Chapter 2
Kim Do-yoon, the original shut-in. Stuck in his room for so long, had he finally lost his mind or gotten tangled in some mysterious phenomenon? He entertained that foolish thought for a moment. The pink-haired, cat-eared character on the screen was tilting her head this way and that. Blinking like she was alive, her mouth moving faintly.
There was no way some unknown creature was streaming. He concluded it was most likely a highly advanced AI character or a person puppeteering it from behind the scenes.
He quickly returned to the main page of the internet broadcasting platform and scrolled through the thumbnails. That's when he realized it. The world wasn't being dominated by AI after all... but there was a new category called VTuber. V-Tuber, short for Virtual YouTuber. They broadcast using avatar characters instead of showing their real faces. What the hell had happened in the six years since he'd left the streaming scene for technology to advance this far?
At first, he wondered who would watch something like that, but plenty of streamers on the platform's main page were already using virtual characters. The world changes fast. Back in his day, there were no-cam streamers, but nothing like this.
The emotion that came with discovering this new realm was curiosity—and a faint twinge of envy. What if he'd emerged from his shell just six years sooner?
"...Time to rearrange it."
He shook his head to dispel the pointless what-ifs, closed his eyes, and replayed Luna-ri's voice and the melody of her song in his mind. Her voice was languid yet full of power, the upbeat music bouncing wildly on its own. Where to start, where to end, how to tweak it?
He could grab the original karaoke track, drop the key by a couple notches, slow the tempo, and that alone would eliminate the dissonant clashes that had grated on his ears. But somehow, it still felt lacking. In composition or arrangement, setting an upper limit on what to touch was always the hardest part.
Para-lang!Bam!
'Here... the synthesizer bass is popping out, killing the dreamy tone.'
He muttered to himself without realizing it and scrapped the entire existing track.
'Guitar should be acoustic, not electric. Something lonely and dry. Maybe layer on the vintage-textured library from the virtual instruments.'
At this point, it wasn't just rearranging anymore—it was full-on recreation. Dozens of new instrument tracks piled up in the Cubase window.
Since his hands were on it anyway, a strange stubbornness and obsession welled up: he wanted to package that wonderful timbre in the most perfect way possible for the world.
The part needing the most care was right before the chorus—the devilish section where Luna-ri had strained for the high note yesterday, panting heavily.
To him, 'sound' in music was important, but the presence brought by 'silence' was just as crucial. Leaving space instead of filling it always gave him a sense of stability.
Yeah. Right before that high note entry, drop the volume on all instruments to zero for 1-2 seconds—complete silence. When Luna-ri, short of breath, draws in that sharp inhale, let that ragged sound itself become the most dramatic element in the music.
'Nice? Yeah, perfect.'
Time slipped away. He snapped out of it when three Hot Six cans had piled up on his desk. The clock in the bottom right of his monitor now read 7:30 a.m. Faint morning light seeped through the gap in his blackout curtains, but his room remained cool and pitch-dark.
He'd pulled an all-nighter. It felt pretty fulfilling, composing for a total stranger for the first time... but then...
With the track finished and reflecting on his actions, a slight embarrassment crept in. His imagination wasn't enough, so he'd gone to streamer Luna-ri's channel, rewatched her old VODs, picked out her singing clips for inspiration, analyzed her habits, and tailored every sound to her.
Adding simple sources or effects where her power dipped slightly to support her, pulling back the instruments where she charged forward confidently. He'd turned it into a song truly for her alone.
Mmm. But now, with the final audio file ready to email, his finger froze just before hitting send.
He couldn't bring himself to click that 'send' button. Timing it down to her breathing patterns and trimming the backing track accordingly? It might come off as creepy...
It had all been in his head anyway—might not even fit her for real. Getting hyped and diving in, only to regret it now? Classic six-year shut-in move.
He sat rigid, agonizing for another twenty minutes or so, before muttering to himself, 'It was just for fun, right? Should be fine. Not like I'm getting paid for it,' and finally clicked send.
Absolutely not because his grip on the mouse had slackened. It was because he'd made up his mind. Ha.
His hands trembled faintly. He buried his face in them and slumped over the desk. For someone with social phobia, meddling in others' business had drained his mental energy way too harshly. Hours ago, fiddling with the track had been pure joy—what was this now? He really was half a person.
Streamer Luna-ri, real name Yoo Na-ri. Na-ri considered herself a realist. Sure, it was an unnamed university's practical music department, but this industry was all about surviving on skill, right? As long as she honed her singing and one day got her own stage, she wouldn't care where— that's what nineteen-year-old Na-ri believed with all her heart when she submitted her application.
It was a pretty solid resolution. At least, that's what she thought.
