Chapter 11
Chapter 11
B.I.G’s second diss track dropped.
Maybe he was genuinely furious, because this time, he went much harder.
“Shotgun pull the trigger? Nah, he pulling all your strings.”
Shotgun pulls the trigger? No, he is the one pulling your strings.
“Legs up, ass out, moanin’ like a bitch in heat.”
Ass up in the air, rapping like a bitch in heat.
Masculinity mattered to rappers.
Planting an image that cracked that masculinity was an attack almost as devastating as actually shooting someone.
Crack!
The pen in Lil D’s hand snapped in two.
...!
While Park Geon stared in shock, the diss track ended.
Lil D shot to his feet.
“Shotgun, you listened to all that and you’re not pissed?”
“...!”
“Say something! Speak up!”
His terrified brain automatically translated Lil D’s words.
Don’t tell me... he wants me to write the lyrics?
First beatmaking, producing, and DJing.
Now lyric writing too.
The gangsters’ demands just kept increasing!
I’ll die if I don’t do it. I’ll die if I don’t do it. I’ll die if I don’t do it.
Park Geon immediately picked up a pen.
He opened his notebook.
...What is he suddenly doing?
While Lil D stared at him in confusion, Park Geon began searching.
B.I.G. Blood-affiliated. Redline Records.
Official interviews, social media, wikis, fan forums.
He even dug through the underground corners of hip-hop communities.
Reddit subforums, Discord archives, and screenshot threads of deleted Twitter posts.
(Translator’s Note: Reddit — A social news aggregation and discussion platform founded on June 23, 2005. Its communities are organized into topic-specific forums called subreddits.)
(Translator’s Note: Discord — A communication platform launched on May 13, 2015. It first became widely popular in gaming communities before expanding into music, fandom, study, and general online communities.)
Compared to searching for legal precedents, digging up a rapper’s embarrassing past was much easier.
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch!
Before long, his pen began racing across the page as though something were chasing him.
Identify the opponent’s weakness logically, present supporting evidence, and drive everything toward a conclusion.
A courtroom argument and diss lyrics were fundamentally the same.
...In the sense that both were written to destroy the opposition.
Lil D peered over Park Geon’s shoulder at the notebook.
His eyes grew wider the further he read.
This ruthless bastard...!
The lyrics were vicious.
At this rate, they might actually end B.I.G’s career.
I can’t just sit around doing nothing either.
While Park Geon worked on the beat after finishing the lyrics, Lil D began writing verses of his own.
Co-written lyrics.
That had not been the original plan, but at this moment, the two of them were facing the same enemy.
The recording was finished quickly.
The electronic bass thundered as though it would tear the speakers apart.
A razor-sharp synth cut through the beat, while a distorted kick drilled into the ears.
Upload.
[SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE]
[Lyrics: SHOTGUN / Lil Dunk]
[Prod. SHOTGUN]
The internet exploded.
—Lil D dropped his second response diss. Forty minutes.
└ LMAOOOO forty minutes?
└ They said forty minutes, holy shit LMAOOOOOO
└ Okay, this is actually insane.
└ B.I.G took an hour and forty minutes, and Lil D did it in forty LMAO.
└ He got completely destroyed in the speed battle.
Once the lyrics were posted, the reaction grew even more explosive.
Lil D’s rap delivery sounded as if he were spitting every word directly into his opponent’s face.
“Rancho Cucamonga boy, your mama drove a fuckin’ Volvo.”
Boy from Rancho Cucamonga, your mother drove a Volvo and took you to school every day.
“Private school nigga rapping ’bout the block he never walked on.”
A private-school kid rapping about a block he had never even walked through.
“Snitched on your dawg for bail, sold his name like it was merch.”
You sold out your brother for bail money, selling his name like merchandise.
“I’ll skull-fuck your legacy and nut on everything you built.”
I’ll destroy your career and come all over everything you built.
“Fake hood, fake blood, real snitch—that’s your resume, bitch.”
Fake hood, fake Blood, real rat—that’s your résumé, bitch.
—LMAOOOOO Rancho Cucamonga, seriously?
└ It’s real. People even found his private-school records.
└ So he wasn’t from the hood LMAO.
└ Is the snitching accusation real too??
└ The court records are sealed, but someone who got arrested with him posted about it on Twitter back then. Screenshots are circulating.
└ The boy-band cover photo is still on his mom’s Instagram LMAO.
