CHAPTER 21
“Good. This will be fun. If we say a 21-year-old genius composer participated in the production, it’ll create buzz too.”
Min Chan-hyuk already seemed to be planning how to promote the song.
“You have social media, right? Once the song is released, people will look you up. If there’s anything too personal on there, delete it. I’d recommend creating an official account from scratch.”
“……”
“Do a few interviews. Take proper profile photos.”
I hesitated for a moment, then shook my head.
“I… don’t want my face to be known.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Why? These days rookies all want to step forward. If you do well, it helps promote the song, and you can build a fandom.”
A composer ultimately sells their music.
Building a personal image and branding yourself is part of good business.
Before I regressed, Moon Ah-rin did exactly that.
With her pretty face and young age, she was heavily marketed as a genius composer.
Thanks to that, entertainment companies lined up to get songs from her. It was an effective strategy.
A famous producer carries huge influence. Some groups even debut with the title of “produced by so-and-so.”
But…
I answered firmly.
“I want to compete with just my music. I want to be remembered only for my songs.”
And if possible, I wanted to separate college student Yoon Seol from composer YULE.
At least while I was still next to Moon Ah-rin.
After a brief silence, Min Chan-hyuk let out a dry laugh.
“…True. People are often more swayed by what they see than what they hear.”
He nodded as if he understood.
“With your looks, I thought we could quickly stir up attention. I was being short-sighted. Yeah, showing your face just becomes troublesome later.”
He smirked.
“With your skills, we don’t need that approach. We’ll take the straightforward route?”
“Yes.”
“‘The faceless composer.’ That’s a brand too. But then the music has to be incredible.”
I nodded with a faint smile.
“Don’t worry.”
I already had more than enough songs I wanted to release into the world.
“Alright. Should we write the contract now? We’ll need to adjust details, but we’ll match your conditions as much as possible.”
He acted like he was about to shove the contract in front of me immediately.
I glanced at the clock. Oh no. It was already this late.
“Ah, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“What?”
He frowned at my sudden statement. I hurriedly packed my bag.
“I stopped by during a break between classes. My next lecture is starting soon, so I should leave first.”
“…Break between classes?”
“Please send the contract by email. I’ll review it and reply.”
After bowing briefly, I stood up first. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late.
Until I closed the studio door behind me, Min Chan-hyuk still looked dazed.
Through the closing door, I heard him shout,
“You’re a college student?!”
Instead of answering, I just smiled to myself and kept walking.
It was a good first start.
****
In the end, I was late.
“……”
I thought I could barely make it. But why did the subway have to split into two lines? It had been so long since I’d ridden it that I forgot.
Because of that, I was thirty minutes late to class.
Through the small window in the door, I saw the lecture already in progress.
Of all classes, it had to be Professor Baek Ga-hee’s. She had personally told me to attend properly. And I was late on the very first day.
Swallowing a sigh, I carefully tried the back door.
Click.
“……?”
I tried again. It didn’t open.
It seemed locked. Moon Ah-rin, sitting near the back door, glanced over, and our eyes met.
She made a distressed expression and quickly typed something on her phone.
Buzz—a message notification.
Moon Ah-rin: Seolㅠㅠㅠ why are you so late
Moon Ah-rin: Professor Baek locks the back door after 10 minutes,,
Moon Ah-rin: If you want to come in, you have to use the front door ㅠ ㅠㅠㅠ
Out of the frying pan into the fire.
The front door. It was clearly designed to make late students uncomfortable.
Moon Ah-rin: She’ll scold you a little but that’s it; don’t worry too much
Moon Ah-rin: Just say sorry and quickly come in!!
I took a deep breath and headed to the front door.
Slide.
As I stepped in, Professor Baek Ga-hee stopped speaking and stared straight at me.
She pushed up her glasses with one hand and said sharply,
“Student Yoon Seol. Late on the first day?”
Her cold tone made the atmosphere freeze instantly. The other students looked at me nervously.
I bowed immediately.
“I’m sorry for being late.”
I tried to move to my seat quickly, but she stopped me.
“Oh. I guess you didn’t hear what happens to students who are late to my class.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Where do you think you’re going? Come here and stand.”
She pointed to the space beside her.
The other students wore expressions that said, “Here it comes,” clearly worried.
“In my class, students who are late have to answer a question correctly before they can sit down.”
“……!”
“If you’re late, it must mean you think there’s nothing to learn here. Let’s see how impressive your skills are.”
This was news to me.
But the other students seemed to accept it naturally. It appeared to be some sort of tradition within the composition department.
‘…Moon Ah-rin.’
I looked toward the back where she sat. She smiled awkwardly, mouthing something.
I read her lips clearly.
“Sorry. I confused her with another professor.”
When I couldn’t hear, I often relied on reading lips.
There was no way I could misread Moon Ah-rin’s.
Should I believe that weak excuse?
“This is an ear training class, so I’ll give you an appropriate question. Transcribe the piece I’m about to play—accurately.”
Professor Baek adjusted the projector. A staff with blank sheet lines appeared on the whiteboard.
“Write it here.”
If I got it wrong, I’d be publicly embarrassed.
“If you succeed, I won’t mark you late. I’ll mark you present. But if you fail, it will be recorded as an absence.”
Not even late—an absence. That was harsh.
“Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll play it.”
I had no other choice. I picked up the marker and nodded.
“I’ll make it short. Exactly ten seconds. Begin.”
The music played immediately.
A violin and flute exchanged different melodies, while the cello supported underneath.
A clarinet twisted the harmony here and there, and timpani briefly punctuated the rhythm.
It was a complex ensemble with multiple instruments playing at once.
Exactly ten seconds later, the speakers went silent. The classroom fell into complete quiet.
“Wow.”
“How many instruments were there?”
“I barely caught the violin and flute.”
“That was too hard. When she said ten seconds, I thought it’d be easy…”
Students whispered in disbelief.
“Yoon Seol.”
Professor Baek’s cold gaze locked onto me.
“You can do it, right?”
There was something almost expectant in her eyes. It didn’t feel like she was trying to humiliate me. It felt like she believed I could actually do it.
“Professor, that’s too much.”
“How is anyone supposed to do that?”
“Even in exams, they’d play it at least five times.”
The murmuring grew louder.
Under everyone’s doubtful gazes, I slowly walked to the whiteboard.
Scribble. Scribble.
My pen moved almost on its own.
Starting with the violin melody, then the flute’s scattered arpeggios, the clarinet’s twisted harmonies, and the intermittent strikes of the timpani.
The ten seconds replayed vividly in my mind, each instrument separating into clear parts.
Notes poured onto the board.
Fast. Without a single hesitation.
As if I were copying from sheet music I had already memorized.
Tap.
When I finished writing the final note, the classroom was silent as a grave.
The students who had been whispering now stared at me blankly.
I set the pen down and asked,
“…May I sit down now?”
