SGM 09

Chapter 9

In the end, even during training, I stepped forward again—despite already causing enough trouble earlier.

“Luminous has another schedule right after finishing their meal.”

I said firmly while looking at the three of them.

“Ah, yes… Who? Oh, the manager. But still… talking to artists from the same company like they’re obsessive fans is a bit much.”

“If they were obsessive fans, that’d actually be better. Better than juniors who act all cocky toward their seniors just because they can sing a little well… hahaha. Not that I’m talking about the Suhami girls. Honestly, I’ve never even heard how they sing.”

“What’s with this guy…? So annoying.”

“So just go do what you need to do. Luminous needs to eat. They’re different from groups that just debuted and haven’t made it yet—Luminous has a packed schedule.”

“Go do what you need to do.”

It wasn’t exactly offensive, but somehow it still sounded irritating.

Suhami’s leader, Hyemin, flushed red and snorted a few times. In the end, she turned around without saying anything.

Well, if she started arguing here, she’d only end up losing.

Too many people were watching.

But I couldn’t just let it end like this.

“Excuse me.”

I called out to them as they were walking away.

“You should greet your seniors before you go.”

Hyemin frowned deeply for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she heard. Then her expression shifted to one of reluctant acceptance, and she bowed briefly.

“Then… enjoy your meal… seniors.”

As soon as the Suhami girls left, the trainees’ faces bloomed like a field of flowers.

“Whoa, oppa, oppa! That was amazing! Wow… I’ve been holding back so much with those girls, and that felt so satisfying!”

Miren exclaimed triumphantly in her usual bright, bubbly tone, as if a long-held grudge had just been released.

But what does “king-batda” mean again…?

Ah! It means being extremely annoyed.

These unpredictable modern slang words required a bit of translation through Yoon Junghoo’s memories.

Not just Miren—the other members were also staring at me with sparkling expressions, clearly excited.

Juha seized the moment to complain about something she’d been holding in.

“Team Leader Kim always just laughs it off whenever they act like that…”

Then Mujin added a sharp remark that sounded very much like her.

“Anyway, why is this oppa such a plot twist today? Suddenly… Did something happen?”

Since getting into petty fights with artists from the same agency would only hurt them in the end, the Luminous girls had probably endured everything politely until now.

I understood that perfectly well without them saying it.

But when a manager steps in, things change.

If an artist argues with another artist’s manager, the spotlight falls entirely on the artist.

Who that manager works for doesn’t really matter.

The singer can simply draw a line between themselves and their manager’s actions, and in the end the only one who suffers is the artist who got into the argument.

Back in my day, when conflicts arose between entertainers, experienced managers would step in themselves.

It was a way to protect the singer’s image and mentality.

Seeing it with my own eyes now, it seemed these girls had really gone through a lot, just like Team Leader Kim said.

I should probably pay more attention to them.

For some reason, the situation was developing in a way that made me feel increasingly responsible.

Maybe this is just the price of possession.

After finishing our meal, we went to Room 1305, which Team Leader Kim had told us about.

The training room in the Rookie Development Department had double doors. Like the other rooms, it had a piano and two synthesizers.

On one side of the large main hall were about five small rooms that looked like private practice rooms.

As the members entered, their eyes shone with determination.

It was a good thing.

When people eager to learn look at you with sparkling eyes like that, it’s always encouraging.

Respect for the teacher and sincerity toward the training are very important elements for effective lessons.

The silence in the training room, filled with everyone’s anticipation, was broken by Miren.

“Oppa, check me first! I was the only one who didn’t get feedback earlier. I’m curious too!”

She had a point.

“Alright, fair. Miren first.”

“Yeah, Miren unni should go first, oppa.”

Juha and Serin agreed with her.

My… opinion?

Didn’t matter.

They’d already decided the order among themselves like they were choosing a ride at an amusement park.

Typical trainees.

Still, since the others agreed…

“Alright, Miren first. And I’m going to speak more casually now.”

Not because you’re actually my juniors from far back in my career…

But because a bit of authority makes training easier.

And besides trust in skill, a teacher-student relationship also needs a certain human closeness.

“Oppa, I wanted to say that too!”

Miren welcomed the idea enthusiastically.

“Great!”

“Of course!”

Serin and Juha responded happily as well, but Mujin gave a slightly different answer.

“This atmosphere feels strangely familiar… but I guess I should say I like it too.”

Serin quickly scolded her.

