Guitar and the Solitary Menopausal Girl
After a brief, intimate chat with Lee Jeongyeon about guitars and the solitary menopausal girl, I secured Lara's lesson contract under the condition that I wouldn't spill to anyone about a certain virtual YouTuber whose voice and speech patterns were suspiciously identical to hers. We sealed the deal like perfect gentlemen—civil and humane—then turned to Lara, who was left alone, with smiles on our faces.
"…You guys are back?"
Lara, who'd been standing there dazed for ages waiting for us, wore a pretty sulky expression. I couldn't tell if she was pissed that we'd ditched her to huddle privately or if she thought we were talking shit behind her back.
"…What, was it something I shouldn't hear?"
Oh boy, looks like it was the latter this time. When Lara gets sulky, she shows it outright. Better than bottling it up until she explodes alone, I suppose.
"Lara, we just had a quick talk about teaching you."
"So… how'd it go?"
"Clear your Saturdays from now on. This lady here's gonna be your personal full-time teacher."
At my words, Lara glanced at Lee Jeongyeon, who gave an awkward wave.
"Some unavoidable stuff ate up time, but… let's dive right into lessons today, Lara!"
"…How?"
"Huh?"
"Singing from Jeongyeon-teacher? Or acting?"
Lara shot her a glare with narrowed eyes. Not pure curiosity—this was a jab. 'Dragging in an actress to teach music?' That was the vibe.
Lee Jeongyeon sidled up from a distance and whispered in my ear.
"…So what am I supposed to teach? I have no clue where to start."
Hmm, seems like both their lack of experience was tripping them up. Makes sense. What vocal major seeks out an actress as a master, or vice versa? Time for Great Teacher Seonggwang—GTS for short—to step in.
I ignored Lee Jeongyeon and locked eyes with Lara. Hers were filled with suspicion and doubt.
"Lara, you're not gonna learn how to sing well from her."
"…Then what?"
"You're gonna learn how to fake singing well."
Lara's face soured at my words. She recited back in a voice even chillier than before.
"…So in the end, it's all bullshit about great vocals. Just fake it and cover the rest with effects? Should I just lip-sync then?"
"As if. You'll be singing for real."
My goal of turning Lara into a great vocalist hadn't changed from the start. But to get there, it's not about the singing itself.
"Then what's that crap you just said? Great vocalists sing well—why learn to fake it?"
"You're trapped in stereotypes… Lara, does a great vocalist have to sing well?"
Before Lara could answer, Lee Jeongyeon chimed in from the side.
"…Isn't that obvious?"
"Butt out, theater girl."
Who is she to interrupt when she's not even music-trained? Messing with me? Even Lee Junwoo can't backseat-drive my music advice. At least show me five competition wins first.
'But she's not wrong.'
Great vocalists fundamentally sing well. They make money doing it better than others. But that's not the endgame. Lara needs to take it one step further.
"So Lara, what makes a good song?"
Sing it well. Now let's define what "well" means.
"Lots of sales? Some big award? How do you even judge?"
Lara clamped her mouth shut at my barrage, lips twitching in distress. Of course—she'd never thought about it.
Great technique, precise pronunciation, flawless breath control, smooth high notes. We lump it all under "sings well." Broad terms dull the thinking.
"It didn't matter before. You weren't pro. But now it's different, right?"
She wants to major in vocals. Confessed she wants people to love the her singing, not fluting.
We gotta dig deeper.
"What does 'singing well' even mean?"
This time, I'd make her answer herself. Clumsy is fine. Immature is good. She just needs to judge for herself. Music major creds demand it.
Flustered by my counter-question, Lara sweated and mumbled her answer.
"…Hitting high notes well… and pitch…?"
"Not bad."
But not what I had in mind.
"You hit high notes decently, and your pitch is on. So you sing well?"
"…Well."
"Nah, your skills there are barely passable, so that's not essential for 'singing well'."
"Hey!"
Truth is, it's a tough question. Voices aren't uniform instruments—conditions vary, tastes differ. There is a right answer for "singing well," but it doesn't always mean hits. That's why opera grads bash the masses as idiots.
Standards abound. A hundred vocalists, a hundred judging panels. All under solid basics, of course. No breath control? Forget it.
"But I think great vocalists exist anyway."
And my definition doesn't hinge on singing well.
So what is it? What separates great from mediocre?
What must she learn to become great?
"It's…"
"Spit it out already!"
"…Not telling yet."
"……."
