Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Nova stood there with his face drained white.
...Fuck.
Why?
Beyond the glass of the recording booth stood Shotgun.
Expressionless. Lips pressed into a firm line. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses.
Is he angry?
He could not read him at all with that blank expression.
He’s not about to write a diss track the second this is over, is he?
The fates of the people who had crossed Shotgun flashed quickly through his mind.
B.I.G’s career had been finished. Slipknot had been socially buried after being branded a flasher. There were even rumors that J-Rackz had dropped to his knees and cried.
Am I... going to end up like that too?
If Shotgun dissed you, your career was over.
He would have to go back to Chicago and start delivering packages.
“The beat is coming in. Start when you’re ready.”
Michael Wayne pressed the intercom button from the control room.
Calm down. First, calm down.
Nova drew in a deep breath.
He looked again at Shotgun beyond the glass.
Still expressionless.
That blank look was even scarier.
If Shotgun got angry, Nova could at least respond to that. But because he showed absolutely no reaction, only the worst-case scenarios kept running through Nova’s head.
...I have to nail this no matter what.
Just as Park Geon had displayed superhuman strength when driven by fear of death, Nova was caught in the same mechanism.
The fear that he might get dissed.
The desperation that his career might be over.
That fear tightened around his vocal cords, and adrenaline released the limiter in his brain.
The verse began.
Nova’s voice punched through the microphone.
He had always been regarded as a rapper whose strength lay in emotional, story-driven rap, but what was pouring out of the booth now was on a different level entirely.
It was desperate.
He put his life on every single syllable.
Sweat ran down his forehead as each line passed, and in the hook section, he poured in enough emotion to make it sound as if his throat might tear apart.
...Huh?
Michael Wayne blinked.
To be honest, when Shotgun had singled out Nova as the feature for Lil D’s album, he had not understood it.
So he had asked why.
The answer he got back had been just one word.
—...FEEL.
In nearly twenty years of working in A&R, he had never heard an answer like that.
Dr. Dre, Metro Boomin, Hit-Boy—every producer gave a logical explanation when asked why they had chosen a particular feature combination.
Complementary vocal ranges, overlap in listener demographics, genre compatibility.
Things like that.
But all Shotgun had said was FEEL?
I thought he was crazy.
But now that he was listening to this recording—
I think I finally understand what he meant.
If Lil D was a concrete wall, Nova was rainwater seeping into it.
A gentle stream ran down the wall, and instead of breaking it down, it etched harmonious patterns into the surface.
When producers choose combinations of rappers, they usually look at data.
Streaming metrics, listener overlap, genre compatibility.
But Shotgun had skipped over all of that and gone straight for the essence.
Did he already know what kind of synergy would happen when their voices came together? That’s an unbelievable kind of genius.
At the very moment Michael Wayne was marveling at it—
“Told you so, didn’t I?”
A voice came from beside him.
“Don’t doubt him.”
“...”
When he turned, he saw Big Joe with the corner of his mouth curled up.
Michael Wayne silently nodded.
So there was a reason the Crips respected Shotgun so much.
The recording ended.
Nova took off his headphones and looked through the glass toward the control room.
He had the eyes of a prisoner waiting for a verdict.
His forehead and the back of his neck were soaked with sweat.
His T-shirt was damp.
Inside the control room, Park Geon blinked behind his sunglasses.
Wow, he’s seriously good.
Honestly, he was surprised.
He had not expected him to be this good.
It felt different from hearing him on streaming platforms.
The texture in Nova’s tone came through much more vividly.
...But did he really need to go that hard and sweat that much?
He wanted to say something.
He wanted to tell him he had just sounded amazing.
But when he looked to the side, Big Joe was sitting there.
And behind him stood three composers from HOOVER SOUND with their arms folded.
Park Geon swallowed hard.
In the end, he merely kept a straight face and gave a single nod.
At that moment—
“OHHHHHHH!”
One of the composers clutched his head with both hands.
“Nah! Did you see that?! Did you just see that?!”
“Shotgun nodded! On the first take! He nodded on the first take!”
Another composer grabbed the shoulder of the person beside him and shook him.
“Bruh! This is a historic moment! A legendary masterpiece album is definitely being born!”
“On God! Shotgun judges everything in one shot! He doesn’t even think twice!”
One of the composers suddenly jumped to his feet and ran out of the studio.
As he raced down the hallway, he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Yo! Everybody, get out here! Shotgun just nodded!”
“What?!”
“For real?!”
“SHEEEESH!”
“On the one-take?!”
And inside the booth, Nova was still staring through the glass.
Shotgun had nodded just now.
