Chapter 72: Running to the Edge of the Sky (9)
by AfuhfuihgsAnd the song began.
On stage, alone, Yoo Seo-yeon began to sing, her voice clear and crystalline.
It wasn’t flashy or powerful.
Like gliding across a quiet lake at dawn, the first verse began gently and softly.
It was a complete contrast to the heat of the earlier performances.
Not a passionate cry, but a whisper.
Yet that small whisper—
‘……!’
—held the power to envelop the entire concert hall.
Siren, leaning back on the green room sofa, suddenly sat up straight.
‘Wow…’
Even her breathing became cautious.
She had worried the concert might fall flat,
But from the moment the first note touched her ears, she knew her assumptions were wrong.
Far from unstable or unpolished—
‘It’s perfect. No—beyond perfect.’
The expression in her voice was profound.
What might sound technically unstable was, in truth,
deliberate dissonance, used to enhance emotional depth.
It wove an even richer musical experience.
‘This isn’t just about having a good voice.’
Siren had an expert ear for music.
And what she heard was breathtaking delicacy.
The ability to mold emotion through subtle control of dynamics.
‘Is this… talent?’
It was like crafting delicate, transparent glassware.
Not brute strength, but hyper-precise control carved emotional depth into every note.
Because the song was soft, every detail stood out.
The song flowed on.
‘It’s a love song…? No, it doesn’t feel like a typical love song.’
It didn’t tell a concrete story,
But like flipping through a photo album full of wistful memories,
Or a prayer to someone out of reach.
It perfectly captured the feeling of longing.
Siren found herself holding her breath.
‘This song fits Yoo Seo-yeon’s voice perfectly…’
‘How can someone express emotions this delicately?’
This level of interpretation and expression couldn’t be explained by talent alone.
It was as if the song had been made for her,
Or as if she had been born to sing it.
This is why she was given the finale.
Now it all made sense.
This voice—this song—
was more than enough to close the concert.
In fact, nothing else could have done it justice.
“Wow.”
“She’s… really good, isn’t she?”
“Crying? No, I’m not crying…”
Other streamers felt the same.
All the confusion and skepticism from when Yoo Seo-yeon first appeared—gone.
Everyone had their eyes locked on the screen, completely immersed in the song.
Some were frozen with their mouths slightly open, others unknowingly teared up.
Normally they’d be reacting or narrating for their viewers,
But no one seemed able to do that now.
Dozens of streamers, as if on cue,
focused every ounce of attention on the small figure on stage.
Only Yoo Seo-yeon’s voice filled the silence.
It dominated the entire space.
Everyone listened, breath held, cherishing each note.
Like beholding a one-of-a-kind jewel.
The song climbed toward its peak.
Though the emotion deepened, her voice never lost its delicate balance.
Yoo Seo-yeon’s voice captured every layer of those complex emotions.
Simple.
Complex.
Contradictory feelings all at once.
Siren quietly closed her eyes.
‘But wait, what song is this? I’ve never heard it before.’
A delicate piece that fit Yoo Seo-yeon perfectly.
But it was new even to Siren.
Two men buried in a sofa.
Music producers Shin Chang-seok and Kim Seok-hoon.
Their eyes were locked on the large monitor in front of them.
On-screen: Pixelwars Streamer Server. The finale concert was underway.
“Everyone’s really good.”
Shin murmured.
“Yeah. Can’t underestimate streamers, huh.”
Kim nodded in agreement.
Not just the invited singers, even streamers were singing like pros.
“But it’s all just high notes.”
“It grabs attention. If you belt it out, you stand out.”
There was a reason “high-note syndrome” was a thing.
Shin frowned slightly.
Still, he got it.
Like Kim said, hitting high notes was the easiest way to shine on stage.
‘I wanted something more understated… but I guess subtlety doesn’t stand out.’
“So, has she not come on yet? Should be about time.”
Shin tapped the sofa armrest.
Months ago, they’d stumbled upon Raidel’s stream.
There, a girl named Silverhair sang a few songs.
Even in that short moment, both their ears perked up.
