#27. My Master (3)
"Nice song, huh?"
The producer, bobbing his head to the rhythm, continued.
"Jin Haesol made this?"
"Yes. Not bad, right?"
"Too good to shelve. A little polish, and it'd be even better. You planning to produce it yourself?"
"Jeki's got that covered—we already talked it out."
"Then why show it to me?"
"Haesol. Feels like a waste to let that talent go untapped. Think you could mentor him?"
"Me, mentor Haesol? Hmm..."
"Having a solid protégé pays off in all sorts of ways. Especially when it's Jin Haesol."
Jin Haesol. The name was buzzing through industry circles as a genius. But "genius" got thrown around so much these days that everyone just shrugged it off. A few years in this game, and you knew how empty those fancy labels could be.
Still, amid all the posers, there were real deals—plump, juicy ones. And Jin Haesol was the real deal, fat and thriving.
He'd blown everyone away with his masked singing, and now he was flexing that talent across the board. Snagging a taste of it? No downside there.
"You serious? No backing out later with some scheduling excuse. Producing ain't playtime—it eats your life."
"Hohoho! Of course. If you teach him, we'll make it work, no question."
The dedicated team staffer knew how fast Haesol sucked up "knowledge." Once he dove into producing for real, he'd drain the producer's know-how dry in no time flat!
"Fine, but teach him the whole deal. Everything, so he can produce solo after."
"...You're really serious about turning him into a producer?"
"Once he sets his mind to something, the results are killer across the board. That's why I'm pushing him everywhere—see how far he goes."
An idol producing? If it was some hack, he'd scowl and tell them to quit dreaming. But earning "Jin Haesol's mentor" cred? That'd only help him—no loss.
'Sounds like they want to steal my secrets clean... Time to prep my exit? Rose Trainer went indie, milked Haesol for promo, raked it in. Maybe me too?'
He made decent bank—not complaining—but starting your own shop and hitting big? Leagues apart.
Plus, this industry: lose your edge, and you're done overnight. With the company blatantly setting him up to pick his brain, he couldn't play the fool.
'Future planning time.'
Young hotshots eyeing his spot. Pressing them down wouldn't last forever. And now the company's pushing him to hand over his secrets to Haesol. Throwing a tantrum was for losers. Sometimes you swallowed the humiliation, endured, for the long game.
Clinging to his seat was pointless. Better to squeeze every last drop from this while he could.
'Grab everything I can and bounce. Especially anything promo with Jin Haesol—can't miss that.'
Rose's success could be his. Why not him too? Especially with a hot star like Haesol boosting the hype?
'Failure would be weirder.'
"Bring Jin Haesol here first. Gotta see his potential up close."
"You'll teach him properly, right?"
"Of course. But if the kid's dumb, that's on him."
Honey Enter's chief producer's lessons weren't cheap. Pro-level training meant brutal if you lacked basics.
'Start from scratch, and a year flies by. Plenty of time to build leverage.'
The company wanted his skills handed over for free? Like hell. And they weren't even cutting schedules for "producing lessons."
He didn't know. Once Haesol committed, his learning speed was insane.
Singing, dancing, acting—he'd lapped years of trainee grind in no time. That genius would shine in producing too.
Out of nowhere, the company offered producing lessons.
Producing—even Jeki struggled with it—pitched to me?
A bit odd, but no reason to say no.
And one big reason I jumped: free time!
After settling on a single for the next activity, we were hitting the practice rooms to loosen up from vacation stiffness. But that lasted a day or two. Same old drills got boring fast, so when this chance hit, I couldn't pass.
Music producing: the powerhouse behind albums.
Ahyun handled composing now, but producer? Her talent could handle it.
That's why I was thrilled. If she wanted more, my head start would help big time.
'Heh, this big bro's studying hard for you!'
Strike while the iron's hot—lessons started ASAP.
"Hello, Han PD."
Han Yonggu PD was a rare male. The producing team's lone guy, but no fans among staff. Skilled, sure, but prickly as hell. And no looker either.
He waved his thick arm, beckoning me closer.
"Phew~ Sit."
"Yes, sir."
The studio reeked of stale smoke and cigs.
"Starting lessons with me today. They say you're sharp—worth my time?"
"I'll work hard."
"Hard ain't enough. Gotta be good hard. Hate teaching dummies. Newbie producers stress me out enough—don't need more from you. Believing the genius hype, so deliver?"
Say no here, and lessons end?
'What a grouch. Tell him to fuck off?'
But I needed this. Chief producer at a major label—his survival know-how was gold.
"I can do it."
No coins? Tough without investment. I psyched myself up, coins or not.
"Oho~ Nice and bold. First one with balls like that. Alright, level check. Programs—you know any?"
Bad to admit after saying yes, but...
"Zero clue."
"!!!"
Pathetic—I was a hack composer who couldn't even MIDI.
Time flew.
Prior skills helped me absorb producing basics fast.
MIDI used to make my eyes spin; now I could craft a track, though it took time.
Han PD ditched me for online lectures—"learn basics yourself"—so self-study it was.
'Memory's a cheat skill.'
I'd leveled memory steadily—daily life staple. It crushed MIDI learning.
Basics done, he finally taught advanced stuff. Around when shortcuts clicked.
He'd nearly quit when I admitted zero basics. Promised basics in three days; he grumbled "fine, prove it."
'And I did—in three days flat.'
Memory made it possible.
Thus, producing lessons began. Han PD's initial disdain—treating me like a headache—shifted over time.
I sucked his know-how dry, overkill effort earning me "monster" status.
ZZZing—
"What’s she wanna show?"
I tilted my head, about to ask, but arrived—pocketed the phone.
Knock knock—
"Teacher!"
Slipped once during lessons; he preferred it over PD, so it stuck.
"Shit, you again?"
"Why so mean~ Makes me sad."
"Don't come. Stay away!"
"Hehe."
The studio's faint cig scent now felt cozy, evoking chain-smoking Teacher.
He'd booted me early for lacking basics. But.
"Applied your lessons—made a track. Listen?"
"Fuck. Already applying to make a song? Same quality as last?"
Now he dodged for different reasons.
"Probably."
I grinned; he clutched his forehead, losing it.
"Fuck it! Let's hear! Show me how good!!"
He gnashed teeth, plugging my USB.
Sorry, Teacher—this track, inspired, outshone the last.
My song played.
"......"
"......"
Sleek rhythm, lesson techniques woven in—Teacher's head and foot bobbed involuntarily.
"Hate to brag since I made it, but this one's solid, right? Applying your stuff made it polished—no cheese."
"Handled the notes smooth, no rough edges."
Scowling, he lit a cig at last.
Then sighed like the world's most miserable man, muttering.
"...Fuckin' monster."
He glared resentfully, puffing hard.
He felt it in his bones: I was the real genius.
Sucking dry a lifetime's know-how in weeks.