The Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries an Indie Band - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: An Intense Ensemble Performance

Reincarnated Idol Hard-Carries the Indie Band – Episode 10

Reincarnated Idol Hard-Carries the Indie Band
Episode 10

An intense ensemble performance.

Lee Doyoung’s bassline, a rapid 16th-note run, propelled the song forward with relentless energy.

The pre-recorded drums, a perfect blend of tom-toms and snare, provided both grandeur and rhythmic drive.

Over this, Cha Seoha sang with desperate, sexy intensity, fully capturing the original song’s essence.

“Wow, that’s amazing!”

“Holy crap, what is this song? I love it!”

“My head is just! Like this! Bobbing!”

“He’s crazy.”

The audience was enjoying the song in their own ways.

For the general public, who didn’t know much about rock, the song’s popularity was similar to their previous hit, Fireman.

But London Syndrome was faster, catchier, and had a more infectious groove.

Smiles spread across the audience’s faces.

Seeing them, Lee Doyoung seemed to regain some confidence.

But that wasn’t enough.

Kim Jihu still wore a dissatisfied expression.

More…

Get more immersed, Doyoung.

After a moment, all the instruments began playing in unison, hinting at a significant shift.

The atmosphere felt as if they were hurtling toward a completely different world.

An eerie, unidentifiable sound was added, lingering for a long moment.

Then, they launched into the first chorus:

This is the last time

I’ll abandon you

And this is the last time

I’ll forget you

Kim Jihu’s piano joined in, and the mysterious chorus erupted.

In this chorus, Kim Jihu’s piano took the lead.

And Lee Doyoung’s bass needed to provide a solid foundation.

It wasn’t bad.

But it wasn’t great either.

Of course, the audience seemed to have a different opinion.

“Wow, that’s awesome!”

“What was the song title again?”

“I don’t remember…”

As soon as the chorus hit, the cheers died down and the audience began to murmur.

They were reacting to the unique shift, and in a positive way.

It was Kim Jihu, after all.

A truly excellent choice of song.

After the chorus, during the interlude, Heo Junseong’s guitar played a brief, catchy riff before leading back into the verse.

Cha Seoha, on stage, looked the most excited.

She sang the verses with intensity, the chorus with delicate nuance, and the ending with raw, primal energy.

It was a song that made you want to sing along.

Lost in the music, Cha Seoha was completely absorbed.

Regardless of the team members’ synergy, Cha Seoha seemed to be solely focused on doing her best. Of course, the audience couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

Is this right…?

Kim Jihu hated it.

She’s undeniably good, but…

There was no doubt about Cha Seoha’s skill. She wasn’t just the best among us; she had already reached a level far beyond.

So why doesn’t she consider Lee Doyoung?

It was the same during practice. She would make all sorts of demands of Heo Junseong and himself, but strangely, she barely said anything to Lee Doyoung. Yet, in terms of the current performance, Lee Doyoung was the weakest.

Is she the type who neglects others? Or the type who places boundless trust in those she’s close to?

Kim Jihu was gradually losing interest in the ensemble performance.

As they reached the second chorus, Kim Jihu and Cha Seoha were, as expected, flawlessly executing their parts. Heo Junseong was also performing quite well. Lee Doyoung wasn’t bad, but he seemed to be just tagging along, which was a bit disappointing.

“This is my RULE!!”

Cha Seoha gripped the microphone with both hands and roared out the final line of the second chorus.

The interlude followed.

Heo Junseong played a short main riff, and the solo part—where the guitar and bass were supposed to launch into a powerful, synchronized performance—was just about to begin.

In a few seconds.

In just a few seconds, that part would start.

Cha Seoha walked toward Lee Doyoung with a relaxed, slightly bouncy gait.

Huh?

Why is she suddenly coming towards me?

As these thoughts raced through Lee Doyoung’s mind, he suddenly felt something wrap around his neck before he could make any decision.

It was Cha Seoha’s arm.

With her arm around his shoulder, Cha Seoha pulled Lee Doyoung to the center of the stage.

No matter what anyone said, the guitar was the star of this section.

But for the guitar to truly shine, it needed the bass to “go wild with sixteenth notes,” driving the rhythm with relentless energy.

So, without any warning, Cha Seoha had suddenly thrust the role of the protagonist onto Lee Doyoung.

In that brief moment, less than a second long, tens of thousands of thoughts flashed through Lee Doyoung’s mind.

Can I pull this off?

I don’t have any stage presence.

What if I ruin the song?

Cha Seoha knew that Lee Doyoung was a rare musician who lacked any ambition.

To put it kindly, Lee Doyoung had a habit of yielding the spotlight to his bandmates. To put it bluntly, he disliked taking full responsibility.

But Doyoung’s true brilliance emerged when he became the last line of defense—when the team would collapse if he failed.

So…

Okay, I have to do well.