‘She has something.’
Not just good singing—a magnetic pull.
They were watching today because they heard Silverhair would perform.
“Looks like she’s last in the lineup. Finale slot.”
“Well, with her skill, she deserves it.”
Shin nodded.
She’d only sung a few songs on Raidel’s stream.
But that was more than enough.
“Guess the devs know what they’re doing.”
“Right? How’d they find such a hidden gem… Oh, it’s starting.”
The stage changed.
A soft spotlight lit up a girl’s avatar.
Her name tag now read [Yoo Seo-yeon], not [Silverhair].
“Hmm, Yoo Seo-yeon? Changed her name?”
“Seems so. Looks like she’s debuting properly.”
Kim replied calmly.
He had already gathered info on her.
“Silverhair sounds like a ramen nickname. Not fit for a serious debut.”
“True that. Anyway, let’s see what she’s got.”
Shin’s eyes sparkled.
They already knew her talent—but an official stage was a whole different thing.
“She’s not gonna just belt high notes, right?”
“Hmm… she’s a rookie doing the finale. Odds are high she will.”
But then—
A soft, gentle piano intro began to play.
A totally unexpected vibe.
“Huh?”
Kim’s eyes widened.
“A ballad? In the finale?”
They’d expected high notes and vocal tricks. This was the opposite.
A minimalist ballad revealed everything about a singer.
You wouldn’t pick it unless you were supremely confident.
“Hoo…”
A curious smile spread across Shin’s lips.
“She’s going this route?”
And then—
As Yoo Seo-yeon sang her first note—
“……!”
The air in the room froze.
Both producers held their breath.
It was a voice they already knew.
But today, it struck even deeper.
‘Wow…’
Kim swallowed his amazement.
‘Pitch, breath… what is this expression power?’
Beyond technical skill, her voice resonated like a musical instrument.
A nostalgic sorrow filled with gentle sadness was conveyed fully.
‘She can handle a song like this?’
Shin unknowingly closed his eyes.
Yes, this was it.
Not a stage full of high notes.
Not a showcase of vocal technique.
But a song that touched the heart.
A voice that reached deep into your soul.
‘Damn… chills.’
Every nerve in his body stood on edge.
They’d expected fireworks.
Instead, they got raw emotion—and it was better.
‘Yes. This is what I wanted.’
Not just a good singer,
But an artist who moves people.
That potential was in Yoo Seo-yeon’s voice.
And then,
Her performance ended.
But neither of them spoke.
They wanted to savor the aftertaste.
“…Hyung.”
After a long silence, Kim spoke.
Awe colored his voice.
“She’s… even better than before.”
Shin nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I expected her to be good… but this went beyond.”
To move people with just a voice—
“It’s been a while since I felt this way. That feeling I had when I first heard real music.”
Shin added,
“That performance cured everyone’s high-note obsession.”
‘Why does he like the word “cure” so much?’
Kim tilted his head at Shin’s usual phrasing.
“Wait.”
Then Shin spoke again.
They’d been so taken with her voice, they almost forgot—
“What was that song just now?”
The melody had been as striking as her voice.
“I’ve never heard it before…?”
A song that good? How had they never come across it?
Kim snapped back to focus.
“Me neither. First time. But… that melody was amazing.”
It wasn’t just her voice.
The song itself was a masterpiece.
“Who wrote it?”
“Dunno… but definitely someone skilled.”
Kim analyzed quickly.
“It sounds simple on the surface, but the harmonies and chord voicing… definitely a pro. The emotional nuance is unreal.”
“The title is ‘Letter to the Sky’? Never heard it. Must’ve been made just for this concert. Hm.”
After a quick phone search, Shin rubbed his chin.
To prepare a song just for one stage?
She wasn’t ordinary.
“Yoo Seo-yeon. She might have connections to a talented composer too? I didn’t think she was a regular person.”
“Should we reach out to the songwriter too?”
“Of course.”
Shin nodded.
“Feels like we just unearthed a gem from nowhere. I want to work with whoever made this. They know how to write a real song.”
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