Chapter 88: Unsecured network (2)

Part 4

“Sing from your diaphragm, not your head. Pull the sound up from your core,” Sihyun instructed.

“I’m doing it like you taught me,” I replied.

“No, not at all. You’re still forcing it from your throat. I told you to maintain diaphragmatic breathing and keep your abs engaged. Have you even practiced?” he pressed.

“…I’ve been trying my best…” I mumbled.

His piercing glare made me flinch and shrink back. He acts like nothing matters most of the time, but when it comes to singing, he’s a different person. I’d initially thought, It’s nice to see him passionate about something, but now he just felt unpredictable.

“You think you’ll ever sing well enough not to embarrass yourself with that effort?” he asked.

“…Wasn’t I pretty decent from the start?” I ventured.

“Are you serious?” he shot back.

“Huh?” I blinked.

“Sigh…” he exhaled.

My timid response to his scolding earned only a cold, sunken stare. His low sigh echoed through the microphone, filling the cramped karaoke room with an odd resonance. A disco ball spun garishly, casting colorful shadows across Sihyun’s face.

“Do you remember the first thing I said?” he asked.

“…That I sounded stiff, like a machine?” I recalled.

“Exactly. Why are you straining your throat like that?” he pressed.

“…The viewers said I’ve improved a lot,” I countered.

“Answer the question,” he insisted.

“…Sorry?” I offered.

“I’m not asking for an apology…” he sighed again.

The karaoke machine’s screen flashed, urging us to pick the next song. Whether this was for me or him, in this space, I was clearly the underdog. Unable to meet his eyes, I fidgeted with the remote, aimlessly pressing buttons.

“…You speak normally just fine,” he said.

“Is speaking related to singing…?” I asked.

“Not usually, but for you, it might be. Do you strain your throat like that when you talk?” he asked.

“…No?” I replied.

I instinctively touched my throat. Ah-ah. Since day one, when we spent 30 minutes in a coin karaoke without singing a single song—earning glares from the staff—I’d learned to check my throat. Don’t tense the muscles too much. Touch your throat when you sing, when you’re scolded. It’s practically a reflex now.

“How’s your voice when you talk?” he asked.

“…Normal?” I said.

“Singing isn’t about flat tones, but for now, aim for that feeling. Your singing is just a half-hearted mimicry of even that flatness,” he said.

“…What if we started with proper vocal techniques?” I suggested hesitantly.

Another sharp glare stabbed me. Is that a blade in his eyes? Am I imagining this?

“Ha… You’ve played piano, so you get it. Can someone who hasn’t mastered Bayer play Czerny right away?” he asked.

“…It’d be tough,” I admitted.

“They might memorize it somehow, but that’s just rote learning, not technique. Same with vocalization,” he explained.

Well, I played Czerny more by memorization than understanding, but saying that would just get me scolded. Swallowing my reluctance, I nodded slowly. As if reading my mind, Sihyun’s displeased expression deepened, and with yet another sigh, he raised the microphone again.

“Follow me carefully. Forget pitch or anything else—focus on true voice for now,” he said.

“Okay…” I mumbled.

Feeling sulky, I glanced at the door to check for glaring staff, then slowly raised my microphone.

“…By the way, how’d you know I played piano?” I asked.

“Huh?” he replied.

“Did I tell you that?” I pressed.

“…You mentioned starting streaming,” he said.

“What? I blabbed about every little thing I’m doing?” I exclaimed.

His chest, puffed up as if ready to demonstrate vocalization, deflated silently like a punctured balloon. When I looked at his face, I saw an oddly flustered expression.

“…Let’s practice,” he said.

“Sihyun-ssi?” I prodded.

“Pick up the mic,” he insisted.

The brief silence vanished. He was clearly trying to hide his embarrassment, but pressing him would only make him snap and clam up.

Part 5

“…Good work,” Sihyun said.

“You too…” I replied.

“You didn’t improve much,” he added.

“Did you have to say that?” I shot back.

The midday sun blazed painfully through the shade of my cap. Summer was still far off, and the spring chill had barely faded—how was it already this hot? Did the seasons break? With that thought, I glared at Sihyun, who was, as expected, tossing out sarcastic remarks. I might cower in the karaoke room, but out here, I didn’t have to.

“It’s the truth. You haven’t fixed the root issue,” he said.

“What’s the problem, then?” I asked.

“I’d like to know myself,” he replied.

An unexplainable vocal flaw even a genius can’t figure out? I might be uniquely hopeless. Feeling deflated, I trudged along when he spoke again.

“…This is just a thought,” he started.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“I hope you don’t take it the wrong way,” he said.

“You know saying that usually means, ‘Brace yourself for something upsetting,’ right?” I pointed out.

“Then take it that way,” he said.

He stopped in the shade of a building, leaning against the wall as if glued to it. My steps naturally halted too. The shade feels so cool—maybe the sun’s the problem, not the seasons.

“I know you’re going out of your way to indulge my singing, something you weren’t even interested in,” he said.

“…I wasn’t completely uninterested,” I clarified.

His sudden words were exactly what I’d expected. With how blatantly I’d been pushing, it’d be weirder if he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t elaborate, as if he knew I knew he knew.

Why bring it up now? Waiting for his next words, I stood in the lingering silence.

“But what I’m angry about isn’t that I became a man,” he said.

“…What?” I replied.

His words deepened my confusion. I already knew his issue wasn’t just the gender change—it was a side effect. The core was that his life’s value had been denied. So why bring this up now?

“Maybe you think affirming my changed gender is part of resolving identity confusion—” he began.

“No, no, wait. Why’s that coming up?” I interrupted.

His confused expression mirrored mine, as if to say, What are you talking about?

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, why suddenly talk about… the condition?” I clarified.

“…That’s not it? You thought I hated myself for becoming a man?” he asked.

“…I just thought you needed someone to affirm your worth,” I said.

“Let’s save my complaints about that sappy phrasing for later,” he said.

His reluctant expression shifted to something more complex, unreadable.

“Then why are you forcing that high, delicate, ‘feminine’ voice?” he asked.

“…Forcing? My voice is already feminine,” I replied.

“No, I mean the way you sing, like you’re trying to sound ‘like a woman should.’ High-pitched, thin, artificial,” he clarified.

The question hit me briefly, then a realization sparked. His puzzled gaze locked onto my face, reflecting my own stiffened expression.

“I just thought today, ‘Even as a woman, I’m living so well as one, so naturally.’ That’s what you’re trying to show, isn’t it?” he asked.

Even as a woman, I’m living so well as one, so naturally. Showing that. His words echoed in my ears.