The Realm of Talent
Session artistry is the domain of talent. There might be a few who deny it, but far more would agree. Se-hyeon was one of those who bought into the idea. After all, he himself had been blessed with it.
From a young age, he'd been told he had a great voice. As he got older, singing could leave everyone around him in awe. In high school, he rarely performed for his peers—didn't want to intimidate them. But art school was a whole different world. There were kids who sang even better, and tons with raw potential. He'd been a frog in a well.
So he pushed himself relentlessly, singing until his throat bled, all to prove he had talent. And in doing so, he thought he'd escaped that well. Through college collaborations with friends, scoldings and praise from professors alike... he'd tasted the scene, or so he believed. He pondered what it meant to be amateur versus pro, honed his professional mindset. A frog facing the vast ocean must decide: return to the well or venture into the sea. He was the frog choosing the sea, confronting his shortcomings to prepare for the world.
But even that ocean he'd faced turned out to be just another well.
The clean guitar tone kicked in with a ding, blending seamlessly into the gentle piano line without a hint of discord. The instrumental track had felt flat without vocals. But now, with the guitar line in play, it was as if vocals were already there naturally.
Or more precisely... the whole song seemed to be waiting for his voice.
"Today, like every day, I'm waiting for you..."
The lyrics slipped out effortlessly.
"Whoa, what is that?"
Se-hyeon's friend, who'd come to help with mixing, muttered in shock. Se-hyeon felt the same. What the hell was that?
The next part was the hook he'd poured his heart into—a explosive release after the first verse's buildup, where vocals would burst forth. The guitar supported it perfectly, naturally.
"Ah..."
Se-hyeon let out a sigh tinged with regret. It would've been nice if she'd hit harder here once. Wouldn't that have amplified the climax? No, that wasn't it. This was his song, his vocals. The session was meant to elevate them.
I almost forgot—it's my song...
The playing knew its place: she wasn't the star; she existed only to make the vocals shine. Se-hyeon was in awe of that mindset. Even for a session pro, could you really kill your ego that completely? You'd think some greed would creep in.
"Is this line good enough?"
The voice came from the booth after the guitar wrapped up.
"Anything to fix?"
"Uh... no. This feels perfect as is. Hell, we could've just used that take."
His friend muttered that there was nothing left to trim. Se-hyeon agreed. Why tweak perfection?
"We can record right away."
"Is the tone okay like this?"
Tone? Se-hyeon pondered what might work best.
Beats me.
"Just do whatever. This is fine."
"Got it."
As his friend adjusted the recording setup, Se-hyeon tweaked the monitoring. Meanwhile, the girl in the booth fiddled with her tone settings.
"I'll start with the melody line, then add strums, arpeggios, single notes as needed."
"Ah, yeah..."
"No acoustic on hand, so I'll emulate it with the electric as best I can. Need real acoustic sound?"
"N-no..."
Se-hyeon figured one clean line would suffice, but she clearly had other ideas. Offering to record acoustic tones unprompted? Impressively diligent. He closed his eyes, listening to the speaker's output.
Damn, that's good.
The song, once unsatisfying, now edged toward 100%. Maybe even 120, 130%.
"Add a solo?"
"Uh, yeah... that'd be great..."
Then, from the booth:
"Solo okay?"
"Yeah, give it a shot? Gotta hear it."
Se-hyeon agreed, but his friend didn't look thrilled. Ignoring that, Se-hyeon spoke into the mic. The solo began moments later—and chills raced across his skin.
Banding into the hook's start, Suyeon's hands moved. Like a spider weaving silk: precise yet bold. Thumb-sister anchoring, the four siblings danced on the fretboard. Neither rushed nor sluggish. Instinct guiding it like a butterfly to its path—melody flowing naturally.
This has to go in.
The solo—30 seconds feeling like 10—ended, and Se-hyeon was set to insist. But his friend spoke first.
"Don't use it."
"...Why?"
"Song'll be killer with it. But your vocals'll get buried."
"What?"
"Vocals can't match this solo. You'd have to dial them back for the guitar, boosting overall quality—but killing your voice."
