Seyroku's Shocking Reveal and the Obsessive Fan
"Tokyo, I love you, but there's nothing there."
"Th-that's Seyroku's song! It's Seyroku's song!"
Yoko crawls toward me on her stomach, shoving her face right up close. I have no idea what's going on, so I just tilt my head, and she gets all excited, rambling on by herself.
"L-listen. It's not Seyroku's song, but the song is Seyroku! What the—? Nande nano?"
"...What are you talking about?"
Yoko mutters to herself, then jabs a rude finger right in my face.
"Y-you're Seyroku, right?!"
The question hits out of nowhere. I answer it straight.
"No. I'm Seonggwang."
"Liar!"
"It's true..."
I've been insulted plenty in my life, denied my humanity even, but having my very existence rejected? That's rare. You could dig it up online easy enough, but you're the first to shove it right in my face like this. My parents didn't name me... wait, yeah, they didn't. But still, it's a precious name.
More importantly, what's this Seyroku?
Someone she'd mistake me for even while denying my existence. At least I've never heard of them, so the duty to explain falls on her.
She fumbles urgently for her phone to show me, pulling up some Japanese video streaming platform channel.
"Kore!"
It's a Japan-only channel, so I can't read the comments, and even including them, the reactions aren't great. And what's with that channel name? Probably those characters are stars. Star star star star star star... six stars. What a garbage name. Whoever it is, their naming sense alone could go toe-to-toe with Lara's. Maybe even a good match.
"This! This is your channel, right?!"
She points at the so-called Seyroku channel, bouncing around in total excitement for some reason. Looks like she's followed it, commented and liked every video. Must be a huge fan of that artist. And she thinks that artist is me. What a perfectly scripted plot.
The transfer student guy bullying her at her new school? But he's actually the artist she's idolized? I could spin three short scripts off that premise easy. But the world's not that convenient.
"That's not me."
"Eh...?"
I wave off her expectations coldly, and Yoko looks utterly shocked, slumping with furrowed brows.
"No way..."
"Nah, I really don't know. Never made a channel like that, and this site's my first time seeing it..."
"B-but the song..."
"Just a stereotypical knockoff. Bound to be a couple guys like that out there."
More importantly, what made her think it's me? No age or face revealed. Hell, nationality's listed as Japanese. I'm Korean. No law saying Koreans can't upload here, but if I'd been that passionate, my Japanese would be better. Oh well, tragic as it is, I can't fulfill one girl's Tokyo-swollen dreams.
Can't go giving false hope and crushing it later—that's shitty. Time to deny it clean.
"Uh... sorry it's not Seyroku. Well, not that sorry, but kinda unfortunate."
"I was sure it was... Honto? Honto?!"
"Pretty sure it's not."
Yoko gets my firm answer but can't accept it, tilting her head before her energy crashes hard. She must've wanted to meet them that bad. Though maybe she's not disappointed it's me? Nah, no fault of mine here. Sure, using that as an excuse is kinda my style. But this time, it's legit.
Guilt? Nah, my head's filling with vague suspicion and curiosity instead.
"How similar does the singing have to be for you to be that sure?"
Half stubborn "let's hear it," half pure musical curiosity. I pop an earbud in and listen to Seyroku's tunes.
Not a human voice—machine. VOCALOID. Guess Seyroku's a VOCALOID producer. Pretty standard, stereotypical melody. But it veers off the usual vibe in spots, giving it some personality. Overall, though? Immature. VOCALOID handling's weak, mixing knowledge lacking. Yet certain parts spike in quality. Probably one of two cases: prodigy kid's first composition, or someone from another music field trying their hand.
I listen, dissect, muttering my analysis.
"What the. It's me?"
"Hora miro!!!"
Yoko snaps at me in Japanese, full of rage, but I brush it off lightly. I can't believe this insane scene.
Not a slip of the tongue. Just emphasizing the disbelief.
"No... I never uploaded that. I seriously don't know that channel name!"
"Then why does it exist?! You said it's your song!"
"I uploaded it, but... not to this site..."
Trailing off, a leap hits me. Like a highlight reel flashing by, forgotten memories surface one by one. Neurons firing synapses to a dim bulb at the end. It lights up, dredging a memory.
An old one. Buried, unthought-of. Dusty, but now sparking back to life.
"...No way."
Digging deeper, I find a channel name. Not on Yoko's site—on NewTube. Same six Hangul characters, not kanji.
"Shit."
There it is: a forgotten channel. No one looking for it, even its owner forgot—truly dead.
'SeongSeongSeongSeongSeongSeonggwang'
My side account for dumping VOCALOID compositions.
"What kinda channel name is that..."
