Chapter 23: Performance

The thunderous sound of the guitar abruptly came to a halt.

The vast reverb echoed throughout the room, and along with it, the noisy drum concluded with a thud-thud!

A sudden silence fell over the practice room.

Myeong-jeon inserted the worn pick into the neck of his guitar and clapped his hands slowly.

“Good work, everyone.”

At Myeong-jeon’s words, three faces, previously tense with concentration, now exhaled deeply in relief.

Those were expressions he was all too familiar with from his time as “Seo Myeong-jeon,” the bandmaster.

He recalled the complaints: Why are you so harsh? Can’t we stop practicing already?

Some had even exclaimed that their joints would give out, preventing them from performing in the main show.

Of course, those were all baseless excuses. Didn’t a certain baseball coach once say that shoulders grow stronger the more you use them?

The same applies to wrists. Like the ground hardening after rain, skills improve after intense practice and performance.

Back in his day, they used to strengthen their wrists by attaching sandbags or springs to their fingers while playing guitar or drums. Today’s kids seem so fragile—how will they manage?

“Tsk, tsk,” he muttered to himself.

“Is it finally over?”

“Yeah. Our practice room rental time is almost up. We could push for another day or two, but I don’t think it’ll make much difference now.”

At Myeong-jeon’s response, Lee Seo let out a blatant sigh of relief.

At that sigh, Myeong-jeon furrowed an eyebrow and glanced at Lee Seo.

“Do you dislike practicing that much?”

“…It’s not that I dislike it, but don’t you think this is over the top?”

“That’s true,” Seoha chimed in, agreeing as Lee Seo’s voice trailed off.

Despite being a year younger, Ha Su-yeon’s extraordinary talent was clear.

It wasn’t hard to predict that her practice routine would also be nothing short of extraordinary.

But this level of intensity was beyond anything Seoha could have imagined.

As the performance neared, Ha Su-yeon insisted on daily rehearsals for an entire week because the quality wasn’t up to her standards.

During these sessions, she’d fire sharp comments like, “Why can’t you get this? Don’t you have hands?”

For Seoha, who couldn’t practice at home, rehearsing at the studio wasn’t enough.

The others were given nearly impossible homework that required them to pull all-nighters to keep up.

“But thanks to all that practice, we’ve managed to pull off this performance in just a month and a half.”

In the beginning, it had been utter chaos.

The kids couldn’t keep rhythm and were barely managing to play their instruments.

The drummer would race ahead on his own, the bassist had no concept of rhythm, and the piano was practically inaudible.

But now, things had changed.

They were finally capable of true ensemble playing.

Surely, they themselves could recognize it best—that they had transcended their past selves through rigorous practice.

They had worked tirelessly and deserved the rewards of their efforts.

Despite the short timeframe of a month and a half, they had managed to reach a level where they could play decently.

They had built a skillset they could confidently showcase to an audience.

“Anyway, great job, everyone. If someone says a group with no prior band experience managed to play three songs in a month and a half, any school or office band members would call it a lie.”

At Myeong-jeon’s words, the three smiled.

But it was true.

It usually took six months to a year for most school or office bands to prepare for a performance.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong during the festival, right?”

“Well, something could happen, of course.”

Someone might get into a traffic accident on their way here, or the guitar strings could snap, ruining a planned solo.

At Myeong-jeon’s ominous comment, Lee Seo’s face turned pale.

But Myeong-jeon paid him no mind and continued speaking.

“Even if something happens, it’ll be fine. You’ve all worked hard for this.”

Myeong-jeon firmly believed that to be true.

‘I’m nervous.’

In a quiet corner of the classroom, Jeong Hyun-ah rubbed her hands together nervously.

She had already submitted the application to perform at the festival in the auditorium that afternoon, and it was too late to back out now.

‘If anything, Soma-nim must be even more nervous than I am…’

Since Soma had only stepped in as a substitute rhythm guitarist, most of her parts weren’t particularly difficult.

In the original lineup, the rhythm guitarist had also been the vocalist, which might have added some challenge.

But for this performance, Ha Su-yeon was handling vocals, leaving Soma with less responsibility.

The real pressure fell on someone else: Lee Seo.

He had endured Ha Su-yeon’s relentless scolding and practiced until his fingers bled to perfect the bass.

[“I’ve arrived. Where should I go?”]

[“Wait a moment, I’ll come out to get you soon.”]

