"Student! What are you doing?!"

Someone shouted and shook him by the shoulders.

He shook his head, trying to get used to the light.

Wasn't I dead? He scratched his confused head.

"Student! Wake up!"

Someone slapped him on the shoulder.

He flinched in surprise and took a step back.

The one who had grabbed, shaken, and hit him was not a doctor or his manager, but an East Asian man he had never seen before, looking at him with an angry face.

Who is this guy?

And where is this place?

"!"

The space he was in came into view all at once.

He blinked, unable to believe it.

Sophisticated, clean, and spacious.

Transparent glass free of dust and

curved soundproof walls.

Circular lights and a clean wooden floor.

With condenser mics and music stands, and a control room visible through the glass window, this was clearly a recording studio.

"Recording studio?"

"Yes, you know it well. This is a recording studio, not a bedroom!"

Halo looked around admiringly.

None of the studios he knew were this clean.

While there were differences, cigarette butts and bottles were always strewn about, and shelves were stacked with albums that looked ready to collapse any minute.

"What are you doing just humming here in the studio for two hours straight, huh student?"

But why did this guy keep yelling from earlier? Halo frowned.

"Who do you think you are to order me aro—"

Why does my voice sound like this!

Bothered by the man repeatedly demanding something, he grabbed his throat for a moment.

This wasn't his voice.

His voice wasn't this light or high-pitched.

As he felt his clothes, he touched himself.

Spotless hands without a single wrinkle, and a suit without any creases. No, this wasn't a suit but a school uniform that snobbish private school kids in London would wear.

"What? A mirror. Where's a mirror?"

Come to think of it, the language coming out of his mouth was strange too.

How was he speaking this language he was hearing for the first time so fluently?

"There's one over there. And what's with the sudden informal speech?"

The man with dark circles under his eyes pointed to one side with an annoyed face.

He paid it no mind and ran to the mirror.

'What is this?'

He grabbed his face tightly.

This wasn't his face.

Something was off.

And it wasn't just a small difference.

It was a face that could never possibly belong to him.

He clearly remembered getting into a car accident.

Considering the impact, even if he hadn't died, he must have been badly injured, with scars on his face.

His situation would have required surgery on his face.

But no surgery could change someone's ethnicity or age. Unless he suddenly took a time machine and received a brain transplant in a future where that was possible.

Yet.

He had turned into a brat suited to wearing a school uniform, and his ethnicity had changed. He had become an entirely different person.

Who is this kid?

Why has he become this brat?

Where is this place and what's going on?

Just then, the man who had been staring at him spoke in annoyance.

"You not gonna record?"

"Record?"

Even in a confusing situation, his ears picked up the familiar word.  The man's fingertips were pointing at a guitar and sheet music fallen on the floor.

Halo slowly picked them up.

Exotic letters were written on the surface.

"You done preparing?"

"I..."

From the atmosphere, it looked like he'd get kicked out immediately if he said no.

He needed time to grasp the situation.

He hesitated before opening his mouth.

"I need time."

"What?"

What excuse should I make?  Seeing the man cross his arms, he opened his mouth.

"...M-My throat isn't warmed up yet."

"Warmed up?"

"Yes."

The man's eyebrows twitched at his clumsy polite speech.

"It's been two hours since you warmed up, how long are you gonna keep warming up? And you know your reservation time's almost up, right?"

"How much time is left?"

"Less than an hour."

"One hour."

He cleared his throat.

He slowly went up the musical scale, checking his condition.

His throat was fragile for that of a singer's.

He wondered what he was trying to record with a body like this, but—

"It's enough."

The one here right now was Halo.

"Is that so?"

He still seemed doubtful, but the man slowly went out of the studio. As if to say do whatever you want.

He'd probably kick him out soon after time runs out.

It didn't take long to realize the man was the producer.

Of the people watching him from outside the studio, it could only be either his manager or producer.

Ahh—

Glancing around, he hummed briefly.

The producer was staring sharply so he couldn't mess around.

Surprisingly, his throat condition was clean.

Unlike the throat he had trained for long years, it was fragile but, as if it were a child's, there were no problems.  A throat that hadn't drunk or smoked at all.

Besides, for a boy, his range was free so it could become a good throat with some practice.

Suddenly, interest welled up.

He knew this wasn't his body, but it still felt like starting life over again.

Since this was a path he had taken once already, he could make it even more efficient and outstanding.

He could fill this blank white paper with his favorite color.

Greed bubbled up. It was almost instinctual.

His throat was mostly warmed up now.

Now was when he had to think.

But his eyes turned toward what this kid had been trying to do.

He wondered what kind of music this body wanted.

Without realizing it, Halo raised the notebook he had been gripping tightly.

The answer would be in here.

#

“I knew I had a bad feeling about this.”

Kang Yeongmin clicked his tongue.

The HY Studio he ran was mainly used by students preparing for college entrance exams.

But outside of the exam period, all sorts of customers from civilians to various others visited.

These days, with the growing interest in personal broadcasts, it was mainly beginners starting NuTube channels coming to record.

Kang Yeongmin thought the student who had booked today had a similar intention.

“Today’s going to be tiring too.”

From experience, the job wouldn’t end easily.

There were usually two reasons, depending on the type of customer making reservations.

The first was those with too much enthusiasm. These wouldn’t budge until they were personally convinced. Sometimes they would practice so much that their throat got hoarse making recording difficult, or they weren’t satisfied with their own skills. Cases where the recording studio turned into a practice room.

And the other type was—

Kang Yeongmin glanced at the student coming into the recording studio, and opening the door.

An unfamiliar school uniform. Neat attire and a neat face. But he hunched his body as if his spirit had left him, repeatedly acting cautiously.

“Did you make a reservation?”