Forgotten long ago, now resurfacing. I show Yoko the channel, and she shakes her head wildly after the intro alone.
"Seyroku! Kore Seyroku!! See? It is you!"
"No... how would I know from that name?! Never uploaded to that site!"
"Then what's this channel?!"
"Bootleg."
"Ah."
Yoko lets out a death rattle. Three seconds pass.
Three seconds. That's all it took for her to unsubscribe from Seyroku's channel, unlike and delete every comment trace.
Impressive speed—I clap in admiration. But kinda pissed my bootleg channel's more famous than mine. If you're gonna steal, at least make it blow up. Copied my stuff wholesale and flopped ambiguously.
"Seriously... Seyroku. Same age."
Of course, that won't faze her. Her idol turns out a bootleg channel, and I'm behind it? Could disappoint. Like first love returning a thug—or childhood crush revealed a hooker.
Yet her eyes shine endlessly, brimming only with respect and awe for me. No hypnosis in those songs, so what did I do? Own it, Seyroku. Not my problem.
"...Seyroku-ssi."
"Uh... didn't know myself, but guess it was me. Surprise~?"
"......No, whoever it is, I love it. 'Cause you made the songs."
Already close, she shoves her face even nearer. I instinctively lean back, but she pursues relentlessly. Calm yet heavy breaths right on my nose.
If this were a 5-years-older divorcee, I'd return the enthusiasm. But Yoko's a 17-year-old high school girl swept in idol worship—or beyond.
Creeped out, I shiver; she inhales and speaks.
"I-I have something to say."
"Can I skip it? Don't wanna hurt you."
"Zutto, zutto wanted to say if I met you. Something I had to tell you."
"Yoko. Might be a misunderstanding, but hear me out: no girlfriend plans right now, and for underclassmen, not with those eyes..."
"Saying it now. Listen, Seyroku-ssi."
She ignores my input completely. To convey precisely, she fires up a translator app, swapping to Korean.
"Ki... kiite. Yoshi."
Practicing pronunciation, clearing her throat, Yoko stares straight into my eyes.
Uncomfortable silence. Time's edging toward evening-night border; perfect twilight hour. Purple and crimson blend, weaving a strange mood between the two youths.
Perfect romantic scene, but as the lead, I curse my oblivious ass.
"Seyroku-ssi."
The girl steadies trembling lips to confess her heart; the boy with no intent to accept gives up, grimacing. Her mouth opens.
I hear her true feelings. From my first fan, unknown to me, cheering from afar.
"Shibaru ryo na."
"Huh?"
"Shi-new song..."
The girl who'd waited for this confession flushes beet-red, bursting out.
"New song!... New song, gimme, you shibaru ryo na!"
"......"
"New song...! Shi ba!"
Yoko points at the Seyroku channel's last upload: July 21, 2021. About four years ago, then dead.
No need for it anymore. No one waiting anyway.
So I thought—till my sole fan transfers schools, protests for new songs.
"Crazy? Don't got a job?"
"...I released plenty other songs."
"Vocaloid! Vocaloid ones! This shibaru ryo na! Gimme gyoza?!"
June 2025. Summer not yet here, spring's fresh crispness fading. This secret-admiring Japanese girl? Pretty shitty fan.
"So, that's how it is. Minami Yoko's joined our band. Applause~"
"Pa-chi pa-chi pa-chi! Jit jit jit!"
The next day. Lara stares at the transfer student she could barely talk to, now glued to her groupmate.
"For real! Real real, band means Vocaloid songs! You'll make 'em, right?!"
"Of course, Yoko! Help with my stuff and I got time? One a month."
"...One a month? At least one a week."
"OK. Guess our bond ends here, Yoko. I'll find a new guitarist; you pray Seyroku returns."
"Jesong! Jesong! I'll play guitar! Co-compose too! Delete the jebaru channel, yameru oo..."
"Behave. It's a hobby with no profit—can quit anytime. Want kibble? Be a good dog."
"Kyaang..."
I asked for her, alright. Told him to bring Yoko, no clue how, but he did. Pretty obedient too. With him around, she won't quit the band. Really, really good.
Good... right?
Told him to convince her as a member, but he drags in a slave. Whatever threats, she's wagging and belly-up.
Thought she was normal. Figured rational judgment: brake on her whims and my indulgence.
"...Now I got two accelerators."
"Eh, nande?"
Can't judge by looks, huh. Watching her hop around him like a dog over hurdles, Lara regrets a bit.
Should've moderated, trusted less personally. Ignored the shepherd boy's sincere warning, eyes squeezed shut, vows careful next pick.
Of course, from the moment Seonggwang brought Yoko, Lara's say in members? Gone.
Medetashi. Medetashi.