No Leisure in the Rush: Crossdressed for Disaster
In places where the wind blows, leisure is always key in everything. People who think you have to be desperate and frantic to unleash true potential are just gamblers banking on luck and poor preparation. You always need to stay relaxed, prepare step by step. I know that better than anyone, and for Lara's sake, I planned to take it easy today.
But...
"...Huff... huuuh!"
For some reason, we're sprinting to the contest venue in a panic. We were supposed to arrive three or four hours early. Take in the sights, shake off the nerves. Grab a solid meal. Instead, we've got ten minutes until check-in closes, and lunch is a convenience store sandwich.
Thanks to all her experience pacing runs, Lara—mouth stuffed with bread crumbs—yells at me as she keeps her stride perfect.
"Hey! What if you fall asleep back there? You told me to sleep! You should've stayed awake!!"
Lara blamed it all on me, and I had plenty to say right back about whose responsibility it really was.
"Huff... No, Lara, you said you wouldn't sleep after napping on the train!"
She acted like she'd never doze off, so why turn the arrows on me now? I only slept because she said she wouldn't—so at least she should've woken me up.
"You slept too, so why chew me out! Staring with those triangle eyes... Shameless jerk?"
No conclusion on that fight, but with time running out, we called it a draw and checked the clock.
"How many minutes till check-in closes?!"
"Huuuh... 5, 5 minutes."
"Shit! Run faster! Faster!"
Lara wipes sauce from her mouth and bolts at full speed. My feet tangle on the guitar case slung over my back.
"That's why—why'd you even bring the guitar! You're not performing!"
"Hng... Th-this is a band contest, needs at least two people... Huff."
"So you're going on too, right?"
Out of breath, I can't finish, but Lara gets it and nods. I shake my head vigorously—spot on.
"Why didn't you say that sooner...! Ugh, shit! Gimme the guitar!"
In the crisis, Lara swallows her boiling anger, grabs the case from me. Despite the heavy hard case plus guitar weight, she somehow outpaces me. I let her sprint ahead, feeling hollow, desperately holding back the urge to puke up my crammed lunch.
Inside some performance hall. Right at the entrance, people are checking the participant list.
Lara, not knowing the registered names, yells for me to hurry. I arrive two minutes after her, fixing my mask and hat.
"Huff... huuuuh... *cough*! *Hack*!"
"Dude, you're this winded? I carried the guitar bag."
"You're... ugh, shit."
I'm gasping like I'm dying, and Lara looks at me pitifully. Honestly, I'm pretty pissed about this. I've got some athletic base, but how's that compare to Lara running 10km daily versus me cooped up composing? If I outran her, she'd be the one fuming— all that effort undone by gender differences.
"...Uh, you okay?"
A staffer watching me worriedly asks. I take a deep breath, give the okay sign.
"What category are you registered under?"
"Huu... Influencer division."
"Got it. Team name?"
"The Two We Met Yesterday."
"...Pardon?"
The staffer sis blinks at my team name, and Lara—overhearing—looks shocked too. Admiring my naming genius? Nah, their faces say otherwise. I turn back to the clueless fools ignoring my artistic flair and repeat.
"Yeah, team name's The Two We Met Yesterday."
"One sec... The Two We... Oh, yes, confirmed. We'll text your performance order and time soon. Come to the assigned venue at rehearsal contact."
"Thanks."
Whew, made it. I catch my breath, relieved, and slip away to let the next person go.
Outside, recovered Lara unleashes her team name grudge.
"You're impossible... What kinda team name is that?"
"Dunno, just slapped it in at registration."
"Even sloppy, couldn't you pick something cool? 'The Two We Met Yesterday' what?!"
She's nagging nonstop. Can't change it now, why whine? If it bugs her, she should've registered. Besides, what's wrong with it? It's cool. Classic band names are half-assed yet vibe-heavy—that's the rule, proven by rock legends and Hongdae indies still rocking.
"No vibe at all... Zero sense."
"No vibe?! It's fire! And we did meet yesterday for practice!"
Lara keeps griping, but nothing changes, so she sighs deeply in defeat.
"Anyway... You're going on stage? Gonna play guitar?"
"Nah, just holding it. Didn't practice hard—just strummed a bit here and there. Can't nail a whole song."
Plus, setlist's all flashy guitar tracks. I'm a genius, sure, but only with practice and passion—no magic from casual plucks. That'd be superpowers, not talent. Cantabile turns Kantabiya.
"Then why join? No need."
"If you go solo, you'll freeze and bomb the greeting."
"..."
"Can't play guitar, but together, less pressure, right?"
"...Yeah."
Her pride stings, but she grudgingly agrees. Smug, I huff proudly.
"You going up like that? Mask and hat?"
"Course not. Disguised for stage."
"Disguise? Wig or something?"
I tsk at her naive question—still got a ways to go. Will a mere wig hide this handsome-cute-pretty-cool guy Seonggwang's glow? Can't hide from fans who came to see, either. Gotta show myself but hide it's me.
"So how?"
I set the case down, pull out contents: long wig, makeup pouch.
"...What're those for?"
"Watch. Explains the long-sleeve hoodie in this weather."
No big deal—just finesse. I drop trou right there; stares lock on instantly.
