Chapter 32
I think the most sensitive issue in human relationships is how people address each other.
Even at university, you might call an upperclassman hyung or sunbaenim, and sometimes you agree to address each other casually.
But the subtle sense of distance conveyed by each form of address often plays a very significant role in human relationships.
So, naturally, calling Yoo Seol-ha “Ms. Seol-ha” and calling her “Unni” are two very different things.
‘The latter does sound much friendlier.’
In any case, Yoo Seol-ha and I would likely keep seeing each other, and I was gradually growing attached to the other members of Blooming as well.
At this point, using the casual “Unni” would generally be the norm.
‘But the word unni still doesn’t exactly roll off my tongue…’
I had called someone else “Unni” only once: when I entered Im Ji-hye’s waiting room and realized I was screwed.
Back then, the word unni had simply popped out instinctively.
‘Actually, considering the age gap, “Auntie” would be more accurate than “Unni.”’
Even so, I’d called Im Ji-hye “Unni.” I remember feeling awkward and wondering if that was just a girl’s instinct.
Someday, I’d call Yoo Seol-ha “Unni.” I might even have to use the word “oppa.”
Once I became a woman, sorting out forms of address would be an unavoidable rite of passage in the course of social life.
‘But not yet.’
It would be perfectly fine to wait until I became a middle schooler and went through puberty as a true woman.
By then, wouldn’t my body and mind have almost completely adapted to having a woman’s body?
Even so, I couldn’t picture myself fooling around with a man.
Come to think of it, I thought of Seong-hun, whom I’d left behind at school. He definitely had a pretty cute face, and he was going to grow into the kind of good-looking guy who’d make plenty of girls cry…
‘I feel kind of sorry that his first love had to be someone this strange.’
Still, wouldn’t there come a day when Seong-hun proudly looked back on this memory and said, “I even confessed to Seo Si-yeon! Huh?”
If things continued like this, I was going to grow into a fairly famous person.
“Mm-hmm… I’m ready!”
While I was lost in thought, Yoo Seol-ha finished warming up her throat and stood in front of the microphone.
I was certain. Yoo Seol-ha couldn’t hit the high notes in that song.
Its register was far too high, and it was also a very difficult song.
If she gained more experience and grew, she could probably hit them with ease... but not yet.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
At the same time, I started the backing track.
When the intro ended, Yoo Seol-ha’s lips parted.
The opening was smooth enough. Yoo Seol-ha’s signature soft, rounded yet powerful tone slipped between the beats as if swimming through them. But the true nature of this song was the wave of high notes that came crashing in from the latter half of the first verse.
‘All right, here we go. From here, she has to climb three times, half a step at a time.’
With my arms folded, I swayed to the rhythm at ease. For an ordinary vocalist, this was where their breath would start to give out, excessive tension would seize the throat muscles, and their voice would normally flip.
But something about Yoo Seol-ha’s condition was strange.
“Growing farther away like a lie—!”
The first hurdle: the E in the third octave.
She seemed to knit her brows slightly, then sailed through the section with unbelievably smooth high notes.
If anything, they sounded better than her usual high notes.
The texture of her voice didn’t suffer at all; instead, it came bursting out more tightly concentrated.
‘Huh…?’
A crack began to form in my relaxed expression.
The song surged forward without giving her a chance to rest. Once she entered the second verse, the difficulty climbed to an absurd level: a section where she had to drive forward in full voice, switch to falsetto in an instant, and add vibrato.
Yoo Seol-ha controlled her voice perfectly, as if she’d sung this song thousands of times.
No—more precisely, her talent was devouring the song’s difficulty in real time.
“Aaaaah—!”
Finally, the highlight. An ultra-high register burst forth, peaking at a G in the third octave.
The air in the room resonated with Yoo Seol-ha’s volume and vibrated with a sharp buzz.
Jo Na-eun and Kim Seol were already staring blankly with their mouths hanging open, while I dumbly watched the waveform peak on the laptop screen.
Silence lingered in the room until the final line’s echo faded away.
Yoo Seol-ha, breathing heavily with beads of sweat on her face, turned to me.
Then she flashed a victor’s grin.
“……I sang the whole song, right?”
“……”
I was speechless. This was impossible.
G in the third octave.
In fact, even among pop singers, there weren’t that many women who could perfectly handle a register this high.
But she had done it. And perfectly, too.
‘No, with a little more experience, she could even break into the fourth octave. How does that make any sense?’
If she broke into the fourth octave, she’d have high notes that ranked among the top tier of vocalists in Korea’s music industry.
