Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Members Over-Immerse in RP
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Objectively speaking, she wasn't particularly good at singing.
She'd never received any professional training.
She was just an amateur who'd sung purely as a hobby.
Not even one of those "talented amateurs" with some fancy title—just a pure, unadulterated amateur.
The pitiful view counts on her old cover song videos she'd uploaded for fun were proof enough.
Even during that zero-viewer streaming fiasco, people had praised her killer tone but hadn't really said much about her singing skills.
It made sense, though.
A voice could sound pleasant even if the singing wasn't great.
As for technique? She was below amateur level—worse than average among regular folks, a total beginner.
Those self-proclaimed karaoke masters? They might even be better than her.
'Can someone like me really pull off an aspiring singer character?'
Well, Evangelion probably hadn't actually gone to another world to earn that concept.
Rang wasn't a real wolf, and Byeol sure as hell wasn't an alien.
So, someone like her—who'd never taken singing seriously—playing an aspiring singer shouldn't be a problem.
That day, when the president scouted her and they set up a meeting, she'd impulsively jumped at it amid the despair of suddenly not being able to drive anymore.
Did she really want to sing well that badly?
Did she really want to become a singer?
Not really. It wasn't some burning passion.
"Let's do it. Vocal Training."
"Ah."
This was still before her virtual model was ready, just a few days after she'd signed the contract to become an idol.
Only after hearing the president's explanation did it finally sink in.
I'm actually going to become a singer.
Well, not a full-on singer—more like singer-adjacent. Or really, some kind of all-around entertainer.
But yeah, she was getting vocal training.
They're really investing in me properly.
From the very start—her initial worries about scams—none of that had happened.
No demands for debut funds, no pushing loans.
No deducting training fees from her pay.
"Um, is all this... on credit or something?"
She'd heard stories before.
K-Pop idols often had massive training costs tacked onto their settlements, so even hugely popular groups sometimes didn't see a dime after debuting.
"It's all in the contract, isn't it?"
"That's really everything?"
"Of course."
'I love you, loyal customer.'
There was nothing in the contract about settling training costs later.
Meaning the company was purely investing in her with their own money.
Our president is like a total philanthropist.
Guess it's not about making money after all.
Anyone in their right mind wouldn't jump into this industry just to get rich.
The prospects were way too uncertain, success rates abysmally low.
Anyone who entered half-heartedly got crushed.
That's what she'd heard.
"Why are you crying all of a sudden!? Do you hate vocal training that much!?"
"No, it's not that."
Crying too often was all because she'd become a woman.
Her emotions couldn't keep up with the changes in her body.
'It just feels so... mom-like.'
She'd heard that only parents give without expecting anything in return.
That was a lie.
Orphanages fed you for free.
Housed you.
Even gave you a little pocket money.
That was social welfare.
Among orphanage workers, few chose it purely as a job out of genuine calling.
Maybe some had a sense of morality or admired good deeds.
But after dealing with countless incidents and problems, most turned mechanical.
That's why adopting kids out of real affection was so rare.
They all realized it at some point.
Strangers were just strangers, in the end.
Was family the opposite of stranger?
The president's inexplicable kindness, excessive investment—it had stirred something like familial warmth in her.
Of course, she couldn't tell if it was real, a delusion, or something in between.
She'd never experienced it before.
"Just got some dust in my eye."
She didn't bawl her eyes out every time she cried as a woman.
Usually, just a single tear trickled down.
No full-on sobbing fits.
"If you don't like it, just say so. I'm not forcing you."
The president didn't buy her excuse for a second but came over and hugged her tight anyway.
Since Gyeon-u was much bigger, it looked like an adult embracing a child—but it was an embrace full of comfort and reassurance.
And that just made her tear ducts give way.
"I'll do my best!"
"Why are you crying even more? Did I do something wrong!?"
"No!"
Sorry, but she couldn't explain the real reason.
Couldn't say she was crying from being touched—too embarrassing. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Song A-ri was a vocal trainer.
Music was a vast path trod by countless people, but only a tiny fraction became famous artists.
Most ordinary folks ended up in more realistic spots.
Below the stage.
Teaching regular people at academies was one such path.
Her skills were excellent.
She'd worked incredibly hard.
But she fell short in raw talent.
That star aura, maybe?
The innate gifts that effort alone couldn't cultivate.
For example, her tone—something effort barely changes—was average.
Her looks—not ugly, but not star-making.
Her story—no epic tale that could move people to tears just by hearing it. Her life had been smooth sailing.
"Hello."
And then she met someone utterly extraordinary.
As teacher and student.
"Ah, hello?"
It was shocking.
Feeling dizzy just from seeing a face? A first in her life.
She'd seen celebrities before.
But from stage-to-audience distance.
Never this up close.
'How is her proportion like that?'
A face that didn't seem human.
A figure that didn't seem human.
If someone said the world's top Korean actress had been hidden from her all this time and revealed herself today, she'd believe it.
Hell, even if they said it was a global superstar from overseas.
Not putting that face on screen was a crime.
Defying heaven's will.
'Is she even Korean?'
A body she'd never seen in real life.
The kind of universal beauty standard you only saw occasionally on SNS from master Photoshop wizards who bent space itself.
If she were a guy, she wouldn't have held back.
Even as a woman, she felt awe.
Like hearing about a tycoon in a palace with servants—it was hard to believe the person in front of her was the same species.
'Sca, scary.'
A cold gaze swept over her.
Why was this girl she'd just met wearing such an icy, expressionless mask?
Did she not see her as human? Like looking at a bug as some inferior creature?
Her imagination ran that wild.
In reality, Gyeon-u was just shy around strangers.
Her face stiffened up in front of new people—an introvert's classic trait.
Song A-ri never imagined someone with that face could be timid.
"I'm Jang Gyeon-u, here for vocal training."
"I'm instructor Song A-ri. Nice to meet you."
Like an auto-responder?
The shock was so intense her body went into autopilot mode.
Her mind spun wildly, but ingrained habits carried the conversation.
"Song A-ri... In English order, that's Ari Song, huh."
"Pardon?"
Something elementary school boys used to tease her with nonstop.
Her nickname had been "Ari Song," naturally.
But after over 15 years, hearing it from a goddess-level beauty?
"Like in America, family name last, given name first... Just kidding."
"Ahaha."
She hadn't asked because she didn't get it.
If anyone was watching, they'd have passed out from the suffocating tension!
'Why would someone like her come to me?'
With that kind of looks, she should be training under some huge agency's legend—at least Korea's top star, backed by major support.
That's what Song A-ri thought.
And the reason was simple.
Not cost-cutting—Gyeon-u wanted to learn subculture stuff: Vocaloid utaite, J-Pop, the otaku lane.
No Korean majors taught that, and studying abroad in Japan wasn't feasible.
Song A-ri had a rep for teaching that niche well.
She'd worked hard to get there.
She already coached several vtubers.
'She's doing vtubing? Why? Why on earth?'
Sure, pretty people did vtubing sometimes.
A high percentage turned into those red-pill-spewing self-aggrandizers, but they existed.
But vtubing with that face? That felt criminal.
Wouldn't society, the nation, the whole planet benefit more from her showing that face as long as possible, spreading free joy?
"Um, come on in. This way."
"Okay."
Still, lessons had to happen.
The two headed to the soundproofed lesson room.
'How does a person like this even exist? Should I get an autograph now? She's destined to be a superstar.'
'Vocal lessons at last. Wonder what she'll teach?'
For very different reasons, both their hearts were racing.