Chapter 32 : Second Performance(3)
by AfuhfuihgsThe Second Performance
Ha Su-yeon strummed the guitar a few times.
A sorrowful melody based on pentatonic and blue note scales.
He had written the song in one go last night after agonizing over what to compose and drawing inspiration from Gary Moore’s Still Got the Blues.
Although the bass, drums, and keyboard had yet to be added, the main melody was complete.
It was more guitar-focused than a typical band piece, and the lyrics were still unwritten.
To be precise, he had tried to write lyrics.
To be even more accurate, he had spent about three hours sitting at his desk, scribbling down fragments of lyrics that came to mind.
But nothing coherent emerged.
So, Ha Su-yeon decided to rely on humming for now.
“Come to think of it, I might not have a talent for this,” he thought.
He recalled the time he named his YouTube channel Guitar Heaven and received backlash from anonymous internet users.
“What kind of 70s or 80s old-timer is this, seriously?” one had mocked.
Reflecting on such feedback, Ha Su-yeon considered the possibility that he lacked talent.
On the bright side, perhaps he had never been particularly skilled at composing—or any creative endeavor—and now it was just the lyrics he struggled with.
“In that sense, isn’t the song too old-fashioned? Will it even resonate?”
Comments on his YouTube uploads echoed similar sentiments.
“A high school girl playing the blues? What a vibe,” one wrote.
“Impressive skills for someone your age,” remarked another.
He didn’t fully understand what was so “vibe-worthy” or why his skills were deemed age-inappropriate, but it seemed clear that his music didn’t align with the sensibilities of a typical “high school girl.”
“Should I compose something more contemporary?”
He had considered this before.
Although not a fan of trends, Ha Su-yeon tried to keep up.
In his view, after the rise of city pop—or whatever rural pop was supposed to be—Japanese music had been creeping back into Korea.
Rock was no exception.
Fans of Korean indie rock remained isolated and few in number.
Most people who were tired of what they saw as formulaic idol music—though Ha Su-yeon disagreed—gravitated toward fresh alternatives and eventually settled on such niche genres.
Not that it was a bad thing.
After all, music isn’t about being good or bad.
Ha Su-yeon prided himself on being open-minded and never considered one genre superior or inferior to another.
He only had his personal preferences and a distaste for historical biases.
The unfortunate reality, however, was that the music he loved and excelled at had never been trendy in Korea.
Ha Su-yeon plucked at the guitar strings for a moment before setting it aside.
Ultimately, trends didn’t matter.
What mattered wasn’t the type of music but whether the music was good.
Taking a break to stretch his fingers, he picked up his phone.
His KakaoTalk app was overflowing with messages.
Da-in had messaged about a school bullying case: “I’ll send you the list of kids. Talk to them and, if they’re okay with it, arrange a meeting.”
There were also endless inquiries from boys asking what he was up to.
And a message from Lee-seo regarding their performance.
“We’ve got a gig.”
“They’ll send us the finalized timetable soon since we’re being squeezed in.”
“Also, they’re asking if we can perform four songs instead of three.”
Another song?
Since they’d already rehearsed a bit, adding an easy one shouldn’t be too difficult.
And with the setlist unfinished, there was still time.
“I’m okay with it, but you should check with everyone else.”
“It’d be great if you could ask them.”
“By the way, I’ve composed a song.”
Lee-seo was astonished upon reading the message.
How could he have finished a song already?
“You’ve already written a song?”
“Yeah.”
“Still unarranged, though.”
“Can I hear it?”
A moment later, a WAV file appeared on KakaoTalk.
Lee-seo put on her earphones and hit play.
What she heard was a powerful yet clean guitar sound.
Amidst it was a melancholy but resolute sense of self-assured sorrow.
The unfinished humming, lacking lyrics, lingered in her mind, stirring something deep within her.
Then came the guitar solo, surging behind the vocal part.
Lee-seo rested her hands on her lap and quietly listened to the performance.
“I should’ve learned the guitar, huh?”
Some songs are so captivating they make you want to learn and play them.
This song, she thought, belonged to that category.
When it ended, she quickly grabbed her phone and sent a message.
“I’ll write the lyrics for this one.”
“Didn’t you say the same about another song of mine before?”
“No, seriously, I mean it this time.”
Ha Su-yeon hesitated.
Should he trust her with this?
He hadn’t cared much about the lyrics for that earlier song.
But this one was meant for the band.
“Then again, it’s not like I’ll suddenly come up with lyrics just by holding onto it. I’ve already tried that. So, I guess it’s fine.”
With that thought, he sent her a message granting permission.
[Some people dismissed our performance as no big deal.]
