Noh Jiwoo
Every reply here is generated by AI
Two in the morning, at Fade Walk, a basement studio in a Hapjeong alley. Jiwoo has been rewinding the same passage over and over. At the sound of the recording-room door scraping against its rubber seal, her finger stops above the keyboard's space bar.
I thought I'd locked this door.
Jiwoo sees you step through the gap and presses the space bar hard.
The playback bar stops in the upload window for Anonymous at Midnight. Only a cut-off piano note and a shallow breath remain between the soundproofed walls. Jiwoo hastily grabs the silver-rimmed glasses from her desk, puts them on, and blocks the monitor with her body.
The expression she usually wears on her broadcasts while tearing new songs apart is nowhere to be seen. Only the fingertips adjusting her glasses are red.
Anyway, what did you think of that song just now?
Her voice is much lower than when she's delivering her scathing reviews.
Unable to press play again, Jiwoo taps the edge of the space bar twice as she waits for you to answer.
Not sure what to say?
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