I'm Seonggwang, the MC who knows broadcast vibes. Dump it all at once, and it's boring, no tension. Pace it for interest. Make it meaningful, not rote.
"…Haa."
Lara approached stone-faced and kicked my shin. Not a cute tap—this was a precise arc from her instep, rivaling taekwondo black belt Lee Jeongyeon. I crumpled to my knees, thinking it'd be adorable.
"…You drag it out to here, then no reveal? You joking?"
Overwhelmed by her icy contempt, I stammered excuses.
"N-no, even if I tell you, without realizing it yourself, it's pointless…"
"Then don't start. Fuck."
She menaced; I raised arms defensively. Lee Jeongyeon eyed me with utter pity.
I averted my gaze, cleared my throat, and clasped hands behind my back.
"Ahem… No time anyway. Lessons first. Explanation next week. You'd never get it now."
"What scheme now?"
"Not scheming. I got reasons. It's me, Seonggwang."
"Hah… Smells like a con…"
Just try it. You'll see.
"Anyway, Jeongyeon-noona. Teach her a bit. I gotta go somewhere."
"…Teach what?"
"Pronunciation tweaks, eye lines, gestures. Be quick—back soon."
Lara glared; Lee Jeongyeon watched my retreating back in dismay, then awkwardly met Lara's eyes.
"Uh… Lara, ever seen a musical?"
"No…"
With no common ground, they fumbled through awkward chat. I pitied them as I left the stage.
Leaving Daehangno behind, I weave through crowds to an apartment near Hyehwa Station.
"Was gonna drop by anyway—perfect, you're close."
I slip into the grounds, timing with another resident to enter. Intercom's an option, but she'd never buzz me if she knew.
Elevator to 16 past 15. Doors open to 1602 right there. I march up and hammer the doorbell.
—Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong
I keep mashing before the echoes fade. Until whoever's waiting inside comes out.
Door stays shut, but a small voice leaks through the chimes.
'What asshole's begging to die…!'
Angry stomps approach. No heads-up, but she's home—lucky.
Footfalls grow louder, slamming harder. Door flies open; she squints out.
"You fucking bastard, what the…!!"
The door burst open to reveal Moon Juhee, sleepy-eyed. Her unbound wavy white hair whipped as she yanked it wide. She started raging at the figure before her, then froze upon recognizing me. Staring blankly, her mouth fell open a bit.
"You…"
"Hey. Here for a house call."
"…."
She scowled in disbelief, face twisting as she grilled me.
"…Why the hell are you here?"
"Surprise visit?"
"…."
She shut her mouth, pulled the door to close it. I jammed my foot in the gap. It didn't latch; her thorny glare pierced the crack.
"…What do you want?… No, what the fuck?"
"Finish my business and I'm gone. Just one small favor."
Wanna get inside for tea, but doubtful. Lara's still waiting anyway.
"Forget the favor… Why show up unannounced?"
"Figured you'd be sleeping, so no point."
Droopy hair, drool stain on her mouth. Classic weekend gamer coma.
What keeps her up till now?
"Late work stuff… Anyway, what's the favor? I'm sleepy."
"Nothin' big. Lend me a guitar."
"…Guitar?"
She blinked at my request.
"You know how to play?"
"Nah."
"Then why borrow one? You watch anime or somethin'?"
No youth band flick plans now. No one to charm with it.
"Just bored."
Needed a little hobby. That's it.
I eyed her while yapping; she muttered "crazy bastard" and shuffled inside.
I yelled after her rummaging form.
"Les Paul, please."
"Practice boy wants a Les Paul? Use whatever!"
But Les Paul is beginner bible. Ancient tradition. High school girls who can't play start with million-won axes.
Les Pauls are heavy too. Imagine jumping with it—scary what muscles lurk under her slim frame.
"Haa… Wait."
She emerged from her room gripping a neck, guitar in tow. Handed it over wearily; I hugged it close.
"Sigh… Here."
"Thanks."
I peeked at the guitar. G-brand Les Paul, shimmering…
"Wait, what is this? Jazzmaster?"
Jazzmaster. The body type I'm holding.
Bodies vary: versatile Strats, semi-hollows for jazz, heavy shapes for maniacs. Each with unique tone.
Tele's twangy, semi-hollows warm and resonant. Les Paul? Thick, hefty.
Iconic, versatile, brand-famous. But Jazzmaster?
"What's wrong with Jazzmaster body?"
"…Art-fag indie Hongdae types use those."
Not rock-root Les Paul bro, but for artsy indie psychos. Jazzmaster. Infamous—no jazz players use it despite the name.
