DLMS 9

Chapter 9

About a week before the launch ceremony, the list of participants for the festival was posted.

A famous band with many hit songs had been invited as guest performers.

On the school bulletin board, the names of teams performing from within the university were also revealed:

• Yoo Hye-rin

• Desks and Chairs

• Yoo Jae-hee

• Baek Hyun-soo

Two solo performers, one retro-concept band, and Yoo Jae-hee….

Among the four teams who had passed the audition, my name was proudly listed as well.

After the announcement, somehow campus life started feeling a little more uncomfortable.

[Hey, I can hear all of you. Keep it down, will ya.]

‘Uh… you’re actually louder, you know.’

[What, you mean that endless chatter isn’t annoying you?]

During lectures, breaks, lunchtime—
Classmates who had always treated me like I was invisible suddenly started whispering about me.

They probably thought it was just their own chatter, but every word came through clearly to me.

“Hey, I heard that guy’s performing.”
“What, maybe it’s just someone with the same name?”
“No, it’s him.”
“Really? No way it’s him, he doesn’t suit music at all….”
“True. Hahaha.”

Sneering remarks.

“Oh my god, that oppa’s actually performing.”
“Wait, you mean the nerd guy you talked about?”
“Hey, he’s not a nerd.”
“Come on, you said before that nerd guy was your type, that you liked him.”
“I told you, that was just between us. Don’t call him a nerd.”
“You’re insane….”

Weird comments, not sure if compliments or insults.

“But honestly, kinda cool. Doesn’t he feel like a musician who lives in his own world?”
“Hmm, now that you say it, I kinda see it.”

Even words laced with some expectation.

They were all talking about me amongst themselves, but it didn’t bother me much.

The whispers of the crowd couldn’t possibly decide the course of my life.

[Wow, Mister Enlightenment over here.]

‘Then why don’t you go say something to them?’

[Forget it. Not fun.]

It wasn’t their words that annoyed the demon—it was my indifferent reaction.

Not that I had any intention of humoring him.

Still, because of me, the classroom had grown noisy.
And naturally, the news of my participation reached Kim Jong-pil as well.

“What the….”

While working in the department office, Jong-pil was shocked to see Yoo Jae-hee’s name on the list.

He thought it meant I was going to pull the same stunt as six years ago—jumping onto the stage uninvited.

The idea that I had officially qualified for Yesung University’s notoriously competitive festival was beyond his imagination.

“Did his skills really skyrocket in just six years…?”

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Jong-pil texted Lee Jong-in.

Hey, Jong-in. Did you know Yoo Jae-hee’s performing?

Because both had been too busy with schoolwork to meet separately,
Jong-in and Jong-pil met briefly during lunch.

“Hey, did you know Jae-hee passed the audition? He’s actually performing.”
“Yeah, I knew.”
“Oh… yeah? So how was he? Any good?”

There was unease in Jong-pil’s voice.
Because he felt guilty about the way he had spoken of Jae-hee before.

“Well, not bad. The applicants this time were all pretty average. He just got lucky.”

“Ha, I knew it.”

‘Knew it…?’

Jong-in deliberately hid the truth to gauge Jong-pil’s reaction.

It wasn’t luck.
Jae-hee’s skills far outshone the other participants.
Even if it was just an amateur’s judgment, it wasn’t wrong.

But hearing that word “knew” from Jong-pil,
Jong-in realized more and more that the real issue wasn’t Jae-hee’s attitude—it was Jong-pil’s perspective.

“Still though, the applicants must have been pretty bad. Isn’t our school full of good musicians?”
“This time was a disaster. Well… that, and Jae-hee’s skills really have improved.”
“Strange… If the level was that low, he wouldn’t have passed. But since you saw it yourself, I’ll take your word for it.”

Of course, that wasn’t true.
Because Jong-pil never cared for music, he found it easy to believe that Jae-hee had somehow scraped by.

Jong-in, on the other hand, couldn’t understand how easily he accepted that.
It only showed how little he cared about music at all.

“By the way, do you know Jae-hee well?”
“No, not really… we’re just middle school classmates.”
“Hmm, I see….”

Jong-pil ate his lunch absentmindedly.

He claimed not to know Jae-hee well, yet spoke with strangely detailed negativity.

Completely opposite of Jae-hee himself.

Sensing something between them, Jong-in decided it was better to hold his tongue.

Time passed, and finally, the day of the launch ceremony arrived.

