DLMS 11

Chapter 11

Before long, the tavern stalls set up around the small athletic field—including the one run by the Korean Literature Department—were packed with students.

Most stalls were so full there weren’t enough seats, and the students working as servers were on the verge of collapse.

Exams were just around the corner, but for this moment at least, everyone was determined to fully savor their youth.

Every table was loaded with side dishes and overflowing glasses, and with them came endless topics of conversation.

At the table where students from the Literature Department sat, one subject in particular kept coming up.

“Hey, isn’t Jaehee performing today?”

“Oh right! He’s got a show tonight.”

“Wow, no way. Think he’ll do well?”

“Yeah, I kinda hope he does.”

“Suddenly?”

They didn’t really dislike Yu Jaehee, but many of them had gotten into the habit of talking behind his back.

It hadn’t started because anyone hated him or thought badly of him. Somehow, that sort of atmosphere had just formed from somewhere, and everyone went along with the current.

Of course, it wasn’t a good thing.

Some still hadn’t changed their opinion of him, but for others, just the fact that he passed the festival audition and would be performing was enough to stir anticipation.

So the department’s feelings toward Jaehee split into two directions—expectation, or skepticism.

By the time the sun went down, only the lights shining from the stage and taverns illuminated the March night.

The more people drank, the louder their voices rose, and as if answering that call, busy movements began to stir on the stage.

Inside the tent right beside the stage—

It was being used as the performers’ waiting room.

There sat the unusually quiet Yoo Hyerin, Baek Hyunsoo, the still rowdy band “Desks and Chairs,” and me—trembling so hard from nerves you’d think even an aspen tree would look calm next to me.

[Oh, you look really nervous.]

“Yeah, way more than I expected. Damn, I should’ve taken something to calm myself down.”

I’d felt fine during the walk earlier, but now that the moment was here, the nerves hit me hard.

[Hmm… so can you even perform like this?]

“I don’t know.”

That was the only honest answer.

I’d heard that some nerves were necessary to perform well, but I couldn’t tell if this was the right amount—or way too much.

My heart just wouldn’t settle, like it was broken.

[Wow… I didn’t think you’d be this nervous.]

“No, it’ll be fine once I get up there.”

[Maybe. I can’t fix your heart for you. You’ve gotta control your mind yourself. Want me to step away for a bit?]

His tone was considerate, filled with genuine concern that I’d do well.

“No, stay with me.”

Normally, the demon’s presence annoyed me, but right now, strangely enough, it felt reassuring. Even more than when he’d given me power.

I had prepared diligently. I had abilities the demon had granted me.

There was no reason to fear.

So why was I trembling?

Probably because I still lacked confidence in myself.

My thoughts spun in endless circles:

How should I look during the performance?
What should my expressions and movements be at the piano?
If I had to talk on stage, what should I say?

From outside, I could hear the roar of the crowd.

It reminded me of faint childhood memories—countless stars scattered across the countryside sky. Only tonight, it would be countless eyes fixed on the stage instead.

Every move I made was bound to feel awkward.

My worries tangled like threads, manifesting as raw anxiety.

And the waves in my chest wouldn’t calm down.

[Hey, enough…]

“Ah, sorry…”

Maybe I’d let my thoughts spiral too far again.

[Don’t dwell on what you can’t do.]

“Right… got it.”

[No, listen! You don’t even realize—you’re only obsessing over what you’re not used to.]

The demon sounded tense, but not hostile.

[You can sing well, right?]

“Yeah, I can.”

[And you’re confident in your arrangement and performance too, aren’t you?]

“Well… yeah.”

That was true.

This was an audience of ordinary students, not professional critics.

I’d written songs for actual singers before; of course, I could deliver something that would satisfy a crowd like this.

[Then that’s it. Isn’t music what you love?]

“…”

[Focus on the essence—what you can do. Make that shine and captivate them. Stop worrying and knock those drunk kids flat with your music.]

There was no flaw in his words.

Sure, it’d be great if I did everything perfectly, but that wasn’t realistic. Worrying about it was useless.

[Picture it. The crowd cheering for your song, dancing like they’re losing their minds. How would that feel?]

I imagined it.

The audience reacting, shouting, absorbed in the music I created.

A rush of exhilaration.

[Right? Wouldn’t that be insane? If I were you, I’d be dying to get up there already.]

My heart started pounding again—but this time from excitement, not fear.

Instead of picturing myself frozen stiff, I focused on the joy my music could spark in people.

Excitement spread stronger than nerves.

