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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Facing Stage Fright
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She said her stage fright had started while preparing for admission to Cheongyeom Arts High.
Maybe even before that.
The moment she realized she had it was during the admission audition.
Fortunately, her music teacher had a pre-recorded video and camera test that got her admitted.
Whether there were many people or few, the mere thought of being on stage made it tough.
As I listened, I roughly pieced together Lee Cheong-ha's condition.
"But right now, it's just me here. Still can't do it?"
After quietly hearing her out, I asked cautiously.
For her to share such details meant a certain level of trust had built up.
I decided to trust the faith she had in me.
She must have found this situation just as unbearable.
Sure enough, her eyes trembled mercilessly.
"...I know the kids who bullied me aren't here. I get it in my head, but my body won't listen. If that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be like this."
Knowing it was tough, I listened silently.
"Haha. Maybe my singing was too good and it made your stomach hurt."
After listening quietly, I spoke up.
"The better you do, the happier I am. We're partners, after all."
"But I've lost my confidence."
The better you do is great—but flip it around, and it meant there'd be no reason to partner with her if she didn't.
My words must have felt burdensome, because her face darkened again.
"No confidence?"
"I can't trust my own skills. Maybe the teacher got it wrong."
Maybe the teacher had misunderstood something?
If she was that exceptionally talented, why couldn't she overcome a little stage fright?
"You know it too."
"Huh?"
She looked a bit startled at my suddenly serious tone, devoid of any smile.
"You know it too. Your skills aren't a mistake."
Her face flushed with embarrassment in an instant.
She even glanced around the practice room.
A high-end space equipped for students dreaming of musicals.
"You wouldn't be here if you lacked confidence."
"What?"
"You know you're good. You know you have talent. You want it—you're greedy for musicals. That's why you came."
I stared straight into her eyes as I said it.
Cheong-ha, flustered, seemed at a loss for words.
"You don't always have to be perfect."
In front of those bullies, she probably didn't want to make even a single mistake.
It would feel like shaming her parents and teachers who'd helped her through every slip-up.
She'd tried to give up singing because she hated hearing harsh words about the people around her—so even minor errors must have felt like shackles.
I won't judge you, and I won't laugh at your mistakes.
I hoped those words, laden with meaning, reached her.
Sitting on the practice room floor, the rims of her eyes reddened.
No one had ever understood her situation and feelings like this.
"You can mess up in front of me. I will too."
I turned toward the audio system.
I deliberately played the backing track for a song with high notes impossible in my current condition.
Time to drive the point home.
Starting midway, I hit the high note—and, predictably, it cracked.
Cheong-ha, eyes brimming with tears as she listened, burst out laughing.
"Ha, what was that?"
The off-note was more epic than expected.
I coughed and took a sip of the prepared water.
"Do you hate me now?"
I asked her right away.
The moment the pathetic crack escaped.
She'd been smiling, finding it funny even on second thought, but now she looked startled, caught off guard.
"No..."
"Disappointed?"
"No."
"I'll be the same."
Her face brightened.
One promise not to be disappointed even if she failed outweighed a hundred assurances she could do it.
Salvation had arrived.
"Let's do it, together."
She nodded with resolve, took my outstretched hand, and stood.
"Let's do this song."
"Sure."
The backing track for the song we'd finally chosen flowed out.
She steadied her breath, closed her eyes, then opened them, and sang the first line with a trembling heart.
"On a day when the cold wind blows—"
Her voice flowed out clear and trembling like morning dew.
Just the first line made me understand why her music teacher had pushed so hard for her admission to Cheongyeom Arts High.
Though completely different from the original, it felt like the song had always been hers—the original never crossed my mind.
It was a pure, crystalline timbre, as if she'd breathed different air her whole life.
"An empty street I walk alone—like my heart, there's nothing there—
I cut my hair, drink some coffee—but what wells up isn't my heart, it's tears alone—"
But more striking than the timbre was her breathing.
A song notoriously hard to breathe through, yet she slipped into it like it was her own.
She didn't seem to be focusing on it, but her breaths were as natural as exhaling.
This was the talent geniuses possessed—it hit me instantly.
Her talent exceeded expectations, making it clear Broadway wasn't for just anyone.
After belting it out, she looked utterly refreshed.
"How was it?"
But when she turned, the face of the one who'd prompted her was too grave.
"You were great. But..."
"But? But what?"
I trailed off, lost in thought, and she leaned in close, looking up with wide, puppy-like eyes full of curiosity.
It had been ages since she'd sung in front of anyone, and though easier than expected, she was eager for feedback after so long.
"Where'd you learn to sing like that? Since when?"
I gazed down at her steadily and asked what intrigued me most.
This was genuinely the top question, but it wasn't the follow-up she'd hoped for—her face fell.
