Lara's Vocal Dream: Because It's Cool
Teacher, I want to do vocals. A song I finished working on day and night for a week straight, skimping on sleep. But the owner of that song went and wrecked her throat.
I clearly told her to take good care of her voice, and if it was really no good, to at least practice her diction. She ignored all that and screamed her lungs out until she ruined it. Of course she has nothing to say for herself. This is proof that Lara deliberately blew off my advice.
Normally, I'd be pissed, and Lara knows it—she's got her head hung low. But me? Seonggwang? Shockingly, I'm not that mad about it.
"...Lara. Is this because you don't wanna be in a group with me? Like, some silent protest or whatever?"
She startles at my words and shakes her head no. Good. If that was really it, I'd be a little hurt.
Her behavior isn't some petty bullying, and from her face, it's not like she thinks I'm total shit either. So now I'm really curious. Why the hell did she do it? She's not even a vocal major, and her reason's just 'cause she wants to be popular? Her school life ahead isn't some gloomy nightmare like others'. There's zero reason for her to get serious about this. So why the fuck did Lara carve into her own flesh to pour everything into that half-assed song?
"... "
As I stare blankly at her, her friends jump in desperately to deflect my gaze.
"Hey, Seonggwang, her throat's like this anyway... let's talk tomorrow, yeah? Lara's not in great shape... We'll calm her down and make her apologize properly tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"...Yeah, tomorrow..."
"Tomo< strong>rrow?"
I spent a week holed up just making that song to salvage one vocal take, and now I've finally dragged myself to school. And she wants to push it to tomorrow?
"Lara, got nothing to say?"
"......"
"Nothing?"
At my words, Lara's face turns pale blue with fear. My aggressive vibe's got her shaking like a leaf. She clutches her ruined throat, hacking and forcing out sounds desperately. But all that comes is the death rattle of a bird. Still, she's squeezing her throat trying to tell me something, and it tugs at my heartstrings a bit. But no mercy here.
"Haaah..."
My deep sigh makes Lara and her crew flinch. Feels kinda shitty bullying kids like this, but she's the one who fucked up, so I can't just laugh it off.
"Lara, you free after school?"
"..."
"You know the place? Meet me there. Just gonna talk, nothing weird, so come alone—no friends."
I spun my wheels for a week just to hear her voice once. Least she can do is show up after stewing this long and let me hear it myself.
"Lara, drink lots of water till school's out."
I drop the one-sided order and leave Class A. On the way out, it hits me—did I just tank my image in Class A for no reason? Could've just called her out or texted.
"...No wonder I eat lunch alone."
Short self-analysis done, I trudge down the dim hallway.
Current time: 4:30 PM. The bell rings, ending the day's classes—for students, anyway. Teachers don't get that luxury. At a normal school, kids would head home around now, dragging their tired asses wherever. Some to academies, some splitting off with friends 'cause one day's never enough.
This place isn't much different. Music high school or not, it's still kid central. One big difference? Students don't go home much. School's got all the basic music gear, and the higher-ups shelled out for top-shelf stuff better than most academies. We've got composers, string players, even pro teachers who've made names for themselves. For students, it's the ultimate playground.
So dismissal time? School's packed. Sun sets, crowds thin, silence falls? Not here. It's only April—sunset's hours away.
Our usual spot on the third floor. I push open the closed door, and Lara's already inside.
"...What, you actually came? Thought you'd bail."
"...Di...dn't."
"Good. At least you can talk a bit. Relieved."
I grab folding chairs from the auditorium, set them facing each other. Next to her, on the amp dusted with ass prints, I gently place a drink.
"Here, honey water. Not sure it's great for your throat, but it's warm and sweet—drink up."
"Yeah... thanks."
She sips her thanks. Personally, I'd prefer she chugs it to keep the convo flowing. But who am I? Sweet-as-honey Seonggwang. Might as well not interrupt her with dumb comments and kill the goodwill I've built.
She sets the empty bottle down. A bit shy, she hesitates before asking.
"...You got this thinking of me?"
"Nah, snagged it from Lee Junwoo."
"..."
"Had some ginseng mixed in, but you're not hating it—lucky, since your throat's trashed."
"...Oh, yeah. Thanks."
What? Why's her face heavier than before? Does she hate ginseng but drank it to not reject my gesture? Shit, did I ruin her mood meddling again? This big-sis bombing, cute Seonggwang's gone blind to same-age girls' hearts after a lifetime chasing older ones. Can't be helped. Next time, I'll just drink it myself.
