The Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries an Indie Band - Chapter 12

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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A Former Idol Idol Carries an Indie Band
Chapter 12
“Ah, right. Hello. I’m Kang Min, the drummer.”
What on earth is happening here?
“Hey, you’re the one who said you’d do a band—you don’t know Kang Min?”
What would a guy who only did sports know about anything?
But as I listened to the story, it was something I knew too.
Or rather, to be precise—I didn’t know it in my past life, but I know it in this one?
Drum Masters Championship.
DMC for short.
A nationwide drummers’ competition held in Seoul.
Two years ago, Kang Min won this tournament at just sixteen—the youngest victor ever.
Among bandmates, it meant he was practically a celebrity.
Of course, I knew this fact too.
I’d heard it hammered into my ears while playing in a band together in my last life.
But I didn’t know he was recognizable at a glance as the champion.
“You don’t know Kang Min?”
So when Heo Jun-seong recited Kang Min’s résumé and pressed me, I had no choice but to keep playing dumb.
Ugh, I should’ve just played along.
“Well, anyway, have a seat. What brings you here?”
“Crazy—are you seriously asking what I came for?”
“Cha Seo-ha really doesn’t read the room, does he?”
“Let’s just change leaders……”
Yeah, yeah, I get it, you bastards.
“The president of Hyeonui Ulreum said I’d find you here.”
“Ah, the president?”
“Yes, I was about to head home after the performance, but I thought I’d regret it if I didn’t try talking to you.”
Kang Min spoke without hesitation, just like that moment when he’d grabbed my collar at Lee Do-young’s funeral.
“Would you be interested in doing an ensemble session right now?”
At Kang Min’s bold proposal, the friends’ faces brightened.
They seemed to be expecting it all along.
“Sounds good.”
* * *
We decided to use Kang Min’s private practice room for the session.
Following Kang Min, we talked as we walked.
“Man, what is this even about?”
“Right, I still can’t believe it’s real.”
“Cha Seo-ha really does perform well.”
“Huh, did I?”
We were bewildered by the sudden stroke of fortune.
Though I alone was bewildered in a slightly different way….
‘If he doesn’t see the video, that’s fine anyway, right?’
The reason I performed Thanks God was because I thought if someone recorded it and uploaded it, maybe Kang Min would see it.
Because this guy is genuinely an otaku.
An otaku to the point where if there’s a video of him performing a song he likes, he’ll search for it all the way back to high school festivals.
Which meant that the video of us playing at Banwol Park would eventually reach Kang Min sometime.
When that would happen was a matter of luck—or perhaps fate.
But I never expected everything to be resolved by a single word from President Jang Deok-chul.
Or was that fate?
Building a connection with President Jang Deok-chul?
“It really is strange, though.”
“Strange, my ass—you didn’t even know who Kang Min was.”
Heo Jun-seong jibed sarcastically.
That was when Lee Do-young opened his mouth with a serious expression.
“It’s weird. Everything Seo-ha said came true.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“A skilled drummer came looking for us after seeing our performance.”
“Oh, right? You did say something like that!”
After a moment of silence, Kim Ji-hu chimed in with Lee Do-young’s point.
“Did you maybe receive a divine calling or something?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
A regressor, sure—but not a shaman.
“What divine calling? Talk sense.”
“Then where’d the drummer come from?”
“It was just a wish, a wish. They say when you speak it, it comes true.”
Heo Jun-seong interjected.
“No way. Cha Seo-ha’s body got pretty hot. Isn’t that the kind of spirit sickness that comes when spirits descend?”
“Your body’s cold as ice—are you an idiot?”
“……?!”
Lee Do-young and Kim Ji-hu physically blocked Heo Jun-seong as he rushed at me.
Kang Min just stared at us like we were rare animals.
And that’s how we arrived at Kang Min’s studio.
I’d been there a few times in my previous life too.
Seeing it after so long, I felt an odd sense of warmth.
“Should we try one song?”
The moment we arrived at the studio, Kang Min proposed a session.
We hadn’t even finished proper introductions yet.
These guys really did prioritize music above all else.
Because the communion shared through music mattered more than conversation ever could.
There was no need for a separate time to show off our skills.
Kang Min’s ability was beyond question.
“What song should we do?”
To my question, Kang Min paused for a moment before answering.
“How about the song we played during busking earlier?”
“We’re fine with that.”
Kang Min hesitated a beat longer before continuing.
“Then…. Thanks God?”
“That one?”
“Not Fireman?”
“We could do London Syndrome too.”
The others questioned with expressions of surprise.
“Ah, I only saw you perform Thanks God and Clime on for the encore.”
“Oh, so you came late.”
“Yes, and I’ve already been through the other songs quite a bit.”
This is before Kang Min came out about his otaku interests.
Should I grit my teeth and play the part of an ordinary person?
“Well, enough preamble—let’s just do this!”
* * *
‘Wow! Insane feel!’
‘Yeah, we really need a drummer.’
‘The sound is really good.’
The moment the session began, everyone couldn’t help but be amazed.
He wasn’t a DMC champion for nothing.
The feel was completely different from when they laid down drum tracks to backing recordings.
Heo Jun-seong, Lee Do-young, and Kim Ji-hu all marveled in their own ways, and Cha Seo-ha was no exception.
‘Kang Min doesn’t seem that different.’
He was almost identical to how I remembered him from my last life.
There’d be some difference in refinement over time, but technically, he’d already reached perfection by then.
‘What’s Kang Min’s mindset right now?’
Was he interested in us for playing his favorite anime song?
Or was he interested in the band itself?
Either way, I had to really win him over in this session….