Se-hyeon agonized: song quality or vocal quality? Both made sense, both valid.
He grabbed the mic.
"Skip the solo."
"Got it. Next parts then."
This is right.
Song quality matters. But ultimately, this album, this track—was Se-hyeon's. His spotlight, not the guitar's.
"Where'd she learn that?"
"Hm?"
His friend's mutter amid his thoughts.
"Looks insanely tough. Not high school music prodigy vibes. They don't teach that anyway..."
"Mm."
Both art school grads, they knew the scene. A place where everyone fancies themselves the protagonist.
"Too young for much session work. But so damn polished."
"Eh... does it matter?"
As Se-hyeon mulled that, he recalled their agreed session fee: 150,000 won per pro (3-3.5 hours, studio basic). He'd braced for three pros—450,000—plus possible redo risks.
But at this rate, two pros max.
Somehow, it felt almost guilty. Top-tier session for 300,000, then "thanks, bye"? Like robbery...
Myeongjeon hammered the guitar without a second thought. A gritty, driven tone—chop-chop (properly punk rhythm, skank stroke, etc.)—sprinkled just where needed, then tone tweak.
Arpeggios next.
Do I really need to go this far?
Old Myeongjeon never did. He'd handle the basics unasked, but not venture into arranging territory. That was billable—effort, after all.
They say composing is instinct, arranging is study. Composing crafts the main melody; arranging builds the supporting rhythms, effects, and devices. Labor-intensive. And labor means pay. Industry gospel.
Myeongjeon knew it inside out, but...
Charge for this, and no one'll book me again.
Past him would've said, "More? Credit or arranging fee required." The desperate ones were the hirers, not him. He picked gigs on whims, clients aplenty.
But now?
This job alone's a miracle.
She'd posted the track and contact, never expecting bites. Who'd hear a cover and original, freak out "She's insane!!", and call? She'd smack any junior suggesting it—wasted cash.
Yet here it was.
Treat 'em right, build connections for more gigs.
From looks and songcraft, obvious art school brats—cocky posers lacking skill, Myeongjeon's least favorite type. But upside?
Rich folks. 300k-500k's pocket change.
Prejudiced? Sure. But true enough. True musicians claw from dirt: busk for rent, gear, scraping by to stardom. Soft modern "music" from pampered kids whining for parental cash? Myeongjeon tsked.
'Waaah, Mommy Daddy gimme money I wanna make music waaah'—what music could they make? Tsk tsk...
"Thank you!! We'll spread the word big time!! Great work!!"
"Yeah, you too."
Sunset long gone, cloudy moonlight on the street. Leaving the bowing college duo, Myeongjeon checked her phone, guitar slung.
300,000 won.
Old days: a million easy. With arranging? 1.5 maybe. Now thrilled with a fifth?
Whatever—first step forward.
A Mercedes S-Class pulled up mid-reverie. Passenger window down: Lee Hyein.
"Suyeon! Done?"
"Yeah."
"Toss gear in back~"
Gear stowed, she buckled in. Lee Hyein beamed at her nonstop.
"...What?"
"Heard you were guitar-ing and earning cash. Wild."
"Not usually this lucrative. I just... played well."
Worried she'd think guitarist = money printer, Myeongjeon fumbled an excuse.
"I know, Mom. Our girl's a pro."
"...Yeah."
Silence fell. Myeongjeon stole a glance. Late night, yet here for pickup. No irritation.
"Someday, will Suyeon be a pro guitarist earning with her axe?"
"...Possible, sure..."
Eh, necessary? This life, music was hobby-level. Though taking sessions kinda contradicts that...
Lee Hyein's words snapped her out.
"Suyeon, wanna try part-time?"
"What kind?"
"My company's got office worker bands... need a teacher. Guide them, play company cafe gigs... that sorta thing."
Tunnel garbled the rest, but: teaching civilians guitar.
"I'll do it."
"Really? Thanks."
Seeing her smile, Myeongjeon mused. Lessons? Decade-plus routine. Cakewalk.
Money rolling in...
She grinned. One of her old possessions seemed within reach soon.