Advance (2)
The moment I stepped off the plane, I followed the escort who had been waiting for me into a private passageway.
Immigration formalities were finished in the blink of an eye. Leaving the long lines of ordinary passengers behind and slipping out so effortlessly left me with a strangely exhilarating thrill.
The taste of capitalism really is sweet.
No sooner had I exited the gate than two people in formal suits hurried toward me.
"Ms. Han Jiyoung! You've arrived!"
A young man wearing glasses bowed so deeply his waist nearly folded at a right angle, then spoke in clumsy Korean.
"Welcome! I am Sato Kenji!"
"Nice to meet you. I'm Han Jiyoung."
Sato snatched up my small suitcase before I could even finish answering. Beside him, a woman with a bob haircut smiled and held out her business card.
"It's a pleasure, Ms. Jiyoung. I'm Sakura, your dedicated interpreter. I'll relay everything Mr. Sato says right away, so please speak freely."
Sakura's Korean was flawless. When Sato chattered something in Japanese beside her, she translated at once.
"Mr. Sato says he's watched your live videos hundreds of times and that it's an honor to meet you in person. Now, shall we take you to the car that's ready?"
Outside the airport, a black luxury van waited. The door opened, I sank into the seat, and the unfamiliar scenery of Tokyo flashed past the window.
We arrived at a five-star hotel right in the heart of downtown Tokyo. Sato handled the check-in for me and guided me to the elevator. He pressed the highest button—the top-floor penthouse.
Ding—
The moment the card key opened the door, my mouth fell open.
"…Wow."
A living room as vast as a sports field, and beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows the panoramic view of Tokyo Tower. Three bedrooms, bathrooms gleaming with marble. All of this… for me alone?
"Ms. Jiyoung, is the room to your liking? Please let us know anytime if anything is inconvenient."
I nodded blankly at Sakura's question. Sato carefully set my small suitcase down in the middle of the living room. There it sat, looking utterly out of place—my tiny case holding only a few clothes, stranded in the center of an enormous suite. The sight was so absurd I let out a hollow laugh.
This feels pretty good.
I had never received hospitality this lavish before. Sato checked his watch and asked carefully.
"The director and staff are waiting at the studio, but you're welcome to rest today and go tomorrow. What would you prefer?"
I answered before Sakura had even finished interpreting.
"No, let's go right now."
"Right now?"
Sato's eyes widened in surprise.
"Yes. This is all my luggage, and there's nothing to unpack. More than anything, I'm curious why you're treating me this well."
At my decisive tone, color brightened on Sato's face. He bowed once more and opened the door.
"Understood! We'll take you right away!"
The building of Studio Iter that we were guided to had a flashy exterior. The interior, however, was frankly bizarre. After stepping off the elevator and walking down the corridor, I saw a landscape of countless people crammed together like chickens in a coop, separated only by low partitions. Every one of them sat hunched over light boxes, pencils moving across paper as they drew key animation frames. The only sound filling the silence was the soft scratch of pencil on paper.
Their focus is incredible.
For a moment I saw myself overlapping with them. Whenever I lost myself in composition, the air around me seemed to freeze in the same way.
A short while later Sato stopped and opened a heavy wooden door. Stepping inside, a faint fragrance of tea tickled my nose. A white-haired elderly gentleman stood looking out the window, his hair neatly combed back.
"Director, Ms. Han Jiyoung has arrived."
At Sato's words the old gentleman slowly turned. It was Kawaguchi Shunsuke, the legendary master of Japanese animation. Sato offered a respectful greeting and left the room; interpreter Sakura took her place at my side. Kawaguchi indicated the sofa opposite him with a kind smile.
We exchanged light greetings, but for a meeting with a giant of the industry the conversation was remarkably concise.
"Thank you so much for rushing all this way."
Once Sakura finished interpreting, I gave a light nod and spoke.
"Not at all. Reaching out to the world and sharing my voice has always been my long-held dream and goal. I'm the one who should be sincerely grateful for this opportunity."
I meant every word. When Kawaguchi heard the translation, his eyes trembled. He stared at me for a moment as if at a loss for words, then slipped a finger under his glasses and pressed firmly against his eyelids.
"…Words with real resonance."
He exhaled a shaky breath and held out a sheet of paper that had been lying on the table.
"If it isn't too forward of me, would you mind going straight into recording?"
