Glassy Sky
Everything stopped. And then a great many things changed. The pandemic shook the very foundations of human life and completely transformed the way people experienced culture. At least, that was how it had played out in my previous life.
Every concert was canceled. Simply gathering in groups drew fierce public backlash. For the entertainment industry, it was no exaggeration to call it a dark age.
I knew this plague would claim countless lives and inflict irreversible damage. Even so, I felt a quiet sense of relief that the same disease had arrived in this world too.
The reason was simple. The timing and details weren’t identical, but this world was still following the trajectory I remembered. If I had been obsessed with stocks and cryptocurrency, that knowledge alone could have made me a titan of the new era. But I was an artist. The pandemic wouldn’t hand me any massive windfalls, yet it offered several modest advantages.
The real impact would hit domestically right after the first confirmed case. From then on, every news outlet and trending topic would be devoured by the plague. Whether I topped the charts or dropped an incredible album, the public was unlikely to care.
That was why I was rushing every stage of production to release the album as quickly as possible. Mixing was complete. Mastering had already been commissioned. The concept and planning were finalized. I was promoting relentlessly on Twitter and Instagram. Pre-orders were open, and distribution plans for bookstores and record shops were all in place.
The physical copies would be pressed within the next day or two, with the official release following almost immediately.
I guess my second sexual characteristics are arriving a little earlier than average… The doctor’s murmured words from our last visit to the university hospital came back to me, and I let out a small internal sigh.
“Siyeon! Hop in!”
“Hello, unnies.”
In the middle of all this, the day of the WMA had finally arrived. I hadn’t climbed into the manager’s car at the orphanage. Because rehearsals had started yesterday, I had spent the night at the company-arranged lodging in Seoul.
“Hmmm… How long until we reach the shop?”
“About thirty minutes. If you’re tired, feel free to sleep.”
“I’m okay. Thank you for worrying about me.”
Honestly, I had wondered whether I really needed to visit a professional shop at all. My base appearance was already absurdly good; I looked plenty cute without any makeup. Because I was still so young, I had assumed makeup would only make me look unnatural. That assessment would have been correct if I were doing it myself.
“Oh.”
But when professionals styled me from head to toe with expert hands, the story changed completely.
The process felt like torture that dragged on forever, yet the result left me stunned. The girl in the mirror was so cute that even I was taken aback. A black, idol-style outfit that perfectly suited my somewhat cynical expression. The skirt was admittedly short, but I had long since passed the age where that would embarrass me. In fact, I now preferred a deliberately cute short skirt over an awkwardly long one.
I had coordinated my look to match Blooming’s. After all, we were sharing the opening stage, and our assigned positions were right beside each other. Seeing that familiar faces like Jia and Saki had also been placed nearby, it seemed the organizers had been considerate of my young age. I didn’t particularly need the special treatment, but I was grateful for it all the same.
“Whoa! Siyeon, you look adorable!”
“…What’s with the baby voice?”
“Come on, just go with it.”
“…You unnies look beautiful too.”
The Blooming members were all wearing black uniforms that had been stylishly altered into idol fashion, just like mine. Someone might ask what happened to the dress we bought earlier, but that hadn’t been purchased for today’s stage. I could have worn it, but changing outfits after the performance sounded like a hassle, so I decided against it. I had originally refused to buy it because it felt too burdensome, but it had been intended for the Handaum performance. Given how difficult it now seemed to hold that event on-site, not buying the dress had turned out to be an excellent decision.
“How is everyone’s condition?”
“We’re all good, obviously.”
“We cannot make any mistakes on stage. This is the opening performance.”
“I know.”
The truth was, the time we had been given was painfully short. Although the stage assignment had come two weeks earlier, Blooming and I had been swamped with comeback preparations, leaving us with very little actual rehearsal time.
“It’s a relief that you’ve all been practicing steadily.”
“Hehe. I had a feeling Glassy Sky would need a live version soon.”
My own part wasn’t especially difficult, so the real key had been Blooming’s ensemble work. Fortunately, their consistent practice let them regain their feel for it almost immediately.
“Even so, our fandom at this performance… won’t be very large. We might even face a cold reception.”
“I know.”
The WMA was, by nature, an idol-heavy awards ceremony and year-end showcase. Most of the audience consisted of idol group fans, and to be brutally honest, they weren’t particularly fond of us. We had dominated the charts all year, occupying the very spots their favorites wanted. The clearest example was Starlight’s fandom. While casual listeners and the general public viewed us favorably, the hardcore fans who had fought their way into the venue harbored a quiet, jealous resentment.
“If we deliver a perfect stage, they’ll have no choice but to accept us.”
The solution, then, was simple. We would give a flawless performance. It was the only way, but also the most straightforward.
At this point in time, Go Hye-na could fairly be called the president of Seo Siyeon’s fandom. She had finally managed to secure a ticket to the WMA. Even though her school final exams began the very next day… she had chosen to attend the concert at KSPO Dome instead.
It’s fine. I can always retake the class.
The future Go Hye-na, who would still be carrying eighteen credits a semester as a senior, would have been horrified by that thought. But the current Go Hye-na—a clueless freshman—felt no such qualms.
“…There really are a lot of fans from other groups here.”
KSPO Dome was a fairly large venue by domestic standards, yet ticket competition had been brutally fierce. The reason was obvious: the lineup was stacked with top-tier idols.
Actual year-end music shows on public broadcast often had more questionable lineups. Certain agencies were on bad terms with certain networks, and groups popular in Japan usually went to Kohaku instead. The WMA, however, drew everyone. It wasn’t an exaggeration—literally every major singer and idol attended.
“As expected… there are almost no Siyeon fans.”
Even after winning Singer Star, it was impossible for a solo artist to build a fandom that could rival a first-tier idol group. The very idea of Seo Siyeon cultivating an idol-level fanbase was absurd to begin with. Blooming’s fans at least stuck together and showed solidarity, but Siyeon’s fandom had no such cohesion.
“Ah! President! It’s been a while!”
“Oh… uh, hello.”
The person sitting near Go Hye-na’s seat was the same female high-school student who had once declared herself Siyeon’s fan. Finding an ally in this sea of rival fans brought her a small measure of comfort. She settled in and waited quietly for the show to begin.
…It feels a little awkward with no lightstick or merch.
Everyone around her held their group’s official lightsticks and goods. She alone stood empty-handed, and the contrast made her feel painfully out of place.
At that exact moment, every light in the dome went dark.
When they came back on, six girls stood at the center of the stage.
Glassy Sky. The biggest hit among all the songs I had created in this life. Even now, I sometimes wondered how on earth a track like this had come out of me. More than anything, I still couldn’t understand why it had become so popular in Korea.
Writing songs that the public would love was a composer’s mission and duty. Yet every once in a while, I felt the urge to ignore that completely.
Creation that relied solely on instinct and personal taste. A somewhat violent, selfish song that cared nothing for its listeners and existed only for the creator’s own satisfaction. That was how Glassy Sky had been born.
Scattered cheers and fan chants reached my ears. I absorbed those sounds, then lifted the violin bow to the strings.
After that, there was only the music.