Let's talk about Han Goyo for a moment.
Han Goyo.
Practical Music Department, Vocal Major.
Even at Seolwon Arts High—where only exceptionally talented students gather—she stood out as a genius among geniuses.
Not only was her singing extraordinary, her academic performance was top-tier as well. If I remembered correctly, she never once scored below a perfect score in either written or practical exams until graduation. A true combination of intellect and talent.
On top of that, she was beautiful.
Naturally, every entertainment agency wanted her. From the moment she enrolled, offers poured in nonstop. Everyone believed—without a doubt—that she would become an incredible singer.
I believed it too.
But she never became one.
After graduation, Han Goyo simply vanished. She didn't attend an art university or a music college. She didn't debut. She just… disappeared.
People were devastated. And curious.
Why didn't she become a singer?
Why did she disappear?
What was she doing now?
But by the time people started asking, Han Goyo was already gone.
And now—she was standing right in front of me.
Well, of course. I'd returned to high school.
"What are you staring at?"
Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts. As expected, it was flat—almost completely devoid of intonation. There was no hint of interest or curiosity toward people.
"Ah, sorry."
"If you have nothing to say, could you move?"
"Sure."
I nodded and stepped aside. She walked past me and left the practice room.
As her footsteps faded, Kim Taeyoung muttered quietly, "Doesn't she give you chills?"
"Huh?"
"Like… doesn't she creep you out? She's like a doll. It's like she's missing basic emotions."
I understood what he meant. She definitely gave off that kind of aura.
I turned back.
Working with Han Goyo would be incredible… but it was impossible.
She was indifferent to people. She didn't even greet others, let alone participate in ensemble classes. And she would disappear after graduation anyway.
So I dropped any interest in her.
To me, some mysterious genius mattered less than the little bit of lunchtime I had left.
§ §
"So this is the song you made?" Taeyoung asked after listening to Runaway.
"Yeah."
"That's it?"
I nodded.
"It's good?" I asked.
"Good?" He looked offended. "You call this 'good'?"
He replayed Runaway again, even though he'd already listened to it several times. He clearly liked it.
"The vocalist is that sister you mentioned?"
"Yeah. She's good, right?"
"I think I get why you quit vocals."
He said it like he'd figured everything out.
I gave a wry smile.
That's not the real reason I quit… but I understood what he meant.
Overwhelming talent can feel violent. To those walking the same path, it's practically a natural disaster. Losing heart in front of Suyeon's talent wouldn't be strange at all.
That's how incredible she is.
"But did you write this song for your sister?" Taeyoung asked.
"Hm?"
"I mean—did you compose it assuming she'd sing it?"
"Yeah."
He went silent.
Then he looked at me with a painfully longing gaze.
Why are you looking at me like that? It's disgusting. I might throw up.
"You really don't want to use me for the event?"
"If you become a castrato, I'll consider it."
"You son of a—"
He cursed, but I laughed. I didn't mind. It just meant he really wanted my song.
And being acknowledged by someone who would become a world-class singer in the future? It felt damn good.
"So, do you have someone else in mind?"
"Not sure. Still thinking. Got any recommendations? Your major has ensemble classes, right?"
"Hmm… recommendations…" He thought for a moment. "Everyone's above average. But the issue is, you already have a dedicated vocalist—and that vocalist is insanely skilled. Plus, your songs are written for that vocalist."
"Exactly."
If I used someone mediocre, they'd never do the song justice.
"Maybe the girls in Class 7 would be good. But would they even agree?"
"That's also a problem."
Odd classes versus even classes.
Elite versus inferior.
Naturally, there was tension. Odds looked down on evens, and evens called odds goody-two-shoes.
Come to think of it, I used to badmouth the odd classes too. Looking back, it was childish jealousy.
"There's still time," Taeyoung said. "When performance practice starts, they mix classes anyway."
"True."
"More importantly—got any other songs?"
His eyes gleamed with greed.
Disgusting. This guy's greed is unreal.
"I have a few more in progress."
"Let me hear them."
"What am I, your personal jukebox?"
"Come on. What are friends for?"
This bastard is definitely going to ask me to co-sign a loan someday.
Grumbling under my breath, I played a few tracks. All of them were arranged—songs I was preparing for Suyeon.
Then, by mistake, an unarranged track started playing.
Ah. Wrong file.
I was about to skip it when Taeyoung suddenly spoke, his voice serious.
"Was that one also for your sister?"
"Well, yeah. But it's not arranged yet."
"Sounds like it was written for a male vocalist."
"I originally planned to sing it myself."
More precisely, it was a song I'd written and sung in my past life. Not that it was ever released.
"Are you going to arrange that one for her too?"
"Why? You like it?"
"Hell yeah."
Unexpected.
That song was unfinished and unreleased—and yet he liked it?
I looked at him. His eyes were filled with greed.
"I'm not giving it for free."
"Of course. I'm not shameless enough to ask for a free song."
"Then play accompaniment for my stage later."
One unfinished song in exchange for accompaniment? That was a great deal.
But Taeyoung's expression twisted. He looked… troubled.
"Why? Is that too much? Or some pianist pride thing?"
He didn't seem offended—just conflicted.
"An accompaniment for one song is fair."
"You're right, but…" He hesitated, then sighed. "I can't."
His voice was heavy with regret.
Suspicious.
A piano prodigy who won international competitions as a child… choosing Practical Music Vocal instead of classical? When he could've gone to a top conservatory?
At first, I thought he was arrogant. But after spending time with him, I knew that wasn't true.
Kim Taeyoung admits his weaknesses and works to fix them.
Among all the first-years, only he and I practiced during lunch and breaks.
The warning bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.
"Well, the bell," he said.
We stood.
I was curious why he couldn't play—but I had no intention of prying. If we really were friends, he'd tell me someday.
We packed up and left the practice room—
and once again, I bumped into someone.
What is it with today?
"Ah, sorry—"
I stopped mid-apology.
Han Goyo.
She looked at me with the same blank expression as always, but something felt off.
Why was she standing right in front of the practice room we'd been using?
"I left something inside. Can I go in?"
I nodded. Looks like she'd used the room too.
Once Taeyoung and I stepped aside, she went in, retrieved a notebook, and came back out.
Then she looked straight at me.
"You."
"Yeah?"
"Class 8?"
"Yeah."
I nodded. She must've checked homeroom colors and not recognized me.
"Composition major?"
Her questions surprised me. I nodded again.
Was she always this talkative?
In my past life, I don't think we ever exchanged a single personal word.
"…See you later."
She said it flatly, then walked away.
"She seriously can't see me, huh?" Taeyoung muttered.
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