"I've never learned. I've just always loved singing since I was little."
I'd known it, but hearing it firsthand was still unbelievable, so I'd asked again.
I'd seen it in an interview from before my regression.
According to that, she'd only properly learned singing and musicals after entering Cheongyeom Arts High.
"No way. You really need to apologize."
"Apologize suddenly...? Why? Did I do something wrong to you?"
Ridiculous.
She tensed up, eyes wide in alarm, as I shook my head.
"No. For daring to say you lack confidence with a voice like that. Don't do it. It's rude."
"Oh, come on."
I'd been dead serious, but she beamed, delighted.
She even twisted her body shyly, like the praise embarrassed her.
It was sincere, yet somehow anticlimactic.
After regressing out of regret, she'd never grasp the massive wall her singing had just slammed into me—dead or alive.
'There's more I want to say, but better to stop here for today.'
She seemed in high spirits, sitting on a practice room chair, kicking her feet playfully as she savored the praise.
We'd gotten through the song safely, but this wouldn't erase her stage fright so easily.
If it did, no one would suffer from it.
A few pragmatic words from a life veteran came to mind, but no—forget it.
She was still a teenager with endless potential, and who knew how she'd take it from someone she'd just met.
Even a talent this unbreakable could be harmed if mishandled—better safe.
"So, shall we pick a number and try it?"
"Do-hyun, shouldn't you do a solo too? I didn't hear you properly that day."
I called out to the excited Cheong-ha to try a duet.
But she bounced over, giving me a meaningful look.
I'd already sung my fill at the vocal test—what was this?
"Really? Everyone was raving about it."
"I was shaking because my turn was next... Anyway, you'll sing one for me, right?"
She must have been too nervous to hear anything until her turn.
It was no big deal, so I shrugged.
"Sure. Partners should know each other's skills."
We took turns singing, naturally continuing practice.
She'd fully dropped her guard now, laughing a lot, chatting up a storm, even nitpicking my singing—not critically, but still.
A solid step forward for the day.
If only she could conquer that stage fright, we could really show off a proper duet.
***
Monday of the second week at Cheongyeom Arts High arrived.
"Ugh. Monday's here."
"What'd you do over the weekend to look wiped out already?"
"Gotta go hard on weekends."
Go hard? No way Woo-sik was drinking.
"Danpung Story. Pulled an all-nighter to hit third job change."
I let out a hollow chuckle at Woo-sik flashing a V-sign.
I appreciated his existence.
In a Cheongyeom Arts High full of chaebol kids and show-offs, he was the only one with real human vibes.
"Yeah. Good job."
"Huh? What's with the tone? Uncle mode again."
I brushed off Woo-sik's wide-eyed protest.
Not payback for ignoring his gym invite last time or anything.
Gotta watch this speech pattern, though.
The classroom, hit by age-agnostic Monday blues, buzzed like any high school.
Tap tap—
Huh Ji-woong entered, tapping the door with a stick, looking tired.
"Plenty of energy. Quiet down, everyone."
Unusually, Han Hyo-jin and Jung Hye-seon followed him in.
The students sat ramrod straight, focusing on the three first-year teachers.
"Whoa... All three together? The aura's insane."
As Woo-sik said, each was intimidating alone—together, they dominated just by standing.
"Everyone have a good weekend?"
Han Hyo-jin, the bubbliest of the trio, stepped forward.
"Yes—!"
Seeing them respond so eagerly made them feel like kids again.
Ji-woong cut in before she could ramble.
"Did you all think about which mentor teacher you want over the weekend?"
"Yes—!"
This wasn't just lip service.
Excluding—or even including—the Cheongyeom Arts Festival, selecting a mentor was arguably the biggest deal for first-years.
Matching with the right teacher could make or break your skills.
And since skills determined Arts Festival spots, the impact was undeniable.
Some rich kids had probably met potential mentors over the weekend.
Plenty of families with that much industry pull here.
"As announced last week, we're doing one-on-one mentor matching today. The three of us will be in counseling rooms. Sun-woo, Do-hyun, and Ha-na—top scorers from prelims—start first. Talk to us, then pick your mentor for the year."
Whispers rippled at Ji-woong's words.
I'd never imagined this day, but landing in that top three felt pretty good.
"Whoa, Do-hyun hyung. So who're you picking?"
"Dunno."
"Come on, just tell me."
Everyone would know soon—why the fuss?
No secrets, so I just shrugged.
"Any questions?"
Silence.
Even Song Ha-na, always raising her hand, stayed quiet—her turn was first.
"The rest, prep for first period. You three, follow to the counseling rooms now. Dismissed."
The named trio stood and followed the teachers out the front.
No friendships among them, so they headed to counseling in silence.
My gaze drifted to Kim Sun-woo.
No way he'd pick Huh Ji-woong.