I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work-Chapter 184

Meanwhile, at the same time, at the entrance to Allmight Productions—

The company’s CEO and lead producer, Sun Woo-hyuk, stood alongside a composer who had worked on many tracks with Iyura in the past.

As they waited for Na Hyun-gon to come down from the upper floor,

the two chatted about various things, and naturally, the conversation turned to the two artists recording today.

“Did she seem interested in continuing to work on more songs?”

There had been rumors that Iyura had debuted as a VTuber under Bachubachu.

But her debut wasn't contractually restricted,

and even if it was true, they figured she wouldn’t be able to confirm anything due to the confidentiality that came with being a VTuber.

So the rumors remained just that.

With her being busy due to personal matters, there wasn’t a good opportunity to press her further...

From Allmight Production’s perspective, the only thing they could say with certainty was that Iyura had been hesitant about singing lately.

Sun Woo-hyuk muttered, looking troubled.

“I felt like asking directly would make her uncomfortable, so I didn’t. I’ll try to confirm through Gia afterward.”

The composer, who had been able to share his lyrics with the public thanks to how well his musical tastes aligned with Iyura’s, slumped his shoulders.

“Still, the fact that she came to work on a track again today means she hasn’t completely quit.

But... it does seem like she’s lost a lot of interest, huh?”

“I’m not even sure about that. Chief Producer gave strict orders not to ask her too much about it, so I’ve been walking on eggshells.”

“What do you think the Chief’s intention is?”

“I think he's just grateful that she came to record at all.

And we didn’t even get her here ourselves—it was thanks to Gia.

So either way, we owe Gia.”

Haa...

The composer let out a long sigh and murmured,

“Honestly, thank God for Gia.”

“Right? She listens to all your nitpicky requests without a single complaint—

I think that’s impressive in itself.”

“Come on, it’s all in the name of crafting the perfect track.”

“I’m just saying, don’t push her too hard. You get overheated and intense whenever you get serious about recording.”

“I’m holding back, I swear...”

The composer fiddled with his phone and then asked Sun Woo-hyuk,

“Well, I’m part of the main branch, so I wouldn’t have been hit directly, but... if things had gone wrong, it would’ve been a disaster for you guys, right?”

“I seriously almost died.

If we hadn’t signed that deal with Parallel right away, I’d probably be dragged into a board meeting and chewed out right now.”

“You’re so dramatic. But yeah, we did get lucky.

Still... where the hell did the Chief even find someone like her?”

“Come to think of it—didn’t you hear the story about the Chief’s daughter?”

“I knew he had a family, but I don’t know the details. I don’t really care about that stuff.”

“There’s a rumor it was through his daughter’s connection. Apparently, Gia helped her with something, and that’s how they met.”

“Does the Chief have some kind of sixth sense for musical talent or something?

If I’d met Gia first, I would’ve sent her to the acting department, not the music one.”

“Who knows?

He’s worked his way up to that position—maybe he does have an eye for that kind of thing.”

“Honestly, me and the vocal director are always shocked.

She’s supposedly never done proper singing before, but even if it takes a while, she hits all the targets we ask of her. It’s kind of unnerving.”

“I’m always surprised, too.

She’s like that with every track she records.”

Then the composer turned on his phone screen and held it out to Sun Woo-hyuk.

“But... I think this song might actually be a challenge.”

“Because of the concept, right?”

“Yeah.

It’s not a track you can get through by just singing it well.

Gia’s got an incredible vocal tone, so as long as she followed the technical instructions, everything up until now got greenlit easily.

But this one won’t be like that.”

The track title: Frenemy.

Literally, a friend and enemy.

More loosely, a “friendly rival.”

It’s about two people who grow by competing with each other,

but also have a combative, frenemy-style relationship.

To speed up the overall production, the music video had already been prepped in advance—

It would depict Iyura’s character, a black-haired, blue-eyed swordswoman, clashing with Fan_C’s white-haired, red-eyed swordswoman.

Their duel was animated like a spectacular swordfight straight out of a fantasy novel or wuxia film.

But in the song itself, Magia and Iyura wouldn’t be portrayed as equals from the start.

The track was split into seven major parts.

Magia would start off as an underdog with poor skills and gradually improve throughout the song—

Until the final two parts, where she and Iyura would go head-to-head as equals.

So the pressure on Magia was huge.

