Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Instruments Are Best from the Mysterious Master
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“Hmm… This one's no good for now.”
Even though I was auditioning, that didn't mean I'd completely set aside composing.
Whenever I was at the PC bang, I kept composing, and with the money I saved there, I'd head to the noraebang to hone my own singing skills.
Thanks to that, my USB was packed with a hefty collection of tracks.
The one big change, though, was that I was making songs for myself to sing, not for others.
Which meant most of the compositions from my past life ended up tossed into the [Use Later] folder.
Why? Because the majority of those songs were group tracks meant for idol bands.
They were tough to sing solo, and they didn't really suit me anyway.
So, the candidate songs for the main rounds were mostly new ones I'd written or solo hits from my past life.
That said, I'd been diligently researching the audition lately too.
By reviewing past seasons, I gauged the judges' preferences and the show's direction, pondering how to approach it to climb as high as possible.
“YRK's CEO definitely favors the artist type. KY leans toward idols.”
And PU likes artists who stick to the classics. For instance, vocalists with solid technique and style always got rave reviews from them.
On the flip side, wild cards like me didn't score as highly.
“Mmm.”
I shoved a piece of popcorn chicken the PC bang owner had fried up into my mouth.
The crispy batter enveloped my palate.
I owed the owner so much.
Financially speaking, he was taking a hit of over 5,000 won a day just to give me all these perks.
He claimed the extra customers I brought in more than covered it, but I wasn't sure if that was true.
Glancing at the clock, it was already past 7 p.m.
Time to head back to the nursery.
And at the same time, I needed to get the director's okay for the TV appearance.
I'd already printed out the guardian consent form, so it was just a matter of getting a signature. Honestly, though, I had no clue how he'd react.
On the surface, he genuinely cared for the kids.
A devout Christian who'd devoted her life to volunteer work since childhood.
But considering how her personal car had recently been upgraded to a fancy foreign import… well, the prevailing opinion among us kids was that she was skimming a bit from the nursery's funds.
Taking that into account—looks could be deceiving—I really couldn't guess what she was truly like.
Whatever. Embezzlement or not, that wasn't my business. I just needed her to sign off on the show.
If appealing to her emotions didn't work, maybe pointing out how my TV spot could promote the nursery and drum up donations would do the trick.
I figured that angle might convince her.
Tense as hell, I headed to the director's office.
“Sure. Hand me the consent form, and I'll sign it.”
Contrary to my worries, she filled it out without a hitch.
Watching her, it hit me.
Why had I assumed she'd be stingy about it?
Thinking back, there was no reason for the director to block a kid from appearing on a big show.
Maybe all the shady stuff I'd seen at the nursery had led me to prejudge her—the one at the top—as a bad person.
“Siyeon, you've always been so passive about everything.”
“...”
“When you finally say you want to do something for the first time, how could I say no?”
Those words would later become the spark that helped me see the nursery in a slightly more positive light.
That's how it felt.
In a dingy alley behind Incheon’s Juan Station, amid the gaudy neon signs of the entertainment district, the basement of an old commercial building housed a moldy instrument shop utterly at odds with its name, “Paradise.”
Siyeon wrinkled her nose as she descended the creaky stairs. She’d checked out several shops, but none were willing to rent a guitar to an elementary school kid.
A solo vocal performance just wouldn’t make a strong enough impact from the get-go.
Honestly, relying purely on my voice might land me in the third prelims opposite a PU judge by bad luck, and boom—out I go.
So I needed something to back up my vocals, and that had to be the instrument I handled best: guitar.
I could play and sing at the same time, and the judges—knowing how tough that was—would eat it up.
“Hello?”
The shop was a mess. Stacks of unidentified old amps cluttered the space, and beyond them, a disheveled-haired man puffed soldering smoke while tinkering with a guitar circuit.
Siyeon could tell at a glance: the nippers and soldering tossed aside casually weren’t amateur work.
“Not buying. Get out.”
His gruff voice barely registered. Siyeon scanned the guitars on the wall, her eyes stopping on a dusty old acoustic in the corner, sans case.
“That’s a Martin D-28 original vintage, right? Early ’70s model, looks like.”
The man’s hands froze. He looked up at her. He had the look of a local bum in a ratty T-shirt and slippers, but his eyes were ice-cold.
“An elementary kid knows Martin?”
“Know it? This one’s tone is too plain—won’t match my voice right now… Oh, that Gibson next to it sounds kinda dry. I’ll take that one. Can I rent it?”
Siyeon boldly pointed. The man let out a disbelieving scoff.
“Hey, kid. You know how much that costs? Scram.”
“No money, so I’ll work it off. Your shop guitars are all out of tune—let me balance the sound for you. I’ve got killer ears.”
The man paused mid-reach for a cigarette and stared her down.
A bold kid the likes of which he’d never seen.
He was Park Hansu, lead guitarist and vocalist for Black Canary—a rock star in his own right.
In Korea’s idol-dominated scene, his band hadn’t broken through domestically, but they’d gained notice overseas, making foreign tours his main gig. That’s why the shop guitars were neglected; he was too busy jetting around.
“You? Balance the sound?”
“Don’t believe me? Test me.”
Siyeon snatched the electric he’d been fixing and plugged it into an amp. Her small hands couldn’t reach the high frets, but drawing on past-life muscle memory, she ripped through a blues scale with flawless fingering.
Zing—
One phrase. But the vibrato and attack on every note screamed decades of stage pros. The cigarette dropped from his mouth.
“You… where’d you learn that?”
“YouTube. World’s a great place these days.”
Siyeon lied with a straight face and set the guitar down.
“So? Worth renting? I’ll use that Gibson for a few weeks. Promise to return it pristine.”
A rare break from touring. He’d planned to kill time fixing guitars quietly, but this? Too intriguing to pass up.
“What’s your name?”
“Seo Siyeon. You?”
“Park Hansu. Just call me Mr. Park.”
Park Hansu eyed the girl’s face and hands closely.
Up close, she was even smaller than he’d first thought.
First or second grade, easy.
Her tiny hands screamed it’d be impossible for a kid to handle a full adult guitar.
But more shocking than that was her looks.
He’d met plenty of top musicians: pop stars dubbed beauties of the century, Japanese idols called thousand-year beauties, K-pop heavyweights in their prime.
This girl held her own against them—no, if she grew into it, she’d outshine most.
No plain clothes or sloppy ponytail could hide the star aura radiating from her.
“Fine, you can borrow one.”
“Huh? For real? I didn’t even say what for.”
“Don’t care. But…”
He ducked into the storeroom and emerged with a mini guitar, smaller than standard.
“Those hands can’t chord F or Bm. For proper playing, use this.”
“Eh? But the tone on these…”
“Trust me. Yamaha kids’ model—sounds almost identical to full-size. You’ll be fine.”
Siyeon wondered who this guy thought he was to guarantee it.
Still, the high-end gear here felt off somehow, so she quietly accepted the small guitar.
“Whoa. Looks like a ukulele.”
Anyway, she gripped the chords and strummed a tune.
Not 100% perfect, but usable enough.
Siyeon could only grin sheepishly.
“Hehe. Hey, it sounds great! Guess you’re trustworthy, mister.”
“…Got some faith in me now?”
As he said it, Park Hansu mused that the kid had everyday cuteness ingrained in her.
An accurate read on Seo Siyeon, whose personality was shifting toward elementary-schooler after nearly a month possessed.
Though if she heard, she’d flip out at the nonsense.