Gonna Do Some Fan Service
Lara's basically terrified of the stage. More precisely, she fears the moment when she has to face people's judgment. It was the same during busking, and even when performing for her family. Busking at least involved a random crowd gathering naturally, but this time is different. The audience is here solely to watch the show. Not a single person among the masses is looking away—their ears are all tuned to the performers on stage. No one can face that without fear. Even little Seonggwang, that kid, used to tremble at the thought of a small concerto stage.
Of course, after a few wins, it became less tense than grabbing ramen at the convenience store. But Lara isn't me, so to ease her nerves, I exaggerated the scariness of indoor performances on purpose. Having a comparison point should make it feel a bit less daunting. At least, I needed to reassure her that wherever she was standing was better than that.
If I'd foreseen this happening, I would've held back a little.
"…Lara? Lara?"
"……."
"Don't worry, Lara. I exaggerated a bit—indoor shows aren't that different. Just relax. Do it like you always do."
"………."
"Ah, right! Lemme teach you how to grab the audience's eyes right away. First impressions are key, yeah? The trick is…"
I kept rambling to myself, but Lara's face stayed pale as a ghost. This is bad. She needs some leeway, but she's too freaked out. You gotta have some tension on stage, but not outright fear. The audience isn't the enemy—we're armed with instruments and mics, not swords. If she's the only one frozen up when we're supposed to spread joy, the crowd's reaction will cool off too. One slip, and this could become her biggest black mark, her lifelong trauma.
…What do I do?
I have to prevent that. It's just practice experience—imperfection is expected—but this one shot might define most of her future. I can't guarantee success. Practice time was short, so the fruit won't be perfect, but at least let it ripen a bit. Win or lose, I hope she can laugh it off as a precious memory. If she sees maggots in one bad fruit and fears reaching for the tree again, it'll mess up everything down the line.
"Lara, look at me. Nothing to fear. Just do what you practiced."
"…I, I'm…."
"It's okay to mess up. Just take one step forward—it'll get easier."
I can't cast magic on her. Raw talent doesn't magically perfect in a flash. So at least, I hope she shows her unpolished skill in full. For that, her tension needs to ease before the show…
—Triiiiing!
"…Of all the timing."
Terrible. The worst possible moment hits. I pick up the phone—it's the rehearsal call.
"…She's still like this."
If she cracks during rehearsal and loosens up a bit, great. But her face says she's not even there yet. If we'd had just a little more time, or time to watch another team's set, it'd be fine. I hang up and call the faintly trembling Lara.
"Lara. Rehearsal time."
She nods at my words and follows blindly behind me, eyes on my back. Time always slips away too fast. No turning back now—the water's spilled, so we push forward.
How much time passed? No clue. My head's been blank; I can't process words properly. How'd rehearsal go? Did I even sing right? I vaguely remember zoning out while Seonggwang chatted with the sound guy.
Worst case.
My tension dragged him down too. He's been busting his ass, so I didn't want to burden him at this crucial moment. I should've relaxed during rehearsal, but piling worries just emptied me out—everything, even what I needed to keep.
Rehearsal's over; a bit of time before the real show. The fierce wind chills me as time drags. Inside feels stuffy, so I head to the bench. I sip the warm tea he got me; Seonggwang drapes a hoodie jacket over me.
"…Still super tense, Lara?"
I consider toughing it out, but after showing my weak side, I grudgingly nod. His eyes brim with worry—not tension, though. He looks a tad relieved, with firm resolve in his gaze. I'm jealous. Staying confident in this mess. Or maybe because of the mess, he can be bold. Unlike me, no need to fear the stares.
No jealousy, though. He earned it with way more effort than me. Practicing less than a month and aiming that high is greedy.
"Does getting on stage feel that brutal? Like you're gonna drop dead?"
"Not that bad… Just awkward 'cause it's all new…."
"New? You've done contests."
"…Skip that."
Totally different. If I treated singing like flute, I wouldn't be here. It's my choice, so I wanna smile through it, but my forced grin droops.
"If it's too rough, say so."
He's eyeing me with concern, acting all caring while eating up my whining. But I know.
"Even if I say it's hard, you'll shove me up there anyway, right?"
"…."
He won't let me bail on the key part. Better not whine if it's pointless. He smiles but locks eyes, saying:
"What're you talking about? If it's tough, step down. Not your solo concert. Missing you won't derail things."
Irresponsible. I shoot back.
"It might. Organizers or hosts would freak."
"That's genius guitarist Kimbyeol's cue. The girl overcoming trauma with her performance! You just cheer from below."
"Can't even finish one song~?"
"Worst case, borrow a keyboard. Though it'd turn into my solo concert."
He chuckles lightly, patting my shoulder. Even in jest, I catch the real intent—hard to brush off.
"So basically, if I run, you take the blame?"
"With great power comes great responsibility."
"Hero complex much? So sacrificial~?"
"We'll shoulder it together. We're the legendary duo promised for the Super Bowl halftime—Lara & Byeol!"
"I promised Seonggwang, not Byeol. Who's that?"
"His half-sister, carrying his will after he dies."
"Quit adding weird lore… Where does this go next?"
Silly banter brings back a smile. My earlier gloom fades with the dumb jokes. We chat behind the stage as the previous team's music fades, applause rising. Someone's set nailed it. Means they're done—someone else fills the void.
A staffer walks up, flipping a folder, muttering.