└ B.I.G is seriously finished. LMAOOOO.
—SHOTGUN’s name is listed in the songwriting credits?
└ What? Shotgun wrote the lyrics too?
└ What the hell does this guy even do?
└ Look at how brutal these lyrics are. Shotgun is one scary bastard.
Opinions had been divided during the first round of diss tracks, but the second round was completely one-sided.
—Isn’t this a total victory for Lil D?
—The beat is insane this time.
└ It’s an electronic beat, but it’s aggressive as hell.
└ Look at how completely different the beat style is from the first response track. How wide is Shotgun’s range?
└ He’s definitely a genius, but he also seems a little psychopathic.
└ Fucking terrifying.
Then someone brought in a photograph.
—Found a picture of Shotgun.
└ Where?
└ Someone supposedly took it when he performed at The Vault.
The photo showed a silhouette standing behind the DJ booth.
His face could not be seen clearly because of the thick smog, but his outline was visible.
Sunglasses.
A Cuban link chain.
(Translator’s Note: Cuban link chain — A thick chain style made of tightly interlocking oval links, strongly associated with hip-hop fashion from the late twentieth century onward.)
The brim of a snapback turned slightly to the side.
And through the smog, the straight line of a mouth completely devoid of emotion.
—He looks cool as fuck.
—That vibe through the smog is insane.
—Anyone know who Shotgun really is?
└ Literally nothing is known about him.
└ No SoundCloud. No Instagram. No Twitter. No YouTube.
└ The only thing people know is that Big Joe brought him in personally.
└ An OG brought him in himself? What kind of connections does this guy have?
└ Maybe he’s a producer who has been secretly working in the industry.
└ Yeah, someone that skilled can’t actually be unknown.
└ Maybe he’s deliberately hiding his identity.
The diss battle spread beyond the hip-hop community.
The difference in weight class between a major-scene rapper and an underground rapper made the conflict even more newsworthy, while the insane forty-minute response time went viral.
And then, eventually.
B.I.G’s side never released a third diss track.
Maybe Marcus stopped him, or perhaps B.I.G himself decided he could not afford to take any more damage.
Either way.
The result was Lil D’s complete victory.
Thanks to that, Lil D’s SoundCloud follower count, which had previously only circulated within the South LA underground, began climbing noticeably.
As [SMALL] and [SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE] continued to be discussed throughout hip-hop communities, people also began searching for and listening to Lil D’s older music.
—I listened to Lil D’s mixtape from his underground days, and this shit is good too.
└ Track three is insane.
└ I don’t understand why this guy is still underground.
└ This diss battle is probably going to be his big break.
Naturally, mentions of Shotgun also increased.
—Does Shotgun have any other work?
└ These two songs are everything.
└ There’s a rumor that Shotgun is producing Lil D’s new track.
└ If that’s true, I’m definitely listening.
└ I’m looking forward to it.
His identity was never revealed.
The photograph was obscured by smog, and he had absolutely no online footprint.
He was Asian.
Big Joe had brought him in.
That was all anyone knew.
A producer shrouded in mystery.
That only intensified people’s curiosity, and everyone began filling in the blanks with their own imagination.
Smoke rose from the front yard of Big Joe’s house.
Grease dripped from racks of pork ribs over the charcoal, sizzling as it hit the coals.
A massive Bluetooth speaker set up on one side of the yard was playing the diss tracks on repeat.
“Ayyyyyyy!”
Dustin roared with a pork rib in one hand.
“Those Blood bastards must be humiliated as hell!”
“B.I.G not dropping a third track means he surrendered.”
[SMALL] ended on the speakers and switched to [SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE].
The sharp synth of the electronic beat tore through the yard, drawing reactions from every direction.
“OHHH! This part! This is the part!”
“This shit is going to follow B.I.G for the rest of his life!”
Big Joe sat in a folding chair.
“...”
The SoundCloud play counts for [SMALL] and [SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE] were steadily rising.
The diss battle with B.I.G had effectively become a form of marketing.
They promoted us by picking the fight first.
Big Joe had a bigger picture in mind.
Pull Lil D out of the underground and establish him in the major scene.
And Shotgun stood at the center of that plan.
Beats, producing, and even songwriting.
During this diss battle, Shotgun had performed far beyond Big Joe’s expectations.
It was not merely that his lyrics were vicious. He had systematically attacked his opponent’s weaknesses using facts as ammunition.
That kid’s the real deal.