[Hah, simple-minded. Suddenly you want to perform now?]

“Uh… yeah, I guess so.”

Of course, the nervousness wasn’t completely gone. But expectation and thrill began to cover it up.

[And if someone doesn’t like it, so what? You’ve heard songs you didn’t like too, right?]

“Yeah.”

[And even those songs—someone else might’ve cried to them, or smiled with joy. You get it?]

“I do.”

[Then stop caring. Just do what you came to do. The response will follow naturally.]

“…Thanks.”

If he’d cut off our connection earlier, I’d still be shaking right now instead of hearing this.

It struck me how contradictory I was—normally I never cared what others thought, but at times like this I cared too much.

[…]

Though clearly, the demon saw it differently.

“Alright, Baek Hyunsoo, you’re up first.”

“Yes.”

It was time.

Hyunsoo would go first, then Yoo Hyerin. After that, it would be my turn.

I felt relieved not to be first, but honestly, it didn’t matter anymore.

I had support. And at least a little more belief in myself now.

The highlight of every Yesung University festival—the performances—were about to begin.

Baek Hyunsoo’s performance was solid.

Instead of a lively song fit for a festival, he chose a ballad, but it was popular enough.

His vocals were undeniably strong—better than what I’d seen in rehearsal.

He didn’t seem to get nervous easily.

[Not bad.]

“Oh, even your ears think so?”

[If I’m generous about… five million times, he sounds good.]

“So you admit he’s good.”

[For an ordinary person, sure.]

The demon wasn’t impressed—his ears were too sharp.

Still, even I had to admit Hyunsoo was pretty good “for an amateur.”

While we nodded lightly, the drunken students went wild.

His powerful vocals and flashy technique were perfect festival weapons—and they hit the crowd right in the heart.

Then came Yoo Hyerin’s turn.

I’d heard she was a freshman, just twenty.

With just an acoustic guitar on her back, she stepped onto the stage.

Her frame was tiny, her steps weak, but… an indescribable aura radiated from her.

[She’s much better.]

“Come on, Hyunsoo sings way better.”

[His hardware’s better, sure. But he’s just a machine cranking out notes.]

“You mean she’s got more emotion?”

[Exactly. Didn’t you feel it during rehearsal?]

“…Maybe.”

The demon was right. Hyerin’s singing was far more captivating, though I couldn’t explain why.

Still, that was just my personal impression—I wasn’t sure how the crowd would take it.

After a short MC break, she introduced herself at the mic.

“Hello, I’m Yoo Hyerin, Class of ’19, German Literature.”

Her gentle voice gave everyone a clue what kind of song was coming.

She strummed an arpeggio, filling the field with sound.

Her pick: Letter, by Jayrin, a famous singer who’d debuted more than a decade ago.

A song arranged only with acoustic guitar, full of raw emotion.

Even three years after its release, Letter was still beloved.

The guitar intro, like wind and waves turned into sound, faded—and her voice stepped lightly onto it.

Clear and pure.

A low range.
A voice with more air than sound.

It lacked the power of Hyunsoo’s singing, but it had a resonance that drew everyone in.

Maybe it was just me, or the song itself, but even the chatter from the taverns seemed to quiet down.

I couldn’t see outside from the waiting tent, but—

[See? Everyone’s focused on her now.]

“Really? I can’t tell… it just feels quieter.”

[Yeah, my senses are sharper.]

Even though she wasn’t using any flashy technique, Hyerin carried the stage.

I found myself drawn in too.

Her voice carried something powerful. Not in technique, but in essence—something that gripped all of me.

“Whoa, who is she?”
“Her voice is amazing. I’ve never heard anyone sing Jayrin’s song this well.”
“Seriously… beautiful voice.”

The students drinking outside had turned their attention completely to her.

Even though it wasn’t a festival-style song, she pulled the crowd in.

“Hm…”

[You learned something, didn’t you?]

“Yeah… hard to explain, but I feel like this festival’s teaching me a lot.”

[Good. That’s the right mindset.]

Watching them perform helped me collect my thoughts—and I realized my nerves were mostly gone.

Hyerin calmly wrapped up her performance and stepped off the stage.

“Alright, Yu Jaehee, please get ready.”

[Let’s go.]

“Yeah.”

Following the staff’s lead, I walked toward the stage.

My first real stage.

My steps weren’t light, but I didn’t want to run away.

This was the first time I’d show myself—truly myself.

Not hiding behind a company-chosen title, but performing my song.

To leave my first footprint on the path to the top, I walked onto the stage.