The problem was reality quietly, steadily gnawing it away.
The early days weren't bad. On the first practical lesson, the professor heard her sing, paused speechless, then said, "Your timbre is unique." Na-ri clung to those words for dear life. Unique was good. It had to be good.
But as semesters passed, things started going off-kilter. Her peers seemed to find their niches: the one belting powerful high notes, the one devouring jazz like water, the one composing and etching her name in the professors' minds. Na-ri felt herself slipping back, bit by bit.
She wasn't terrible enough to stand out for failure, and that was her bigger curse. Mediocre—not great at anything, not bad either. No one ever told her, "Na-ri, this is your path."
So she studied. What songs made her shine? What was she lacking? She chased popular genres, mimicked trending techniques, took famous lectures. Useless, though.
Worse—they diluted even her own strengths. When classmates gathered for busking, Na-ri always had vague excuses. Homework—feeling under the weather—next time, next time.
Truth was, she was scared. Exposing her broken self to strangers. Facing her peers' judgments afterward.
Na-ri shrank smaller and smaller, her stage narrowing with her.
Then she stumbled on VTubing. No need to show your face. You could perform with just your voice. That pricked her heart, but whether it was hope or escape, she decided not to dwell.
It was still about sharing songs, after all. That's how she convinced herself.
Her name: Luna from her favorite moon, plus Na-ri—Luna-ri. Just one letter changed from her real name. A tiny stubborn refusal to vanish completely.
Viewers were predictably scarce. 'Scarce' was polite—practically nonexistent. One or two drifting in and out.
Still, Na-ri sang. It felt good to sing for others. If someone was listening, that was enough.
And then, that fateful dawn encounter with one viewer cracked her mask.
asdf1234. A sloppy throwaway nickname. One of her precious few regulars, but his chat set her hands shaking.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to sing for an expert. This cozy nook felt invaded by professors and star classmates.
One invisible viewer felt like a judge. No longer safe, nausea rose.
Yet Na-ri didn't flee.
"I-I'm practicing a song right now? Hang on."
The mask hiding her face—her sole shield—held her up. Pushing aside tangled emotions, she played the MR for a recently popular song.
"..."
The result was disastrous. Not like her practice runs—she crumbled under extreme tension.
"Ahem... It's a song I've been into lately. Hit a tiny off-note? But it's pretty fun, right?"
Her face burned red beyond the camera. Tiny tears welled, but she forced cheer. Please just leave quietly. Or give a polite response. Don't see through my pathetic skills. Or be kind enough to praise anyway.
She prayed, but brutal feedback shattered it. She froze.
Maybe she regretted not running then.
"Kids' T-shirt... That's what my singing is like...?"
A lukewarm critique she'd brush off normally—but she was on the edge. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her painstaking walls crumbled. Endless freefall, smashing into the ground.
Mic off, she sobbed quietly, but the chat continued.
Ironically, the one who'd shoved her into the mud threw down a lifeline.
Liar. Someone like me?
Na-ri buried her head, ignoring it.
The longer message rang sincere. She peeked up, biting her lip. Really? Still unsure.
"Well, I'm just so lacking..."
Na-ri probed again and again. Was she really a decent singer? Did she have real talent? Over ten times.
The chat, with its single viewer, filled with rows of 'Yes', 'Yep yep'.
Na-ri wiped her tears, straightened up. Still no full conviction. Just words from a random drop-in—why so swayed?
Yet joy bloomed. How long since someone called her talented? Someone liking her voice made her happy.
"I'll wait all night if I have to! Here's my email!! Streaming again tomorrow night—you have to come!!"
She blurted joyfully, then flinched. 'Too eager for the track?' Glad for the offer, but no huge expectations. Professors and hotshot peers couldn't help—unrealistic for a streamer viewer.
His sincere praise for her voice and timbre was enough.
"Take your time with the track, whenever. But please, come to the stream. Please."
That was the more realistic wish.
Stream ended, Na-ri bawled out her tears and snot, crashed into sweet sleep.
Morning came. An email waited.
Plain title, no content, just the file. The viewer who'd promised an MR had sent it already. Eyes wide at the speed, then a twinge of disappointment. She'd said no expectations, but apparently some lingered.
Judging by the quick turnaround, probably just key and tempo tweaks? Even that was grateful. More than enough.
"Let's hear it."
Finally relaxed, she hit play lightly.
Dariri-ring—doong—
The original's fast, light idol-dance synths were gone. Instead, heavy, cool acoustic guitar melody slowly filled the room.
"...?"
This was supposed to be a rearrangement? Wasn't this a different song?
Na-ri's eyes trembled at the completely altered intro.