Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Naturally, [DRIVE] was included in the set for this performance.
The rest of the setlist was filled with tracks from Lil D’s underground-era mixtapes.
But then...
Five minutes before they were supposed to go onstage.
“Shotgun, you decide this.”
“...”
“Whether we perform the diss track or not.”
For a moment, Park Geon doubted his ears.
“...Why?”
“In terms of recognition, those tracks are just as well known as [DRIVE]. If we put them into today’s set, the crowd will definitely explode.”
“...”
“The problem is that they target B.I.G, who’s affiliated with the Bloods. If we’re not careful, this could get tangled up in gang politics.”
“Then why are you asking me...?”
“Haah.”
Lil D let out a deep sigh.
“Honestly, I kept thinking about it until last night. But I couldn’t come up with an answer.”
“...”
“So I decided to follow your judgment.”
Soundwave was a massive festival.
Crips came.
Bloods came.
Ordinary people with nothing to do with gangs came too.
And Lil D wanted to openly perform a song attacking a Blood-affiliated rapper on that stage?
Is he insane?
2Pac and Biggie.
How had the East Coast–West Coast rivalry ended?
(Translator’s Note: East Coast–West Coast rivalry — A major hip-hop conflict of the 1990s centered around artists and labels associated with the U.S. East and West Coasts. It is most famously linked to Tupac Shakur and The Notorious B.I.G., whose deaths in 1996 and 1997 became permanently associated with the feud.)
The diss battle had begun onstage, but it had ended with gunfire offstage.
And this was not only ancient history.
Even in 2017, a Blood OG had gotten into a conflict with Crips members over his girlfriend and was later found shot dead in a drainage ditch.
There was nothing to think about.
Without hesitation, Park Geon answered—
“Of course we shouldn’t—”
But just as he was speaking—
“Lil D! Shotgun! You can go up now!”
A staff member came running over.
“Let’s get onstage first.”
“...”
“I’ll hear your answer directly onstage.”
Lil D started walking.
Park Geon hurriedly put on his helmet and followed him.
“But what is that?”
Lil D pointed at Park Geon’s head.
A chrome-silver full-face helmet.
A dome shape that covered his entire face.
A long horizontal visor slit across the eye area.
...It was a custom-made helmet inspired by an electric rice cooker.
There was no time to answer.
They climbed the stairs.
The moment Park Geon stepped onto the stage—
WAAAAAAAAAAAH—!
A sea of people spread out before him.
He could not see the end of the crowd.
“SHOTGUUUUN!”
“Whoa! What is that? He came out wearing a helmet!”
“That’s insane. It’s like Daft Punk!”
(Translator’s Note: Daft Punk — A French electronic music duo formed in Paris in 1993, famous for performing in robot-style helmets that concealed their identities.)
“Damn! I thought we’d finally get to see Shotgun’s face properly today!”
I’m fucking terrified.
Park Geon stood in front of the DJ booth.
The screens were already lit.
Calm down, Park Geon.
He took a deep breath.
He checked the cue points.
The tracks were arranged in setlist order.
A red cue point had been placed on the first bar of the opening track.
Lil D gripped the microphone.
He strode toward the front of the stage.
“Yo, LA!”
WAAAAAAAAAAAH—!
“Welcome to Soundwave!”
Lil D raised a hand, and the audience’s arms shot upward at the same time.
Park Geon pushed up the fader.
The opening track poured from the speakers.
Boom. Boom-boom.
The 808s thundered, and the ground shook with them.
It was on a completely different level from The Vault’s speakers.
Lil D took off running.
From the very first song, he shook the entire floor.
Tracks from his underground mixtape days.
The raw energy of the years when he had been building his name in the hood.
Park Geon transitioned between tracks, cut frequencies with the EQ, and pushed the crossfader.
He had practiced those movements hundreds of times.
His hands moved from memory.
...I’m actually doing well?
Third song.
Fourth song.
As the set reached the middle, he brought the tempo down once.
Lil D drank some water and took time to interact with the audience.
Eventually, they entered the latter half.
Park Geon raised the tempo again.
The crowd’s energy had fully ripened.
Only the closing song remained.
[DRIVE]
The moment the intro began, the audience exploded.
Lil D started moving his feet to the intro.
C-Walk.
Crip Walk.
(Translator’s Note: C-Walk / Crip Walk — A dance style that originated in Los Angeles and became associated with Crip gang culture before later spreading into mainstream hip-hop and popular dance culture.)
A dance associated with Crip identity.
The same style of steps Snoop Dogg had performed in blue clothing during the Super Bowl halftime show.
(Translator’s Note: Snoop Dogg’s Super Bowl performance — During the Super Bowl LVI halftime show on February 13, 2022, Snoop Dogg performed a brief Crip Walk sequence while wearing blue clothing, drawing broad public attention.)
Holy shit... he’s insanely good.
The way he moved was incredible.
His legs looked like they were each moving independently, yet together they formed a single flow.
Park Geon could not physically understand how that was possible.
“SHEEEESH! C-Walk!”
