Chapter 28: An Oddly Specific Flashback

Yuna's POV

It started with a coffee.

Not mine. I didn't even like coffee. It was my manager's—half-finished, growing cold on his desk while he paced around like an over-caffeinated squirrel.

"If you can write songs like this," he said, jabbing a finger at the lyrics on the screen.

"you can definitely sing them too."

I snorted, slouching further into the couch of his office.

"That's a huge leap of logic. That's like saying just because I can cook, I should open a restaurant."

"Yuna." He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

"You know that's different."

"Nope, same energy." I pointed at him lazily.

"Besides, I'm a ghostwriter. Keyword ghost. Means I don't exist. I'm like a mysterious entity floating in the background."

He gave me the flattest look possible. "A ghost that insists on being paid in real money."

"A ghost's gotta eat."

He let out another heavy sigh before dropping into his chair. "You have no idea how much people would kill to have your talent. If you wanted to be an artist, you'd already have a label backing you up in a heartbeat."

I groaned, stretching out my legs dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. But I don't want to be an artist."

"Why not?" He leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"You already have everything. Songwriting skills, stage presence—"

"Stage presence?" I choked. "When have I ever stepped on a stage?"

"You haven't. But I know you could handle it."

I scoffed. "Right, because nothing screams 'star material' like a sleep-deprived gremlin who forgets to eat lunch half the time."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yuna, I'm serious."

"So am I." I sat up, meeting his gaze.

"Look, I like writing. I love writing. But I have zero interest in the spotlight. That world? The interviews, the performances, the public scrutiny ? No thanks."

He studied me for a long moment before exhaling. "Alright. I get it."

Finally.

I relaxed, about to kick my feet up onto his desk when he added—

"But if you ever change your mind…" He leaned back, smiling.

"You'd be unstoppable."

I rolled my eyes, but a small part of me wondered—if only for a second—what that world would've been like.

Music was everything to me—just not in the way people expected.

I loved creating it. I loved the way melodies wove together, the way lyrics could capture emotions too big to say out loud. But performing? No, thanks. That was a whole different world—one I wanted no part of.

I wasn't scared of it, not exactly. It wasn't stage fright or anything dramatic like that. I just… didn't care for it. Some people dreamed of standing under bright lights, basking in the applause. I preferred the quiet hum of my laptop, the soft scratch of a pen against paper, the thrill of seeing my lyrics come to life through someone else's voice.

That was enough for me.

Always had been.

I remembered the first time I really understood that.

It was years ago, back when I first started ghostwriting. My manager had invited me to a recording session—said it'd be a good experience, that I should hear my song being recorded firsthand.

I almost didn't go. But curiosity won.

So I stood in the back of the studio, arms crossed, watching as a well-known idol sang my words.

And it was… surreal.

Not in an 'I wish that were me' kind of way. More like watching a painting come to life.

The song wasn't just mine anymore—it was his. He took what I wrote and made it his own, added his own emotions, his own style. That was the magic of it.

I didn't feel envy. I felt pride.

That's when I knew.

I wasn't meant to be seen. I was meant to create.

I was the person behind the curtain, the one who gave people something to sing. And I was fine with that. More than fine.

Which was why Kai's dumb suggestion—his whole 'You should be our vocalist' thing—was so ridiculous.

He had to be remembering wrong. Or maybe he was just desperate.

Either way, the answer was no.

It was always going to be no.

I snapped out of my thoughts just in time to hear Lena groaning loudly.

"This is hopeless," she whined, dramatically draping herself over the couch like a woman on her deathbed.

"At this rate, we're gonna have to drag some random freshman off the street and beg them to sing for us."

"We're not that desperate," Noah muttered, but his face said otherwise.

Kai was furiously scrolling on his phone, probably checking out music forums or social media for leads. Meanwhile, Erika sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at a list of names they had written down during their last, failed search.

"Okay," Erika said finally.

"We have three options. One, we ask the least terrible person from last time's auditions—"

"Pass," I said immediately.

"Two, we just keep searching, but like, harder this time—"

"That's just the same thing as before," Noah pointed out.

"Okay, then three, we accept our fate and perform as an instrumental band. With no vocals."

There was a long silence.

Ethan slowly set his keyboard down, looking genuinely disturbed. "No... vocals?"

"You're insane," Kai deadpanned, still scrolling.