I cross my legs at my own obliviousness and look at her again. We veered off-topic a bit, but what I need from her ain't honey prefs.
"Alright, time to hear from the source?"
Her gaze drifts away, body flinching. That relaxed expression crumples again. Cute, but won't save her.
"Come on, Lara—why? Why ignore me and practice your way?"
"...It was."
"Talk easy. Not scolding—just curious."
I know that line's what scolders say when they're not 'just curious,' but I mean it. Why would I rage? Week's effort, sure, but it's just school homework. Fail, and it's not like the agency's chewing me out—just a ding on my grades. Life's an orchestra, I'm the maestro at life's end. Obsess over details, whole song turns sloppy. Gotta ease off where it counts. I figured that was here, and thought Lara did too.
Oh, not saying my song's low quality. I could whip it up in two days cramming, and it'd smoke most kids here.
"Lara, I told you—you're fine? Voice is good, technique's solid. My song's got hit potential! Even if you're not thrilled now, build it over the semester."
"..."
"So why rush? You're not even a major, just chasing popularity."
Maybe some desperate reason to sing? Dead friend's dying wish? Status window quest? No enzyme's holding a knife to her throat that I know of. My guess? She's the one with the blade to her own neck. Popularity. She said flute's boring, switched to vocals this class. So why?
I ponder her reason hard. Can't make sense, so I glare. Staring long, the answer's simple.
"Lara. Your reason for singing... ain't popularity."
She looks pierced. Yeah, if I'm playing detective, drop it here.
"...It's..."
"Don't matter what—popularity, style, whatever. But why hide it?"
Her major's flute. Whatever draws her to vocals, pour real heart into flute. Like orchestra—flute's her lead. Vocals are cameo at best. Meant to spotlight her flute, not steal the show. So why cross that line?
"Not like you gotta live off singing tomorrow... why..."
Her body trembles faintly at my words. Lips quivering, fighting not to waver.
"...Lara, wait."
I blurt my bad hunch.
"You switching to vocals?"
"..."
Silence stretches. She bows her head quietly. Doesn't lift— I get it's a yes.
"For real...?"
"...Yeah."
"Flute entry kid switching to vocals now..."
No—opposite. Entered on flute 'cause she wants vocals. Too late for vocal auditions, flute tuned to rich tastes since kid days. That's why here. No need if dead-set on flute pro. Elite classical school's right nearby.
"School's got vocal alumni teachers, or sneak lessons from friends. That's why you auditioned here?"
"...Yeah."
"Fair enough."
Musicians drift on whims like ocean currents. Mid-3rd year vocal urge? Sure. No reason needed.
"But why hide it till now?"
"Sorry. It was..."
"Not me—even other teachers. Junwoo... nah, he's in hell... Juhee's controversial too."
Fuck, does this school have scandal-free staff? Either Juhee drags in the messy ones, or they're nobodies.
If you want vocals, beg the rejects. So why come here and hide it? What scared her?
As I press, she trembles like she's about to cry, defending.
"...Scared you'd think I was running away."
"Huh?"
"Co... contests tanking lately... Thought you'd say I'm fleeing to easy vocals... everyone would."
"What the..."
"They do! Other kids too... Switch from classical to practical? 'Music too hard for you?'..."
Her lips tremble, snapping back—but to me, it's all ridiculous. Her worry's nothing.
Really. Miss top-of-the-class Lara's suddenly all shriveled, playing girly victim.
...Right, she is a girl. Anyway, not worth fretting.
"Nah... practical music is easier, right?"
I know—done both. Average skill-wise, practical's easier. Unless your musicianship's judged, not technique. Not bias—classicals default-look down on practical. Lit majors trash genre fic, fine arts sneers at webtoons/anime depts. World's like that. Not popularity—image. Cool, classy, dignified. That's why the bullshit. Peel it back, industry's full of crap.
"Hoo... Lara. Shin Lara."
I sigh deep at her.
"That worry of yours... pathetic. Truly."
"......"
"Freaking out over jack shit... tsk."
High school woes are all petty, but this? Too lame to hear. Gotta match her level at least. Kid tantrum whining.
At my scoff, quiet Lara snaps.
"You... you succeeded, so it's easy for you..."
"Yeah, true."
Won't deny. My pride? Confidence? From classical wins, industry pros' rave reviews.
