I wouldn’t have to keep bumping into those rude four bastards at the dorm anymore.
With my skills, I’d be treated well wherever I went… I wouldn’t even have to worry about money. The penalty fee? Just tie it into the contract—whoever wants me can pay it.
The problem is, if I end up affiliated with the government, Je-ha might seriously think I’ve become an Association spy…
[Then why do you look so down?]
Potato leaned its head over mine and asked.
“…Do I?”
[You’ve been wanting to get out of here this whole time.]
[But now that you finally can—]
[I can feel your heart beating in confusion.]
[Maybe you got more attached to this place than you thought?]
“…No way.”
This was never where I was supposed to be.
This was where Yeon Yu-jin used to be.
I’d practically been dropped here as an outsider from the start.
With what right could I even say I wanted to stay or not?
“…Not at all.”
I shook my head firmly, but Potato narrowed its eyes with a knowing hum.
[Doesn’t look that way to me.]
“Drop it.”
I was whispering softly so no one could hear, but somehow my voice came out louder at that part.
“Hmm… Yu-jin. What was that about ‘drop it’?”
The CEO’s face said it all—‘You weren’t paying attention, were you?!’ I quickly straightened up and stood at attention.
“No, ma’am. It just slipped out.”
“Fine, then. Anyway… re-evaluation of your Awakening level is a mandatory duty for all ability users. I’m telling you in advance so you’re prepared.”
“Thank you.”
“Frankly, no matter if it comes back A-rank or S-rank, I hope you’ll stay with the company.”
Yup, that’s our CEO. Seems she had the same thoughts I did.
“Even without the penalty, I want you to stay. The timing’s perfect—public interest is high after the dungeon break incident. Both Secreti and you have a bit of a boost right now. We should strike while the iron’s hot and get that next album ready.”
Next to the fired-up CEO, the director and manager pumped their fists, just as excited.
“Of course, ma’am! Now’s the time to show the world just how talented our boys are.”
“And Yu-jin, your singing! I overheard you practicing in the studio, and wow—you sounded amazing. Honestly, you could probably handle all the B-sides yourself!”
Huh?
“W-Wait a second.”
“Hm?”
“Hyun-soo hyung… when did you hear me practicing?”
“Yoon-chae made a huge fuss that I had to hear you sing. So I listened to one of your recordings. Why?”
“Aaaagh!”
I let out a scream and covered my face with both hands. The manager rushed over in a panic.
“What? What is it? Are you hurt?”
“No… I’m just mortified. The other members barely said I was ‘decent.’ I was working even harder so I could improve.”
At that, the CEO and director’s eyes lit up.
“You practiced? You did?”
“Oh my, oh my.”
“…Well, I didn’t want to sound like a dying pig on a music show.”
I meant it, but from across the room, Seo Yoon-chae suddenly stomped over, fuming.
“You—You deceitful little…! You compared that to the sound of a dying pig?”
“What?”
“You sang really well. I had a hunch your voice was good, but even your breathing stayed controlled, and your falsetto and chest voice were both solid. You didn’t sound like a sub at all—it was more like a main vocalist. I was honestly embarrassed.”
“Whoa…”
“What now?”
“Seo Yoon-chae, you… You’re actually capable of giving compliments?”
Maybe I leaned in too close. I couldn’t help but stare in disbelief, wondering if this was really the same Seo Yoon-chae. And then—he practically exploded.
“S-Stay back! You think I’m not human or something?”
“Well, yeah.”
You act like such a pain in the ass that I stopped treating you like a person, same as how you treat me.
I didn’t bother saying the rest. His face already looked like it was about to pop.
“HEY!!”
“Still, thanks for the compliment. I honestly thought I was terrible at singing.”
I’d never been praised for anything other than combat.
No one but Je-ha has ever said something like that to me.
Until now, I lived thinking everything outside of survival was a luxury.
“Coming from you, the main vocalist of Secreti… it really means a lot.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of expression I had just then.