In other words, Yoo Seol-ha had been born with top-tier talent as a singer from the start.
If I’d had a status window, Yoo Seol-ha’s vocal potential would definitely have shown up as EX-grade.
‘But this person is good at using her lower register too…’
But that wasn’t what mattered right now.
What mattered was that I had lost a bet in which the form of address was at stake.
“Wow, holy crap! Seol-ha, are you insane? Did your voice just break through?”
“Wait, you could go this high all along?”
Cheers erupted from the members. Yoo Seol-ha scratched her head shyly, then fixed me with the gaze of a predator that had spotted its prey.
“Si-yeon.”
“……Yes.”
“You promised, right? You said you’d grant me one wish if I sang it in one go.”
Every time she took a step toward me, I backed away.
It almost seemed as if a halo was shining behind Yoo Seol-ha—or perhaps the shadow of a gigantic bear was looming there.
“Now, say it. Un. ni.”
It wasn’t just Yoo Seol-ha.
Jo Na-eun and Kim Seol, even Park Hee-su, pressured me with eyes full of barely concealed anticipation.
I swallowed hard.
The time to sort out how I addressed people had arrived much sooner than expected, and in the most humiliating way possible.
“Um…… do I really have to do it now?”
“Yes! Right now. Very affectionately.”
Yoo Seol-ha grabbed both my cheeks and pulled them outward, bringing her face close to mine.
The scent of shampoo tickled the tip of my nose, but my heart went cold.
I squeezed my already-closed eyes shut even tighter and forced out a strange, ticklish word I had never uttered in my life.
“……Unni.”
“Kyaaah! One more time! Louder!”
’I think I want to die.’
At that moment, the male producer Lee Ha-jun’s ego died.
I was reborn as Seo Si-yeon, an elementary school girl.
And, naturally, every bit of it was captured by the cameras and would be broadcast nationwide.
* * *
“Being called Unni was one thing, but I still had to practice singing…”
I’d become an Unni, so be it—but I still had to practice singing.
Over the time I had left, I had to master “Starry Night” perfectly and show a clearly superior level of skill onstage, even if I couldn’t crush Lee Hye-na outright.
Honestly, at this point, I could even aim for the championship.
Although Joo Jin-woo’s skill was the real deal, he still had plenty of roughness when it came to performing onstage.
In contrast, I was practically made for the stage.
I had never once faltered while singing live onstage; if anything, I felt calmer whenever I went up there.
That wasn’t a trait I’d originally possessed; Seo Si-yeon just seemed to be that kind of person.
In any case, it was a good thing, and thanks to that, victory had come fully within reach.
‘Two hundred million won in prize money… and a car.’
Fortunately, the car was an SUV, so it could carry multiple people; I’d just consider donating it to Nareul Nareum Orphanage and use the prize money to rent a room of my own and move out.
As I devoted myself to practice while drawing up that happy plan in my head,
someone suddenly knocked on the practice room door.
I tilted my head in puzzlement and trotted over to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Si, Si-yeon. It’s Lee Hye-na… Can I come in?”
“Yes. Come in.”
Why had Lee Hye-na come all the way here?
We’d spoken a few times, but we weren’t especially close, and since we were opponents facing off in this round, I found it even more puzzling.
“What brings you here?”
Lee Hye-na was drenched in sweat as if she had just finished an intense practice session. What’s more, she was wearing a white T-shirt, so her underwear was clearly visible underneath.
It was too stimulating a sight for a man who’d never had a girlfriend, so I turned my gaze away slightly.
‘I don’t mind resting against breasts, but I’m still not quite ready to look at them.’
Lee Hye-na put on her characteristically lively expression and shouted at me.
“C-can you call me Unni too…?”
“Huh?”
“I heard you decided to call the Blooming girls Unni…”
“That’s because I lost a bet. As for what to call you… Ms. Hye-na? Hye-na-nim. Which one sounds better?”
“Hiiing.”
This person was surprisingly cute when teased.
Her expression changed dramatically, like a rabbit letting its ears droop.
Combined with her short stature in the mid-150-centimeter range and her big, limpid eyes, it created quite the synergy.
The moment I saw it, my reason temporarily flew out the window.
“Hmm. If you beat me this round, I might call you Unni?”
As I said that, I playfully lifted the corners of my mouth.
But apparently I was playing WWE while she took it as UFC, because Lee Hye-na’s expression suddenly turned serious.
“Y-you mean it, right?”
And so I once again stacked up karma.