Original Song?

Once the interview wrapped, the throngs of viewers who had packed the official broadcast began to scatter.

The ways people tended to work off that lingering high were simple enough: drop into the contestants' rooms, or hit the community boards.

Which was why the Link community was livelier than it had ever been.

A flood of people had gathered in Yu Nari's room as well. Measured by growth rate alone, no one could match how dramatically her viewership had exploded.

Nari was thrilled by the swarming attention—and terrified of it.

Isn't this a little much…?!

This wasn't remotely comparable to the Hongdae busking or tiny gigs her classmates did. Just how many people had she sung in front of? Even counting only the bodies in this room, it was concert-scale, and the thought of the official broadcast's total viewer count made her head spin.

She couldn't even remember what she'd said after the match. The moment the official channel closed, the viewers poured in and she was swept along, pupils darting wildly.

"Thank you! Thank you! I'll work even harder!"

Yu Nari flailed through it for a long while before finally escaping into an end-stream, fleeing the cascade of cheers.

"Whew—"

Quiet settled back over the room.

She only got a moment to catch her breath before her eyes drifted to the Discord window parked in the corner of her monitor. If there was anyone she could fully share this joy with, it had to be the partner who'd fought through it all with her. She'd messaged him here and there during the broadcast, but reaching out after it ended was different.

"Mmm…"

She clicked asdf1234's profile, then her mouse drifted—just a little higher than the message button.

"Mmmmm…"

And then the pointer was twitching, inching toward the 📞 call button instead.

"Mmmmmmmm……"

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠split second of hesitation—

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Aaaah, accident—! Hup."

Click—

She wasn't entirely sure what feeling she wanted to share. She just knew she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wanted to hear his voice while they talked.

Riiiing— riiiing—

"Mm, he's not picking up……"

She'd half expected it, but she couldn't stop her lips from pushing into a pout.

Is he resting? Fair enough. I'm completely drained myself—Yeong-il must be exhausted too.

She was disappointed, but resigned herself to leaving a "get some rest" message—until her eyes snagged on the right-hand side of Discord, on the online member list.

"……Huh?"

Next to the nickname asdf1234, a green light glowed bright and clear. That much she could accept—he simply hadn't turned off his computer. The problem was the status line underneath.

Yu Nari blinked.

Cubase was a composition program, wasn't it? And it had just been launched.

Pfft!

Nari burst out laughing and rolled across her bed. Come to think of it, this guy hadn't even had a Discord account before he started talking to her. He clearly had no idea how his activity status looked to other people.

"Ah— funny, but also kind of shady."

A warm, fuzzy feeling mixed with a spark of mischief. She hit the Windows capture shortcut, neatly cropped his profile, and fired off a message at speed.

The instant she hit send, the words [Typing…] flickered under his icon—appearing and vanishing over and over. She could picture, without seeing, how much cold sweat he was pouring on the other side of that monitor. He probably didn't even know the typing indicator showed up.

Only after a long while did an excuse of a reply arrive.

Nari snorted out loud and hammered at her keyboard.

Again the [Typing…] text blinked for a long stretch before—

—that single syllable came back.

Then she watched his profile status change. The green light flipped to yellow for Away. Then the yellow went Offline. He was probably poking carefully through every setting he could find.

Yu Nari fought down a laugh and asked,

He really was cute. What would he be like in person? Maybe like a painfully shy underclassman.

She wanted to ask if one phone call was really that hard—but she held back. With him, waiting was the right move. Pull and he'd only retreat farther; push and he'd just keep sliding away. Wait long enough, though, and he always came out eventually.

Yu Nari had absolutely zero intention of keeping it to five minutes, but the line was a kind of seatbelt.

"Hello!"

Compared to her bright voice, the one that came through her earphones sounded thoroughly defeated.

Embarrassment, apology, and awkward pressure—all mixed into pure chaos.

"Did you watch the stream today? The arrangement you did got so much praise, and people loved it! Right, Shin Se-young! She really liked it too! It was incredible."

Whenever she talked to this taciturn composer, Yu Nari sometimes wondered if she had always been this bright. Put anyone in front of Kim Do-yoon—the strongest introvert among introverts—and they might end up the same, but deep down she was an extrovert who'd simply been running on empty. Even in school she'd been a classic E who collected quiet I friends, so taking the lead in conversation came naturally.

"Aww, what's there to thank me for! Personally I think Yeong-il's contribution was way bigger, and it's a shame no one knows. Since you're keeping your identity secret and all."

"Hehe, it was fun. And so many viewers came by! Ah, but……"

Her voice, which had been floating high, suddenly sank.

"What do we do now?"

"The next main match."

Neither Yu Nari nor Kim Do-yoon had really talked about anything past the Round of 16. They'd been busy preparing for today, and the quiet assumption that just reaching the Round of 16 would be enough had always been there underneath.

"Honestly, just getting this far is already more than satisfying, but…"

Do-yoon waited in silence while she trailed off.

"I still want to keep going. Weird, right?"

Yu Nari pulled her knees tight against her chest.

"But looking at the people who made the quarterfinals, everyone's just so good. Honestly… I'm not confident. It's not like I have a huge fanbase, and I'm barely even starting out, so maybe I'm just getting greedy."

Give him work, music, something to sink into, and Do-yoon's words lengthened.

"Character…"

Yu Nari went quiet for a while. The pool of songs you could actually perform in a contest was only so big. She was certain nothing would stand out more than the picks from the Round of 32 and Round of 16. She hadn't entered to win the whole thing—just to get her name out—so it felt like she'd already burned through her ace cards early. And she'd already hit that goal of getting publicity, too. But half-assing some random song after this would feel like betraying the audience's roaring support, and she hated that idea.

After a long stretch of thinking, something lit up in her head.

"Oh! Yeong-il! Yeong-il!"

"An original…! Do you have any original songs…? You said arranging wasn't your specialty. You said you compose on MIDI—I'm sure of it."

An arrangement of that caliber finished in such a short window. Singing technique that clearly wasn't a one-or-two-time thing. The voice was young, but she was certain he had songs written and waiting.

"If you do, would it be okay if I sang one? And this time I'll pay you properly."

Even to Nari, who didn't know much about composition, the arrangement he'd casually labeled "hobby-level" had looked seriously skilled. She'd borrowed that ability for free without meaning to, and she felt bad about it.

Was he thinking it over? As the silence stretched, she started to worry she'd suddenly dumped too big a burden on him.

"Huh?"

So it was about the money?

"Uh… fo- fo- thir—no, four hundred thousand?"

Sadly, as a student Yu Nari didn't have much money either, and she had no idea what the going rate for a song even was. She'd simply named the absolute maximum she could give.

Do-yoon had no idea what the market rate was either.