Chapter 17: Session Portfolio

[Jihye: I heard you left school because of your period.]

[Ha Su-yeon: Get some rest.]

[Kangchae: For real, you went to school even with your period? Lol.]

[01010102: Why even go to school? Just stay home, geez.]

These were messages from Ha Su-yeon’s friends.

It had been a while since Myeong-jeon started reading their KakaoTalk messages.

One by one, he replied, “Nothing serious. I came home and took a shower.”

[Seohyon★: I heard you weren’t feeling well today. Can I call you to check on you?]

[Hyunjoon: Ha Su-yeon, are you okay?]

[Park Donghui: Why’d you even bother going to school? You should’ve used an absence note and stayed home. Are you in pain?]

Once he responded to these messages, they kept coming relentlessly.

Myeong-jeon debated for a moment about how to handle them, then tossed his phone onto the bed.

Now, what should he do with this extra time?

His cramps were still there, but that didn’t mean he could waste the entire day.

However, Myeong-jeon was someone who placed great importance on routines.

He believed that performing specific actions at set times instilled a kind of habitual discipline.

Like waking up at the same time every day for 30 years of work, whether he wanted to or not.

For instance, when there were no sessions or band practices, he would have dinner with “Mom” and then practice using his amp from 8 to 10 p.m.

From 10 p.m. to midnight, he would practice with headphones on.

Then, he’d wake up at 6 a.m., exercise, and head to school.

After coming home, he’d have dinner with Lee Hye-in, tidy up his affairs (like editing YouTube videos), and practice again.

According to this routine, the middle of the day, like now, didn’t have anything scheduled.

Should he practice?

Work on editing YouTube videos?

But those were already part of his evening routine, so doing them now felt off.

“Maybe I could work on some session material…”

Picking up his guitar, Myeong-jeon considered his options.

Currently, he was busking to promote himself, but busking alone wasn’t enough.

That’s because busking ultimately involved playing other people’s songs.

It was about interpreting an already completed piece of music.

In contrast, session work required matching guitar parts to a song that wasn’t fully formed yet.

The way the guitar was integrated could significantly alter the song’s feel.

Thus, busking alone wasn’t enough to say he could handle session work.

It might serve the promotional purpose, but it wouldn’t be sufficient for building credibility.

He needed a portfolio.

Something to show what kind of musician he was, his style of work, and what others could expect from collaborating with him.

“Well, I don’t have an acoustic or nylon guitar for now…”

Myeong-jeon muttered to himself as he picked up his guitar.

Though he could replicate acoustic or nylon tones with his electric guitar, it wasn’t quite the same.

Recreating the sound was possible, but recording with it?

Well, if the client wanted that, it wouldn’t be an issue.

He recalled making various portfolios for online session recordings nearly a decade ago.

If he had enough work samples back then, he wouldn’t have needed to do all that.

As he immersed himself in recording, his phone caught his attention again.

More KakaoTalk messages had piled up.

While responding to them, one message from Lee Seo stood out.

[You left school early today. Are you okay?]

[Working.]

[???]

[What kind of work?]

[Putting together a session portfolio.]

After the read receipt disappeared, quite some time passed.

Myeong-jeon stared at his phone briefly before tossing it onto the bed.

Almost immediately, the phone vibrated.

“Hello.”

“Why are you working? Shouldn’t you be resting if you’re sick?”

“I have time. Why should I rest when I can work?”

“But you’re sick…”

“What, does this count as being sick? It’s not like I broke an arm or leg.”

Myeong-jeon strummed the guitar as he spoke.

The aching sensations persisted, but he didn’t care.

Hadn’t a certain famous singer continued performing even after being electrocuted?

Granted, that singer had been hospitalized immediately after the incident and hadn’t performed right away, but still.

“You’re insane.”

“Perfectly fine, thanks. Now, instead of judging, why don’t you suggest how I can promote myself as a session guitarist? I’m hitting a creative wall here.”

“Okay.”

From the other end of the call, a sharp, clean guitar solo blared out, punctuated by an aggressive use of the tremolo arm.

The intense playing seemed to stab straight through to the heart.

“Is this how they practice and work on their craft? No wonder they’re so good at guitar,” Lee Seo thought to herself.

Of course, that wasn’t the reality.

In truth, Ha Su-yeon’s skill came from decades of experience as a guitarist, now residing in the body of a high school girl.

It had less to do with hard work and more to do with sheer circumstance.

But from Lee Seo’s perspective, it was simply a matter of Ha Su-yeon practicing diligently and being naturally gifted.

“So, what exactly is session work?”

Taking the opportunity, Myeong-jeon explained.

A session guitarist, he said, was someone who recorded guitar tracks for people who couldn’t play themselves, matching the music’s tone and style.

Lee Seo seemed to grasp the concept from his explanation.

“And you’re saying you don’t know how to promote this?”

“Yeah, but let’s rule out using my body to grab attention. No flaunting curves or baring skin.”

Myeong-jeon cut her off preemptively.

He could tolerate many things, but those were absolutely off-limits.

As someone who’d lived as a man, such tactics were utterly unthinkable.

“Well… hmm. I’m not sure, but what about drawing attention in some other way?”

“Drawing attention how?”

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Basically, you make it a talking point,” Lee Seo finally replied.

“For example, you could let people know you’re a high school girl. That’d make them curious enough to check out your session posts, wouldn’t it?”

“What?”

What nonsense was this?

Before he could protest, Lee Seo continued.

“Like, at the end of your session ad, you could write something like, ‘I can’t work after 10 p.m. because I’m a high school girl and have to go home early.’ Wouldn’t people call you just to see if it’s true?”

“Doubtful. When it comes to session work, skill matters, not whether someone’s a high school girl.”

Myeong-jeon tried to shut the idea down decisively.

He didn’t want the conversation to go in that direction.

But Lee Seo didn’t seem inclined to let it go.

“Think about it. If the price is the same, wouldn’t people naturally gravitate toward someone who stands out, like a girl who’s making waves? It’s good publicity, and you know it.”

“And you said this yourself yesterday—that an all-female band has incredible impact. Isn’t this kind of the same idea?”

Her argument made him pause.

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

Why else would so many rock stars also happen to be good-looking?

While the music itself ultimately mattered, fame often relied heavily on visual appeal.

“I mean, imagine someone works on the session guitar for a famous song, and it turns out they’re a high school girl with amazing guitar skills. Wouldn’t that make them famous no matter what?”

“Maybe…”

While a session musician’s role was to support and elevate a song, not to steal the spotlight, her words had some merit.

That didn’t mean he’d start promoting himself as ‘High School Girl Guitarist Offering Sessions.’

Still, what she said resonated.

It left him with much to consider about future promotions and how to shape his public image moving forward.