“Unni! Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Ah, okay. I get it. But it does feel similar.”

As Mujin muttered defensively, Juha joined in and reprimanded her too.

“Unni, the person is different. The situation might be similar, but that doesn’t mean the person is the same. You’re holding onto it for too long. And this person has nothing to do with it…”

“Alright, I said I’m sorry…”

I definitely needed to talk to her about this soon.

Those strange comments from Mujin were starting to bother me.

“Alright then, Miren. Let’s start with you.”

At my words, Miren stepped closer nervously, while the other members sat down on chairs.

“Sing anything. Whatever you’re most confident with.”

“Ah… anything?”

“Yeah, anything’s fine.”

“Without accompaniment or MR?”

“If you have sheet music, I can play… but you don’t, right?”

Suddenly Serin smiled brightly.

“I probably have most songs.”

What?

She was only carrying a small backpack, yet she said she had most sheet music?

Seeing my puzzled expression, she took something out of her bag.

That’s…

Ah, right. A tablet.

Nowadays you can store sheet music on those.

“Miren unni, which song?”

When Serin asked, Miren replied cautiously.

“Do you have Your Face Seen Through Time?”

“Of course! I told you I have almost everything.”

According to Yoon Junghoo’s memories, this was a ballad sung by Najihye that became a huge hit several years ago.

So it must be quite famous.

Serin tapped the screen a few times, then brought the tablet over to me.

“Oppa, should I place it on the piano?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can just swipe to turn the pages, right?”

Swipe…

Come on, Junghoo’s memory.

Ah, right. Just flick it with your finger and the next page appears.

Okay.

“Got it.”

I sat at the piano and looked at the sheet music displayed on the tablet.

The world really had advanced a lot.

Back in my day…

No, stop that.

“Miren, relax. Don’t try too hard to sing well. Just show your ability as it is.”

“Yes, teacher!”

She smiled brightly and cheekily called me teacher.

My lips curled slightly upward.

Seeing that Miren was ready, I started the intro according to the tempo written on the sheet music.

The sound of Yoon Junghoo’s piano filled the training room.

Just this afternoon, he had been nothing more than their awkward road manager.

But now, listening to his piano playing, every Luminous member felt an indescribable sense of admiration and excitement.

Even just the intro sounded different.

Regardless of technical piano skill, the musical emotion and presence radiating from him were far beyond someone who merely “knew a bit about music.”

It sounded more human and more beautiful than the synthesized intro in the original recording.

All four members of Luminous were thinking the exact same thing at this moment.

Who exactly is that person?

And in their hearts, hope began to rise—hope that the limits that had been suffocating them until now might finally break.

After all, when a mysterious figure suddenly appears, humans naturally imagine dramatic futures.

When the intro ended and the song reached the point where the vocals should begin, Yoon Junghoo signaled Miren with his eyes.

Although she already knew the song very well, she began singing even more naturally than usual in response to his cue.

She sang.

After listening through the first half, I stopped the song before the interlude.

Miren looked at me with tense eyes.

What should I say…

Her singing wasn’t bad.

In fact, it would be more accurate to say there was no real problem.

But that was exactly the problem.

If someone has no obvious flaws yet still isn’t considered a good singer, then unfortunately the problem lies in the voice itself.

Miren’s natural voice.

An extremely ordinary tone.

No—more precisely, painfully ordinary.

Voices like this often receive evaluations like this:

“Technically… it’s not bad, I guess.”

But no one listens to music while analyzing it technically.

Songs are meant to be felt instantly.

A sound that cannot directly appeal to emotions…

A sound that cannot move people.

But saying something like that would be absolutely forbidden.

If she were just a trainee deciding whether to pursue singing or not, I might carefully tell her the truth.

But Miren was already a professional singer.

And a member of one of the top three most popular girl groups in the country.

An honest evaluation might only become poison.

So instead, I had to find a way forward from where she currently stood.

Since she wasn’t a solo singer but part of a team, there must be a positive direction if I considered the whole group.

While I was silently thinking with a serious expression, Miren spoke first.

“Oppa… my voice…”

“Hm?”

“It’s too ordinary, right?”

I was momentarily startled.

She knew.

Miren’s eyes were already slightly moist, yet she forced a smile to appear calm.

Seeing her face made my heart ache.

Having lived several lifetimes as a singer, I deeply understood the despair of people born with ordinary voices.

The tragedy of effort having limits.

The reality that your maximum potential is determined from the beginning.

