Chapter 20
Chapter 20
“Come in.”
Lil D pushed the front door open.
Right now, none of this felt real to Park Geon.
How the hell did I end up at a gangster’s house...
Lil D pulled two beer cans from the refrigerator and casually tossed one over.
Thunk!
“Good job.”
“...”
Whew!
Good thing he caught it.
If he had missed, that would have been embarrassing.
“You can sit here.”
“...”
Park Geon sat down with only about a third of his backside on the couch.
It was the kind of posture that would let him run at any moment.
“After that meeting the other day, I tried writing some lyrics on my own... but I kind of got stuck here.”
Lil D handed him a notebook with a pen clipped into it.
As Park Geon looked over the verse, his eyes settled, and he slowly sank into thought.
...Lil D was alone too.
The traces of writing and erasing over and over again.
He could feel it in the lines—that he wanted to say something, but did not know how to say it.
Reading that expression, Lil D cautiously asked,
“Do you have a verse or something that comes to mind?”
“...”
Instead of answering, Shotgun gave a single expressionless nod.
He pulled the pen from the notebook.
Lil D flinched slightly as he watched, but Park Geon did not notice that gaze.
Because he was thinking of himself.
Eating lunch alone every day.
Always sitting in the corner seat of the library.
Writing down his parents’ phone number under the emergency contact section for a close friend, then attaching a fake name to make it look like he actually had one.
A loneliness of a different shape.
Lil D had always been surrounded by people, but never touched by them.
Park Geon had not even been surrounded.
And yet, those two sensations overlapped somewhere.
The sensation of being alone.
The hollow feeling of standing before a window with countless people outside, only to blink once and see nothing but your own reflection.
Scratch, scratch—
Hands in my pockets, ’cause no one’s holding mine
I keep my hands buried in my pockets, because there is no one there to hold them.
Lil D’s mouth fell open.
It was only one sentence, but a deep loneliness came rushing in.
Suddenly, he remembered that day.
His younger self, walking home with both hands shoved into his pockets while watching other kids hold their parents’ hands.
Without realizing it, Lil D tore his eyes away from the notebook and looked to the side.
Shotgun was still writing the next verse calmly, his face expressionless.
Outside got too loud, so I put the headphones on
The world outside got too loud, so I put my headphones on.
Morning comes around, just another day that’s on
Then morning comes again, and it is just another day starting over.
...!
Lil D had unconsciously started murmuring the lines aloud as he read.
In an instant, a chill ran up his spine.
headphones on
that’s on
The lyrics were one thing, but the rhyme was there too.
He had only realized it because he had spoken them under his breath.
A rhyme that clung to the mouth, with emotion alive and moving in the spaces between the sounds.
This insane monster...
He had thought Shotgun was only good at writing diss lyrics.
Those lyrics that had driven legal clauses straight into songs and buried Blood-affiliated rappers’ careers.
But what was this?
If the lyrics of the diss tracks had been knives, then these lyrics were needles.
Needles that pierced the chest.
“...”
Only then did Shotgun set the pen down.
As if he had no idea what he had just done, his expression remained flat as ever.
No. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing and still acts like that. He’s always like this.
Right then, a car engine sounded outside the front door.
“...Ah, right. OG said he’d stop by for a bit today after finishing the meeting with Nova’s side.”
Lil D went out to greet him, and a moment later the front door opened.
Big Joe seemed to have been here several times before, because he sat down on the sofa like it was natural.
“Nove seems really curious about you.”
“...”
“He kept asking what kind of person you are.”
A cold sweat ran down Park Geon’s back.
...Don’t tell me he has some grudge against me or something?
For example, maybe he did not like the fact that Shotgun had targeted one of his close associates in the diss war.
Or maybe being named directly had offended him.
“So, when do you think you can start recording? I’ll let Nova know too.”
“!”
Park Geon’s frightened brain translated it on its own.
If you don’t make it fast, you die.
He immediately started calculating the shortest possible deadline.
The skeleton of the beat was already in his head, the lyrics he had just written were mostly there, and if he worked like his life depended on it—
“...Next week.”
Lil D froze with the beer can tilted in his hand.
Big Joe’s eyes wavered.
“...Next week?”
“You’re saying you’ll finish the beat and the guide for the feature track by then?”
“...”
Shotgun stared straight ahead with an expressionless face, as if that were only natural.
Big Joe shook his head, then grinned.
“I’ll tell Nova that too.”
After that day—
The fear-of-death study method kicked in again.
The limiter came off his brain, and adrenaline activated every synapse.
A work efficiency that shot upward like madness.
Projects that should have taken months were taking shape in just a few days.
I might die. No, I’m going to die. Fuck.
He shuddered at the thought of threats from violent gangsters.
But only for a moment.
Then survival instinct shoved its head back in.
Do I have time to be thinking about that right now?
