808 Bass
“Paaam—. Bam—. Baaam.”
I clapped my palms together to mimic the sound. With headphones slammed over her ears, I hoped Hye-soo got it right. Please understand it properly. Well, if I could sing with perfect pitch like that, I'd be the idol instead.
“Got it?”
“Um…… So, raise the ending note?”
“Yeah. Brightly. Without forcing it too hard.”
Thank goodness. Seemed like she'd grasped it. What was so funny about this clumsy sound-demo footage? The production crew and Shim Yu-jeong were loving it. Hye-soo properly adjusted the headphones she'd only had over one ear. She threw her arms up wide and shouted fighting.
“Got it. Let me try it for real.”
Two stars. Her vocal talent was only two stars, but it wasn't so bad I could ignore it. Rubbing my chin, I watched Hye-soo. She could belt out high notes cleanly, but her breath control was lacking. Her lungs couldn't sustain the song all the way through.
Too bad. Her tone is appealing on its own.
No need to repeat this part endlessly just because it wasn't perfect. It'd only strain her throat. I hit the switch and called out.
“Hye-soo. Come out for a sec?”
Hye-soo, clutching her headphones tight, nodded. She carefully took them off and stepped out of the booth. She forced a bright smile. Plopping down next to me, she blurted it out.
“I-I can do it.”
“Huh?”
Even as she kept up the smile, tension leaked through—worried her part might get cut. I turned my head. Not because of the camera filming us. This happened sometimes. Hye-soo bit her lip hard, pressing her thumbnail deep into her palm.
Kid, you're gonna tear your palm open.
First, ease the tension.
“You can do it. I never thought you couldn't.”
“Huh?”
Her whole rigid body relaxed at once. The fist she'd clenched until her palm might split loosened, and her lower lip, pressed like a bunny's front teeth, finally stilled.
No time left before the performance. Looking purely at the shortage, swapping her for another member on an indigestible part was the most efficient. But the special trait had triggered: lack of confidence. With that rotten mindset, she'd be out of sync no matter the part.
If the singer can't fit the part, make the part fit the singer.
First, ignite her sense of achievement. I tapped my pen.
Tap.
“I'll be straight with you.”
“Okay.”
Her personality wasn't one for sugarcoating weak skills anyway. And this wasn't her last stage in the industry—she knew her flaws and needed to fix them.
“Your breath control's lacking.”
“Ah…… Got it.”
Short and firm reply. Good, she wasn't deflated. If anything, she looked up at me with sparkling eyes. I emphasized her part.
“If you can't sing it long in one go, break it up. That might actually suit you better. And us too.”
I tapped my ear.
“It's not just about avoiding cracks. Forcing unnecessary high notes can muddy the sound.”
This was Black Label as a team, not Hye-soo and the kids. Just Black Label, one unit. I got the greed to shine and excel. But not everyone could be main vocal. No Galácticos here. We needed to build a Real Madrid.
“Wanna try?”
“Here?”
I nodded, and so did she.
“Yeah!”
Ahem. Clearing her throat, Hye-soo sang.
-My heart-.
Breath.
-Is racing-!!
The part that felt so tough now came easy. Hye-soo wasn't the surprised one. Won Ji-min's eyes widened, and the crew, hungry for live reactions, quickly panned to the other members. Shim Yu-jeong, full of conviction, wiped her mouth with her thumb.
Was that a mutter? 'This is it.'
The crew that should've wrapped up early lingered. Yeah. This worked. Even a key assistant director from production rushed over to oversee the shoot personally. Proof we weren't one of those teams skipping to 2x speed in editing.
Protagonists? Nah. Villains to block Opus? Fine. Getting face time on air mattered most. I eyed assistant director Shim Yu-jeong. She was grinning ear-to-ear watching Hye-soo, like it was the best thing ever.
Then maybe a gift was in order. I turned to Hye-soo.
“Don't try to win on vocals just 'cause the part feels plain. If it's plain, lean into what you're confident in.”
Hye-soo's eyes widened as she placed a hand on her chest.
“What I'm confident in?”
Here comes the teaser.
***
Tap tap tap. Tap tap.
“Insane. Totally insane.”
Shim Yu-jeong grabbed the main camera and bolted for the control room.
“Wha—.”
