Raise Three Idols Well And They’ll Launch a Confession Attack

Episode 28

Autumn seemed to have picked the song considering the current instruments—vocals, piano, and guitar.

“Memories of the Sea and Leaves” was an acoustic pop song based solely on guitar and piano.

Though, it didn’t seem like a light song suitable for the first piece.

The intro kicked off with a piano solo.

But the prelude that popped into my head felt completely different from the calm and simple intros typically expected in acoustic pop.

From the very start, it was an aggressive showcase of the pianist’s skills, as if there was no room for restraint.

It seemed Autumn truly believed I could play any piece.

I mean, starting off with such a high-level song says it all.

If that’s the case, then I need to prove it.

To show that belief wasn’t misplaced.

I placed my fingers on the keys and began dancing them in tune with the song flowing through my mind.

The “finger jukebox” merely hinted that it would allow me to play.

However, it didn’t feel like my fingers moved automatically according to the song.

It was more like I was acutely aware of how to play it, knowing every muscle movement involved. As if I could be more skilled than anyone.

With this setup laid out, all that was left was to take action.

As I pounded the keys, I realized this wasn’t something that could be summed up with the phrase “I can play.”

I wanted to retract my earlier thought that the finger jukebox was no big deal. This was a miracle—a magic trick.

As the oddly flowing offbeat rhythm naturally switched to a steady beat, the fast-playing began.

With each segmented beat, I forced my fingers to hit the keys, and the song began to fill the space completely.

People who had been interested in Autumn’s appearance began to drop their jaws at my rapid playing.

Autumn too, perhaps shocked by my display, stared at me with her mouth agape.

…No, Autumn, you shouldn’t be doing that.

I realized my shout could disrupt the intro, yet I yelled out.

“Autumn!”

Only after hearing my voice did she seem to recall her role and started strumming the guitar.

Autumn began to play, flowing smoothly yet delivering aggressive riffs as if she couldn’t be outdone.

The fingerstyle riff of the acoustic guitar sweetly yet fiercely elevated the song’s atmosphere.

But seriously, what kind of song starts right off the bat with a combo of fast playing and riffs?

But playing felt incredibly fun. Autumn seemed to share that vibe, grinning brightly enough to be easily seen from the side.

Together, we charged forward with the overflowing joy, as if on a wild ride through the song.
We stormed through the song together.

And the long intro of 40 seconds was coming to an end.

Now it was the song’s turn.

Gaeul’s smile faded from her lips.

She cleared her throat seriously, as if about to recite a poem.

I paused the piano, watching her.

This was the scene where the true protagonist of the piece was about to make their entrance, not the piano or guitar.

No noise was needed.

The guitar sound stopped, and the audience held their breath.

In a moment of complete silence, Gaeul began to sing.

[Leaves floating on the autumn sea, and that person known as you.]

A thrilling chill coursed through the air.

Gaeul’s current vocal ability was clearly marked as A- on her status screen. That wasn’t a low ability.

It meant she had successfully entered the realm of the author A, recognized as a genius by all.

However, it was also true that I had seen A- levels quite a few times in the previous rounds.

So I thought that Gaeul’s current vocal level was just about that.

In the professional world, she was a voice you could find often—a solid performer. Just that much.

[That person who makes it impossible to hold back a smile.]

It was a massive misconception.

No matter how much she hadn’t completed her growth, an overwhelming talent of S couldn’t be hidden.

This wasn’t just my opinion.

The people who had glanced at me during my rapid performance, the ones just passing by, or even those casually chatting, were all captivated by Gaeul’s voice.

This wasn’t just the magnetism an A- could show.

[Like the crackling leaves of a roaring campfire.]

[Your voice is so utterly lovable.]

Gaeul turned her head to look at me.

Only then did I realize, it was now the piano’s turn.

I had gotten so lost in her voice that I forgot my role.

It was embarrassing to think I had yelled at her just 30 seconds ago to wake her up.

I took a deep breath and resumed the dance of my fingertips.

[The playful steps and the words deeply ingrained,]

[Can you really know how lovable you are?]

Gaeul’s song continued.

I desperately summoned the knowledge in my mind.

I played the piano meticulously, adjusting my strength to avoid even a single misstep in the rhythm or tempo.

But I couldn’t shake off the feeling that the overwhelming light of her vocals was dragging me along.

In that dissonance, the song transitioned to the interlude, and a piano solo re-emerged.

Before the solo, I thought to myself.

I didn’t want to fall short.

