The World's Greatest Princess: Minami Yoko, G-Class Transfer Student
G-Class's transfer student, Minami Yoko, was the famous VOCALOID producer Syobare. It was a coming-out as shocking as Seonggwang's affair scandal.
So, what would her school life be like after that? Did she follow the same trajectory as Seonggwang? You could tell the rough outcome just by looking at the G-Class students.
"Minami Yoko... Should I call you Yoko? Or since it's our first time, maybe by your family name?"
"Whoa, it's really Syobare? I loved that person's songs. I was listening to Sunasame on my way to school this morning too!"
To cut to the chase: Minami Yoko's Korean high school debut was a total roaring success.
"Um... Yoko-chan, no, Yoko is fine~ Ah! Sunasame~ I like that song too. I really like it."
Any former transfer student from somewhere might feel a bit jealous, but Yoko's arrival was met with overwhelming goodwill and cheers. She had a great public persona and was super approachable. Her achievements and path in life were more than enough to draw admiration and interest from the other students.
Even those who felt jealousy or resentment toward her couldn't hold out against her stunning beauty in this looks-obsessed world—it solved most problems.
She seemed poised to receive nothing but love and attention, the polar opposite of someone else. But there's always that one person who opposes everything.
In a world where fans create haters, and those fans inevitably become the haters themselves, there were some who openly showed hostility toward her.
"...Syobare. You've finally shown your face."
"Hai?"
"To appear before us, your vengeful ghosts. We'll never forgive you..."
"That's... um..."
They exuded a menacing aura as they shoved through the students toward Yoko. The others trembled at the vibe, wondering why they were hostile toward her.
"What the hell with those guys?"
"Shimada clan assassins or something?"
People grumbled complaints their way, but no one was brave enough to stand in the path of those determined few. Like Moses parting the sea, the crowd split down the middle.
Yoko tensed as she watched them approach, and they surrounded her in darkness, whispering.
"Syobare."
"Hai... I mean, nee."
"Tell us why you've come to this school."
"Why?"
"Yeah. Explain why you've abandoned the Syobare account that made you who you are and that we supported, only to brazenly show up at a school in another country."
Only then did Syobare and those around her realize what they were. Devoted fans clinging through long neglect and persecution.
Fundamentally, creators are slaves to consumers, but look closer and the power dynamic flips. Creators always produce. Consumers just consume the product. But unlike mere goods, a creator's work has uniqueness, irreplaceability. Those who can't replace it have no choice but to play the slave, propping up the creator to keep them going.
As Seonggwang put it, they're the beaten wives. But even among those wives, some grow weary of the abuse and indifference, turning rotten.
"We respected you... and yet you haven't uploaded a single new song without a word!"
They were Syobare's rotten offspring.
Minami Yoko swallowed hard as she faced the monster she'd created. But to repay the fans who'd once loved her—and to honor their numbers and meaning—she had to speak the truth, no pretense.
"The reason I transferred... was to find my music."
"Ho, your music? So Syobare's songs weren't yours?"
"...I want to go further. More... and to do that, I needed to learn..."
Minami Yoko had risen thanks to Syobare, but she was trapped in that mold. Musicians claim freedom while chained. To spread her growing ego and wings, she consulted a friend, who pointed out her lack of experience and recommended a music high school in Korea as the place to gain it.
"I... wanted to make my music, so koko, Seoul Practical Music High School... I came."
Her rock-solid resolve only drew sneers from the rotten fans.
"That doesn't matter. We loved you as a VOCALOID producer, and you've abandoned it for personal greed."
"N-no, that's not it! I love VOCALOID, Syobare too..."
"Lies! Then why haven't you uploaded new songs!!"
A roar of pent-up rage and sorrow crashed over Yoko. Facing their massive malice, she didn't meet their eyes—instead, she pulled out her smartphone.
"Ah, new song? Couldn't upload 'cause of transfer prep. This Friday, for sure."
"For real?"
"Yeah, maji."
"Welcome to Seoul Practical Music High School, Yoko! You're our tomodachi starting today...!"
All complaints vanished. Satisfied, they wept with joy and emotion, truly accepting Yoko as a classmate. Grateful, she realized too late she had to brainstorm a new song idea by Friday.
Every kid in G-Class welcomed the 17-year-old Japanese JK who shot in like a comet. Their boundless friendship and reckless youth would march on toward the blazing sunset forever.
"But Yoko, I've always wanted to ask..."
"Eh! Dozo!"
"Who's your favorite VOCALOID producer?"
"......"
That one question erased the smile she'd never lost since arriving. Shadows darkened her eyes. Her body, corpse-like, trembled faintly in rigor mortis.
Unaware—or pretending not to be—the guy rattled off names casually.
"I like Saiken P and... Nekito P..."
"Sei-roku."
"Huh? What'd you say?"
"Seyroku is the best."
"Se-Seyroku?"
A sudden name no one here recognized. Was it even a name? No one knew it, so it held no meaning. 'Seyroku' was just a cryptic VOCALOID producer, singer, composer—unknown to all.
But only Yoko, Minami Yoko, couldn't let it pass. The bright girl vanished, replaced by a sunken puppet.
"Sei-roku. It is a god. The messenger to save us fools." (Seyroku, that is the messenger to save we foolish ones.)
Like drawn by something, she spouted cryptic words like a devout oracle.
"Many came and went, but none surpassed that one's feats and brilliance."
"Y-Yoko?"