Big Joe’s gaze turned toward Shotgun, who was tearing apart a piece of cornbread in a corner of the yard.
Then—
“Lorenzo!”
A voice came from inside.
There was only one person in the world who could call Big Joe by his real name.
An elderly woman stepped into the yard carrying plates of meat in both hands.
Mama Rose.
“Ayyyy! MAMA ROSE!”
Dustin shouted in greeting.
Even Jamal turned back into a church boy in front of Mama Rose.
“I’ll carry those for you.”
“No need. I’m still strong.”
Mama Rose placed the plates on the table.
Freshly grilled sausages and chicken wings were piled high like mountains.
“But I’ve never seen this boy before.”
Park Geon froze with half a piece of cornbread in his hands.
“Mama, that’s Shotgun. He’s the genius producer who helped Lil D destroy B.I.G this time!”
Mama Rose placed a chicken wing on Park Geon’s plate.
“You have to eat well to make good music. I always told Lorenzo’s brother the same thing.”
Lil K.
Big Joe’s older brother.
A brief silence passed, but Mama Rose did not allow it to become heavy.
She gently stroked Park Geon’s hair once before moving on to another table.
“...”
Park Geon looked down at the chicken wing.
For the first time since he had started spending time with these people, warmth spread through his chest.
“Shotgun.”
Big Joe sat down beside him.
Park Geon immediately went back into full alert mode.
“This is our chance. We have to release the new song as quickly as possible.”
Lil D also held out a fist toward Park Geon.
“Come with me, homie.”
“...”
“We’re fifty-fifty homies, right? We proved ourselves together this time. I couldn’t have taken that bastard down on my own.”
“...”
“Before people lose interest, let’s hit them with a new track fast. Keep this momentum going.”
And then, suddenly, Park Geon thought—
...Wait.
Something flashed through his mind.
My semester starts next week.
His UCLA class schedule was spread out on one side of the desk, while notifications from Lil D piled up on the other.
[Lil D: I figured out the direction for the new song. Come to the studio tomorrow.]
[Lil D: I sent you three demos. Listen to them.]
Studio sessions usually started at night and continued until dawn.
But if he had morning classes, pulling all-nighters in the studio would be impossible. At the same time, if he only worked on weekends, there was no way he could keep up with the pace the gang expected from him.
Doing both is physically impossible.
Leave the gang, and face retaliation.
Work for the gang, and give up school.
A dilemma with no way forward or back.
Surrounded on all sides.
No matter how much he thought about it, there was only one answer.
...I’ll take just one semester off.
Once Lil D’s new song was released and Park Geon finished the work he had promised to do, he would be able to leave naturally.
Probably...
I should tell my parents.
He headed to the living room.
His parents were sitting side by side on the sofa.
A Korean drama was playing on the TV, and his father laughed when his mother made some comment.
“...”
His parents worked at the restaurant all day.
Their only pleasure was finally finding a little time in the evening to sit beside each other and watch dramas.
Their other joy was watching their son graduate from law school and become a lawyer.
What a terrible son I am...
His nose stung.
For a moment, he considered simply going back to his room.
Then Big Joe’s face flashed through his mind.
So—
“...Um.”
Both of his parents turned their heads at the same time.
“Geon, do you want some fruit?”
“No, it’s not that...”
He swallowed.
“...I’m planning to take next semester off.”
Silence.
Only the dialogue from the drama continued playing on the television.
His father and mother looked at each other.
...I knew it.
They were disappointed—
“Haha, really?”
...?
“Geon! You made the right decision!”
“...What?”
“Honestly, we were worried. Even after you entered college, you spent every vacation helping out at the restaurant. You never traveled anywhere and never met up with friends.”
“...”
“But lately, I’ve seen you meeting your friends often and going out a lot too.”
His father slapped his knee.
“Take a semester off and do everything you want to do. Travel somewhere too.”
“N-no, that’s not exactly...”
“Oh, right. This place looked nice. Want to see?”
His father pulled his phone out of his pocket.
And the moment the screen lit up—
“I’ll skull-fuck your legacy and nut on everything you built.”
I’ll destroy your career and come all over everything you built.
“Fake hood, fake blood, real snitch—that’s your resume, bitch.”
Fake hood, fake Blood, real rat—that’s your résumé, bitch.
“...”
“...”
“...”
His father frantically hit pause.
Then he coughed awkwardly.
“Ahem. Ahem.”
...Dad?