Jeong Hyun-ah  glanced around the classroom after reading the KakaoTalk message.

No one seemed to be paying attention to her at the moment.

Now was her chance to slip out, yet she hesitated.

‘Why is this so hard?’

All she needed to say was that she had a band performance and leave.

There was no reason to feel guilty about it.

‘Why am I hesitating as if I’ve committed a crime against them?’

The old  Jeong Hyun-ah would never have entertained such thoughts.

But Ha Su-yeon’s hellish training had twisted her timid personality.

It was as if she had developed the mindset of someone who had survived the impossible:

“I went through all that, so what’s stopping me from saying one sentence?”

“Sung Jeong Hyun-ah.”

“Yes?”

“I have a band performance. May I step out for a bit?”

Jeong Hyun-ah stood up and confidently declared her intent to the student in charge of errands.

It was an unusual show of authority for her.

“Uh? Oh… Uh, what are you preparing for?”

“A band performance.”

At her words, a ripple of surprise spread through the classroom.

A band? Jeong Hyun-ah ? Wasn’t she just a pianist? Wait, she’s in a band? She’s into music?

“Can I go?”

“S-Sure… Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Jeong Hyun-ah left the classroom, hearing the growing buzz of curiosity behind her as she walked down the hall.

If you’d like further refinement or adjustments, feel free to ask!

Iseo wondered if Ha Su-yeon’s face showed no change while the rest of her body might be trembling. She examined Ha Su-yeon’s body carefully.

Fingers—no problem.

Ears—no problem.

Legs—no problem.

Everything was fine.

“Ridiculous,” Iseo thought to herself and then spoke up.

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“… Me?”

At that, Myeong-jeon responded as if it were absurd, glancing at Iseo’s face.

Her slightly pale expression betrayed her anxiety.

‘That face wouldn’t let you worry about anyone else’s reactions.’

Thinking that this was at least a relief, Myeong-jeon addressed Iseo.

“Why don’t you worry about yourself first? Your hands are shaking. Are you even going to be able to play?”

Seoha, showing no signs of agitation, maintained her composure like a veteran.

Perhaps she was accustomed to performances and competitions.

Jeong Hyun-ah, on the other hand, displayed tension in her demeanor, but it seemed to stem more from her personality than from the situation itself.

Unlike them, Iseo was about to experience her very first performance.

Not in front of just ten or twenty people, but a hall packed with an audience.

It was natural for her to react that way.

‘What was my first performance like?’

Myeong-jeon tried to recall, but it had been so long that the memory was hazy.

If he really thought about it… he might have had a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves before going on stage.

Not exactly a helpful memory.

“Don’t worry.”

“Excuse me?”

The dance team’s performance came to an end, and the curtains fell.

The departing performers glanced at Myeong-jeon with curious eyes, but he paid them no attention.

Instead, he watched Seoha and Jeong Hyun-ah setting up their equipment on stage and spoke to Iseo.

“Don’t worry about the performance.”

“… Of course I’m not worried! Why would you think that? I’m so good that I won’t make any mistakes.”

Iseo’s voice was deliberately cheerful, but Myeong-jeon shook his head and replied.

“No, you’ll definitely make mistakes.

A hundred percent.

Your hands are shaking even now; do you think they’ll stop when you’re on stage? But don’t worry.

Even if every one of you messes up… I’ll cover for you.”

“I have that kind of skill,” Myeong-jeon said, running his hand through his hair, his parting slightly shifting.

His hair fell over his shoulders.

At those words, both Seoha and Jeong Hyun-ah, who were arranging equipment, as well as Iseo, who had been trembling slightly, turned to look at him.

“This performance will be the end. It’s a chance that won’t come again, so don’t waste it being nervous.

Just be yourself. Play exactly as you’ve practiced. Show them your skill.

So enjoy it.

You’re doing this because you love it.

Why are you so nervous? Shake off that weight of ‘I must not make a mistake’ sitting on your shoulders.”

A quiet atmosphere settled in after Myeong-jeon words.

The sound of the audience beyond the curtains was the only noise in the stillness backstage.

The students steadied their breathing, their racing hearts calming little by little.

“Group sound team… Senior Jeong Hyun-ah, are you ready?”

“Ah, just a moment…”

The broadcasting club member called out to Jeong Hyun-ah, who gestured for them to wait before turning to look at Myeong-jeon.

“Then, let’s go.”

Myeong-jeon ’s voice was brief, but decisive.