Not as a reincarnated manager. But as the piano taking part in the music of this Yeo Gaeul.
As the piano became lighter.

I was convinced.

The moment the name Yoo Gaeul was mentioned, the stage had to be at its best.

So, as the appendage I had become, I also had to be at my best, even for just a moment.

I shrunk the ‘Memories of the Sea and Leaves’ that filled my mind.

Then, I analyzed the hundreds of thousands of songs rising through my fingers and hungrily absorbed them.

Now the knowledge I possessed was not just the ‘Memories of the Sea and Leaves.’

It was ‘all’ existing songs.

If I had that knowledge but couldn’t utilize it, it was merely a lack of ability.

My heated mind throbbed.

My insides churned as if I would throw up.

The blood flowing through my body became as hot as fire.

My small, pitiful body could not withstand that tsunami-like knowledge and demanded a strike.

But in the end, I did it. I managed to draw even a thread of that knowledge.

Before that realization faded, I struck the keys.

Sometimes funky, sometimes sweet, sometimes with heavy damping, sometimes calm.

Gaeul’s eyes widened as she looked at me playing the piano beside her.

A blissful smile had spread across her face without me realizing it.

What kind of expression was I making?

I didn’t know.

But a vague premonition told me.

I must be wearing a smile similar to Gaeul’s.

I nodded slightly at Gaeul.

Then she began to improvise in rhythm with me.

The sound of the fingerstyle acoustic guitar became even more dazzling, and the mood of the piece shifted.

This was not the ‘Memories of the Sea and Leaves’ by the singer-songwriter Oh Jong-kyu, who had composed and written it all.

It was our ‘Memories of the Sea and Leaves,’ Gaeul and mine.

[Ooh, Memories of the Sea and Leaves.]

The piece reached its highlight.

[I'll remember you. I'll love you.]

The deep emotions contained in Gaeul’s voice resonated through the microphone and speakers.

No matter how magnificent the Siren’s song descending with the snow might be, it would not surpass the appeal that Gaeul was showing now.

Gaeul was a witch.

Her voice alone was enough to draw people in; she looked as if she was imbued with magic.

[Before the leaves crumble]

[I'll be swept away, like you]

The dazzling fingerstyle guitar and the piano that didn’t even get a breather came to an end.

[To the sea.]

And the song also came to an end.
It came to an end.

Even after the song ended, not a single person made a sound.

As if no one dared to spoil the afterglow, silence prevailed in the square filled with dozens of people.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

And then, a child started clapping with an innocent smile.

As if snapping back to reality, people began to clap one by one.

Like a contagious wave, the applause soon filled the entire square.

Amidst the explosion of applause and cheers, Gaeul looked at me with a breathless gaze.

“…Team Leader Seon.”

“Yes, Gaeul.”

“Is it over?”

I felt like I understood her feelings.

“It’s a bit disappointing, isn’t it?”

I felt the same way.

“…Yes, I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Then we can sing again, right?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Why do you think I bought Gaeul’s three hours? It would actually be awkward for me if it ended with just one song.”

Is she trying to escape?

Until you resurrect that sticky attachment to the song.

Until you start feeling the charm of being an idol.

Until you have dreams that are impossible to give up.

“You must stay until the very end.”

Gaeul replied with an innocent smile as if she had just secured a trip to an amusement park.

“Yes!”

*

After watching Yoo Gaeul and Seon Taeyang’s stage, Cheon Aram asked Seo Soo-yeon, who had joined her after finishing up her family matters.

“How was it?”

Seo Soo-yeon shook her head slightly and replied.

“My knowledge specializes in accounting, so I think I lack the expertise in music. Because of that, I don’t believe I’m qualified to evaluate that stage.”

“No, your qualifications have nothing to do with evaluating a stage. Not every member of the public possesses the qualifications to judge.”

Cheon Aram said, crossing her arms to keep her blazer from slipping off like a cape.

“And Soo-yeon, since you’ve followed me, you can’t avoid this evaluation. Once you step into the world of entertainment, you have to do it.”

Still hesitating, Seo Soo-yeon paused, and Cheon Aram spoke in a somewhat gentle voice.

“It doesn’t have to be a request for specialized knowledge. Just express your feelings as a person watching the stage.”

“Simply as one person….”

As she spoke, Seo Soo-yeon’s eyes glistened with a hint of tears.

“It was amazing.”

It was a brief impression.

But it was also an excellent summary.

Cheon Aram chuckled and said, “Yeah, it really was amazing.”

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