Joy and sadness, the pain of the past and gratitude for the present, the subtle thrill of realizing there might be something more I could do—everything was probably tangled into a strange smile.
Strangely, everyone in the room was staring at me with their mouths slightly open. Their expressions were oddly conflicted.
What’s going on?
Why is everyone reacting like that?
“Hey. Seo Yoon-chae. You listening?”
“…Y-Yeah.”
His face looked like a fully ripened tomato about to burst.
“What’s up with him? We’ve got a schedule tomorrow—did he catch a cold or something?”
I pressed my hand to his forehead. It was burning up. Seo Yoon-chae suddenly went quiet.
“I think he needs a hospital.”
“…No.”
“It’s not that.”
“Yu-jin, really—it’s not that…”
The CEO, director, and manager all waved their hands frantically, clearly desperate to say it wasn’t a cold.
“Really? Well, that’s a relief.”
As long as it wasn’t the dying pig thing, we’re good.
“As long as it’s not unbearable to listen to, that’s fine.”
“No, I’m telling you—you’re seriously good! It’s like you’ve been secretly living in the practice room or something.”
“That’s not true.”
Practice room, my ass. In my previous life, I didn’t have the luxury for things like karaoke or fancy studios.
The only time I ever sang was when we needed a funeral song for fallen comrades after battling monsters that spilled out of a dungeon gate.
And even that was always a group effort, sung in grief, with no one caring how it sounded.
The few times I sang alone were when I barely had a moment to rest.
When the bitterness of being used as a human shield just because I was a Guide overwhelmed me.
I’d sing when the rage boiled up inside.
With no real entertainment, that was all I could do. I’d go hide in a corner and sing whatever I could remember—and it always made me feel worse.
Still, if I hadn’t done that, I probably would’ve gone mad from the stress.
My only audience had been Hyun Je-ha, who’d show up like a ghost and quietly listen.
He told me I sang well. But I always assumed it was just politeness.
Back then, I had weapons to fight monsters, but not even a single voice recorder. I had no idea what my singing voice actually sounded like.
Still, his compliments never felt bad.
Never thought I’d hear something like this in my life.
Even if it was a lie.
“You don’t have to flatter me. But thank you for the kind words.”
I meant it—but the reactions around me only grew stronger.
“No, seriously! We’re not just being nice!”
“That’s why we’re all freaking out!”
“You barely tried back when you were a trainee chick, and even then you weren’t bad… But now? You’re on a whole other level.”
“You were a sub because your skills were borderline. It wasn’t enough to give you a bigger part.”
“But this? This is like heaven and earth!”
“Saying you’re on par with Yoon-chae isn’t just talk—we mean it.”
Seeing everyone with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, I figured they probably weren’t lying.
“…Really?”
“We swear!”
With the CEO and staff showering me with praise, my eyes drifted back to Seo Yoon-chae.
His face was still red. And when I looked at him, he flinched.
“W-What? Got something to say?”
“No. It’s just… even though you look annoyed, you’re not snapping at me, so I’m thinking it must be true.”
He’s got a nasty temper, sure. But his voice when he sings is amazingly clear and pure.
He didn’t become the main vocalist for nothing.
Seo Yoon-chae scrunched his face and muttered.
“If you could sing like that, why didn’t you show it sooner…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it. If you didn’t hear, then whatever.”
Too bad, chickling Esper Seo Yoon-chae—I heard everything.
…So I guess my singing’s not just passable, but actually pretty great.
My chest tingled, like someone had poured fluffy clouds of cotton candy into my heart.
It felt strange, but not in a bad way.
I never knew I was capable of feeling something like this.
In my past life, all I had to be proud of was my guiding ability. Maybe that’s why my cheeks were getting warm. I lowered my head without realizing it.
And then—Shin Tae-boem pointed straight at me, eyes wide.
“Hey, you—”
“Huh?”
“Are you… crying?”