And a nod meant—
he acknowledged him.
Then that probably meant... he would not diss him either, right?
“Haaaaah, shit...”
Relief washed over him.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed right where he stood.
That night.
A hotel room in LA.
Nova leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Something was weird today. My rap came out way better than usual.
The moment he listened to his verse, he knew.
That was not a level he could normally reach.
The emotional line, the force of the delivery, the pressure he drove into the latter half of the verse—they were all several times stronger than usual.
Why?
He mulled over the reason, but nothing in particular came to mind.
In reality, it was the product of adrenaline born from the fear that he might get dissed, but Nova himself did not recognize the cause.
Because now that the recording was over, the fear itself had already disappeared.
The fear was gone, but the result remained.
...Was it because Shotgun produced it?
Come to think of it, Lil D had been like that too.
Lil D before [DRIVE] and Lil D after it were like two completely different people.
It had been the same during the diss battle.
Whenever Shotgun laid down the beat, the Crips-affiliated rappers suddenly got way better.
Anyway, this project is going to be the best take of my career.
The next day.
He boarded a flight from LAX to Chicago.
After arriving, Nova headed to a place where Chicago rappers gathered, half workshop, half playground.
The refrigerator was packed with beer, and there was always someone sprawled on the couch beatboxing.
“Yo, Nova! How was LA?”
Nova took a swig of beer and flopped down onto the couch.
“Bro, I had a seriously crazy experience this time.”
“Why? What happened?”
“When I worked with Shotgun, my rap changed. For real. I got the best take of my life.”
Another rapper sitting nearby raised his brows.
“The best take? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”
“From the moment I stepped into the booth, something felt different. It was like some hidden switch inside me suddenly flipped on.”
Nova’s eyes lost focus.
In reality, fear had been that switch, but he was convinced it had been Shotgun’s producing ability.
Two days passed.
Nova’s words began circulating among Chicago rappers.
“I heard Nova worked with Shotgun and got the best take of his life.”
“Huh? I heard that too. They say if you work with Shotgun, your rap skills go up.”
“Shit, so Shotgun unlocks a rapper’s limiter or what?”
“Nova said it himself. The moment he stepped into the booth, some switch turned on.”
“What the fuck?! I want to feel that switch too.”
“Lil D used to be underground, but after working with Shotgun, he hit No. 4 on Billboard.”
“Oh, and there’s this rapper named J-Rackz who’s active in the LA underground? They say he cried in front of Shotgun and had some kind of revelation.”
“So if a rapper passes through Shotgun’s hands, they awaken or something?”
And just like that, the rumor began spreading among Chicago rappers.
If you work with Shotgun,
a rapper awakens.
And around that same time—
“Yo! Shotgun! I’ve got some insane news!”
Dustin shouted with both arms thrown into the air.
Jamal followed up in a lower voice.
“They say the rumors in Chicago are going crazy right now.”
“...What rumors?”
“That if you work with Shotgun, rappers awaken.”
“...?”
Dustin smacked Park Geon on the shoulder.
“On God! You’re blowing up among Chicago rappers right now! Looks like Nova spread the word after working with you!”
“...”
Park Geon blinked behind his sunglasses.
No, all I did while working with Nova was nod once.
...What kind of absurd cost-performance ratio is this?
“Shotgun, you’re famous in Chicago now too!”
Dustin and Jamal slung their arms over his shoulders from both sides.
Park Geon started trying to analyze the production cost of a single nod, then gave up.
[J-Rackz: Shotgun. I’m ready. Let’s meet.]
After reading the message, I put my phone down.
Finally.
J-Rackz.
A rapper who had taken the throne of The Vault through skill alone, without gang affiliation.
And—
...a wholesome rapper!
The relief I felt was comparable to the sense of release I had felt the first time I learned the term dismissal judgment in law school.
Of course, I still had to maintain my usual tone.
If I suddenly got excited and yelled something like, “Ayyyy!” word might get back to the Crips.
So I kept my usual blank face and my usual low voice.
Still, this really does feel comfortable.
It simply felt like I was heading out to eat.
It had been a long time since I had felt this relaxed.
When was the last time I’d felt like this?
[Park Geon: Where should we meet?]
[J-Rackz: There’s a good place near MacArthur Park. I’ll drop you the pin.]
When I tapped the pin, it turned out to be a café next to MacArthur Park.
It was not far from Koreatown.
MacArthur Park in the afternoon.
Old men were playing chess on the benches by the lake, and between that and the person I was meeting today, everything felt strangely peaceful.
When I stepped into the café, J-Rackz was already there.
