EP: "Won't Think About What Comes After"
Back home, laptop open in front of her, Myeongjeon mulled over Iseo's words.
Memories from the old days. Her childhood, warming up a lunchbox by the stove. Back then, Myeongjeon had thought...
'Guitar or nothing.'
Of course, even after she'd grown up and her head had gotten bigger, the conviction that it had to be guitar hadn't changed. But back then, it had felt even more intense.
She even remembered saying something like, "Hongil, I'm either gonna become the Beatles or jump off a cliff—one or the other."
"What the fuck kinda talk is that?" Hongil had shot back.
Why had she thought that way at the time? Why hadn't she considered the possibility of failure? What had allowed her to shout, "I'm gonna make it with guitar!" without a single thought for the future?
Next, Myeongjeon recalled a Koshien game she'd seen long ago. Two pitchers who went the distance in the finals for 15 innings, then complete games again the next day. Over the tournament, they'd thrown 950 pitches, and in the championship, they'd pitched 24 innings over two days with just a day's rest. What had powered them through? Didn't their arms hurt? Didn't they worry about what came next if they pushed themselves like that? No fretting over the future?
Finally, Myeongjeon thought back to the recent incident. Blurting things out in front of investors without a second thought. That person, acting purely on current emotions, heedless of the consequences. A bit distant from her teenage years, sure... but why had they acted that way? Weren't they scared of what followed? Was the present they'd slammed into more important than some unarrived future?
One memory neutral. One positive, one negative. But they shared something. Surrendering to emotion. Acting on feeling over reason.
Couldn't call that way of life good or bad. Just different.
So Myeongjeon wondered if she should sing of that brilliance. Of people who cast everything aside, driven only by the urge to hurl themselves forward—because if not now, when? Burning themselves up like that. Whether the forest would regrow after the flames or lie in ruins... who knew. But the blaze itself was beautiful, wasn't it?
But after a moment's thought, she decided against it.
Flames were brilliant. So brilliant—but fleeting, too. Burning your life for one spark? Who knew if it was even worth that much.
Instead, she'd tell what came next. The forest after the wildfire swept through. Ashes turning to fertilizer, new shoots maybe sprouting... or the woods dying outright. Someone had to talk about it, right? That you didn't need to throw your whole life away. That you didn't have to surrender everything to a momentary emotion. By singing of the sorrow of those who did.
Myeongjeon gripped the keyboard again.
Slow tempo, monophonic like the last track. Same structure: drums, keys, guitar, bass. But an unsteady 5/4 time. Distant, wistful siren sounds repeating in the background. To build unease and tension.
How to weight the instruments? She handled guitar best—make it the lead again?
'Nah.'
Guitar minimal, just occasional fills. Add some strings for a faint funeral march vibe.
'Live performance? It'll work out somehow.'
If not, skip it live. Keys to follow the strings. The real stars: drums and bass.
Drums get endless time signature shifts on top of the 5/4. Whether Seoha could play it... well, she'd have to suffer a bit.
Bass stays grounded—no flashy riffs, just simple lines based on the root. A monotonous foundation for the drums to dance on.
'Too funereal?'
Once assembled, it sagged too much. Drums danced, bass breathed... but even with vocals, it wouldn't lift. Not that she planned to belt it out.
She surveyed the whole picture again. Dancing drums over droning bass. Sporadic guitar strums. Anxious sirens. First, the backdrop: waves crashing faintly to evoke a scorched other shore swallowed by flames. Deep ocean sirens. A touch of foghorn.
At the start, keys in tremolo. To evoke trembling.
That the groundwork? Next: the persistent regret threading the track—leave it unresolved, or resolve it?
'My taste runs to leaving it be...'
But that'd make it too bleak. No fun to listen to.
So what? Myeongjeon crossed her arms, staring at the DAW.
Guitar was safe, familiar. But boring, predictable. She wanted guitar minimal, her role limited to vocals.
But it needed a highlight...
Pondering, she reached a conclusion. Added an instrument.
A blues-scale trumpet.
To let listeners overcome the regret. Like blues transmuting sorrow—so they'd believe rain would bring sprouts even to a burned forest.
"What do you think?"
"This is... too much."
Suyeon, reunited after ages for the album session, played the track. Chae Hogun shook his head.
"How old did you say Suyeon was again?"
"High school sophomore."
"A high school sophomore writes something like this... what am I, an old fart, supposed to write?"
Per Suyeon's explanation, the song urged young people not to surrender everything to fleeting emotions. Whether that worked as music was secondary—the concept alone stood out.
At that age, don't they write songs about burning it all down? Devoting life to love. Pouring everything into song. That stuff."
Trivial matters in the grand life scheme. Yet treated as world-ending, worth staking everything on.
'Ha Suyeon' had surely been that age. So why did her songs feel so out of step with her peers? A kid who'd aged decades beyond her years—but still just a high school girl.
"Not that extreme, Professor."
"No, it is. Accept the praise—no need to be humble. I don't compliment juniors lightly."
"Professor, what's up? Something wrong?"
A drum session man cut in as they chatted. Hogun excused himself and played it for him too. As the drummer marveled, others gathered.
"Suyeon made this?"
"What was I doing at her age."
"Genius. Straight-up genius."
"Only a year of training? That's pure talent."
Suyeon flushed amid the reactions. Hogun clapped to refocus, sending the sessions back to work.
"How're you planning to release?"
"Thinking EP."
Post-recording, snacks out in the studio lounge, Hogun sipped coffee and asked. Suyeon replied.
"Real bands drop full albums first."
"True, but right now, getting something out fast feels crucial."
She explained: Band gigging at Paradox, but lost government funding. (She detailed it; Hogun fumed.) Then sessioning Juhyeon's concert drew fans.
"So we're rushing. EP with 4-5 tracks. Production, promo."
"Makes sense..."
Not the classic path, Hogun thought. But the industry's changed—beggars can't be choosers.
"Label decided? It's key."
"How about ours? Music's killer. I can sell tons."
Sessions pounced like lions on prey, hawking their labels. Suyeon shut them down: "Already signed."
"But problem."
"What?"
"Indie label—no promo power."
"Ah, promo..." Echoed the room. No one had answers. If they did, rock wouldn't be in this state—utopia already.
"Promo woes everywhere. Even my album... how many copies? Still, gotta keep making music."
"Your stuff sells decent, Professor. Last one hit 600."
"Might as well not release."
Raw indie reality in their talk. Myeongjeon doubted Hogun's no-promo music sold that poorly. But promo was essential. No awareness, no buys. Not spamming supply sans demand, but "Hey, check this track?"
Problem: how?
"Talking amongst ourselves won't solve it~"
One session's quip dispersed the coffee break. Myeongjeon pondered promo angles—no sharp ideas. Plenty of dirty ones, though.
Like streaming bots or viral pushes. TikTok virals big now? Pour cash in, boom.
But she didn't want that.
"Can share with folks around here? No embargo or anything?"
"None. Just don't rip it off."
"We got ethics~"
Sessions left with that. Myeongjeon headed home, idea-less.
Maybe it was inevitable.
"Alright, folks. That's the broadcast for today... or so I thought. Huh? More? What's that KakaoTalk noise? Yeah, weird. Why's Jaehyeon-hyung messaging now? Sent a song? Play it? Hold on. Can I... play this? No reply. Probably fine? Let's hear it."
Myeongjeon's track trickled through channels, landing with a major agency's boy band member... and suddenly blasting on his Instagram Live to thousands of viewers. Just like that.