Chapter 8 …
This… isn’t something that can be fixed in a short time.
I couldn’t even imagine how she had passed the preliminaries.
I held my breath, afraid the despair would burst out. After finishing her song, Yujoo-ye cautiously fidgeted with her fingertips and looked up at me.
“Um… I’m really lacking, aren’t I…”
Her voice was thin, as if it might break in the wind.
Her anxiety and guilt were written clearly in her gestures and glances.
I felt bad. This wasn’t her fault.
Yet thanks to this, we were on the verge of failing.
But somehow, I had to get through that door.
If I could save this girl, I could save myself.
At least there was some good news.
“The squeaky sound only happens on the high notes. Until then, her tone is actually better than I expected.”
Her voice had a slightly dull timbre at first, but became clearer as it rose.
Right now, her breath leaked and the high notes shook, but if we fixed the resonance, she could leave a strong impression.
More importantly, the moment my mid-low tones clashed with her high, clear tones, both our individualities could shine more distinctly and create synergy.
“They’ll probably pair us for a duet.”
I could read what the judges wanted.
My solid mid-low tones.
And her softly spreading high tones.
The contrast, the resonance, the color of the two combined.
From now on, I had to stabilize her high-note tremble to create the best duet.
I looked at Yujoo-ye, and she flinched.
“Can you do exactly as I say?”
“Huh? Do what?”
“The reason you’re lacking is the unstable trembling when you hit the high notes, right?”
She nodded at my words.
“The tremble on high notes happens because the vocal cords thin out when reaching those notes, making the cord closure unstable. The breath isn’t pressed enough through the cords, so they vibrate thinly.”
Her mouth fell open, eyes wide.
“If that’s not the cause, the other reason is that you push the air too hard, turning it into a bleating, sheep-like sound.”
“Ah.”
She clasped her hands together in admiration.
“There’s another reason too. If your abdominal pressure is weak and you produce sound only with your throat instead of your body, the pitch wavers or sinks because you can’t control the air properly.”
She buried her face in her hands, head bowed.
“What… is all of this my fault?”
Despair wouldn’t solve anything.
“Not entirely. With some correction, it should improve…”
Yujoo-ye looked up at me with wide, surprised eyes.
“Correction?”
“Can you do exactly as I say? We need this to get through that door.”
“But… it doesn’t fix easily.”
She wasn’t suggesting we both die here, right?
She bit her lower lip when I stared at her.
So?
She avoided my gaze and bowed her head. Had I looked too sharp?
Just as I was about to speak, she looked up at me.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
Relief.
“Good. Yujoo-ye, I see two main issues with you.”
I held up two fingers.
“First, the pitch rises because your vocal cord closure weakens on high notes. Second, your abdominal pressure is too weak, so your breath leaks. But…”
I folded one finger down.
“There isn’t time to fix both. So we’ll choose.”
Yujoo-ye nodded as if swallowing her breath.
“Breath. We’ll focus only on abdominal support.”
She gripped her knees with both hands, almost like making a declaration.
“I’ll do it, whatever it takes!”
Good. Now it’s a speed game.
I pulled out thin vocal straps and a simple abdominal pressure assist tube from my trunk.
Yujoo-ye blinked in surprise at the equipment she’d never seen before.
It was meant for me, actually—but whatever.
“Grab this tube and push the air. Keep your strength under the navel and project the sound from your abdomen, not your upper body.”
I demonstrated briefly.
“Hmm~, hhhmm~~.”
I pressed my abdomen firmly, sending resonance upward.
Yujoo-ye imitated me, but her sound initially slipped out weakly like the wind.
“No. Again. Gather your breath, with your abdomen. Don’t use your throat.”
We repeated this over and over.
Yujoo-ye focused so hard that sweat gathered on her forehead.
Whenever she glanced at me, her eyes shone with determination, refusing to give up despite the strain.
‘Admirable.’
“Good. Now sing only the high-note section from earlier—the part starting ‘I can’t hide it anymore.’”
She adjusted her breath and cautiously opened her mouth.
“I can’t hide it anymore—ahh…”
…Oh, that’s definitely better.
Not perfect, but the breath was pressed, and the pitch held.
“Exactly. Press from the abdomen, not the throat, to prevent the high notes from rising.”
I clenched my fist in encouragement. Yujoo-ye beamed like she owned the world.
“Really, it was okay?”
