Stand with Me
The very next day, a call came from Kim Taesung.
"Jiyoung. The track's done."
"Already?"
I rubbed my eyes and checked the time—10 a.m.
Did this guy pull an all-nighter or what?
"Should I come over right away? Aren't you exhausted?"
I asked, testing the waters. Kim Taesung let out a short laugh.
"Come over today."
"Yes, sir."
Click. The call ended.
Around eleven, I arrived at the Luminous Entertainment building.
Click.
The moment I opened the door, the scent of coffee hit me full in the face.
"Oh, you're here."
Kim Taesung, crumpled into the sofa, lifted his head. His eyes were hollow, his usually neat hair sticking out in every direction, yet his gaze still burned sharp.
"Did you really stay up all night?"
"Isn't it obvious? Sit down first. I stripped out every scrap of fat and left only the core."
With a trembling hand he gripped the mouse and double-clicked.
What poured from the speakers was a crystal-clear synth pad that felt like racing through the night streets of 1980s Tokyo, and over it, polished and elegant, sat the lonely melody line I had brought him on the external hard drive the day before.
"……"
I closed my eyes without a word and let the sound take me.
The music faded out and silence settled over the studio once more.
"Well?"
Kim Taesung watched my reaction, clearly tense.
I opened my eyes slowly.
"It's far more refined than I expected… or maybe classic is the better word? Either way. CEO, your ear's still alive."
"What kind of question is that? Who do you think I am?"
Only then did he sink back into the chair in relief.
"What's the title? Do you have one in mind?"
At my question he stared into empty air for a moment, then answered quietly.
"Stand with me."
I rolled the title around on my tongue.
"I like it. I'll write the lyrics right now."
I pulled a notebook from my bag and spread it open on the desk.
"A young guy like you still writes lyrics in a notebook? Kids these days all work on tablets."
"I like this better."
"That actually suits you."
"But CEO, why don't you rest while I write? Look in the mirror. You're one step short of a zombie."
"Don't worry about me. Back when I was young I did this for breakfast—"
"That was when you were young. At your age, if you push yourself like this, your health really will collapse."
"Ha. Listening to lectures from Jiyoung of all people. Fine, thanks. I'll lie down here while you write."
He no longer had the energy to argue. He tilted the chair all the way back and closed his eyes.
"Wake me when you're done…"
Before the sentence even finished, his breathing evened out. He had dropped into sleep like a light switch flipping off.
I spun my pen once, glanced at the sleeping Kim Taesung, then fixed my eyes on the monitor again. Headphones on, I began writing lyrics one by one over the endlessly looping instrumental.
Kim Taesung's consciousness, buried deep in the chair, slowly sank beneath the surface of sleep.
Late 1980s Tokyo. The night streets of Shinjuku unfurled before his eyes, neon signs flickering with an almost grotesque brilliance.
The study-abroad path he had been forced to take because of his father's stubborn insistence. In a land where he barely spoke the language, he was a stranger. What soothed that loneliness were the sophisticated synth sounds pouring from the radio and the city-pop melodies he wore out on cassette tapes until the tape itself stretched thin.
And somewhere in that landscape there had always been a girl. The first love whose name he could barely remember now—the one who used to speak to him in clumsy Korean from a park bench while cherry-blossom petals drifted down.
"Nana-san—!"
Kim Taesung's eyes flew open as he gasped. He swallowed hard and pushed himself upright; cold sweat clung damply to the back of his neck.
"……"
When his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was Jiyoung resting her chin in her hand, looking down at him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression.
"CEO, did you have a nice dream? You were even talking in your sleep."
Her cool voice made him cough awkwardly and hurriedly straighten his clothes. Embarrassment burned across his face.
"Ahem! No, I just… closed my eyes for a second and that was that. What time is it?"
The digital clock on the wall showed it was already past half past twelve. The nap had been short, but the dream's aftertaste lingered stubbornly long.
"I finished the lyrics."
Jiyoung pointed with a light tap at the notebook on the desk.
Kim Taesung's eyes went round.
"Already? It hasn't even been two hours."
"The track's good. You laid down such a solid beat that the words just poured out."
Her offhand praise made him rub the tip of his nose, a little shy. The kid who five years ago never listened to a word he said was now acknowledging his music. A quiet pride as a musician rose in his chest.
