YouTube Buzz and Practice Room Paradise
“Thank you! The YouTube video will be up in a few days. Have a great day!”
“We hope you all have a wonderful day.”
I waved both hands at the camera before lowering them at the signal that the broadcast had ended. Right on cue, the studio door swung open. Lee Hyein hurried over and pulled me into a hug.
“Wasn't our daughter's performance just incredible?”
“Seriously, I was blown away.”
If this had been some average parent, I'd have rolled my eyes thinking, ugh, what kinda bullshit is this, and just buttered them up with, “Oh, your daughter plays so well~” But Suyeon's skill... in Junhong's eyes, objectively speaking, stripping away everything else...
Even without the title of “Seo Myeongjeon's disciple,” it was truly outstanding. Pro debut-ready. Hell, she could step in as a guitar judge on some audition show tomorrow.
“I have no idea when my girl got so good on the guitar.”
“Well, uh...”
Junhong watched the mother-daughter duo chat warmly before tossing out a question.
“So, Suyeon, you're a disciple of Teacher Myeongjeon?”
“Uh... well...”
I stalled, not jumping to answer. Like some teen hoping the moment would just pass if I dragged it out. Dodging like I had from the start would actually build more trust with him.
“Hmm... Got it.”
Seemed like it worked—he nodded to himself and wrapped up the convo. Hyein shot him a weird look. What was with this guy obsessing over that “Myeongjeon” dude since earlier? Yeah, the guitar was killer, but was it that big a deal?
Hmm...
“Anyway, it was a blast filming today. Mind if we chat about a few things real quick?”
Junhong said. There were things he needed to support this young prospect—no, “Teacher Seo Myeongjeon's final disciple”—with.
I stared at the video that had gone up on Junhong's YouTube. The live stream views weren't huge, but the edited version...
Not bad at all. Around fifty thousand? Pretty solid for something freshly uploaded, I figured.
Most of his channel's vids topped out at a few ten thousand. A couple million-view bangers, sure, but the rest barely cracked that.
And already at fifty kay. Solid performance.
Scrolling the flying comments, it felt more geared toward “Seo Myeongjeon” than “Ha Suyeon”...
Whatever.
I checked my own channel. Right after the broadcast, subscribers had spiked hard. I'd scraped to ten thousand not long ago, and now bam—three thousand more after Junhong's vid.
Is this why everyone hypes promotion?
YouTube views jumped too. What used to creep up by hundreds now leaped by thousands at a time. That second original in the playlist? Hovering at two hundred thousand.
One worry, though: the audience. Stats showed forties and fifties dominating. Comments mirrored Junhong's—polite, heartfelt, but zero youthful vibe.
Is heading this way really right?
After those comments, I started doubting my instincts. Thought I was running the channel fine till now... but nah.
Courteous, sure, but zero energy from the viewers. I got it—I was the same. Old folks don't broadcast their tastes anymore. They don't expect others to dig what they like.
Young folks? They assume everyone will love their faves. And whether true or not, they keep pushing it.
That's why basing fans on youth beats basing on age. By that logic, my channel's growth ceiling looked low.
If that mysterious algorithm doesn't pick me... gonna be tough.
Maybe pivot to new-gen covers? BTS, NewJeans, Blackpink K-pop idols, or Yoasobi, Kenshi Yonezu, Yorushika—that internet-born stuff kids love?
Musing that, I mindlessly scrolled YouTube. Then one vid caught my eye.
The familiar thumbnail pulled me in—it was a Short. And the playing? That band tune I'd done on Junhong's show.
Views? Over half a million.
“What the actual fuck...”
I felt my blood pressure spike. Iseo had explained Content ID after some effort. Point is, if someone steals and uploads my channel's stuff, I get the cash.
But this? I hadn't even uploaded it yet—no claim filed. And it wasn't the full song. Just climax, solo, no band intro from me.
Pissed off, I hit comments. Let's see these thieves' fans. Wonder what kinda moronic shit they typed...
I scanned the comments and scratched my head a bit.
Guess so. Kids dig this stuff too. My instincts still hold up.
Even if I was way off base, I wiped the corner of my eye.
Getting old—tearing up over little things. First time young folks' cheers hit this hard.
Still, copyright violation—gotta report it.
I firmly mashed the [Report] button.
“Whoa, this practice room is insane.”
“Told ya.”
Iseo and Hyeona rolled around on the practice room sofa, gushing.
The old jam space? Functional, but bare-bones. Chairs, drums, keys—that was it. Pure budget basement vibes.
But this one Suyeon scored? Pure heaven. Sofas, coffee machine, snacks galore, you name it.
Breaks used to mean hauling ass outside. Now? Nah—heaven.
“We gotta restock whatever snacks or coffee we use. That's why I'm thinking dues—cool with that?”
Suyeon said as she and Seoha walked in. Iseo nodded eagerly and crunched into a Choco Pie. The violent chocolate chips sweetened her mouth.
“How'd you even find this place?”
“From that YouTube channel appearance I mentioned. They hooked us up—said they'd support promising bands.”
Suyeon fiddled with a grip strengthener on the table. Junhong and Seoha knowing each other was a surprise.
“Seoha's a drummer I've had my eye on... so glad she's banding with you, Suyeon.”
Something like that. Whatever their connection, they were tight.
Makes sense—with that skill, getting noticed in the scene would've been weirder not to happen.
“Anyway, let's cover a few things.”
I said, calling the kids to the table. Bandmates shuffled over from the sofa.
“Second song's fully done. Iseo killed lyrics, you two nailed the arrangements.”
Iseo flashed a V-sign. I smiled faintly and pressed on.
“And we gotta sort credits for our tracks. Royalties incoming.”
“Do we really need to?”
“Cleanest way forward. If music's a one-off, whatever—but we're in it long-term... gotta settle it. Or fights break out.”
I recalled bands that imploded over sloppy credit splits. Money issues wrecked plenty.
Shoulda just done it clean from jump—instead, “feelings” got in the way... Looking back, such a dumb era.
“And Open Mic. Y'all know it's right around the corner? Time to grind harder. Long road ahead—no dropping out of that club audition.”
I scanned their faces. Determined... or more like, practice sucked so bad, live felt easier.
“Once that gov grant thing ends, we get a break, right?”
“Eh... probably.”
Fat chance, I thought. Open Mic, grant, then band audition show—schedule was packed.
No need to tell 'em.
Youth buys hardship to cherish the calm later, right?