“Ayyy! Look at his feet! He’s gliding!”
“Lil D is fucking good!”
Lil D danced the Crip Walk with his lower lip lightly caught between his teeth, carrying an effortless, relaxed vibe.
Come to think of it, he had only worked in the underground until now.
This had to be his first stage this big too...
He’s not even nervous. He’s enjoying himself.
It was as though he had been born for the stage.
The complete opposite of Park Geon, whose entire body was stiff.
“Shorty next to me ask what I do for a living.”
The girl sitting beside me asks what I do for a living.
“I just smile and say, baby, I run these streets.”
I smile and answer, baby, I run these streets.
And then—
“Drive on the top. Drive on the top.”
Drive at the top. Drive at the top.
The audience sang along with the hook.
Their voices were louder than the speakers.
Goosebumps climbed Park Geon’s back.
This many people are singing along to a song I made.
Lil D delivered the final verse.
The beat began to fade out.
Whew. It’s over.
Relief washed over Park Geon.
He had finished without making a mistake.
Good job, Park Geon. You did it.
He reached out with his left hand to lower the fader.
Then he noticed something different on the CDJ screen.
“?”
When he checked the setlist earlier, [DRIVE] had definitely been the final track.
There should have been nothing after it.
[SHOTGUN_TO_YOUR_FACE_MASTER.wav]
W-why is this here?
A file he had included during practice was still left on the USB drive.
It’s fine. It’s only loaded. As long as I don’t press play...
[DRIVE] was almost completely faded out.
His left hand touched the fader.
His right hand was positioned above the cue button.
He reached forward to release the final cue point.
Then—
Huh?
His right hand was over CDJ-2, not CDJ-1!
“...”
It was because of the helmet.
The visor slit gave him a narrow field of vision, making the boundary between the two side-by-side CDJs difficult to distinguish.
Normally, he separated them visually.
But the helmet slit blocked part of his view, and he had made a mistake.
SCREEEEECH—
An electronic synth tore through the speakers.
The intro to [SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE] layered itself over the smooth fade-out of [DRIVE].
...Ah. I’m fucked.
Lil D felt the final lingering notes of [DRIVE].
This is fucking fun.
He lowered the microphone and looked out at the audience.
Countless faces shone with sweat and excitement.
So this is the end. That’s a shame.
The moment he thought that—
SCREEEEECH—
A piercing electronic sound ripped through his ears.
Electricity ran up his spine.
That intro.
[SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE].
His eyes widened as he turned toward the DJ booth.
Shotgun stood there wearing his chrome-silver helmet.
Shotgun... you really are something else.
That bastard was the real deal.
Just like when he had openly asked how many names Big Joe wanted.
Just like when he had told J-Rackz to his face, “Why are you copying him?”
Just like when he had rejected four thousand dollars in front of Big Joe.
He doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
Gang politics?
The balance between the Crips and Bloods?
There was no way Shotgun cared about any of that.
That bastard did not compromise when it came to music.
If a song belonged onstage, he put it onstage.
Other people’s feelings, a gang’s pride—none of that mattered.
Music came first.
Fuck! Fine, let’s go! Shotgun!
Lil D’s blood boiled.
He walked back toward the center of the stage.
Eight bars of the intro had already passed.
Some people in the crowd recognized it first.
“Wait, this beat.”
“Don’t tell me?!”
“SHOTGUN TO YOUR FACE?!”
Screams erupted.
“He’s insane!”
“OHHHHHH!”
“On this stage?! At Soundwave?!”
“SHEEEEEESH!”
The verse came in.
Lil D raised the microphone to his mouth.
“Rancho Cucamonga boy!”
Rancho Cucamonga boy!
The crowd erupted as though splitting apart.
“Your mama drove a fuckin’ Volvo!”
Your mother drove a Volvo and took you to school every day!
The audience shouted the words along with him.
Lyrics tearing apart the résumé of a fake hood rapper from private school.
Those same words poured from the mouths of the crowd as a massive chorus.
The verse passed, and the hook arrived.
The electronic beat swallowed the open-air venue.
Lil D’s dopamine surged.
So he ran.
He sprinted to the edge of the stage and stretched out a hand toward the audience.
“LA! Everybody!”
The crowd shouted back with all the strength in their throats.
“RANCHO CUCAMONGA BOY!”
Rancho Cucamonga!
And among those people...
“RANCHO CUCAMONGAAAA!”
Rancho Cucamongaaaa!
...was Park Geon’s father, Park Seung-ho, who had slipped away from work at the restaurant for a little while.
He was violently bobbing his head up and down.
The news that Lil D had performed the diss track on Soundwave’s hip-hop stage began spreading before the performance had even ended.
Dozens of audience-recorded videos appeared on social media.
Videos of the crowd chanting “Rancho Cucamonga!” started trending on Twitter.
Hip-hop communities erupted like disturbed beehives.
—Is it true he performed the diss track at Soundwave?
└ He’s seriously insane.
└ There had to be Bloods there too.
└ That isn’t courage. That’s madness.
