Chapter 4 …

A coin karaoke booth near the subway station.

After reserving a booth through the touchpad, I stepped inside.

Inside the booth were blue-toned mood lights, indirect LED lighting, a clean microphone, and a large touchscreen.

“Not bad as a ‘real-practice simulation’ space.”

In a studio, sound is refined as it passes through sound-absorbing materials and speakers.
But on a stage, sound circulates through the entire space, bouncing off walls before returning.

During that process, high notes become muddled and low notes get compressed.
So you have to check whether the resonance you trained will actually survive on a real stage.

I straightened the microphone stand, fixed my smartphone to the wall of the booth, and turned on the recording app.

To check the sound this body could produce—
the resonance this body could create.

I slightly adjusted the mic holder and started the smartphone recording.

I inhaled and tried “ng-ah.”

The sound formed in my mouth spread along the walls, and the reflected echo returned to my ears.

“Hmm, good.”

The nasal tone was somewhat under control now.

But how about the timbre?

I decided to sing the song Doha had practiced the most: “Higher.”

The intro began to play.
I took a deep breath, gently closed my vocal cords, and opened the inside of my mouth.

As if pushing air up from my abdomen, I released the first syllable.

“Now trust in me.”

Resonance from within my body flowed through the microphone, out the speaker, and filled the room.

As I tightened my abdomen and stabilized my breath line, the mid-low tones pressed into the space.

And then—

A surprisingly pleasant, beautiful tone flowed out.

It wasn’t that Doha lacked a good voice;
the nasal sound had simply been masking it all along.

His natural timbre was actually quite good.

But jumping to conclusions would be careless.

I sang another line while checking the sound bouncing back.

“Let’s start again.”

The vocal apparatus still hadn’t fully adapted, but even the high notes seemed controllable.

“The memories of that day~”

My voice vibrated subtly through the air in the room, each note neat yet soft.

It felt less like vibrating air—

and more like vibrating emotion.

That’s pretty charming.

A charming tone… and a resonant mid-low range that carries emotion…

This could become a weapon.

If I layered sincerity onto this voice,
what expressions would appear on people’s faces?

In my previous life, I had been afraid my ugly face and massive body would ruin the emotion.

So I had only released my songs to the world.

But now—

If, with this body and this voice, I could reach people’s hearts…

Wouldn’t someone’s eyes tremble?

Wouldn’t those rippling emotions surge back toward me like waves?

I hoped for a stage like that.

* * *

“Voice League: Final Sound”

A survival audition watched by the entire nation.

In Team C’s preliminary round alone, there were a thousand participants.

Getting any broadcast screen time among them was as difficult as a camel passing through the eye of a needle.

Which meant the waiting room outside the stage was a battlefield.

“Woooo—! Woooo—!”

Participants practicing high notes.

Participants dancing like crazy.

Participants stretching their mouths in strange ways while doing vocal exercises.

The waiting room was a festival of tension and excess.

Cameras swept across the nervous contestants.

But if the lens stayed on someone for even one second longer,
it meant “potential”—a hint of the future.

And that camera caught a boy sitting upright.

A crane among chickens.

A face that stood out unmistakably among the crowd.

Without realizing it, the cameraman zoomed in on the boy’s face.

At that moment, an instruction came through to the Team C cameraman.

“—Number 39 currently in frame.
Participant Park Doha. Get a close-up shot, and we’ll do an interview.”

“…Yes.”

The cameraman now moved openly closer and fixed the camera on Doha.

At the same time, the field director (FD) hurried toward him following the producer’s order.

“Park Doha, would you be available for an interview?”

Doha raised his head and looked up at the FD.

The gazes of the surrounding contestants stabbed sharply toward his face.

“Yes, thank you.”

Quickly escaping those burdensome stares, Doha followed the FD.

* * *

In one corner of the waiting room, separated by a curtain, was the interview space.

A filming light was fixed onto a simple lighting pole.

Behind it stood a large backdrop with the Voice League logo printed across it.

In front of it was a single plastic chair.

On the table before it, instead of a boom microphone, lay a wireless pin mic transmitter.

A staff member quickly changed the participant number on the table to 39.

Across from it, the cameraman seated on a folding chair filmed the bustling setup.

Everything was temporary.

Yet this place would record a moment forever.

That frozen 30-second first impression could change a contestant’s life.

Doha stepped into the space.

Light softly traced the lines of his face.

The FD paused briefly at his outstanding looks before hurriedly composing herself.

Then she quickly held up a small light meter toward his face.