"Crazy! Why pants here?!"
Lara freaks, covers eyes. Streaking redux? Nah—shorts underneath the track pants. Onlookers relax; Lara peeks, inspects my bottoms.
"Relax. Shorts on under."
"Ugh... scared me... Why strip here?"
"You'll see."
Fold pants aside, unroll hoodie sleeves to cover knobby hands. Hoodie to hips, wig neat. Makeup touch-up, mirror check.
"And a little touch-up~"
Satisfied, I turn, reveal to Lara. She gapes, frozen; crowd halts, baffled.
Gawk away—this is Seonggwang's grand transformation. Impenetrable disguise magic.
"Ta-da~ No one'll know, right?"
"..."
Lara snaps out, jaw dropping further, marvels at my disguise.
"It's a girl."
"Yup. Girl."
"You're a guy."
"Hence the girl. Only guys pull off girl, Lara."
"No...! Why girl?! Disguise! Why girl!"
She explodes, stomps, jabs my perfect look.
"Hey! What the hell are you?! On stage like this?"
"Yup. Retired genius girl guitarist, trauma from losing friend. Spots vocalist on train, enters contest."
"Who cares! No weird backstory! How to walk around like that? Embarrassing!"
She finds it off. Too bad—I shaved my legs for this. That weird? Friends confirmed: no one clocked me as guy or Seonggwang. Though confessing earned double curses and pad jokes for minutes. Those words could curse me another decade.
"Voice though? Look's secondary—voice!"
"Ah, covered. Got a way."
"What?"
Clear throat. Sound starts chest, rises to nasal. Blend falsetto-head, tighten cords...
"How's this? Good, right?"
Thin yet firm, girlish soprano from my manly throat—delicate but strong woman now.
Lara reels in shock, asks horrified.
"...How?!"
"Know mix voice, Lara?"
"Nope, don't wanna. Staying ignorant forever."
"Gotta know. As vocalist, essential technique."
"Not doing vocals."
"What."
She quits vocals on a dime. Really want it? Dream that flimsy—ditched for friend's drag?
"That song that charmed Kimbyeol! That dream a lie, Shin Lara?!"
"Who's Kimbyeol?! Don't know her!"
"It's me! Legendary super-genius girl guitarist Kimbyeol—how don't you know?!"
"No weird settings!"
Yelling draws stares, some filming. Oblivious, Lara clutches temples in headache; I steady her.
"Piss off, Kim... I mean Seonggwang."
"Kimbyeol not vibe? Hanbyeol then?"
"Not the issue!... Ugh, whatever! Head hurts—don't talk. Ion drink from conbini for condition."
"Broke."
"I'll pay—go!"
Shin Lara collapses with hypertension, dizziness, migraine. While she rests, errand boy me dashes to the store.
Rubbing her throbbing head, Lara sips the drink, rests, regains composure. Rest or drag acclimation? Works either way.
"Ugly-pretty every glance. Pisses me off twenty times more 'cause you're actually cute."
"Why? Cute and handsome's a win. Eye candy, right?"
"......No."
"Denial's late."
I tease; she pokes my side rebelliously. Bickering stroll—Lara spots outdoor stage mid-setup.
"Not indoor?"
"That's for contest bands. We're event stage—outdoor."
"Hm... Why split? One spot easier."
"Dunno. Contest thing—cut noise? Outdoor mixes sounds easy."
I don't know either. Organizers' call. Plus, lively outdoor beats stuffy dark indoor for nerves.
"Less contest... More festival."
"Right? Tied to local fest probably. Else no influencer category."
"Makes sense."
Whatever—our biz. Stages split, vibes differ. Contest band's tighter, darker, sealed—sound dense. Key: serious crowd gaze. Folks here judge harsh.
"Can't sing in that vibe... Words okay?"
"Worry? Not our stage."
"True. Not ours. Open air beats stuffy."
Yeah, hate stuffy. Fresh air life. Dark room rockers? Fine. Serious rock purists go there; we enjoy ours.
Lara eases seeing open stage, smiling crowd—tension gone, now excited. Stage fright queen loves praise.
Tension eased... Order text soon.
Phone check: message minutes ago. Lists orders/times per venue. We hunt outdoor for name.
"Lemme see... The Two We Met Yesterday... The Two..."
I scan; dubious Lara joins. Skip others, find ours...
"...What? Missing?"
No trace. Not dropped for lame name—registered fine. Should be there.
"Tch... Mistake?"
Still gone. Lara panics slight; I soothe, ask staff.
Hear shocking news.
"Checked indoor schedule?"
"...Indoor?"
"Influencer splits A/B teams. B with contest indoors."
News to us. We exchange baffled looks; I check indoor timidly.
Please, small error. Tiny mix-up.
Found it.
"......Fuck."
'The Two We Met Yesterday'—dreaded name—in B-group indoor slot. Worst: post-influencer, pre-general. Fun crowd leaves; judges enter. Mood sinks low-tide. That sliver—our time.
"..."
Bad slot. Funny to others; I can't laugh. Know vibes. Slowly turn to groupmate.
"Lara?"
Stay calm. Tension don't knot again.
Desperate gaze—her face corpse-pale.
I despair. Hole dug, another body in. That day, Seonggwang knew: God is dead.