“Yes. We still have work to do, but on stage, you won’t hear anyone say you failed.”
She bounced on the spot in excitement. I smiled quietly.
‘Why is she so happy over something so minor?’
Thankfully, progress was faster than expected, so I pushed a little more.
We repeated exercises for pushing the sound up using abdominal pressure.
Just a little more, just a little more!
Finally, Yujoo-ye steadied her breath and sang the high notes.
“I can’t hide it anymore—ahhh!”
The sound had definitely changed. No breath leakage. No trembling.
The resonance stabilized, and her chest-rattling clarity reached poignantly into the high notes.
I got goosebumps watching her. She, too, covered her mouth, eyes wide.
“Did it work?”
I nodded.
“Yes. Just like this is enough.”
“Really? I really can do it?”
She patted her chest with trembling hands. I smiled and nodded.
“There’s no time. Let’s pick a song and prepare for the stage immediately.”
I opened my laptop and brought up the duet song list.
‘Choice,’ ‘Parting,’ ‘Twisted Heart.’
In the short time remaining, only one could be performed.
I tapped on ‘Parting.’
“How about this song?”
Yujoo-ye tilted her head.
“‘Parting’? Isn’t it… too slow?”
I shook my head, smiling.
“Slow is good. Fast songs pour out the breath, making high-note trembles more obvious.”
Her eyes widened, mouth shut.
“‘Parting’ has a wide emotional range, and the notes last longer. It’s less jumpy. Your tone clears up in the high notes, so a sad ballad fits.”
I added,
“Also, a slow song gives us time to control resonance. We can sing gently, closely, and the tremble won’t show.”
Even my occasional nasal resonance could be managed.
Yujoo-ye hesitated, then carefully said,
“…Then let’s go with ‘Parting.’”
I nodded.
“Good. But there’s a condition.”
She looked at me with tense eyes.
“Always push through with emotion first. Don’t force it. Whisper, almost crying. Save your breath. Understood?”
She inhaled deeply.
“Yes. I want to do this perfectly, senior.”
“Senior?”
I looked at her—she seemed like a college student.
“Well, I guess it’s better than calling you a junior. Hehe.”
I was flustered. Better than revealing she’s a high schooler.
I smiled awkwardly and prepared the MR track.
Now it really begins.
The piano melody quietly filled the rooftop.
I nodded, counting the beat.
“Three, two, one…”
I sang softly.
“The heart that must let you go…”
Starting in mid-low tones, I sang gently, saving breath as we reached the high notes, holding resonance inside. At the nasal-risk transition, I tightened my abdomen firmly.
“Aching sorrow~~.”
My voice projected straight and steady.
Yujoo-ye took over.
“Like a sharp wind…”
Her voice trembled slightly, but not the bleating from before.
Her effort to conserve and press the breath, connecting smoothly, was clear.
‘Good, much better.’
I nodded lightly and moved to the next part—a harmony section together.
“The memories of embracing each other…”
With my mid-low underneath, Yujoo-ye added a higher harmony.
Slightly off at first, but when our tones overlapped, a delicate resonance formed.
‘It’s fine. From here on.’
I continued.
“The times we protected each other…”
Yujoo-ye relaxed and followed.
Little by little. Conserving breath, suppressing tremble, filling the space with resonance. Finally, the song ended.
We exhaled at the same time.
“Phew…”
I smiled slightly, giving a thumbs-up.
“Good. Let’s refine a bit more. Smaller breaths, bigger resonance. Don’t force it.”
Yujoo-ye wiped sweat from her forehead, catching her breath. Her eyes shone clearly.
“Senior… I really feel like I’ve improved a bit.”
“Definitely.”
I nodded. She clasped her hands, smiling brightly.
‘Good. This is enough.’
I glanced at the scoreboard.
About 40 minutes left.
Only final practice remained. Adjust, coordinate, and then perform.
Stage Waiting Area
Tense contestants gathered in small groups on the cold floor.
Winners went through the red door; losers slid down the railing to return to the world.
Their faces were grim.
Yujoo-ye pressed her lips tight. I narrowed my eyes.
One moment, one mistake, and you’d slide out of this contest.
That’s what this stage was like.
“Duet #39 and #153, prepare for the stage.”
The staff gestured.
I looked back at Yujoo-ye one last time.
“Breathe. Softly but long.”
She nodded. Together, we moved toward the stage.
