IRSBV Chapter 02

Maomai
Aug 27
5 min read

Chapter 2

Before Noah could even begin to process what was happening, the kid grabbed her arm and yanked her up.

“There you go again. Here, lyrics sheet. Memorize it in ten seconds.”

“What?”

How the hell do you memorize an entire song in ten seconds?

Noah was about to yell at her for saying something so ridiculous, but then she caught sight of the sheet music the kid shoved in her hands—and her voice died in her throat.

Wait. This song feels… familiar.

“Actually, just read it as you sing. Not like we’ll pass anyway—it’s just an audition.”

Audition?

That “stage” she was talking about earlier—was this what she meant?

Staggered by one absurd revelation after another, Noah let the girl lead her into a room.

It looked exactly like a rehearsal studio: a wide space, one wall lined with mirrors.

In the middle—drums, bass, guitar, keyboard, and a standing mic, all set up and waiting.

In front of the mirror sat a camera, and a row of judges—men and women in their thirties and forties.

But what caught Noah most wasn’t the instruments, or even the judges.

It was the fact that every single judge was Asian. Korean, by the looks of it.

That was strange. In America, you could scour the entire scene and barely ever find Asian faces in auditions. And yet, here, they filled the room.

And then—her eyes shifted to the mirror behind them.

Her jaw fell open.

Who the hell is that?

In the glass, standing beside the girl who had dragged her here… was another girl her age.

*That kid is supposed to be me?!*

Noah lifted a hand experimentally. The girl in the mirror copied her movement perfectly.

That’s… me? Really?

Noah’s real self had always been distinct—bleached platinum hair, angular face sharpened by the years, nearly 175 cm tall. A lean, hungry predator.

Thin, yes. But never fragile.

And yet the girl in the mirror looked as if she’d collapse from a single push. Slender, delicate. Pretty—even strikingly pretty, though not quite in the same way as the kid next to her.

Huge doe-like eyes, pale and gentle features, a fine nose, softly drawn lips. Not tall—maybe 165 cm.

Exactly…

the looks of a K-pop idol

Noah grimaced.

Of course, she knew K-pop. It was the music of her roots—her homeland. She’d followed it out of duty but never love.

Rock and K-pop. Could anything clash more? She’d always thought not.

“Please introduce yourselves briefly. Tell us your positions in the band.”

One of the judges spoke up.

“Yes. Our band doesn’t have a name yet. I’m Sung Eunha. Drums, and sub-vocal.”

Drums?!

Noah snapped her gaze to the girl—her arms looked like twigs. How could that hit drums for more than five minutes?

“And… this one. She’s a little shy. This is Seol Noah. She’s on guitar, and main vocal.”

Seol Noah.

Her real surname. The one she had thrown away, now dropped back onto her shoulders.

What the hell kind of situation was this?

Noah let out a hollow laugh in her head. Never had she dreamed something this vivid—and this absurd.

Even in my dreams I’m still a band vocalist and guitarist?

Couldn’t she, for once, have a normal job in a dream? She sighed, short and sharp.

People were staring, but she ignored it. Just play along until she woke up.

“You said you prepared an original song?”

One of the stricter-looking male judges asked.

So the sheet music was… an original?

Don’t tell me that kid’s a songwriter?

She glanced sideways at Eunha. So young… maybe talented.

Not anywhere near her level, of course.

“Yes, Noah wrote both the music and the lyrics.”

“…?!”

Even here, I’m still the songwriter?

In Arkless, Noah had written more than seventy percent of their catalog. Rosie, about twenty. The rest—Anya and Mia.

Couldn’t someone else do the work for once, even in a dream? Scowling, Noah picked up the guitar.

“The title is… ‘Chill Out’? Relax?”

“Yes.”

Wait—that’s one of mine.

One of Arkless’s earliest songs, in fact. She’d half-forgotten it. No wonder she didn’t recognize it immediately.

But if this was supposed to be an “original”… wasn’t that plagiarism? And the dumbest kind, too—lifting a song wholesale.

She clicked her tongue inwardly, but already the chords were flowing back in her mind.

“Then let’s hear it.”

At the cue, Noah turned toward Eunha. The girl nodded, worry flashing in her eyes as they met.

*Worry? About me? Who’s worrying about who here?*

Noah nearly laughed. Still—it was just a dream.

Eunha raised her sticks overhead, ready to count them in.

Crap—the lyrics. Noah hastily set the sheet on the stand. Haven’t done this one in ages. Better keep it visible.

The count began.

Noah’s eyes flicked down—and widened.

What the hell is this?

The melody was the same. But the lyrics—different. Completely different.

Hands on autopilot, her guitar filled the room. And then—her turn to sing.

She pushed confusion aside and dove in, professional as ever.

---

When even the simple acts

of living and breathing

feel too heavy to bear—yes, sometimes they do.

Moments when we all feel

like we’re worth nothing—

yes, sometimes they come.

I know.

I’m here too.

---

Her shock deepened.

The lyrics. They weren’t English anymore. They were Korean. Mostly Korean.

---

Chill out, girl

again you’re locking your shoulders tight.

Chill out, girl

again you’re clenching your fists

so hard.

---

Her voice never wavered—every note perfect, every line steady. But inside, she reeled.

She was singing—her own throat, her own voice. Yet it was hazy, dreamlike.

Had she ever dreamed something this vivid before?

But one thing pierced through crystal-clear.

My voice… hasn’t changed at all.

Her voice—the one Mia once called “an instrument so transparent with feeling, it’s like glass given human form.”

That low, husky timbre, just a little deeper than most women’s. She could always soar into higher ranges, but Noah had built her songs to live in the depths.

Because for her, the real power wasn’t in high notes—it was in unleashing emotion and volume from the lowest reaches.

She lifted her head slightly, checking the judges’ faces. Normally she hated gauging reactions mid-performance. But this—this was different.

---

Oh, what are you so afraid of

when we’re right here, together?

---

The judges looked stunned.

Exactly the expression Noah had seen a thousand times before.

And she smiled. Just barely.

---

Oh, you—oh

Chill out