The Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries an Indie Band - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Because You’re the Best

Reborn Idol Hard Carries the Indie Band – Episode 8

Reborn Idol Hard Carries the Indie Band
Episode 8

“Because you’re the best.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You might not be all there mentally, but your skills are definitely superior to ours.”

Is that really how it is?

Of course, I’m better than them, but I haven’t really shown it yet, have I?

Last time I sang, I got carried away by emotion and overacted way too much.

“It pisses me off when a guy who’d never be humble acts humble.”

“Exactly, Seoha. Your expression right now is a bit problematic.”

Lee Doyoung’s criticism caught me off guard for a moment, but I quickly recovered.

I guess it’s because our members have such good musical ears.

enough to catch the hidden skills I failed to properly showcase.

Even if they’re a bit lacking now, these kids have enough talent to succeed in the music scene.

And they actually listen to me?

I like that.

In my past life, every time we tried to pick a song, it turned into something like the 31,848,575th Song Selection Meeting.

“Then I’ll be the leader.”

“What? That’s a different issue. In a band, the guitarist is naturally the leader. We know you’re good, but you’re not really leader material.”

“Um, Seoha, wouldn’t it be better if someone who’s actually been a leader took the role? I’m the Class President, after all.”

“Hey, if we’re going by that logic, I should be the leader. I’m the student council president of Cheongsol High.”

The reactions were intense.

“Didn’t you say you were the best at this?”

“Aces shouldn’t be leaders. Only those who can embrace even the ace should lead.”

And so, the first Leader Selection Meeting was held, ultimately devolving into a game of rock-paper-scissors.

Whether by the grace of heaven or sheer luck, I was the winner.

Could this be a miracle as precious as my regression?

“Alright. As leader, I’m adding one more song to the setlist.”

“What? Four songs in total?”

“I get to pick at least one.”

“You’re not even a player.”

“Was that a jab at my vocals?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Whatever. I choose this one.”

I proposed a new song.

As the music started, the members exchanged puzzled glances.

“What’s this? Japanese music?”

“That’s an unexpected choice. What kind of music is it?”

“Uh, well, it’s, like…”

While I was stammering, Lee Doyoung found something and played it.

“Hmm, looks like animation music.”

The members naturally turned to me with very serious expressions after checking the video Lee Doyoung played.

“You… watch stuff like this?”

“No, it’s not that I like it…”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. I respect all kinds of hobbies.”

“Seoha, you have a hidden side.”

“No, it’s not that I like it.”

“The music isn’t bad. You’re going to use a recorded drum track, right?”

“The guitar is flashy and cool.”

“There’s nothing I can do if Cha Seoha likes it.”

I don’t even like it!

This is a Japanese anime song that Kang Min likes!

I chose it because if I upload the performance video to YouTube, there’s a tiny chance Kang Min might see it!

I barely even know what this song is!

What were we like in our first life?

To be honest, I don’t remember the band’s early days very clearly.

I had to give up Taekwondo due to an injury, and I accepted Lee Doyoung’s offer without much hesitation.

I think what I really wanted was just to do something, rather than specifically to make music.

But I soon realized these guys were truly good people, and I discovered how much fun it was to make music together.

I also realized I had a talent for singing, and strangely, I realized all our members were exceptionally gifted.

That hopeful leap into music became the most beautiful and dazzling memory of my life.

And now…

The memory has become reality, and hope has become a wish.

So over the past ten days, I’ve clearly understood this:

This life isn’t about repaying my debt to my friends.

It’s about running toward the light together.

And today’s busking was the beginning of that journey.

Banwol Park, with its spacious lake and open field, was a popular spot for people to take walks.

It was that time of day when the sun cast long shadows.

Four boys gathered.

“How are you feeling?”

Cha Seoha’s question made Heo Junseong pause in thought before answering.

“I think I’ll be frustrated.”

“Frustrated about what?”

“After practicing like hell, if we mess up the performance, I’ll be so frustrated.”

“Was it hellish practice? Wasn’t it just normal?”

“…That devil of a guy…”

Cha Seoha, unaware that Heo Junseong had been forced to follow a top idol’s practice routine as a high school band, tilted her head in confusion. But Lee Doyoung and Kim Jihu were firmly on Heo Junseong’s side.

“Then we just have to do well.”

“We will do well, right? If we don’t, how much is he going to rag on us again?”

“When have I ever ragged on you guys?”

“Always, every moment, all the time.”

“Hmm…?”

“Still, it’s a shame we don’t have a drummer,” Kim Jihu said.

Cha Seoha shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe a skilled drummer will see our performance today and ask to join us.”

“Why would a skilled drummer be without a band?”

“I’m skilled, and I didn’t have a band either, remember?”

“…You’re so annoying.”

“Wow, this is the first time I’ve heard you call me annoying, Kim Jihu. Usually, it’s impossible to be more annoying than you.”

“I like Seoha, but she’s a little annoying.”

Cha Seoha chuckled and glanced at the other members.

They were calmly setting up their instruments and chatting, but I could feel their hands trembling slightly.

They were all nervous.

After all, this was our first time forming a band, and we’d barely rehearsed together.

Kim Jihu and Heo Junseong had busked a few times, but only three or four times at most.