When stripped of all other complex thoughts, when faced with that single imperative, he revealed an unexpected side of himself. He had more solid fundamentals than I’d thought, and he was more adept at improvising in chaotic situations than I’d expected.

Doyoung lacked confidence.

Yet, even in front of the audience, their eyes shining as they stared at him, he couldn’t bring himself to flee.

Then…

Ah, whatever.

There was nothing left to do but dive into the performance.

Cha Seoha’s arm, which had been draped around Lee Doyoung’s neck, fell away.

It wasn’t Cha Seoha who removed it.

Lee Doyoung had sprinted away.

He stood there, his fingers flying across the fretboard with breathtaking speed, all while enduring the weight of the heavy bass.

His gaze was completely focused on the strings, yet it wasn’t a sign of insecurity.

Instead, it was a portrait of complete immersion—in his own performance, in his friends’ playing, in the music itself.

Even in the original song, this was the section where the melody seemed to plunge into some abyss.

The solo part was so intense it could be described as violent, yet Lee Doyoung was handling it with absolute mastery.

When the solo was about halfway through, Heo Junseong had a thought:

I want to join in.

Seizing the moment, Heo Junseong grabbed his guitar and rushed forward, standing back-to-back with Lee Doyoung.

“Kyaaaah!”
“Whoa!!!”

The instinctive feeling of something touching his back made Lee Doyoung twist his body to the right.

With the audience to their side, the two lost themselves in the moment.

Sweat flew, and his right arm burned with heat.

Even though it was evening, the summer heat relentlessly tried to drain their stamina, but they refused to yield.

They didn’t care about the exhaustion.

It was the performance itself—

—the perfect harmony between them—

—that brought them such joy.

There were a few minor mistakes, but the sheer power of the music made them feel almost intentional.

In the audience, people continued to scream their approval for this insane performance, which showed no signs of ending.

Just as everyone was being swept away by the music, the solo part ended.

Heo Junseong, with a smug expression, struck a few more confident chords, as if to say, “This is nothing.”

Lee Doyoung, on the other hand, exited with a sensual glissando, flashing a bright smile at the audience.

The contrast between their two styles—one arrogant, the other radiant—made for a striking exit.

Then, the final chorus began again.

What the…

Kim Jihu wondered if he’d just imagined what he’d seen.

“Oops!”

A single key was struck incorrectly.

It was his first mistake since joining the band.

Fortunately, the audience likely wouldn’t notice.

This is incredible… is it intentional?

It certainly looked like Cha Seoha was making no effort to cover for Lee Doyoung.

But at the crucial moment, at the very time everyone would naturally assume the guitar was the star, Lee Doyoung was pushed to the center of the stage. No, he was pushed to the edge of a cliff.

Lee Doyoung had no choice but to give it his all, and ultimately, he rose to the occasion and performed his part brilliantly. On top of that, Heo Junseong created a stunning two-shot, and he shone.

For the first time, Kim Jihu suddenly wondered: even if he had played perfectly, could he have shone any brighter?

As the final chorus ended, the song moved into an outro that maintained its intensity and heavy atmosphere until the very end. Watching this outro, Kim Jihu knew for certain: Lee Doyoung was now fully immersed in the music and had found his confidence.

And he was clearly growing.

“These guys are interesting.”

It had been a long time since he’d found something more entertaining than a brilliant ensemble performance.

“Waaaaah!”

“Kyaaah!”

“That was amazing!”

Thunderous applause erupted as the stage for London Syndrome came to an end—the loudest ovation yet.

“Thank you!”

Kim Jihu found it amusing to watch Lee Doyoung, who had suddenly awakened to something.

And he thought Cha Seoha, who had drawn that out of him, was even more interesting.

Meanwhile, Lee Doyoung…

A performance… This is so much fun…!

He couldn’t help but think.

“Alright everyone, this is our last song.”

“Aaaah!”

“No!”

“Play more!”

“Encore! Encore! Encore!”

“Hahaha! We still have one more song left, so we’ll save the encore for later.”

The audience had grown even larger than before.

Even though rock music might not be popular in Korea right now, seeing such a crowd gave me hope, even if it was a small one.

“So, the next song… is…”

Come to think of it, that was the last song.

“Ahem. Um…”

“Hey, why aren’t you introducing the next song?”

“Ah, I will! Just give me a second.”

Heo Junseong interrupted with a playful tone as I was about to introduce “that song.”

“Oh, what’s up? Is it because it’s an anime song you like and you’re embarrassed to introduce it?”

“No! I told you, I don’t even like this song that much!”

A murmur rippled through the audience.

“Anime? Animation?”

“So you like anime, huh?”

“Ugh, you don’t watch those weird, otaku-ish ones, do you?”

“He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.”

“You never know… musicians are often such nerds.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“So he’s an otaku too, I guess.”

Damn it. They can hear everything.