Chapter 6
Five minutes earlier.
“They’re all kind of the same.”
“Exactly. They’re good, but none of them stand out.”
“Hm…”
The judges were already showing signs of fatigue from the endless auditions.
The participants were all highly skilled, but the Ye-seong University festival demanded something extraordinary. Meeting the judges’ high expectations wasn’t easy.
Compared to other schools, Ye-seong had an unusually high concentration of excellent musicians, which made it even tougher.
While the judges were struggling, the furrow between judge Lee Jong-in’s brows deepened.
“Yoo Jae-hee…”
His turn was coming up soon.
‘Let’s see just how good you really are…’
Jong-in wanted to prove that the world of art wasn’t something you could take lightly.
He was sure Jae-hee would bomb the audition. Then, he planned to humiliate him with a brief, cutting critique.
It wasn’t that he disliked Jae-hee as a person. What he couldn’t stand was his dismissive attitude toward music—something Jong-in loved deeply.
People like that, he thought, had no business making music.
And then, moments later—
Jae-hee stepped onto the stage.
He was dressed in random clothes that looked like he had just thrown them on: a plain black sweatshirt, ordinary denim jeans. His hair looked barely towel-dried after a quick wash.
His posture and expression made him look timid, withdrawn.
And yet, there was a sharpness in his gaze that contrasted with the rest.
Still, to Jong-in’s eyes, nothing about him had the basics of a performer.
Or rather, everything about him rubbed Jong-in the wrong way.
“This kid chose an idol song.”
The judges checked his application form.
Jae-hee—the most unremarkable-looking of all participants—had chosen Word, a track by the boy group Premier League.
It was released earlier this year, a song praised for its catchy melody and flawless blend of electronic and live instruments.
Even after three months, it was still charting near the top.
The choice of song itself was fine.
But whether it suited Jae-hee was another matter.
Sitting down at the piano, he paused for a moment before starting.
“Uh… just a second.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’d like to check the keys first.”
“Oh, sure, go ahead.”
Jae-hee pressed the keys slowly, testing the sound.
Jong-in had to stifle a bitter laugh.
‘He’s acting like he knows what he’s doing…’
And then, he even asked for sustain.
Moments later, his music filled the auditorium.
A self-arranged version of Word.
Unlike the original, which used mostly electronic sounds, Jae-hee had replaced every instrument with live ones.
“Hm…”
From the intro alone, it was obvious.
This wasn’t something half-baked knowledge could pull off.
Instead of thinking How did he make this? Jong-in’s first thought was: Where did he get this arrangement from?
And then—
–Heavy breathing–
Jae-hee began to sing into the mic.
“Huh?”
The very first line was enough to tell.
‘What the…’
Compared to six years ago, when he drunkenly butchered a song, this was undeniable growth.
‘Wait… was it really just the alcohol back then…?’
Possibilities began to open up.
Of course, he still had to prove himself on the high notes later, but—
From the way he carried the melody and the delicate tremors in his voice, it was already clear.
This kid had been hiding a real weapon.
His vocals still lacked raw power, but his control—the finesse—was striking.
Whether it was nerves or intent, even the trembling added something Jong-in liked.
The vibe he gave off… it was good.
‘This is nothing like what I expected…’
Caught in confusion, trying to make sense of what he was hearing—
That’s when Jae-hee smiled.
It was brief.
His expression had been stiff with nerves, but for just a fleeting instant, that smile broke through.
And it carried with it an unmistakable joy.
Even for that single moment, Jong-in felt it.
‘Hmm…’
He’d seen singers with stronger, more stable voices.
But that wasn’t the point.
It was the aura.
The presence.
The sense that this person had something no one else did.
Delicacy in drawing out each note, countless details, and a resonance that was impossible to describe in words.
Whatever it was, it hit Jong-in’s head like a hammer.
Even though he hadn’t liked him at first, just Jae-hee’s short intro was enough to captivate him.
[Shall we begin.]
A strange energy rose from his throat.
The demon’s second gift—
A singing voice as it would be ten years in the future.
Ten years of effort condensed into raw vocal ability.
Of course, it was only the function of his vocal cords, not the entirety of vocal skill.
The finer details had to come from his current self.
He didn’t know how far this gift would carry him yet, but he decided to trust it.
‘Alright.’
[You’ve held up well so far. Let’s push through the rest together.]
He thought he had ruined the first line, but now was his chance to prove himself.
Closing his eyes tightly, he leaned into the mic and sang the next line—
–The look in our eyes / traded back and forth–
His sharp, solid voice filled the hall.