“Yes.”

“Your name and phone number?”

“It’s...”

His voice got smaller and smaller.

I could barely hear the whole thing.

The type Kang Yeongmin found most difficult was those tense from never having recorded before, and also lacking confidence. More enthusiasm was better in comparison. Since he knew how to guide and persuade.

However, if he was this nervous, he might not even record a single line.

If he gave him directions, he might lose spirit even more and his voice wouldn’t come out, there was even someone who suddenly cried—He had to comfort them for a whole hour—

Kang Yeongmin had to at least get a single run-through for the machine to tune it 99% properly. If the reservation time ended and they hadn't even sung half the song yet, they ran away.

After finishing the reservation check, Kang Yeongmin guided the student to the studio. And desperately prayed to every god in the world.

Please, don't let my prediction come true.

And surprisingly.

‘God is dead.’

His prediction hit the bullseye.

He had endured, but the student was severe even among the second type he had seen. For two hours all he did was warm up his throat, no singing whatsoever.

Glancing at the music sheet furtively again and again, checking his reaction, even when he asked, 'It's about time to start now, right?' he would shake his head and ask for more time.

The exact moment Kang Yeongmin lost all patience was precisely two hours later.

Since the student in the room was spacing out strangely, he opened the door and went inside. He wondered if he perhaps had panic disorder or anthropophobia.

But then the student suddenly speaks informally?

His attitude made a 180 as if he had multiple personality disorder.

“It’s my fate. What’s there to worry about?”

Kang Yeongmin sat heavily in the chair.

The chair slid back with a swoosh.

“You’ve been warming up for two hours, what more warming up do you need? I'll kick you out right on the dot if you don’t finish the reservation.”

He was determined to kick him out exactly on time.

Ahhh—

Ahhhh—

And then.

At the sound coming from the studio, Kang Yeongmin poked his head in.

Not that it was clearer than nearby but, the sound coming through the headphones lured him in.

“Did I mishear?”

It sounded really nice.

Hmm Hmm—

“!”

The melody he heard again jolted him fully awake.

He hadn't misheard.

Something had changed.

While he had stood stiffly until now, his shoulders straightened and his head faced forward.

He looked comfortable in the studio, his gaze seemingly come alive from its daze.

But before that, the first thing that caught him was the sound.

It was so different he couldn't feel it was the same person.

Something was happening.

While he was just warming up his throat, Kang Yeongmin pricked up his ears.

The sound became clearer and more resonant.

This was a change in the breathing itself.

It seemed as if he had received professional vocal training, or was a trainee belonging to an agency.

The natural gaze work and sweet melody made the boy appear special.

‘Or maybe my expectations were so low, that's why it feels this way.’

While he didn't know about other things, one thing was certain.

‘He has a nice tone.’

A tone meant for singing.

For the first time, Kang Yeongmin wanted to hear this boy's singing.

#

“Hmm.”

Halo let out a groan.

Ignoring even the producer piercing him with his gaze, he passed over the notebook.

He was already used to such stares. No matter how much anyone looked through him, nothing inside would be revealed.

More important right now were the contents of this body's owner's notebook.

Full of worries about songwriting, composing, and his future path, this notebook was enough to stimulate curiosity.

“You write arrangements and compose too? Adorable.”

Halo giggled as he flipped through the sheet music.

He didn't know exactly how old he was, but he tried hard at composing so it was cute.

Whether the result was good or not, the passion itself was nice to see.

It reminded him of old memories.

But now wasn't the time to indulge in appreciation.

He secretly checked the producer in the control room.

He had to finish recording within an hour.

Of course, this was something the kid had been trying to do, not him. Since he still didn't know what happened, he felt a minimum sense of responsibility.

It wasn't hard to record and, seeing such overflowing passion, he wanted to help.

Halo looked around and picked up a ballpoint pen rolling on the floor.

Fortunately, black ink came out of the solid-colored pen.

“Excuse me. How much time do I have left?”

Surprised by his question, the producer looked around in confusion.

“45 minutes left. Shall we get started?”

“Please give me 10 more minutes. I need to make revisions.”

“Can you finish recording in 30 minutes?”

Seeing that it looked like it would wrap up, his tone seemed to have softened a bit.

“For that much, well.”

He scoffed and swiftly wrote with the pen.

30 minutes? Unless the song length was 30 minutes, there was no way to fill 30 minutes.

Looking at the sheet music, it seemed to be a 2-minute song, even padding it out it'd probably run a little over 3 minutes.

“Am I the last reservation?”

“You mean if there's anyone after? No, why?”

Even the foreign language flowing from his mouth was now familiar.

It didn't feel that weird to be using polite speech that he hadn't even used when speaking Spanish.

“Too bad. You could've gotten off work early.”

“...What? Hahaha.”

I couldn't really tell if he was laughing because he found it funny or something else.

Well, he was used to being ignored.

It was similar to what he received around this age anyway.

-What kind of music are you doing?

-Anyone can be a singer?

-Crude and countrified. No basic skills, clumsy. An album like this won't be accepted anywhere.

The writing goes awry.

The boy's neat handwriting gets covered beneath the black ink.

He tried his best not to erase the boy's traces.

“I didn't mess with it too much. Because it's yours.”

Halo muttered briefly.

Since he didn't know when the owner of this body would come back, he couldn't recklessly touch anything.

“It's still kinda countrified.”

He shut the notebook with a slap.

He had already memorized it at first glance.

“I like countrified stuff too.”

In case the boy whose return was uncertain, he decided to pave the road ahead of time.

Halo felt sorry for robbing him of his first recording, on this momentous occasion. But oh well. It was not anyone who got to meet him.

His initials were carved into the end of the notebook.

You should be honored, kid.

“Let’s get started.”