This was probably Lee Doyoung’s first time doing anything like this.

“Are you nervous?”

“Nervous? Not at all!” Heo Junseong replied, clenching his fist. Is he trying to suppress his trembling?

“Right, you guys aren’t nervous right now.”

“I think I am nervous,” Lee Doyoung answered in a trembling voice.

“Seoha, aren’t you nervous?”

“I am too.”

“Your hands are sweating like crazy, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“So you are nervous, Seoha.”

“No, this isn’t nervousness. It’s excitement.”

Kim Jihu looked at Cha Seoha with amusement.

“My hands are shaking just like yours. I think I’m even breaking out in a cold sweat. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Don’t you feel the same way?”

“Well, it’s kind of similar!”

“I feel exactly the same way.”

“There’s a bit of that, I guess.”

“Then think about it. After we show them everything we’ve practiced, the audience’s cheers and applause…”

At Cha Seoha’s words, the three men felt a surge of exhilaration.

“I’m not nervous. I just want to show everyone what we’ve been practicing. I’m going crazy wanting to show off!”

Cha Seoha’s words made the hearts of her three friends pound even faster.

Excitement and fear share the same signal.

The only difference lies in how the heart perceives it.

“How are you all feeling right now?”

“Excited!”

“Yeah, I think I feel the same way as Seoha.”

Kim Jihu replied with a smile, his gaze falling to the piano keys.

Cha Seoha grinned.

“Then, let’s go.”

And so, their first performance began.

SUN – Clime On

Kim Jihu’s gentle piano melody signaled the start of the performance, and Heo Junseong’s guitar sent a message to the passersby in Banwol Park: Come watch this performance. It’ll be much more amazing than you expect.

As the pedestrians gradually slowed their pace, Cha Seoha’s voice began. Her range wasn’t high, and her singing style was casual, as if she were simply speaking the words. The intro was straightforward and easy to listen to, creating an atmosphere perfectly suited for a leisurely summer evening.

“They’re performing?”

“Wow, what the—the singer’s so handsome.”

“The kid playing guitar on the left is cute too.”

“That’s a bass.”

While the music was good, most people stopped to watch because of the performers’ looks.

The initial impression is always the most striking.
But in the end, it’s the music that leaves a lasting impression.

The song progressed.

The vocals gradually climbed in pitch, and after a short intro and the first verse, the atmosphere truly shifted.

Clime on!
Clime on!

The drums from the backing track and Lee Doyoung’s bass joined in, unleashing a burst of energy in an instant.

It was a force created by the convergence of everyone’s performances.

For those hearing “Clime On” for the first time, this was usually where their initial reaction would occur.

Could it be that everyone’s ears are just the same?

As the song moved past the first verse and its intensity began to seep into the music, passersby one by one started joining the audience.

“Wow.”

“What the—they’re actually good!”

The main instrument from the original song had been replaced with a guitar, and the newly adopted sharp, cutting tone exuded an epic atmosphere. Following this came Kim Jihu’s synth bass. These two lead instruments were like a spoiler for the song’s conclusion.

The ensemble performance was flawless. No one’s shortcomings were highlighted; instead, they pulled each other forward in perfect harmony, walking together in a perfect, unified performance.

Then came the chorus:

If you’re lost and alone
Or you’re sinking like a stone
Climb on!

Just as I thought Cha Seoha would take the lead, I shifted my gaze to Heo Junseong. The most crucial part of “Climb On” wasn’t the piano intro, which offered such generous space.

It wasn’t a verse like asking after an old friend, nor a chorus that brought a smile to your face.

It was the 19-second guitar solo that appeared in the latter half of the song.

Intense yet all-embracing, racing forward while still glancing back.

This contradictory, galloping guitar solo, which would fit nowhere else but in this song—

That was the killing part that completed the song, the very essence of its identity.

But…

Can I do it?

Up until now, Heo Junseong hadn’t been able to capture this emotion.

He had more than enough technical skill, which he could cover with practice.

But Heo Junseong’s greatest strength was also his greatest weakness:

Deep immersion.

There was no room left for looking back.

But Cha Seoha trusted Heo Junseong.

“Alright, that’s enough! Everyone, stop.”

It was the first day of practice for their busking performance, and Cha Seoha had stopped the ensemble again. This was the sixth time they’d been interrupted at the same spot.

“Ugh! Is it my fault again?”

“Yes, Heo Junseong. Don’t get so worked up and play calmly. You’re the one sticking out too much.”

“It’s not that easy…”

The problem was that whenever a guitar solo erupted, Heo Junseong would lose control.

Kim Jihu’s face twisted in frustration, and Lee Doyoung wore a worried expression, but Cha Seoha was different.

“Heo Junseong, listen carefully. This is amazing.”

“…What is?”

“Most guitarists can’t immerse themselves so deeply in their practice. But when you ‘go berserk,’ it means you’re so absorbed that you can’t even see what’s around you.”

“……”

“So, you’re someone who plays with a narrow but profound focus. In other words, your skill can only evolve when your senses evolve to the next level.”

“Senses…”

“There’s no music that exists as a single note. Why even go as far as music? Even the most played C chord in the world is made up of three combined notes, right?”

“Turn around.”

“There’s something even more wonderful waiting for you there.”