He was sitting by the window drinking an iced Americano.
When he saw me, he stood up.
A hood-style greeting.
We bumped fists, flipped our hands and clasped them, then bumped shoulders—a three-step gesture.
At this point, even my hands moved on reflex.
“How’ve you been?”
The question came out of my mouth automatically.
It was a strange phenomenon.
“I’ve been grinding every day.”
J-Rackz let out a breath through his nose.
“Every morning, I started with freestyle. I recorded it, listened back, cut out the trash parts, then spit it again.”
Wow... he really worked hard.
There was an American expression for that.
Grind.
It literally meant to grind something down, but it was also used to mean steady effort.
J-Rackz had put it into practice almost literally.
“But there was one weird thing.”
J-Rackz said it after taking a sip of his iced Americano.
“After I came back out from my closed-door training, everyone started acting weird around me.”
“Weird?”
“Like they pitied me. They kept patting my shoulder and asking, ‘You okay?’”
J-Rackz looked incredulous.
“So I asked what I was supposed to be okay about, and apparently there was a rumor going around that I knelt in front of you and cried, Shotgun.”
“...What?”
“That was the first I’d heard of it too. What kind of nonsense is that? Who knelt? Me?”
J-Rackz laughed and shook his head.
“So I told them it wasn’t true.”
Why is a rumor like that even going around?
All I did was ask, “Why are you copying him?”
How had that evolved into kneeling and tears?
“Well, thanks to that, I did realize something.”
J-Rackz shrugged.
“Lil D, I mean. When the rumors were going around after he left The Vault, he must’ve felt the same way I do now.”
...Just as I thought.
J-Rackz was a warm person.
He was made of something different from those brutal gangsters.
To think a kindhearted rapper like this existed in a world full of rappers acting tough.
“So anyway, Shotgun. I want to show you how much I’ve changed.”
J-Rackz’s eyes turned serious.
“I’m making my return to The Vault this time. Would you come watch my performance?”
“!”
The Vault.
The underground hip-hop club in South LA.
Go there as a spectator?
It would only be a matter of time before someone started trouble.
And what if there were Blood-affiliated gang members there?
Just imagining it was terrifying.
Ah, while I’m at it...
J-Rackz had gone through a lot, so I decided to make a casual suggestion in another direction.
“Instead of me just coming to watch, how about I lay your beats down for you?”
“...”
“I’ll DJ for you. With my beats.”
J-Rackz’s eyes widened.
His mouth fell open, and for a while he could not say anything.
Then—
“...Thanks, Shotgun. Ma bro.”
“...What?”
Mike B, The Vault’s professional DJ.
He had been in charge of J-Rackz’s stage for the past three years, and he had also DJed Lil D’s comeback performance.
“Shotgun’s going to handle the DJing for my comeback stage this time.”
J-Rackz repeated himself.
Mike B’s expression hardened.
More than anger, disappointment rose first.
“Oh, J-Rackz. Come on.”
Mike B spread both hands as he walked closer.
“Who’s been doing your DJing this whole time? Three years, man. Three years. I’m the one who knows your stage sound best.”
“I know that. But this time—”
“Shotgun’s a producer, not a DJ. I saw the Soundwave DJing, sure, I’ll give him that. But that was Lil D’s stage. It worked because he was laying down Lil D’s beats.”
Mike B stressed the point.
“Shotgun doesn’t know what kind of beat fits you. I’m the one who knows best what kind of beat matches your rap.”
J-Rackz looked troubled.
Mike B was not exactly wrong.
In the end, he called Big Joe.
Big Joe was not only a Crips OG, but also the owner of The Vault.
“Yeah, J-Rackz.”
After hearing the situation, Big Joe fell silent.
Over the receiver came the sound of him taking a drag on something.
“Then how about this? Mike B and Shotgun each lay down one beat, and you rap over both of them. Make it a battle.”
“...”
“I’ll set up separate DJ booths for both sides.”
J-Rackz’s eyes flashed.
Mike B had been listening beside him, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a grin.
“Aight. Works for me.”
He was the one who had taken J-Rackz’s flow for the past three years.
The breathing of his rhythm, the timing of his verse transitions, even his breath points were all engraved into his body.
There was no way some producer-turned-DJ was going to beat him.
“But, OG.”
Mike B asked in a mocking tone.
“Will Shotgun accept?”
“He just so happens to be right next to me. Hold on.”
Rustling sounds came from the other side of the receiver.
Big Joe’s low voice, relaying something.
Then, a deep voice came through the speaker.
“...Just wait there.”
...Just wait right there.
The two of them stared with their eyes wide open at the same time.