Original Composition?

After the interview wrapped up, the massive crowd of viewers gathered in the official broadcast channel began to disperse. To shake off the lingering excitement, people had simple options: head to the participants' rooms or flock to the communities. As a result, the LINK community was buzzing more than ever.

A massive crowd gathered in Na-ri's room too. In terms of viewer growth rate, no one matched Na-ri's dramatic surge.

Na-ri was thrilled yet terrified by the swarming attention.

This is a bit much...!

It was nothing like the busking at Hongdae her classmates did or small gigs. How many people had she sung for? Even just the people here felt like a concert crowd, and recalling the official broadcast's viewer count made her dizzy.

She couldn't even remember what she'd said after the contest ended. Swept up by the influx of viewers after the official channel closed, her pupils just shook wildly.

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

Na-ri spun around like that for a while before fleeing into ending her stream amid the pouring cheers.

"Phew—"

Silence returned to the room. Catching her breath was brief; Na-ri's gaze drifted to the Discord window pinned in the corner of her monitor.

To fully savor this joy, wouldn't it be with the comrade she'd conquered it alongside? She'd sent messages during the broadcast, but reaching out after was different.

"Hmm..."

Na-ri's mouse, about to click message on (asdf1234)'s profile, hesitated and crept upward.

"Hmmm..."

Soon, the pointer twitched toward the 📞 call button instead of messages.

"Hmmmm..."

After a split-second dilemma.

"Aaah, mistake—! Eek."

Click—

She wasn't sure exactly what emotion she wanted to share. But she wanted to talk while hearing his voice.

Ring ring— Ring ring—

"Huh, not picking up..."

She'd half-expected it, but couldn't stop her pout.

Is he sleeping? Makes sense, I'm wiped too—Young-il must be exhausted.

Disappointed but resigned, just as she went to leave a "rest well" message, her gaze lingered on the right side of Discord—the online list.

"...Huh?"

Na-ri blinked. Cubase—that's the composition software, right? And it just started.

Pfft!

Na-ri burst out laughing, rolling on her bed. Come to think of it, this guy didn't even have a Discord ID before talking to her. He clearly had no clue how activity status shows ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to others.

"Haha—funny, but kinda annoying."

Feeling fluffy and mischievous, Na-ri hit the Windows capture shortcut, neatly cropped his profile, and fired off a message.

The moment she hit send, "[Typing...]" flickered on and off under his icon repeatedly. She could picture him panicking and sweating over the monitor. He probably didn't even know about the typing indicator.

Finally, a lame excuse arrived.

Na-ri giggled out loud as she typed.

"[Typing...]" blinked for ages again.

Then she saw his profile status change. Green to yellow (away), then to offline.

He was cautiously fiddling with settings.

Na-ri held back laughter and asked.

So cute, for real. Wonder what he's like in person. Like a shy school junior maybe.

She wanted to ask why a call was so hard, but held back. For this guy, waiting was best. Pull and he'd retreat; push and he'd crumble. Wait, and he'd come out eventually.

Na-ri had zero intention of limiting to 5 minutes—it was just a safety net line.

"Hello!"

Her bright voice contrasted with the deadpan tone from her earphones.

Embarrassment, apology, and burden all mixed in chaotic awkwardness.

"Did you watch the broadcast? The arrangements you did got tons of praise, everyone loved it! Right, Shin Se-young too—she was super impressed! It was huge."

Talking to this quiet composer often made Na-ri wonder if she was really this upbeat. Facing extreme introvert Kim Do-yoon, anyone might perk up—but she was naturally outgoing, just subdued by nerves. In school, she'd been the classic E scooping up quiet I friends, naturally taking the convo lead.

"Psh, what thanks? Personally, your work was way bigger, but people don't know 'cause you're hidden."

"Hehe, it was fun. Viewers came flooding! Oh, but..."

Na-ri's hyped voice suddenly dropped.

"What now?"

"Next round."

Neither Na-ri nor Kim Do-yoon had much discussed post-round of 16. They'd been busy prepping this one, and reaching round of 16 was satisfaction enough, unspoken.

"Honestly, getting this far is more than enough..."

Do-yoon waited silently as she trailed off.

"But I wanna do more. Weird, right?"

Na-ri hugged her knees to her chest.

"But the round of 8 folks are all so good. I lack confidence.... Not like I have a big fanbase, just starting out, but turning greedy."

On work or music topics he dove into, Do-yoon's words lengthened.

"Unique..."

Na-ri fell quiet. Contest songs were all similar. She was sure nothing stood out more than her round of 32/16 picks. She'd joined to get her name out, not win—aces spent early. Promo goal met too. But slacking with any old song felt like betraying the hot cheers, so no.

Something popped into her head after agonizing.

"Oh! Young-il! Young-il!"

"Original song...! Got any originals...? You're not just arrangements. You said you compose in MIDI, right."

High-level arrangements finished quick. Singing skill beyond a few tries. Young voice, but surely originals existed.

"If you do, can I sing it? Pay properly this time."

His "hobby" arrangements impressed even her novice eyes. Unintentionally freeloading felt guilty.

Was he hesitating? The groan worried her—had she burdened him suddenly?

"Huh?"

Money issue? "Uh... f-f-forty? No, fifty?"

Sadly, student Na-ri was broke and clueless on song rates. Just her max offer.

Do-yoon was clueless on rates too.