"Is that so? Let me see."
Just as he reached for the notebook—
Grrrroowl—.
A clear, honest sound shattered the silence from the vicinity of Kim Taesung's stomach. His hand froze in mid-air.
Jiyoung looked him up and down.
"……Are we going straight into recording? Or should we eat first?"
Trying to hide his embarrassment, he rubbed his belly.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"Let's get one take down and then eat. But for lunch today I want the cafeteria. I heard Luminous switched everything to organic? The trainees won't stop talking about it."
At that, Kim Taesung shrugged and stood.
"Of course. It's for the kids—only the best. Good food makes good sound."
He pointed toward an empty booth and flipped the mic switch.
"All right, try it once. Let's see how well your lyrics dance with my beat."
Jiyoung gathered the headphones and stepped into the booth. Kim Taesung raised the faders on the mixing console. Inside the booth she warmed up lightly and gave him a hand signal. He hit record.
The studio filled with the crystalline synth and the sleek bass line. The instant Jiyoung's voice settled over them, Kim Taesung sank deep into the chair and closed his eyes.
Yes. This feeling. The air I had forgotten—no, the air I had forced myself to bury.
The music carried him straight back to Tokyo. An eighteen-year-old boy who stayed lonely even under the dazzling neon. The only warm color left in that outsider's life began to take clear shape in his mind: her face.
Nana-san. Komatsu Nana-san.
The girl whose small freckles scattered around her eyes and mouth had been strangely charming. Once she learned he was Korean, every time they met she would smile shyly and greet him in clumsy pronunciation: "Annyeong."
Listening to Jiyoung sing, he almost believed he had become that boy again.
Then the tension of the track peaked and the chorus exploded.
Stand with me~
Knocking on the door in the dead of night
Crying, begging it not to disappear
That memory right before my eyes now
Jiyoung's voice glittered like the city nightscape and yet carried, beneath it, a fierce, aching longing.
Kim Taesung's heart clenched. For the entire song he could not move a muscle. Her voice was perfect. She seemed to understand and deliver every degree of humidity, every temperature of that era, even the bittersweet sting of first love that he had never fully explained.
When the song faded and only the lingering reverb of the outro circled the studio, Kim Taesung slowly opened his eyes. Thousands of emotions crossed paths at once. He roughly wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand.
Nana-san… I wonder if she got married? Of course she did. How many years has it been?
Still trapped in the faint afterimage of first love, he stared blankly at the ceiling. Before he knew it, Jiyoung had finished recording and was standing outside, looking at him quietly.
"……Are you crying? CEO, don't tell me it's menopause."
"……Shut up, you brat."
He answered gruffly and spun the chair around. The tips of his ears were red; he was clearly still swimming in sentiment.
"How was the song?"
When she asked lightly, Kim Taesung was silent for a moment, then spoke with weight.
"For me… this song carries enormous meaning. Your voice perfectly restored the loneliest and hottest memory of my life. Honestly, it gave me chills. It was that good."
A genuine, masterful compliment. Yet a heavy shadow fell across his face right after.
"But Jiyoung. There's one thing that worries me."
"What is it?"
"Will the public be able to relate to this song? How many of the people holding voting power right now have ever lived as strangers in a foreign country? Even if they have, I don't know whether today's audience can accept the sensibility of Japan's bubble-economy era in the eighties."
Jiyoung let out an incredulous little laugh and folded her arms.
"Oh, come on. If you were going to say that, you should have said it before we started. And CEO—I told you clearly. This time I wanted to do whatever you told me, the music you wanted to make."
"……That's true. Still, this is a survival audition. Musically the track may be perfect, but on that stage it might not have much power."
He raked a hand through his already messy hair, restless. Late regret washed over him—the fear that his own selfish desire might ruin the once-in-a-lifetime chance Jiyoung had finally earned.
"It's fine. At least the song reached one person perfectly—you. If it comforted someone and made them cry, hasn't a singer already done their job?"
She dropped onto the sofa and gave him a bright little smile.
"I really don't mind if I get eliminated this time. I've already shown everything I wanted to prove."
What true music really is. What essence hides behind the shell of rankings and scores. He understood it once again.
"……Yeah. Thank you, Jiyoung."
Kim Taesung nodded deeply, his head still trembling a little.
"Let's go to the finals with this song."
"Yes."