"Sei-roku. It is a god. Sei-roku, it is a parent. Sei-roku, it is all things to me..." (Seyroku, that is god. Seyroku, that is parent. Seyroku, that is my everything...)
She rambled on mysteriously. Some could parse the words, but none grasped the intent. How could they? Nonbelievers can't understand prayers to the void.
Not even a true god, mere absolute creator, could empathize with Yoko's devotion to a forgotten VOCALOID producer. Having recited her scripture, she snapped back, searching a Japanese streaming site and showing them the channel.
"This one... my absolute favorite! The one I truly truly worship! Real love! Seyroku!"
G-Class normies, blinded by her looks, oblivious to her inner zealot, had no clue why she showed a channel with six weird kanji and no meaning.
Just eight-ish videos, none over 2,000 views. A nobody by results or output—why was Yoko raving like this?
"Seyroku! So good! Super super! Number one! This person's songs are the best! Love! Suki! I love you so much...! Ehe ehen~......"
A girl in love always loses her soul. Watching her play songs and giggle to herself, every G-Class student thought the same.
This one's nuts too.
Seoul Practical Music High School, never a dull moment. The students were reminded once more: in a school founded by a weirdo, no normal transfer student shows up at a weird time...
"Tsk, weird. My ear's itchy."
"Want a Q-tip?"
"Nah, just dig it out with my finger."
"Eww, gross!"
Dirty mind, but I can't stand a dirty body. I'm Clean Seonggwang, always spotless. No unclean days for me, so someone must be trash-talking me somewhere. I set out to find the culprit zapping my Seonggwang senses, then realized everyone in this school hates me and decided to let it slide.
Lara and I sipped drinks while strolling the wide school grounds. Having weaseled a 2,200-won canned drink from me despite the 33% odds, Lara wiped her mouth and asked,
"Heard about the transfer student? The one in G-Class."
"Japanese girl, right? Why'd she switch to a Korean school outta nowhere?"
"Dunno, some circumstances probably. Rumor is she's a super famous VOCALOID something."
"VOCALOID? Back in my underground days, some Japanese composers messed with that."
Of course, they ditch it once famous. Not judging. If you're making music money, you can't stay chained to one scene forever. Drop it when it stops paying and make it a hobby. Hell, even hobby-level is impressive.
I chugged my 500-won water, having learned gambling's folly the hard way. Lara snickered at my misfortune and looped back to the transfer student.
"But... what's VOCALOID exactly? I kinda know, but not really."
The topic veered a bit, but whatever.
"VOCALOID~"
A voice synthesis engine from Japanese company Yamaha. More precisely, a virtual instrument using real human voices. People think of it as a singing machine, but it's editing software. The singing characters are voice actors' samples in a library, manipulated for pitch, tone, accent to make songs...
"Hm......"
"What? You don't know either?"
"Nah, it's just complicated explaining it. Like a program? Kinda intricate."
If Lara knew similar software or basic composing, it'd be easy, but she's a total normie. Stripping out subculture and explaining the concept pure was tricky.
I knew it but struggled to simplify, groaning and delaying. Staring, Lara tried helping by sharing her VOCALOID knowledge.
"I saw it on YouTube. Green hair? Dancing 3D character. Like an anime char or virtual YouTuber?"
"No, not that. Basically a machine that sings songs."
Especially since saying otherwise gets you in trouble. They get touchy from constant ribbing, so no point poking the bear.
"Singing machine..."
After pondering my words and her info, Lara gave a more specific example.
"Oh, that thing?! Gray gym clothes dude dancing and singing! Put in lyrics and AI sings! Is VOCALOID that?"
"That's... uh."
I almost denied it, but saw her innocent face and calculated lunch break time.
"Pretty much."
"Right! Knew it was like that."
I gave up explaining. I'm no fan, and it's not wrong. Machine sings and dances—close enough. Spot on.
Lara giggled triumphantly; I was happy to skip the hassle. All satisfied, she recalled something old.
"Oh yeah. Didn't you tell me about VOCALOID once? Were you a producer or something?"
"Eh~ Not quite. Just messed around studying it."
When I quit classical and entered composing, I studied every genre like mad, hands-on. VOCALOID caught my eye too, so my amateur works are probably still floating online.
"Hmm~ Wanna hear 'em. Still around?"
"Dunno. Might find some if I look..."
Lara's eyes sparkled with impure motives, eager for my embarrassing failures. To indulge her, I dug through buried childhood memories.
"Channel name was..."
Hunting one of my many side gigs, names wouldn't surface clearly.
"Sorry, can't remember."
"Aww, c'mon. You made it, you gotta recall."
"For real, no clue. Made it up randomly. Something with my name maybe?"
Wasn't long-term, just testing stuff. No attachment, no memory.
I never found it before lunch ended. Neither of us wasted more time. Just gossip to kill time—we had better things.
No one remembers that 4-year-old ghost, nor will I revive it. The corpse rests peacefully in the graveyard of failures.
If someone mentioned it, maybe it'd jog something, but no one's heard those songs. Even if, no one remembers that crap.
"Eh, no point dwelling. Don't think useless stuff, just crash early."
No homework, so I slept easy. Mourning my forgotten sides and aliases, hoping they rest in peace.
No one misses you in this world, so as your parent, I'll honor your souls to free your grudges.
Jazz Seonggwang, Rock Seonggwang, VOCALOID Seonggwang, Hip-Hop Seonggwang. And my countless other experiments and alter egos.
Rest easy now.
Amen.