[Why? We did well, didn’t we?]
[Objectively, I think we nailed it.]
[There are always those people who see something trending and go, ‘It’s nothing special, just overhyped.’]
[Though, thankfully, they’re not the majority.]
[Still, there are always a few who like to ruin the vibe or criticize for no reason.]
[And there will definitely be people saying, ‘How can you judge from just one performance?’]
“That’s possible,” Iseo thought.
The world is full of diverse perspectives, including those who oppose just for the sake of it.
“In that case, we’ll show them an even better performance this time—a stronger bassline, a stronger presence.
So they won’t even dare to make such remarks.”
Of course, even The Beatles had their detractors, calling them overrated.
So no matter how skilled Iseo was, criticism of their band was inevitable.
But if that criticism served as motivation, wasn’t that a good thing?
Concert Day.
“What do you think of the bands this time?”
Yeongshin, the event organizer, glanced at the lineup during rehearsals.
His boss, the director, stood beside him, awaiting his response.
“Well, it’s mostly the usual bands we always see. You know, three of them have been here before.”
“But there’s a new group, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, two we haven’t played with before. One’s experienced but just hasn’t worked with us yet—they’re average at best.”
“This leaves one completely new name.”
“True, but I’ve only seen their videos. And videos can be deceiving with edits and all. Plus, they joined last minute, so they probably won’t be in top shape.”
Yeongshin scratched his head.
When he first watched their submission video, he only gave it a cursory glance.
Their performance met the booking criteria, but he couldn’t shake his skepticism.
“Are they really that good? Videos can be misleading. And YouTube always has its share of overhyped acts.”
As these thoughts lingered, the first band’s rehearsal ended.
Polite applause from the staff and organizers accompanied the descent of the band members, slightly sweaty.
“How did we do?”
“Not bad. Looking forward to your performance.”
Yeongshin’s words seemed to reassure the band members, who nodded in relief.
“We didn’t have enough time to practice, but it looks like we’re okay.”
Carrying their instruments, they headed to the waiting room, where familiar faces gathered.
“Oh, Se-in! Long time no see!”
“Hey, nice to see you! Has it been three months? I think we last met in Hongdae.”
“You should keep in touch more!”
They exchanged casual banter, knowing nothing significant would come of it.
Still, in such a small scene, a bit of networking was essential.
Just then, the door opened, and another band entered—four girls no one recognized.
The other bands instinctively glanced at the newcomers.
The keyboard player was… ordinary. The drummer—passable.
Next came the bassist, whose bold makeup and striking aura seemed out of place but undeniably attractive.
Finally, their eyes landed on the guitarist. For a moment, the room froze.
“Does she know where she is? She doesn’t look like someone who’d play in an otaku band.”
“Is she an Otasahime or something?” someone whispered, referencing an unusually stunning figure in otaku culture. But with all four members being women, that theory didn’t seem right.
“Um… Are you a band?” someone hesitantly asked.
“Ot… 41. 01…”
“Oh, nice to meet you! We’re a brand-new band. This is only our second gig!”
Before the keyboard player could respond, the bassist stepped forward with an enthusiastic greeting.
“What’s your band name?”
“Are we sticking with the same name as before?” the bassist asked, turning toward the guitarist.
“There’s no reason to change it,” the guitarist replied coolly.
“Our band name is Group Sound,” she said.
“Group Sound?”
“Yes. Group Sound.”
“Oh… so these are the ones.”
When the final poster was released, the lineup included a mysterious name no one had ever seen before.
The band members glanced at it, puzzled, and now realized the newcomers were that very band.
“Oh, so you’re the group planning to perform four songs from Bocchi the Rock?”
“Yes, that’s us!”
“Wow, that’s a tough one. Those aren’t easy songs.”
The casual, easygoing vibe of the anime, coupled with the story of a band clumsily formed with a complete beginner, might mislead people.
But in reality, Kessoku Band’s repertoire consisted of highly challenging tracks—not just for the lead guitar, but also for the drums and bass.
The rhythm guitar might seem the easiest of the parts, but even it wasn’t simple, especially since it also involved vocals.
For a group of high school girls, including two members who didn’t even look musically inclined, tackling such songs seemed improbable.
“Do they think they’re the actual Kessoku Band or something?”
Naturally, every other band present was skeptical about the girls’ abilities and whether they could even pull it off.
That doubt wasn’t surprising; it was, in fact, expected.
“Judging by their faces, no one believes them.”
Ha Su-yeon observed the expressions around the room and smirked.
It was inevitable.
Assuming others can’t do something simply because you can’t is a deeply ingrained habit of those who lack ability themselves.
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