Handing me this? Insult?
I inspected it. Faded blue body glowed softly under light.
"Not even Fender. Custom shop?"
"Some… Japanese small custom workshop. Four mil each?"
"How'd you end up with this?"
Her stage staples were SG or Tele. How'd she snag high-end Japanese custom?
"More importantly, where's the Les Paul?"
She smirked lazily.
"Not every band anime uses Les Pauls. Guitar anime now means this."
"Really?"
News to me. Otaku guitars were Les Paul fixed forever. SG, Tele branch out; Mondial off-path. But Jazzmaster? Rootless.
"Got fun watching it."
"…You watched anime?"
She flushed, whipped head away at my side-eye. Twirled messy long hair, unprompted excuses flowing.
"No… Junior said it was fun… OTT had it up, so I checked."
"Fun?"
"Yeah. Watch it. Protagonist's total psycho bitch…"
Her rambling uninterested anime spoil made her seem like a creepy otaku. Heart sank. Korea's rock legend, fallen like this? Time's cruel.
I shut eyes at the tragedy.
"Bought this for the anime?"
"Usually figs or tees… merch vibe, impulse…"
Normal folks don't impulse-buy million-won high-end for merch. Price snaps sense back. Hers? Young riches wrecked thrift.
"Haa… Whatever. Any guitar's fine. This'll do."
Slid guitar and book into her hardcase, slung it on. Heavy with case—taxing.
She kept yapping anime as I eyed her. Thought she was aging gracefully, but this drivel? Dull principal vibes.
All headmasters like that?
"C'mon, when you ditching high school girl anime guitars? Trend's this."
She flashed pinky, fang-grin.
I decided sincere advice over her boring lecture.
"…You're 30, right?"
"So?"
Age mention stiffened her ghostly. I patted her ass, sad-eyed smile.
"That age, stick to docs. Or books for culture."
"……."
"Sigh, my peers got families; you solo… Gotta age gracefully."
"Hey, drop the guitar."
"Past that, tits sag too… Oh, no sag to begin. Tough."
No cash for wedding gifts—blessing?
"Put guitar down and fuck off."
"Taking off. Watch waist at your age, snag man soon. Late 30s? High-risk birth."
"Guitar! You shit! I'll kill you!!"
What's she gonna do, reclaim it? I turned from her furious yell, bolted stairs.
Chase sounds behind; I fled desperately down.
Shaking her pursuit, back at the theater. Awkwardness gone; Lara and Lee Jeongyeon glowed with study fever.
"Lara, eye lines aren't staring at audience. Imagine a virtual point."
"Y-yes… Jeongyeon-teacher."
Good form. I smiled, thumped case down—stage echoed thud.
They noticed me, turned.
Lara nodded at case and me alternately.
"…What's that? Guitar case?"
"Is. Has guitar inside."
Zipper down: blue beauty gleamed. Four-mil anime merch.
Lara's eyes sparkled, then hardened.
"Why bring it?"
"To play. Beginner, so practice first."
She panicked, pointed at self expectantly.
"Me? I gotta play too?"
Burdened tone, but intrigued. Makes sense. Guitars are cool forever. Folks say guitar skill boosts charm 1.5x.
Vocal-aspirant Lara digging it? Natural.
"Know you're busy, but I'd love you on guitar."
Prime perk: cool factor. Vocals lack gestures; guitar amps live appeal.
Appeal matters. That's why she's grinding now.
"You want me to, but… not now. Focus on learning."
"…Then why the guitar?"
Duh.
"For me to play."
"……."
Lara gawked in disbelief. Stifled laugh in exhale.
"So… while I learn… you got bored, brought guitar?"
"Yeah. Always wanted to."
Me too—piano-only before. Free now? New hobby time.
Flipped book, checked chords, fingered strings. Stiffer, sharper than thought.
"Lemme see… C chord, C…"
"……."
Lara stared flabbergasted long, turned to forehead-clutching Lee Jeongyeon.
"…Jeongyeon-teacher. How long you known Seonggwang?"
"Three years. Since my sophomore…"
Three years change rivers, teach dogs poetry. We weren't daily pals, but holiday check-ins? Solid bond.
She knows me; I know her.
So Lara asked her.
"He always like this?"
Lee Jeongyeon tsked sadly.
"That punk… never lost beginner's luck once."
They sighed at me; I fretted 2nd string fully. Pressed precise to mute others, stroked down.
—Diring
Clear, pure tone rang. I grinned satisfied.
"Mm, excellent."