He stacked beats over Lil D’s verses, designed the bridge section, and left room for the verse Nova would ride.
And that awakened state lasted right up until the day he was supposed to meet Nova...
“Oppa.”
Park Yul stuck her face through the crack in the door.
“Did you eat?”
He had not.
His sense of time had evaporated.
The moment he took off his headphones, his stomach growled.
“So you’ve really been out of your mind with this music stuff lately?”
“...I’m only doing this until this leave of absence ends.”
That was how he brushed it off to Yul.
And as for the equipment sitting in front of him right now, he had told her that Dustin had left some used gear with him for a while because he was not using it.
Good thing Yul doesn’t know much about music equipment.
After hearing that, the whole family had gone on and on praising Dustin again.
Seriously, how much longer could this keep going?
If they ever found out what had actually happened, they would call the police immediately.
“Can you take me somewhere today? There’s someplace I want to go.”
Park Yul held out her phone screen.
It showed a Friday food-truck market held every week along the airport boulevard near LAX.
(Translator’s Note: LAX (Los Angeles International Airport) — The primary airport serving Los Angeles, California. It opened in 1930 as Mines Field and later became one of the busiest airports in the world.)
“My friends said the food there is really good, but it’s too far for me to go alone.”
“Today?”
He did have to meet Nova tonight.
But if he took his sister during the day and then went to the studio in the evening, the timing would work out perfectly.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Okey!”
“Don’t try to act cute.”
“Hm? Then what am I supposed to say here?”
“...”
Wow, holy shit.
Come to think of it, the gangsters had been saying “Aight” so much that ordinary English filler words that were not slang now sounded weirdly cringey.
The only people he had been around lately were gangsters, so without realizing it, slang had started sounding more natural to him!
“Oh, n-never mind. Okey! Let’s go!”
“But was I cute just now?”
“...”
He started the car.
The old Honda Civic groaned to life like an old man waking from sleep.
“Oppa, what year is this car?”
“2009.”
“Gasp! It’s older than me.”
I need to replace the car too.
Streaming revenue payout cycles were sixty to ninety days.
With fifty percent of the publishing share, he did not even need a calculator to know that a significant amount of money would come in.
The problem was what to say when that money finally arrived.
What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad?
...He would think about that later.
A problem for future-him.
That had become one of his favorite survival strategies lately.
“Oh, right. I never told Dad, did I? That you and Lil D are best friends.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dad’s a fan of Lil D. If he found out, he’d lose his mind.”
“You were being considerate of me?”
“Of course, of course.”
“...Look at you, actually thinking ahead. You’ve grown up a lot.”
For reference, there was a six-year age gap between the siblings, and Yul had been born only after their parents had settled down here.
“But how did you become best friends with Lil D anyway?”
For a moment, Park Geon panicked.
“...It just kind of happened.”
“It just happened? How?”
“...Ah, well, just...”
It felt like this was about to turn into a full interrogation, so he quickly turned up the radio volume.
“Just listen to music.”
“Then don’t put on hip-hop. I hate that fake-tough stuff in the lyrics. It’s always about money or women.”
“...”
If that’s how she feels, then maybe Yul would actually like Lil D’s album too. It’s supposed to be an album with honest stories in it.
By the time they reached the roadside near LAX, people were already lined up in long rows.
Smoke from the barbecue drifted all the way across the road.
“Wow, there really are a lot of people.”
Park Yul stood in line and looked up at the menu board.
Park Geon stood beside her.
Then he suddenly spotted a man walking toward them from a distance.
...Nova?
“What time did they say the studio was?”
“Seven this evening. We’ve still got plenty of time.”
The Los Angeles afternoon air came rushing in.
A dry heat, different from Chicago.
As he walked along the airport boulevard lined with palm trees, Nova pushed his sunglasses up.
“Hey, isn’t that Nova?”
Two men waiting for the parking-lot shuttle recognized him.
“Whoa, Nova!”
“Did you come from Chicago?”
He stood shoulder to shoulder with them for selfies.
His manager was keeping time beside him, but Nova did not rush them.
After the fans left—
...Shotgun.
That name kept circling in his head.
Shotgun, the man who had dropped multiple diss tracks in a single day during this recent war at a speed that defied reason.
Fine, with diss tracks, maybe you can say the structure is simple.
But album work was different.
Even if it was still at the pre-mastering demo stage, you still had to nail the beat quality, the song structure, and even the way the rapper’s breathing fit into it.
...And he had done that in one week?
What kind of monster is he?
Nova knew he was Asian, but that was all.
He had worn a helmet at Soundwave, and even the one photo floating around online was nothing more than a silhouette in the smog.
He can’t be normal.
For an Asian to be accepted by the Crips, skill alone could not possibly be enough.
Probably the kind of person whose gaze sent a chill down your spine the moment your eyes met.
