding fluorescent light sticks in both hands, waving them toward me. They were nothing more than decent-looking clumps of polygons — and yet, maybe it was the heat of the stage, but goosebumps rose on my skin without me noticing. Hundreds, nearly thousands of figures filled the seats. With every light off except the stage, it looked like starlight flowing through the dark. And all of it was pouring toward me.

I shouted with everything I had, crowning the end of the song. In that instant, the trails of fireworks shot into the sky.

Boom, boom—!

They shattered into glittering remnants and came raining down. Beautiful. I stood there dazed for a second, gaze stolen — and the camera didn't miss the opening, closing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right in.

"Ahaha, this is killing me."

Without meaning to, I just broke into a bright, open smile.