Delivery Food's Perfect Score
Yoo Na-ri's college classmate Park Hye-jin plugged in her earphones, lay down on her bed, and lifted her phone. "Oh, it's starting."
Park Hye-jin knew nothing about LINK. She'd downloaded it for the first time in her life just to make an account, and she was certain she wouldn't log in again after today. She wasn't watching to cheer on her Practical Music major classmate, Yoo Na-ri. Na-ri kept her streaming life a total secret, so Hye-jin had no idea her friend was even competing.
The real reason Park Hye-jin was tuning into the Virtual Voice Fight today?
"Kyaaah, unnie's so pretty. Doesn't unnie sing?"
She was a member of Shin Se-young's fan club, Seiren. A few days ago, a few photos had popped up in the fan community "Seiren Gallery."
They were straight-up captures of Shin Se-young sitting at the judges' table during the round of 32 and 16. Se-young always maintained that sharp, rational expression. But in those screenshots, she was different. Her eyes wide open, mouth slightly agape. Or wearing an expression of sheer shock, like she'd discovered buried treasure? Hye-jin hadn't missed that subtle but unmistakable flicker of emotion.
Meanwhile, on screen, the MC was hyping up the round-of-8 heat against a flashy 3D stage backdrop.
What's this? Like online doll play or something?
What even was a VTuber? Hye-jin was the polar opposite of subculture types. Just a few hours ago, she'd seriously debated skipping prime Friday night drinks for this.
"Ama-ne Luca? Japanese? Oh? Her Korean's insanely good. Is she Korean-Japanese? Cute accessories."
Anyone could tell it was flawless native Korean pronunciation, but without prejudices, Hye-jin just shrugged it off as Japanese. Being in Practical Music made her interested in the singing anyway. And after just the first match, the contestants' skills were no joke. They had to be aspiring singers or Practical Music students like her.
Ah, so that's why our Se-young unnie's judging.
As the tournament progressed, it all started making sense. Then the third match began.
"Oh?"
A talent praised by Shin Se-young. Park Hye-jin geared up with high expectations for the third match. Her opponent was the only male VTuber to make it to the quarters. He didn't have a massive fandom, but his natural falsetto stood out in a field dominated by women, so he'd been tipped to go far.
In the shining today— you and me
Lonely here— stay with me
Where Luna-ri had boldly reinterpreted the original with a daring arrangement before, Kim Ki-won replicated it pitch-perfect, drawing out the song's essence to the max.
Whoa, prof would love this.
Textbook structure faithful to the basics. Classic vocal technique. Even to Hye-jin's trained Practical Music ears, Ki-won's vocals had no frills. When the song ended, the chat flooded with praise: "Our Ki-won is so cool T_T", "This is true-school", "Surpasses the original".
The deeper they got, the better the contestants seemed, making her swallow hard involuntarily.
The one Se-young unnie raved about is next? This won't be easy.
Amid everyone's concerns, Luna-ri appeared on screen. The pink-haired cat-eared girl, who usually twitched her ears, showed up in wolf pajama hood today. She looked like a kitten pretending to be a wolf—the gap had people smiling warmly. But that warmth turned to worry with her greeting.
Amusement and concern filled the chat. Hye-jin let out a chuckle too. Pairing "Delivery Food" against Kim Ki-won's song? She'd heard tons of tracks, but never one with that title.
"Her own composition? One and done?"
Not a bad strategy, maybe. Viewer count was at 48,330—perfect promo opportunity. But belting out a mediocre original in a tournament? As a viewer with expectations, it didn't sit well. Looked like a coward grabbing exposure without confidence to win.
Arms crossed, Hye-jin eyed Luna-ri's start with dissatisfaction.
Tak, tak, ping—Do-yoon's own light snap recording and wailing acoustic guitar grabbed attention. Amid the ticklish faint guitar, Luna-ri's vocals landed softly.
Refresh, pull the screen down—
ETA still says 40 minutes
"......Holy crap."
A dazed admiration slipped from Hye-jin's lips.
Motorcycle whirs past the window
Not mine, I know, but ears perk up—
The lyrics were everyday banal. Lying in bed spamming the delivery app refresh. Relatable, commonplace stuff everyone experiences.
Yet that calm, confident vocal and unnecessarily sophisticated rhythm tickled Hye-jin's eardrums.
How's it so rich?
Her head bobbed to the beat, eager for verse two.
(Ding-dong—)
A cheery doorbell kicked off the second verse.
Heavy plastic bag at the door— hasty hands untie the knot—
Tear open the packaging—
Warm aroma fills the gray room.
Luna-ri's vocals carried a faint smile. Everyday bliss, but that subtle thrill of the day's happiest moment seeped in. Her captivating tone shared the joy effortlessly. For a second, Hye-jin thought she heard Na-ri's voice from their school corner days—but brimming with confidence unlike then. She just marveled, blessed tone—.
Tak— The crisp snap of wooden chopsticks splitting the air.
Drumming rumble— bam! The minimal backing exploded; tempo yanked up, flashy 16th-note bass barraging like bombs. As if the song shivered in ecstasy at delivery's heavenly taste.
Sweet-salty bliss on the tongue! Brain sparks—!
Festival erupts in my quiet room—!
Lyrics stayed humble—"so tasty," "sweet-salty"—cute and simple. But the building backing swelled epic. That brutal imbalance. Light words hooked by addictive rhythm exploded adrenaline.
As voting time arrived post-song, Hye-jin had totally blanked on Kim Ki-won's solid performance. It was great, sure—but now it just felt like straight original cover. What still pounded her heart was Luna-ri's Delivery Food.
At the screen's bottom, Shin Se-young let out a disbelieving chuckle before clapping. Handed the mic, she froze with "Uh, uh," so Lilié jumped in first.
Shin Se-young grabbed the mic next.
The chat flooded with lololol in agreement.
Top singer's rave review. Genuine praise had everyone sensing the outcome. No—outcome didn't matter anymore. Entranced, Hye-jin hammered her keyboard: "Please drop the track, I'm dizzy " and fired off the chat.
All without realizing the singer was her college classmate.
Meanwhile, fresh off stage, Yoo Na-ri gripped her focus amid the pouring heat.
Do-yoon's songs are incredible, as expected.
His arranging was otherworldly. She'd guessed he might have originals and hit gold asking. Didn't expect this level, though. Guessing a no-name VTuber viewer had this talent was too dramatic.
But he casually sent 13 tracks. All gems—took over 10 hours to pick.
Do-yoon can't stay buried quietly.
Shouldn't, wouldn't let him. He'd sold—given—songs to Na-ri. No formal contract, but she could've claimed them original. Instead, she always tagged "composer Young-il's original."
His extreme-shy-cat vibes made her wonder if it was overkill. But letting that talent rot? No way—resolve won.
See? Amazing.
Explosive reactions and judge hype solidified her conviction. With Do-yoon's songs, she could do this. Confidence sprouted wings. Her voice reclaimed that carefree, unique tone from joyful music days.
One more step. Beat the semis, finals await. Songs she yearned to belt before crowds.
Na-ri closed her eyes, breathing for the next round. Meanwhile, the fourth quarterfinal wrapped, completing the semis bracket.
Luna-ri's next foe: Kurogami Yui. Powerful rock vocals, famed for tasty J-pop covers—a true Japanese VTuber, unlike the pure Korean one Hye-jin mistook for Japanese.