What he handed me was the lyric sheet for the main theme of this work. Not computer-typed, but written in neat handwriting. Traces of careful revisions remained here and there—an analog touch that felt distinctly Japanese. Beside the lyrics, Japanese pronunciation had been thoughtfully written out in katakana for my convenience.
I scanned the sheet carefully, then spoke with a slightly awkward expression.
"Actually… I've never formally studied Japanese and rarely used it. I'm not sure about the pronunciation. I'm worried it might get in the way of conveying emotion."
Kawaguchi hung his head as if realizing his mistake.
"My apologies—my greed got the better of me. I was so eager to hear your voice that I was discourteous. Singing in a foreign language without preparation will certainly be difficult. In that case, let's focus on reviewing the contract today, and record after you've had time to prepare your condition…"
"No."
I cut him off cleanly. His eyes went round.
"I'd like to try recording once. If you direct the pronunciation, I'll do my best to match it."
At my confident proposal, Kawaguchi's face instantly lit up. He rose from his seat with a bright smile like a child's.
"Wonderful!! If you're willing, nothing could make me happier. Let's head to the studio right away!"
The main recording studio of Studio Iter.
Music director Tanaka was deeply absorbed in work, three large monitors open before him. All the insert songs and background music for the animation had already been recorded and composed—everything except the title track. Tanaka was immersed in the mastering stage, yet the furrow between his brows refused to ease.
With a soft creak, the soundproof door opened. Tanaka, still focused, turned his head. Kawaguchi, interpreter Sakura, and an unfamiliar young woman entered.
Tanaka's gaze settled on Han Jiyoung.
…She's beautiful.
Her aura, encountered in person rather than through a camera lens, was overwhelming. But Tanaka's eyes quickly cooled again. He was thoroughly exhausted by Kawaguchi's stubbornness. Every talented Japanese singer he had recommended had been rejected for trivial reasons, and then the director had summoned this girl from Korea after watching a single video brought by the junior assistant director, Sato.
The voice was certainly good.
Tanaka was a professional who gave credit where it was due. He had listened to everything—her first-place finish on a Korean audition program and all the work she had released so far. The sound itself was excellent. Yet a competitive edge still remained in him.
Studio correction is something everyone does these days. Her live performance might be garbage.
Let's see just how good she really is. That was his thought.
Kawaguchi and Jiyoung exchanged a few words, then Jiyoung went straight into the soundproof booth. Seeing this, Tanaka approached Kawaguchi and asked,
"Director, does she speak Japanese at all?"
Kawaguchi shook his head as if it were nothing important.
"No. She said this will be the first time she tries the pronunciation."
"What?! That's a problem! We're already so short on time!"
Tanaka protested, clicking his tongue. The delivery deadline was right around the corner. Correcting the pronunciation letter by letter would take them all night and still not be enough.
"Well, well, let's just hear her once. The girl herself wants to try."
Kawaguchi's attitude was relaxed—generously called the composure of a master, less generously the obstinacy of a stubborn old man. Tanaka heaved a deep sigh and sank into his chair.
We're screwed. No way I'm getting home tonight.
Reluctantly, Tanaka raised the faders on the mixing console and played the accompaniment. Inside the booth, Jiyoung gazed steadily down at the lyric sheet. Drum beats and an electric guitar riff filled the studio. Then her lips parted.
The pronunciation was clearly unpolished—the raw imitation of someone who had never formally studied Japanese. Yet as if mocking that minor flaw, her voice rode the accompaniment with absolute perfection, not a single wobble. It was hard to believe she had only just been handed the lyrics and had listened to the guide track a couple of times.
Deep satisfaction settled on Kawaguchi's lips. Arms folded, he watched the monitor and gave a small nod.
Yes. This is the voice.
In contrast, Tanaka's fingers froze in midair above the console.
Impossible. This is the first take?
Tanaka rubbed the goosebumps rising on his arms. No matter that Kawaguchi was a giant of animation, Tanaka had always prided himself on being a step above when it came to music. Yet now he had no choice but to bow completely before the director's eye for talent.
Countless unfinished scenes of the animation that he had replayed endlessly in his mind flickered past. A hill at sunset, the gazes of two protagonists that never quite meet, fingertips that almost—but never quite—touch. When Jiyoung's voice was layered over those static frames, the lifeless key drawings finally began to move with life. The work's once-hazy message solidified into a clear form through her voice.
Without realizing it, Tanaka raised the faders and immersed himself completely in the sound of her. The competitive edge had long since vanished.