"But Lara, world's always like that, right? Top 10% scrapes by, rest are rugs."
That's arts, music's the extreme. Land she chose? Barren wasteland. She knew coming in. No whining now.
"Haa... old story time, Lara."
Not ancient—when Seonggwang was classical kid. Met a flutist. Best I'd seen, probably ever. Technique unmatched.
"What’s she doing now?"
"...What?"
"Music barely pays, so busking."
"..."
"Harsh, huh? Prestige uni grad on minimum wage."
More effort, talent—wrong era, scraping by. That's music. Pros fail—room for hacks?
"Lara, checked your flute vids."
"What? Hey! Why..."
"Lara. Straight talk: you're bad."
"..."
"Not terrible, but... meh."
Good enough for here. Not great. Honest? Arts high audition? Flunk.
They want real flute farters.
"Contest flops? Not slump— just results. Don't mope..."
"Wha... who're you!"
"Times your contest wins by 5. Gets my tally."
"..."
"Nah, sorry—add 13. Zero times anything's zero."
"N-not zero! Like three times!"
What the fuck, how? Bribe?
"Not that bad... local contests, sure..."
"You... fuck!"
She snaps, stands glaring. Pretty face twisted rage-shame, rasping through cracked throat.
"So what're you saying! What do you want! Quit music 'cause I suck at flute?! Why keep at it!!"
"Lara."
"What!"
"Finally, the real talk!"
There it is—the line I waited for. Grinning, I grab her hand; she slaps it cold.
"So, real talk: quit music?"
"No, before that."
"...What do you wanna do?"
"Yes! That!"
All this crap led here. Craved that simple line from her.
"Like I said, classical's fucked for you. Life's unpredictable, but to me? Fucked."
"You shiii...!"
"Lara. Flute or vocals—both shaky. Push flute? No stability. Vocals won't tank hard."
Classical classy/stable job? Then vocals unstable dream sea? Bullshit. No escape in life's roulette.
"Park your runaway excuse. Foot in music? Only quit, cram SATs."
World's mad music maze. Should reward skill/effort, but spotlights hit randos. Luck, era, trends—top 10%. Rest shadows. This school? Hotshot musicians per class? 30? Jackpot. Ephemeral life. Can't love it forever.
"You first—throat wrecked, groaning all day. Fun?"
"...No."
"Right? Music's pain."
Music hurts. Pain needs meaning. Even if shit, wanna Han River dive or slash wrists—something holds you.
"Lara, ditched your flute build, pride too—trashed throat. So why vocals?"
Why chase turbulent life, hunt stars on blank canvas, blacken future?
"More secrets? Spill."
She trembles answer.
"Coo... cool."
"Huh?"
"Vocals... cool. That's it..."
Voice shrinking shame. Cheeks flushed, eyes sweating tears.
"Lara."
"Fuuuck, why'd I say..."
"Perfect!"
"...Huh?"
"Cool's great! Musicians all start idolizing! Otaku guitarists from anime? Thousands."
Korea/Japan Les Paul imports? Owe anime studios bows. Coolness key—music starts aspiration.
Lara wants cool vocalist? A+ Seonggwang stamp.
"Ignoring me, wrecking throat—'cause you thought your singing uncool. Now it clicks."
"..."
I ignore her side-eye, push on. Story long, bear it.
"So Lara, cool vocalist = good vocalist? Sells well?"
Now real deal.
Pro if rice from songs. But cash-grubbers vs true singers? Key divide. Teach her.
"Lara, you fucked choices galore. Live stream? Galaxy donors."
"Who you mocking?!"
"But one smart pick amid fuckups."
First: this school. Second: grouping with me.
"...You psycho?"
"Psycho's musician basic."
Before her: classical titan, comp supernova. Saint-to-the-Glow.
"Blessed, girl. Few cradle whim-start vocals like me."
Impulsive, raw, annoying—love it. That's core.
"Lara, clear Saturday. Cancel plans."
"No plans... why?"
"Know your vocal heart now—gotta deliver."
Make our Lara mega-cool vocalist.
As I hype newb project, she probes.
"...Why go so hard?"
"Hm?"
"Just... not your business, but you're hyped solo... why for me?"
I ponder. Met her month ago. Help this much?
Hmm...
"Music together... gotta go all-in for fun, right?"
"..."
"...Fun matters. Newb-raising's endgame bloom."
Just—she's more sincere than I thought. Simple reason. People fall for simple.