Sigh.

This is why I shouldn’t teach people.

But instead of regret, I needed to find the best solution for the situation.

“There’s no such thing as an ordinary voice. Why would you think that?”

“Thanks for saying that. But please be honest. I’ve heard it countless times already.”

“Miren, the moment you define your singing like that yourself, that’s really the end. I don’t know who said those things to you, but next time you see them, tell me who they are. I’ll give them a good scolding. Acting like they’re amazing singers themselves.”

At that, Miren almost burst into tears but ended up letting out a small laugh instead.

I had told a white lie.

For someone already active as a singer, blunt honesty would only crush her spirit.

We just needed to find the best direction within her circumstances.

Then again… in cases like this…

I thought for a moment.

Voices like hers did have one advantage.

Actually, possibly a very big one.

I recalled the voices of the other members I had heard earlier.

They were a team.

Maybe there was a way.

Something…

Something…

Ah! That’s it.

I finally thought of the best approach.

“Miren, let’s aim for a clear and flat voice.”

“Huh? Flat voice? Doesn’t flat mean the pitch drops?”

“No, not that. I mean producing a very clean, level-moving sound.”

The advantage of an ordinary, colorless voice.

It’s easier to produce a clean tone.

It might be a disadvantage for a solo singer, but as part of a team it could be extremely useful.

In some cases, it could even become a huge contribution.

After all, they were a team.

Creating a complete whole together might actually be better.

If every member had an overly strong vocal color, harmony could become difficult.

“I understand the clean part, but a flat sound doesn’t sound like a good thing…”

“No. In terms of tone quality, the sound should be three-dimensional, but the basic movement should be flat. It shouldn’t move in complicated ways. Everything starts from that foundation. Only then can you add different expressions later depending on the song.”

“That sounds complicated. Whew…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t train you in such a complicated way.”

I pressed a chord on the piano.

“Alright, let’s go up. Use the vowel ‘eh.’”

Miren took a deep breath.

Her breathing method wasn’t ideal, but I let it pass for now.

Something else needed to be checked first.

After finishing the range test while raising the chords, the result matched my expectations.

She had good high notes.

Fortunately.

Another advantage of an ordinary tone—because the voice doesn’t strain itself much, high notes can sometimes be easier.

Of course, if the tone quality itself is bad, even that wouldn’t help.

But Miren’s issue wasn’t tone quality—it was tone color.

In her case, with a bit of adjustment, fairly high notes could become possible.

When I nodded in satisfaction, Miren’s expression brightened slightly too.

“Miren, practice with the ‘eh’ vowel like that for ten minutes. Raise the chords just like before. When I say flat, I mean produce a completely steady and even sound with no wobbling at all. And when changing pitch, never slide into it—hit the exact pitch immediately.”

“Got it.”

With Miren, the direction was now decided.

Especially the direction that would eventually create perfect harmony with Serin.

“Serin, remember when that professor said your voice sounded thick earlier?”

“Ah… yes.”

“Practice your vocalization using that voice.”

“That voice?”

“Yes. Don’t try to make it thinner or cuter on purpose.”

Serin needed to start singing naturally with her real voice.

Next was Juha.

“Juha, focus on relaxing. Don’t think about anything else. Just this one thing. Even if the pitch doesn’t land perfectly, even if the pronunciation feels weird, never tense up. Use one pitch and sing the five vowels—‘a, e, i, o, u’—then move up one pitch at a time. If you feel tension starting at a certain note, go back down. Try your best to release the tension again.”

“Okay, oppa.”

“Even if nothing else works, it’s fine. The important thing is releasing tension. Don’t rush. Even if strange sounds come out, it’s okay.”

“Okay.”

I pointed them toward the private practice rooms.

“Alright, go inside and practice individually. I’ll check on you one by one later. In the meantime, Mujin will do a personal training session with me.”

Mujin first needed to fix her articulation issues.

That wasn’t something I could explain briefly, so I decided to start with her personal training.

Mujin swallowed and stood up with an excited expression.

The other members opened the doors to their practice rooms and went inside.

Handling even one person is hard… and there are four.

Still, it was fortunate that they were all willing to work hard.

As I sat down at the piano again, Mujin stepped closer.

Just as I was about to play a chord, she hesitated with a serious expression.

When I raised an eyebrow and looked at her face, she spoke.

“Oppa… there’s something I want to say first.”

Huh?

Something to say?

It was probably about those strange comments she’d been making earlier.