└ Lil D will be lucky if he survives this.
—But I watched the live clips, and the crowd reaction was insane.
└ It was a diss track, but it made the festival atmosphere even crazier.
└ Even B.I.G fans were singing along LMAOOOO.
└ That hook really is addictive as hell.
└ Rancho Cucamonga!
—But Shotgun came out wearing a helmet.
└ Chrome full-face helmet.
└ Daft Punk vibes.
└ Kind of looks like Marshmello too.
└ Maybe he’s trying to hide his identity?
└ Plenty of artists use mysterious personas.
└ So that’s his concept now?
(Translator’s Note: Marshmello — An American electronic music producer and DJ who became widely known in the mid-2010s for performing in a white marshmallow-shaped helmet that conceals his identity.)
The news also reached the Bloods.
Several Blood members who were at Soundwave contacted Marcus, and Marcus reported it to Leonard.
Meanwhile, backstage—
“...”
“...”
Lil D and Park Geon waited for Big Joe after coming offstage.
My will... I need to write my will.
Park Geon was typing with trembling hands when he looked up.
“!”
Big Joe was approaching from the distance.
There was no cigar in his mouth.
The moment Park Geon saw that, he became certain.
I’m really dead.
As far as he knew, Big Joe not having a cigar in his mouth was a sign that he was extremely serious.
“...”
Silence stretched between them.
Lil D drank water without saying anything.
After what felt like a long time, Big Joe finally put a cigar between his lips.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling, and said—
“It’s fine.”
Park Geon’s shoulders twitched.
“It already happened.”
Big Joe looked at Park Geon through the smoke.
“If you’re an artist, then make art onstage. Why worry about what other people think?”
“...”
“Don’t worry about what comes next.”
Big Joe placed a hand on Park Geon’s shoulder.
“And...”
The hand pressed down firmly.
“I just got a call from the Bloods. They want to meet. They said to bring you too, Shotgun.”
“?!!?!”
Two days later.
A restaurant in Inglewood.
It was a Mexican restaurant.
The exterior looked ordinary.
A worn neon sign flickered, and several cars were parked outside.
But today, it was closed to regular customers.
A CLOSED sign hung on the entrance, while dim lighting glowed inside.
Big Joe’s car arrived first.
Two more followed behind it.
Dustin.
Jamal.
And four other Crips members.
As Park Geon got out of the car, he felt his legs going weak.
He wore sunglasses to hide his trembling eyes.
What if I get shot today?
Would it hurt a lot?
How much would it hurt?
Just in case, he had taped thick law books over his vital areas.
As a result, his body felt heavy.
“...”
“...”
The two gangs faced one another in front of the restaurant entrance.
Big Joe opened his jacket first.
He showed that there was nothing at his waist.
Across from him, Leonard did the same.
One by one.
Members of both groups checked that the others were unarmed.
The Crips.
The Bloods.
Only after confirming that no one had brought a gun did both sides enter at the same time.
Inside was one long table.
Mexican food covered its surface, but no one touched it.
Big Joe sat on one side.
Leonard sat opposite him.
A single table separated the two OGs.
Ah, I’m dizzy...
The atmosphere was so heavy that Park Geon felt like he might faint at any moment.
Tap.
Leonard took out his Zippo lighter and placed it on the table.
That tiny action alone made Jamal’s arm twitch.
Ah.
Right.
No one had brought a gun.
“Why did you do it?”
Leonard’s low voice broke the silence.
Big Joe removed the cigar from his mouth.
“Wasn’t your side the one that started it?”
Leonard’s eyes narrowed.
“B.I.G came out of nowhere and started the diss battle. Our side responded. And that diss track was part of the music.”
“If it was music, then it should’ve ended with the diss battle.”
Leonard picked up the lighter.
He sparked the flame once.
Flick—
“We let it go during the B.I.G diss battle. But this was different. In front of tens of thousands of people, openly, right in our faces.”
Leonard leaned forward.
“There’s only one thing I want to hear.”
His gaze moved.
Past Big Joe.
Past Lil D.
And landed on Park Geon.
“You wrote the lyrics too, didn’t you?”
Hiiiiiiik!
The overwhelming pressure made Park Geon’s face stiffen even more.
“And you were the one who played the diss track at the end.”
“...”
“Why did you do it? Tell me.”
“...”
Park Geon had been unable to sleep for two days.
He had made a list of expected questions as though studying for an exam.
Naturally, that exact question had been on the list.
And the conclusion he had reached was—
“...”
He had taped another thick law book over his abdomen.
Because there simply was no answer.
If he said it was a mistake?
The Crips would kill him.
If he said he had done it deliberately?
The Bloods would kill him.
Every possible answer led to death.
Leonard waited.
Big Joe waited.
Every gang member inside the restaurant stared only at Park Geon’s mouth.
His mind went blank.
Then, like a flash before his eyes, one scene came back to him.
—If you’re an artist, then make art onstage. Why worry about what other people think?
At that moment—
Without realizing it—
“...ART.”
Art.