In the final section, all she had to do was sing with full power like she normally would.

But everything before that?

She had to express the feeling of a clumsy rookie slowly growing stronger—with just her voice.

Sure, people watching the music video could go “Ohh, I get the vibe,”

but the reality is, most listeners won’t be watching.

Most will be hearing it—on their phones, on streaming apps, in playlists.

So the singing itself had to tell the story clearly.

“To be honest...

I’m worried the difficulty spike might be too much compared to her previous songs.”

The composer expected this one to be tough.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Original tracks were always harder to nail than covers because you had to match the composer’s intended emotion.

And now, only her second original track was already asking for this kind of level?

Still, Sun Woo-hyuk didn’t seem too worried. He replied,

“Huh? You weren’t there when Gia recorded her first single?”

“Oh—no, I missed that. Had some family stuff going on at the time.”

“Gia’s good at doing exactly what she’s told.

Up until now, everything’s been covers, so she had examples to follow.

Even with Common Fan, we had some concerns going in.

But she did fine.”

“Really? I heard the recording wrapped up quicker than expected.”

“It wasn’t just quick.

There were barely any retakes.

Even though it was supposed to be a personal track, where she tells her own story, she handled it really well.

And let’s be honest—telling a story and singing a song are totally different skill sets.”

“It was that smooth?”

The composer muttered under his breath.

“That’s surprising.

The Gia I’ve seen doesn’t seem like someone who expresses her emotions directly.

It felt more like she was mimicking what she’d seen somewhere else.

When I heard she finished recording Common Fan so fast, I figured she must’ve gone all-in on emotional acting.”

“Yeah, Gia’s definitely on the reserved side emotionally—I’ll give you that.

But it’s not that she can’t express emotion.

She just doesn’t.”

“You mean, she feels things but doesn’t show them on her face?”

“No—more ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ like... she holds everything in. Like she’s extremely self-controlled.

Maybe it’s her work environment, but I get the sense that she chooses not to show her emotions.”

“That’s... fascinating.

Then maybe we can expect something good today too...”

“Maybe.

But still, being good at emotional delivery and being able to act out a growth arc through your singing are different things.

We’ll have to see how it goes once we start recording.”

“Yeah... I hope it works out. I really poured my heart into this track.”

“What, did the Chief scare you by saying Allmight Production’s future was riding on it?”

“How’d you know? I seriously nearly peed myself from the look he gave me—”

“Ahem. Ahem.”

Startled, both men turned around.

Na Hyun-gon had arrived without them noticing, hands clasped behind his back, calmly watching them.

“It is true that our future is riding on this.

We can’t count on any further songs with Iyura, and this track is critical for Fan_C to take a big step forward.”

Since he was ultimately responsible for not managing Iyura more effectively,

Sun Woo-hyuk immediately bowed deeply.

“Yes, sir. You’re absolutely right.”

“Anyway, let’s head in. The artists must be waiting.

Didn’t expect the meeting to go on this long.”

The fact that Na Hyun-gon himself was on-site said everything.

It meant CAT’s upper management was highly invested in this track.

Fan_C’s growth indicators had been hovering at a modest level—

But ever since the announcement of Parallel’s offline concert, they had skyrocketed.

Which meant that while the tide was high, they had to row with everything they had.

Delivering a strong result now wouldn’t just signal a green light for Fan_C’s future—

It could be the very shortcut to making her CAT’s next breakout utaite star.

Na Hyun-gon and the team stepped into the meeting room.

The two artists, already waiting, greeted them briefly.

Iyura glanced at him cautiously.

But Na Hyun-gon didn’t ask a single question—he simply nodded as if to say he was just there to observe, then stepped back quietly.

With the vocal director joining as well, the meeting began with six people in total.

Producer Sun Woo-hyuk gave instructions on what each person should focus on within their assigned parts.

The two artists took turns singing short lines they had practiced based on the reference materials and vocal guide, making sure their interpretation aligned with the composer’s intent.

Then came a full read-through, as if reading from a script—

They each sang their parts in a studio environment.

As expected, it took quite a bit of time to review Magia’s sections.

“Gia, I know it’s tough, but try to keep in mind what we talked about earlier as you sing.”

The instruction was: “Sing well, while sounding like you can’t.”

Which sounds like complete nonsense.