In the meantime, Kang Min was equally captivated.
‘They all have potential.’
Purely from a technical standpoint, the prissy, studious keyboardist Kim Ji-hu had an edge, but there was no clear superiority in raw musical instinct.
Rather, if it came to pure feel, Kang Min was drawn more to Lee Do-young.
Slightly awkward, perhaps, but he didn’t shy away from that awkwardness.
There was something he appreciated in how Lee Do-young gave his all to each note.
That caution in his playing surely came from thoughtfulness itself.
And besides….
‘Cha Seo-ha.’
That monstrous vocalist who seemed to have dropped out of nowhere had a capacity that far transcended high school bands.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a vocal like that even in the Hongdae scene.
‘Could it be….…! Am I falling for this?’
That’s why he was anticipating it.
The busking at Banwol Park had been full of noise, and the speakers weren’t equipped to fill the open space.
He wanted to hear Cha Seo-ha’s singing properly in this small practice room.
Especially since that song matched his taste exactly.
Then, as the intro passed, Cha Seo-ha began to sing.
Cha Seo-ha genuinely had little interest in Japanese subculture.
He’d simply practiced it because it was obvious what Kang Min would like.
But the Japanese pronunciation honed through idol training was like the ringing of a great angel’s bell to Kang Min.
‘A peer….…!’
That wasn’t all.
His vocal skills, so vastly superior to what they sounded like through those crude speakers, made Kang Min’s heart race.
‘How can someone sing a song that way—so intensely?’
Literally terrifying in the excellence of his emotional delivery.
And so the session proceeded flawlessly, sincerely.
At last, the chorus arrived.
Riding Kang Min’s rhythmic fill, Cha Seo-ha poured out emotion as if roaring.
That was when it happened.
The drums abruptly stopped.
“Huh?”
“What?”
Those immersed in the session turned to look at Kang Min.
“Sob…. sob….”
Suddenly, Kang Min was crying.
“Is he…. crying?”
“He is?”
“Um, Kang Min, why are you crying?”
“The lyrics are so moving…. Your vocal, and your playing too….”
It probably wasn’t the lyrics that were moving—just the fact that it was a song he’d always loved….
No matter how much Kim Ji-hu thought about it, he was now convinced this band had no sense whatsoever.
Either way, this was the moment the final puzzle piece—the drummer—joined the band.
Exactly as Cha Seo-ha had dreamed of.
* * *
With Kang Min joining, we finally had a complete band.
Heo Jun-seong, Lee Do-young, Kim Ji-hu, Kang Min.
And me.
The exact same members as we’d been in my past life.
“Look forward to working with you, Kang Min. I know we’re lacking compared to where you came from, but let’s do our best together from here on.”
“Huh? No, you’re not. You’re pretty similar.”
“Similar?”
“Yeah. In some ways, you guys might even be better.”
Even if I didn’t know the band scene that well, it wasn’t quite that level.
Before joining our band, Kang Min had been with a famous Hongdae band called Skydiver.
I knew it was a fairly skillful band, naturally.
Though I’d never actually seen the band myself since it disbanded with Kang Min’s departure.
They weren’t a group that should’ve been compared to our newly formed one.
So why was Kang Min saying things like that?
“Well, anyway, let’s give it our all.”
Now that we had all the members, it wasn’t over yet.
Being together didn’t mean we’d stay together forever.
But I was going to protect this band till the day I died.
“For that, we need to decide on a name first.”
We’d promised the audience during our last busking that we’d perform again next week.
It mattered to showcase who we were through music, but we needed to make a clear impression by establishing our name.
“Right, I was dying to know what we’d be called!”
“Does anyone have any ideas they’ve been thinking of?”
At my question, everyone hemmed and hawed, and the first to offer an opinion was Lee Do-young.
“Well, once we adjust Ji-hu’s academy schedule, we’ll be together all week for sessions, so how about Day Seven?”
“Hey, shouldn’t we at least rest on weekends?”
“……Then Day Five?”
“No, there’s gotta be something better.”
“I watched a movie a while back. It was about the neuroscience and philosophy of the human brain, and….”
Kim Ji-hu began elaborating at length.
“……The movie was called Lucy.”
“And?”
“Let’s do RUCY. It represents making intricate music that fully utilizes the brain.”
“That feels like we’re just taking it directly. Won’t work.”
“Hey! Hey! What about just ASDF then? It’s simple and nice?”
“Heo Jun-seong, you’re out. Three minutes.”
“Aw, why!”
There were plenty of other suggestions too.
TFLAND, CNRED, Buzz, and so on….
Only names that sounded like they belonged somewhere else kept getting brought up, so we couldn’t land on anything good.
“Hey, if you’re shooting everything down, what are we supposed to do? The two who haven’t spoken—Kang Min and Cha Seo-ha, say something.”
Kang Min’s eyes lit up.
“I actually have one name in mind.”
“What is it?”
“How about Bond Band?”
Kang Min said the name with shining eyes.
“Bond Band? What does that mean?”
“Well, it just sounds nice for building strong bonds.”
“Ugh, what is that? It’s not like a cable tie or anything—it’s weird.”
“Geez, even if the name’s bad, you don’t have to be so blunt about it, Jun-seong. That’s rude.”
“Does he always act like that?”
“That’s harsh….”
Kang Min’s spirits deflated.
“Cha Seo-ha, why don’t you take a turn?”
At Heo Jun-seong’s question, I turned the idea over in my mind, but nothing new came to me.
All my head could hold was one name.
That name we’d given ourselves when we first started out.
The name we’d chosen when we knew nothing and only believed in our youth.
“…How about Rooftop?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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