Leo, our drummer and the so-called leader of this mess, leaned forward with a serious look. "Actually, I did consider that for like, five seconds."

We all turned to him.

"—And then I realized it's a terrible idea," he quickly added.

Lena let out a loud groan, flopping over even further. "Ugh! This is so dumb! Why are we struggling so hard to find a vocalist when there are, like, a billion people in this school?"

"Because none of them can sing?" Ethan pointed out.

"Or because none of them want to sing for us?" I muttered, barely realizing I said that out loud.

Another heavy silence fell over the room.

"We should just bribe someone," Lena suggested.

"With what money?" Leo asked.

Lena blinked. "Oh. Right. We're broke."

I sighed, rubbing my temples as the conversation spiraled into ridiculous suggestions—kidnapping a talented first-year (illegal), paying someone in cafeteria meal vouchers (we don't even have any), or finding an old-school rockstar and convincing them to live out their high school dream (how would that even work?).

I could feel my headache growing.

Kai, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly looked up from his phone. He glanced at me for a second, his eyes sharp with something unreadable. His mouth opened slightly—like he was about to say something—but then he closed it again.

Instead, he leaned back, tapping his fingers against his knee.

For some reason, that was more unsettling than if he had just spoken.

Third Person's POV

After what felt like hours of going in circles over the same problem, the band finally decided to take a break—partly because they needed it, but mostly because class was about to start.

"Alright, let's put a pin in this," Leo sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

"We'll figure something out later."

"Or we won't," Ethan muttered, slumping against his desk.

Kai didn't say anything. He had been unusually quiet since their last discussion, but no one really had the energy to question it. The group slowly dispersed, heading off to their respective classrooms.

The classroom was unusually quiet for a break period. Yuna sat at her desk, idly poking at an untouched notebook with her pencil, her mind far away from whatever was written on the page. She had been overthinking a lot lately—way too much for someone who usually just went with the flow.

The memory of her manager's words nagged at her.

"If you can write songs like this, you can definitely sing them too."

Yuna frowned, tapping the eraser of her pencil against her desk. Why was this bothering her so much now? It wasn't like

it wasn't like this was the first time someone had suggested it.

Yuna had spent years brushing off comments like that. Singing was just… not her thing. She was fine in the background, writing songs, letting someone else take the spotlight.

That's how it had always been.

Yet, ever since Kai brought it up, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

She sighed, resting her chin on her arms. Maybe she just needed to stop thinking about it altogether. That was the easiest solution.

Before she could fully convince herself of that, the sound of frantic whispering and hurried footsteps reached her ears. She barely had time to process it before someone dramatically slammed their hands down on her desk.

"So, you finally made your move."

Yuna blinked slowly, lifting her head. Standing in front of her, looking like she had just uncovered the world's greatest conspiracy, was Avery.

Avery, the school's so-called 'golden voice.'

The girl who had been the face of every major music event since her first year. The one everyone expected to win the upcoming competition.

Yuna just stared.

Avery, seemingly fueled by pure intensity, leaned in closer. "I knew you couldn't resist competing with me forever!"

Yuna squinted at her. Then, after a long pause, she said, "Who are you?"

Avery almost choked. "DON'T PLAY DUMB!" she shrieked.

"I know you joined the band! I knew you were hiding something!"

Yuna's brain, already running on low energy, barely processed half of what Avery was saying. Something about the band? Hiding? Competing?

…Wait, did she leave her lunch at home?

She reached into her bag to check, completely ignoring Avery, who was now dramatically pacing beside her desk.

"I knew it! I knew you were a threat!" Avery continued, spiraling into what sounded like a full-blown villain monologue.

"You've been keeping your talent in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike! But I won't let you take my crown without a fight!"

Yuna, still searching for her lunch, yawned.

"Huh?"

Avery clenched her fists. "I'm officially challenging you!"

Yuna stared at her for another long, silent moment. Then, without a word, she pulled her hoodie over her head, rested her head on her arms, and shut her eyes.

Avery twitched. "ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"

Before things could escalate any further, Erika—who had clearly been watching this train wreck from a safe distance—stepped in and grabbed Yuna by the hoodie, dragging her away.

"Come on, nap time's over," Erika said, completely unfazed.

"But I didn't find my lunch yet," Yuna muttered sleepily.

Avery watched them go, her expression a mix of rage and disbelief.

She clenched her fists.

This isn't over.

To be continued.