‘Holy crap.’
[Exactly.]
It was a completely different sound from his first, ungifted attempt.
He couldn’t believe this was his own singing.
For the first time in his life, he felt it.
The sound created by the vibration of his vocal cords traveled through the mic, straight to the audience.
And he could feel it.
How to make this sound.
How to make other sounds.
After just a few lines, he understood the mechanism behind producing tone.
He had never been talented in singing, but he had worked tirelessly to understand sound itself.
And that effort was finally paying off.
The judges were sitting straighter, leaning in.
He couldn’t read their exact thoughts, but he knew—they were interested.
[Good instincts. You’ve got the feel. Now, keep following me closely.]
‘Got it.’
The original Word leaned heavily on electronic sounds, with guitars and horns filling the gaps.
But his arrangement replaced everything with live instruments.
A lead guitar up front, horns filling the sides, strings floating at the top.
The rhythmic energy of the original was carried instead by bass and saxophone.
And the demon’s gift—his piano wasn’t a backing track, but his own live playing.
The judges’ expressions showed that the opening verse alone had caught their attention.
[Play as usual, but sing exactly how I tell you. Since it’s your first time, I’ll guide every step.]
‘Okay.’
He had practiced the piano endlessly until last night, so there was no problem there.
–Between us / there’s no room for anyone else / a universe of two–
[Sing it exactly like before, but this time, tighten your cords slightly while letting the sound flow upward.]
He followed the demon’s directions.
A stronger, more powerful sound filled the auditorium.
Short, syncopated rhythms like the original—but now, the gaps were alive with instrumental fills.
Despite being an idol song, it didn’t feel empty without choreography. The rich arrangement and performance completely filled the stage.
Unlike his usual delicate touch, today his hands pressed the keys with force.
He wanted his grand beginning to be powerful.
[Good, good! Play rougher, harder! Perfect!]
Encouraged, he pushed himself further.
Instead of sticking to the prepared performance, he improvised, layering in added tensions and fresh ad-lib lines.
The familiar Word was being reborn into something entirely new.
This, too, was only possible because of his newly gained absolute pitch.
[Alright, now ease your throat. Don’t push—mix in more air, go semi-falsetto.]
–Don’t mind the stares / from other people–
The verse ended, leading into the pre-chorus.
The rhythm section grew simpler, the melody more prominent.
As the mood softened, his voice and fingers loosened too.
Perfect control of dynamics.
Moments of tension and release are what thrill an audience.
The judges brushed their arms as goosebumps rose.
[Now, build it up.]
–In this moment, there’s only us two in the world!–
Following the demon’s guidance, he gradually shifted the balance toward more voice than breath.
His vocals swelled like a gradient, stronger and higher, while the accompaniment surged with him.
They were all rushing toward the chorus.
But just before it began—
Though the demon was inside him, suddenly he felt pulled by something else.
An indescribable force.
Without realizing, he let go of the piano keys and grabbed the mic.
[Hey! What are you doing?!]
–No more words are needed / even saying “I love you” / I already hold / something more than words–
The demon shouted, but he didn’t hear.
All that filled his ears was the music.
He stood, holding the mic, facing the audience.
Meeting the judges’—no, the crowd’s—eyes, he stepped forward from the piano and urged them to join in.
Smiles spread among them.
And he gained courage.
[You… unbelievable.]
He tightened his cords, then let loose soaring tones.
At fleeting moments he added rasps for flavor; at others, short, thick vibrato.
It wasn’t thought out—instinct drove him.
But above all, one thought filled his mind:
“This is fun…”
He was insanely happy.
So much so that tears almost welled up.
For 26 years, he had devoted himself only to composing, never able to complete a full song on his own.
But today, at last—
Even though it was a remake, with his own hands and voice, he had completed one whole song.
After the first chorus, he barely remembered what happened next.
When he finally came back to himself—
The judges were smiling faintly, clapping softly.
And the demon spoke:
[Well done.]
The judges’ discussion came after. Some teams were disqualified, some praised. When Jae-hee’s name came up, almost everyone agreed—his performance was the best of the day. Even Jong-in, though shaken and confused, had no choice but to admit it.
The next morning, Jae-hee woke to his phone buzzing.
A message.
-
Results of the Liberal Arts Department Festival Talent Show Audition.
The demon muttered: [Obviously you passed.]
“…Nope.”
[What?!]
-
Status: Pending.
“Pending… that’s what it says.”