She tripped. Nearly face-planted but caught herself on the wall. The strap around her wrist saved the camera from smashing.
“Whoa. Almost died right at the door. For real.”
Just a couple steps to the control room. She'd nearly blown delivering this good news to boss PD Jo Young-soo. Careful not to strain her tweaked ankle, she knocked lightly.
“C'mon in.”
“You're here early.”
In the control room, PD Jo Young-soo flicked away eye boogers.
“Boring as hell. Why's everyone else's songwork so dull?”
“You think so? Not me.”
“'Cause you don't shoot enough. Try filming dozens of teams. All the same shot.”
Lounging on the sofa, Jo Young-soo shook his head.
“Knew it, but damn. All scheming to get famous the same way. Composers all wanna be that gritty tiger type……”
He lowered his voice, mimicking.
“Again. No. Again! Hey, listen, Min-ji. Didn't you hear me? That's not how you bring out the vibe. All this bullshit.”
He slammed the table.
“So much 'charisma.' Think we'll air that crap?”
He spun his right hand. All 2x-speed wallpaper edits.
“Watching others' edits must bore you too, right?”
“Most probably.”
But exceptions everywhere. Jo Young-soo flashed his trademark devilish grin, mirroring Shim Yu-jeong. She set the camera on the desk.
“Opus?”
“Not aggro-bait songwork. Black Label?”
“Jackpot!”
No need for more words. Straight GOAT. Shim Yu-jeong thumbs-upped. Experience wasn't for nothing. Jo's foresight—how he'd survived this long—shone as she yanked the memory card and plugged it into the laptop.
His lazy eyes sharpened. Jo grabbed the mouse, scrubbing for highlight clips.
No words needed from him either. Timeline notes in the notepad. Even kindling needed logs.
“Clip this and upload.”
***
Free draw pass. One word omitted upfront: tournament free draw pass. Round 1 before the tourney climb. Top spot went to Kickkick Band.
Unique sound no one could copy, untouchable indie status, and visuals that sucked in fandoms on a whisper. In this idol-dominated K-pop market, no bluer chip existed.
Dragging slippers, I hit the rooftop. Shook out a cig from the pack—empty but for air. Crumpled it, lit up. Sharp smoke filled my lungs deep.
Kickkick Band. Not just variety gimmick fodder or PD Jo's pet to smash this idol scene. Real skill.
Kickkick leader Choi Chang. Real name Choi Chang-jae. While everyone rode coattails, 'Choi Chang' took composer duties too. Like explaining Slam Dunk's 'Kim Su-gyeom'—a munchkin in pansori terms.
Even a munchkin wouldn't snub a shortcut. Look. Crew snuck Kickkick out. Park bench center, handing over what looked like a white envelope.
“That's the free pass, huh.”
Jo's rigged bracket. If opponents sucked, Kickkick would use it. Pick the weakest of the 32. Pure power ranking? Black Label dodged no radar. Sharp calculators would eye us too.
“Should I play nice now?”
Opus matchup? No reason not to.
“Nah. Hate it.”
Feels like tail-wagging pup conceding a move. I flicked my cig. Hoped the thoughts scattered like ash. They knotted tighter.
“Composer Falcon. Hyun-woo, right?”
Heading to first-floor bathroom, bumped into grinning Kickkick leader Choi Chang.
No hiding. He flashed the white envelope tucked under his arm.
“Oh, this. Saw from upstairs, huh?”
Shit, he spotted me.
What now, Seo Hyun-woo? Buddy up to Choi now? Or play dead?
“Yeah, saw it but……”
I trailed off. Total ignorance play.
“How's it going? Black Label.”
“The work?”
Or asking if we'd pick Kickkick next tourney? All I could do was grin wide.
“Going well.”
“I see. We're dying over here.”
Choi laid bait.
“Crew keeps pressuring as #1, but tourney now, right? Direct matchups, this shoulder……”
He rolled his beefy shoulder like it ached.
“What vibe, what track keeps viewers hooked……”
Bathroom door swung open.
“Chang-jae! Chang-jae, big problem.”
Kickkick manager, phone out, rushed Choi, shoving it in his face.
“Gotta change plans. Black Label right now……”
“Black Label what?”
I asked the manager. Choi and his manager's faces twisted.