Even if you're trying to portray someone improving, it still has to sound pleasant enough for people to want to listen, right? freeweɓnovel.cøm

In Magia’s intro segment, she had to portray someone with poor skills.

But that didn’t mean she could actually just sing poorly.

They weren’t asking her to mess up the pitch or fall behind the beat.

It had to feel clumsy—but within correct rhythm and tonality. The “roughness” had to be intentional and nuanced.

Honestly, no one in the room expected Magia to get it right on the first try.

Even if Iyura breezed through her part in just one session and left,

everyone fully expected Magia to need today, three days from now, maybe even a whole week.

Na Hyun-gon, Sun Woo-hyuk, the composer, and the vocal director—

all of them were tense, or at least deeply concerned, as they waited for Magia’s recording to begin.

“Alright, we’ll start with Iyura.”

Iyura listened to the guide vocals and locked in the direction she wanted within just a few tries.

“Okay. That’s it. Perfect.”

She wrapped up with only a few retakes.

In less than an hour, her part was done.

Of course, some adjustments or re-recordings might be needed later depending on how Magia’s recordings turned out,

but for now, Iyura’s job was finished.

She was already a seasoned vocalist, and she’d been given a single, clear directive: “Show us 100%.”

Then came Magia’s turn.

As she stepped into the booth, she exchanged headsets with Iyura at the doorway.

Moments later, Sun Woo-hyuk called out to her from the control room.

He wanted to make sure Magia didn’t feel discouraged after following someone like Iyura.

“Let’s break it down into levels. Gia, you’ve probably got some internal sense of what ‘skill’ means when it comes to singing, right? So let’s try it in three tiers: lowest, middle, and highest.”

Magia’s singing ability would ultimately have to portray five stages.

But starting with five right away might be too much, so they’d planned to simplify with just three levels at first.

Yet Magia raised an unexpected question.

“Why are we doing three? We’re supposed to divide it into five, right?”

“Ah, well... we figured five would be a bit tricky to balance, so we wanted to start small and build up.”

“Can I try all five right from the start?”

“You think you can?”

Magia didn’t hesitate even a second.

She had a natural gift for voice and tone imitation.

And it just so happened that she’d grown up alongside seven idols at Parallel.

“Yes.”

Everyone in the control room looked at each other, visibly startled.

Even Iyura, who was still wearing her headset, was surprised.

“She’s awfully confident. Did she actually practice a lot?”

When an artist shows confidence, producers don’t stop them.

Even in movie shoots, actors who feel confident sometimes improvise or do unscripted takes that produce unexpectedly powerful scenes.

Sun Woo-hyuk said,

“Alright then. You know that opening line? Try dividing it into five stages using that lyric.”

“Got it.”

Ahem. Ah-ahhh.

Magia cleared her throat and began.

Stage One: the “worst” level.

To the average listener, her singing would’ve instantly triggered a, “Whoa, you’re good at singing!”

But to the professionals in the room, it was raw and unrefined.

It had that untamed energy, with too much force behind it.

Stage Two:

“...Hoh?”

“Huh.”

Everyone was reacting now.

This version showed slight improvement—

Still rough, but now with a clear sense that she was trying to refine something.

It gave off the vibe of someone naive, overly obsessed with technique, stuck at a beginner’s plateau.

Stage Three:

Sun Woo-hyuk’s lips parted in a small breath of awe.

“That’s good.”

Her tone had firmed up.

She’d already been tracking the melody line in the first two versions,

but there was always a shakiness—like someone teetering on a tightrope, trying to do too much too soon.

Now, her fundamentals felt locked in.

There was a clear sense of stability.

Stage Four:

Iyura swallowed hard.

“What the hell... every one of them is actually different.”

The strength in her tone now had refined technique behind it.

She knew exactly when to soften her voice, when to power up, when to stretch or shorten a note.

And finally, Stage Five—

The song was complete.

It was 100% Magia, infused with burning competitive spirit.

A flawless portrayal of someone calling out to her frenemy—her rival and partner—Iyura.

She stepped back slightly from the mic, licked her lips, and glanced sideways.

Her gaze landed quietly on Sun Woo-hyuk and the vocal director.

They’d been standing in stunned silence, until Sun Woo-hyuk suddenly snapped back to attention.

“Ah—o-okay. Let’s get straight into the real recording. Stick with that exact vibe!!”