"Uh… Team of two I met? Get ready."
Hate hearing that name. Especially since it's us. Tension snaps back like a rubber band.
I freeze; Seonggwang nudges my back.
"Let's go, Lara. Don't miss the chance."
"…."
Guitar heavier than mine, yet he strides lightly onstage. I follow, eyeing the crowd below. They're smiling, relieved—then I envy the outgoing performers, chattering happily as they exit. We've shown nothing; they've seen it all. Newcomers look serious. Crowd heat mixes—once lukewarm, now chilled with cold water.
—Jjaaaang~
"Uh… Boost the gain a bit."
He tweaks the unplayed guitar. I step to the mic; the MC, already positioned, rambles.
"Finally, the last influencer team. Real competition starts after, but first—the opener and closer."
I step forward at her words. Stares hit direct, laced with faint expectation and disappointment.
"Cool name. Team of two from yesterday. Come on up!"
We're already up, but it stiffens me. Crowd claps fast, urging. My heart matches the beat. Decent-sized audience. In the dark, their eyes gleam fierce under lights. How many saw my busking vid? Any? It trended, so maybe. What'll they think—laugh? Sigh at my cocky stance?
Terror of their reactions shakes me; the MC chats lightly.
"Ready? If not, quick intro and self-pitch~?"
I grab the mic, mouth opening. Prepared lines, Seonggwang's trick…
What was it? What was I gonna say?
Panic spits words.
"Ah, uh… Hi, I'm Shin Lara… No, our band name's…."
Stumbling mess. Better if they laughed—but cold, blank stares.
"The two from yesterday… Today… me."
Words stick worse. Some check phones, bored.
"Today…! I'm here to sing…."
Uneasy, atmosphere chills. Side-eye the MC—she squints uncomfortably. Duh. Singer who can't intro properly. They're here for fun, real music—not my comedy. No laughs; I drop my gaze. Can't meet high eyes from below. Stuck, feet glued. Crowd, MC grabbing mic—no expectations. Whatever I do, I won't stick in their minds. No pressure. Just a passing 10-minute blip. That's the real terror. My sincerity, desperate flailing, song—they won't smile at what I love. Dismiss it as worthless. That's scary, so eyes shut.
Time ticks; song start nears. Do it like always—but forgot how I learned. Jeongyeon-unnie's lessons, Juhee-teacher's notes. His pre-stage words. No one to remind me. What'd he say?
In hesitation, a new sound slips in.
—Di-ri-ring!
Not comfort, not jeers. Electric guitar rings through speakers. Eyes shift behind me; he strolls, tweaking headstock.
"Lara. Told ya—the eye-grabbing trick. First impressions matter."
Plucks strings one by one. Paces, muttering; crowd puzzled. Ignores, adjusts, plucks. Pitch rises, falls.
"No rush. Key's attention. Just make 'em know I'm here~."
Rollercoaster runs; bends left hand for chords. Slow, single notes ring out. Song? Or whine for notice? Hiding intent, plucking—they're hooked.
"No need to shred opener for impact. Buildup's key. Stack it slow, greet 'em."
Seonggwang bows. Wig flops; he grimaces, spits hair. Don't wear it then. Tamed style, lowest note climbs slow.
—Dung dung dudu dung
Guitar builds impatiently. Slow, so slow. Pauses, surges. Draws eyes crossing stage.
"Eyes gathered. When it's enough…"
Pick hand peaks sky-high.
"Then shred."
—Jiiiiiiing!
Ear-piercing noise; I, MC wince—crowd startles. Before note dies, fingers fly to next. Hands dance strings in fierce intro. Not full song—just prime highlights, tastiest bits. Everyone's entranced; but he's eyeing elsewhere.
"……."
"Ta-da. Can't do a full song, but solo practice paid off."
Slow build, winks somewhere; before solo ends, song intro flows. My opener—long 30-second intro. I know why first.
"Put long-intro song first to loosen you up. You pushed to swap, glad we didn't?"
Smirks see?, tucks guitar under arm, steps behind.
"Lara! What's that vocalist posture? Where's good singing from?"
"…Good posture."
"Yeah! Smart guy slouching? Shoulders back! Long legs, why bent knees?"
Hands on back, taps legs. I fumble straight; he whips hand, smack on butt.
"Kyaa!"
Startled glare; he pauses, then beams at my face. Crowd stares—unfazed, eyes locked on me.
"That's it."
"…Huh?"
Self-satisfied, he yaps.
Loosen tension? No—
"Good, Lara. Sing easy. But don't relax. Worry hard."
Why? He always said no tension, no worry—why today? Question as he beats me:
"Today's the day I expect big from your singing."
"…."
Drops it, vanishes backstage. Job done, irresponsible. Last sight: thumbs up. No words left; face front.
Stares ahead. Hotter now, but not for me. Testing, zero expectations. Heavy. Fine, I wouldn't expect from me either.
But his expectation burns; snatch mic from stand.
"Huuu…."
Breathe out shakes. Tension rides mic to speakers. Just like learned, practiced. Jeongyeon-unnie taught: straight body, legs shoulder-width no slant, chest out no arch, chin neutral, eyes up.
Song starts. No cue from me—he jumped gun. Stage began without signal, so final words declarative, resolute.
Turn comes; spilled milk—no hesitate. Ride fear. Feet wet, stepped in. One more.
"Let's go."