Solid build.
Maybe even a tattoo on his neck.
Damn, I’m nervous.
“I’m hungry. Should we grab something before we go? I heard there’s a famous food-truck market near the airport. It’s only on Fridays.”
“Oh, sounds good.”
They were already near LAX anyway.
When they arrived, trucks were lined up along the road and barbecue smoke was rising into the sky.
The smell alone is already insane. What should I eat...
While he was thinking that over, he noticed an East Asian brother and sister standing near the front of the line.
The guy looked to be in his early twenties, maybe.
He was wearing a gray oversized hoodie.
The girl looked like a high-school student in a trendy school uniform style.
“What’s good here?”
Nova asked lightly.
The girl answered kindly.
“They say the brisket here is really famous.”
“Oh, brisket? There’s a famous barbecue place in Chicago too, so I was kind of curious what LA’s was like.”
Shit.
And right now Park Geon’s head was a mess.
I can’t believe I ran into Nova here!
If he revealed here that he was Shotgun, then it would reach Yul’s ears.
That absolutely could not happen.
It was not that he had planned to hide it forever, but right now he had no choice.
I have to pretend I don’t know him.
Then, without meaning to, their eyes met.
Nova held out his fist.
Park Geon awkwardly bumped it.
“What’s your name?”
“...Geon. Geon Park.”
“Geon Park? Korean name, right?”
A little later, Nova took a bite of brisket and said,
“Oh, this is amazing.”
“Haha, right?”
At that moment, the manager whispered something in Nova’s ear.
Nova nodded.
“I guess I should head to the studio soon.”
“The studio? Do you make music?”
The girl pointed at the headphones around Nova’s neck.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Wow, then are you here to record at the studio?”
“Something like that... but honestly, I’m kind of nervous.”
“Why?”
“There’s this guy named Shotgun. He’s got a nasty personality.”
“Oh, I know Shotgun too!”
For some reason, the ears of the East Asian man who had been listening quietly started turning red.
“I’m on my way to work with him, and—haah—I’m worried he’ll shove a diss track at me again if he doesn’t like what I do.”
Nova checked the time.
“Anyway, thanks to you, I think I chose the right thing to eat. Thanks.”
“Thank you! This was fun!”
Then he hurried his manager along, telling him they had to go.
“We still have plenty of time, Nova. Are you really this scared because of Shotgun? Anyone watching would think Shotgun was some Dr. Dre-level producer.”
So far, all Shotgun had really shown the scene was [DRIVE].
As far as career status went, Nova was not someone who should have had to feel inferior.
The manager honestly could not understand why he was acting like this.
But that was only the manager’s opinion, and as for the man himself—
“Didn’t you hear earlier?”
Nova snapped back.
“If I’m late, I might get dissed.”
The man who had slaughtered seven Blood rappers almost by himself in the diss war.
Not one person who had touched Shotgun had escaped without being ripped apart.
There was no guarantee that being late would not count as “touching” him too.
“...Come on, he wouldn’t really diss someone over being late...”
“Slipknot probably thought ‘surely not’ too. So did B.I.G.”
“...”
“So let’s go already.”
HOOVER SOUND studio.
“Yo, Nova!”
Lil D walked up and greeted him.
It was their first time meeting.
“Good to meet you, Lil D. You’ve been doing well lately, huh?”
“Haha, I’ve still got a long way to go compared to you.”
There were already several people inside the studio.
Big Joe sat on the sofa with his arms folded.
Michael Wayne was flipping through something on his tablet.
The sound engineer was checking levels at the console.
Looks like Shotgun isn’t here yet.
There were no East Asians in sight.
“Must’ve been a rough trip all the way here from Chicago.”
Big Joe held out his hand.
Nova greeted him respectfully with both hands.
He had felt it during the previous meeting too, but the atmosphere around the man was no joke.
“Why don’t you warm up your voice first? The mic setup is all ready.”
Michael Wayne pointed toward the recording booth.
“Sounds good.”
Nova took a sip from his water bottle and went into the booth.
The control room was visible through the glass.
He put on the headphones and stood in front of the microphone.
“Mm-mm, mm.”
He was humming to warm up his voice when someone entered the control room.
And at the same time—
“Yo, Shotgun!”
“Ayyyy! You finally made it!”
“Wassup, my homie.”
The moment he was finally going to see Shotgun.
Nova reflexively snapped his head up.
“...?”
The East Asian man from the food truck, the one wearing the gray oversized hoodie.
But he looked different now.
Sunglasses.
An expressionless face.
“...!”
In that instant, the words he had said earlier flashed through his mind.
—There’s this guy named Shotgun. He’s got a nasty personality.
—I’m on my way to work with him, and—haah—I’m worried he’ll shove a diss track at me again if he doesn’t like what I do.
Nova’s face turned deathly pale.