“Just adjusting the brightness.”

The red numbers on the portable light meter flickered.

The cameraman looked into the viewfinder and spoke briefly.

“Brightness 650. Shadow clean.”

Next, the FD held up a white balance card.

Light gently reflected off Doha’s white shirt and shoulder line.

“White balance confirmed. Beginning interview with participant number 39, Park Doha.”

Doha, who had been awkwardly standing, sat down as directed.

Following the staff’s hand signal, he lightly exhaled and looked at the camera.

When the FD gave the cue, the on-site interviewer began.

“Participant number 39, Park Doha, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You’re here for the Voice League preliminaries. What brought you here?”

“…I came because I want to show my songs to the world.”

“That’s an exciting answer. Why?”

“Because I want to be loved for my singing alone.”

“So you’re confident in your looks?”

“…That’s not what I meant.”

Doha’s face turned red.

The camera caught the moment.

“Alright, could you briefly introduce yourself?”

“Hmm… an introduction…”

Doha inhaled quietly.

Then he turned his head slightly to the side, almost as if singing a short melody.

Placing a low note upon his breath, he began his introduction neatly.

“Hello. I’m Park Doha, a second-year student at Yeonje High School.
Introducing myself like this makes me really nervous. I’m…”

At that moment, the FD’s eyes changed.

As if each syllable were carefully drawn up from his chest,
the boy’s delicate timbre captured their ears.

His voice trembled from nervousness.

Yet inside it was a strangely clear and firm resonance.

The cameraman filled the screen with Doha’s face.

With the shy smile unique to boys his age, Doha continued.

“I’m eighteen.
A boy with a little more courage to sing… than to speak.”

His final note lingered in the air before slowly fading.

Silence filled the interview room.

“…Continue!”

Only then did the interviewer snap out of staring blankly and return to the script.

“…More courage to sing than to speak—what do you mean by that?”

“Words are explanations.
Even when you carefully choose the exact words to express something, sometimes the thought or feeling still doesn’t get across properly, and misunderstandings happen.

But songs…
can deliver emotions that are difficult to express all at once.

So… I gathered my courage.”

When Doha finished speaking, the room fell quiet again.

This time it wasn’t the silence of being moved.

It was the silence of people thinking:

We can’t afford to miss this.

“That’s a great story.
Um… yes, that was really a great story.”

Doha smiled awkwardly at the compliment.

But his eyes remained steady.

In a corner, the Team C producer watching the monitor quietly picked up his radio.

“Script writer, Mijin. Mark clip for number 39 separately. Save both interview A-cam and B-cam.”

“Director Kang, start follow shots for participant 39, Park Doha from now on.”

“Producer Yoon, what are you doing? Clean up.”

The FD, who had been staring blankly at Doha, suddenly snapped back and hurried over to remove the microphone.

“Thank you, Mr. Park Doha! Please prepare for stage standby.”

“Great work!”

Doha stood up and bowed deeply—ninety degrees—to each staff member before heading back to the waiting room.

* * *

The moment he returned, the noise crashed back in.

A completely different world from the quiet, brightly lit interview space.

Participants who had already finished their interviews glanced at him with envy.

Doha wiped the slight sweat on his forehead with his palm and sat down.

Just then, a voice echoed through the waiting room speakers.

“Participant number 39, Park Doha.
Please proceed toward the stage.”

A short, clear call.

Doha slowly steadied his breathing.

Alright.

Now the real thing begins.

As he walked down the hallway toward the stage, the Team C camera smoothly followed.

Dim lights stretched along the floor beneath his feet.

A staff member gestured at the stage entrance.

“Please wait here for a moment.”

Through a small gap at the entrance, he could see the silhouettes of the audience.

Dozens of lights.

Three judges.

His heart pounded.

Broad shoulders.
Clenched fists.

And eyes fixed on the stage.

Within those clear eyes were fear, anticipation, and determination all at once.

“Okay. Participant number 39, Park Doha—entering.”

One step onto the stage.

Doha walked forward.

The camera quietly followed from his feet upward.

The FD watched his back while reporting through the radio.

His earlier introduction—spoken like a soft song—still lingered in her ears.

That quiet resonance had stirred many imaginations.

Perhaps that was why the steps he took toward the stage now didn’t seem ordinary at all.

Over the radio, the cameraman spoke softly.

“…Once the lights come on, we go immediately. Keep the shot steady.”

Someone leaned back in their chair as if silently steadying their breath.

The boy who created resonance with words—

Now it was time for him to release his real song.