Though the festival hadn’t officially begun yet, the small sports field was already crowded with tents from different departments preparing food stalls.

Events hosted by the College of Humanities always had a certain brightness.

Unlike the arts departments, where everything clashed messily, or engineering, which felt like the military had been transplanted,
the humanities carried a springlike charm.

Arriving early for rehearsal, I looked around with the demon.

[Oh, it already feels like a festival. Brings back memories.]

‘Yeah….’

[What’s this, nervous?]

‘A little….’

[Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.]

‘Yeah. I have to.’

If I got through today’s performance, it meant I had achieved my first goal.
Small and short-term compared to my larger ambitions, but still a crucial step.

With determination, I headed toward the waiting tent beside the stage.
My heart pounded wildly.

Inside the waiting tent were the other three teams along with me.

The two soloists, Yoo Hye-rin and Baek Hyun-soo, sat with serious faces.
Meanwhile, the band Desks and Chairs laughed and joked amongst themselves.

‘So how long are these rehearsals supposed to be anyway? I’ve never done this before….’

[Hmm… probably just a quick check of the mic, piano, and backing track. As long as you keep an eye on the monitor speakers, the engineers will handle the rest.]

‘Why do you sound like you don’t really know either?’

[Of course. If you’ve never done it, I haven’t either.]

‘But you’ve been inside other people before, haven’t you?’

[Sure, but equipment wasn’t the same back then. I’ll only know once I see what they’re using here.]

‘…True, I guess.’

Even though I knew he wasn’t an omniscient god, I had unconsciously assumed he’d know everything.
So whenever he admitted ignorance, it struck me anew.

[There are a lot of stalls around the stage. Keep it simple and come down quickly.]

‘Got it.’

The demon’s suggestion was to hide as much of my skill as possible—since even our department’s booth was nearby.
Surprising people later would have a stronger impact.

Too much exposure early on is just a spoiler.
A little exposure is a teaser.

What we needed now was the teaser.

Chatting with the demon eased the awkward tension and killed the boredom.

“Alright, everyone. You know your performance order. We’ll rehearse in that order.”

An external sound engineer entered to make the announcement.

My slot was third—same for the rehearsal.

First was Baek Hyun-soo, then Yoo Hye-rin, then me, and last was Desks and Chairs.

Having a live band with a rich sound finish things was the right choice.

Baek Hyun-soo began first.

From inside the tent, I couldn’t see the stage, but his powerful vocals carried through.

He had the kind of solid voice that seemed born for singing.

[Not bad… that kid’s young but can really sing.]
‘Yeah, his high notes are impressive.’
[I could tell just from hearing his voice on the phone earlier. He spoke so softly, but still had that bright raspiness.]
‘You can tell that much from a phone call?’
[Of course. People with that kind of natural rasp and clarity often shine in high notes.]
‘Wow, you even know about sound. Impressive.’
[Please, you think I’ve only listened to music for a day or two?]
‘Fair enough….’

When Hyun-soo finished, Yoo Hye-rin took the stage with her guitar.

No backing track—just her voice and strings filling the air.

[Oh, this one’s got raw emotion.]
‘Yeah. Just one line and my chest feels tight.’
[Compared to Hyun-soo, her weapon’s stronger.]
‘I see what you mean.’

She didn’t have his technical skill,
but she had a powerful ability to convey emotion beyond her vocal limits.

With her, the resonance went deeper than the voice itself.

‘Everyone really has their own color.’

Even the band Desks and Chairs, who would come after me, did too.
They already had a following on campus with their retro concept—baggy suits like borrowed from dads, messy hair, and solid performance.

But their strongest weapon was concept.

‘Hmm….’

[What, why so serious all of a sudden?]
‘I was just wondering… what’s my color?’
[Haha! You’re already worrying about that?]
‘Isn’t it something I have to think about?’
[Of course. Finding your musical identity is key to improving.]

Even though both Hyun-soo and Hye-rin had sung covers, they still showed their distinct colors.

I wasn’t sure I had one yet.

Sure, I arranged my own track and sang while playing,
but that alone didn’t define a color.

It was common enough.
And who knew what direction my music would take in the future.

Maybe they didn’t truly know their own colors either.
But listening to fellow amateurs made me reflect a lot.

Was my color just like my plain sweatshirt and jeans I always wore out of comfort?

As that thought flitted through my mind—

“Next, Yoo Jae-hee, please get ready for rehearsal.”

“Yes.”