Chapter 23
Chapter 23
I sat down in the passenger seat.
“...”
Jamal held the steering wheel and said nothing.
He was the silent type to begin with, so that in itself was not strange, but sitting together in a sealed car in complete silence was hell.
“They say all the big names in the industry will be there. And I heard people from the Bloods’ side are coming too.”
“...?”
Should I seriously write a will?
The light turned red.
The car stopped.
Just then, a truck pulled up close in the next lane.
Its window rolled down, and a white man in the driver’s seat stuck his head out.
“What the fuck you doin! Learn how to fucking drive again!”
Our lane change earlier must have been a little too close.
“...”
Jamal rolled down the window.
Then he simply stared at the man.
The teardrop tattoo beneath his eye.
The sharp cheekbones on his gaunt face.
Eyes without emotion.
“...Sorry.”
With that one word, the window rolled back up.
The moment the light changed, the truck sped off.
Jamal looked ahead again as if nothing had happened.
...That definitely proves how effective he is as a manager. If it had been me, I would’ve kept getting hassled.
A little later, the car stopped, and Jamal jerked his chin.
“Here.”
It was a menswear store.
“And Big Joe said to spend at least three thousand dollars. He said you can’t show up to a listening party wearing cheap shit.”
Should I... be happy about this or not?
As soon as we entered the store, an employee approached us.
Jamal stepped forward and said, “One suit for him. Shirt, tie, shoes included.”
The employee’s gaze paused briefly on the black card in Jamal’s hand.
“Please come this way.”
His tone became noticeably more polite.
Jamal stood beside me, consulting with the employee about various details.
“I think something with a slightly broader shoulder line would be better.”
“Yes, in that case, we can bring you one size up.”
After the fitting, I stood in front of the mirror.
A two-button suit, a white shirt, and a matte silk tie.
...Wow.
It was a completely different fit from the rental suit I had worn for mock trial.
The shoulders fit perfectly, and the waistline was cleanly tailored.
...!
At that moment, I spotted some familiar faces in the distance.
My second-year classmates from UCLA Law School.
Brian was there too.
...Pretend you don’t know them.
The moment I turned to walk away—
“Park Geon!”
Brian called out.
When I looked, he was waving at me.
...I’m fucked.
I hurriedly spoke to Jamal.
He could not find out that I was a second-year law student.
“Uh, hey, would it be okay if I talked to my friends for a minute?”
“Aight. Then I’ll go look at some clothes over there.”
Jamal walked off toward a nearby section of the store.
My classmates came over at once.
“Geon, long time no see!”
“So you’re still alive?”
“Where have you even been these days? You disappeared without a word.”
Sophia looked me up and down in my suit.
“Wait, is that Tom Ford?”
“Oh, this is just...”
“Wow, it looks really good on you.”
“You look like a completely different person dressed like that. You always used to wear those neat button-up shirts.”
Hannah cut in.
“By the way, who was that guy you were with earlier? He looked kind of... scary.”
Ethan and Brian both nodded.
There was real concern in my classmates’ eyes.
“Geon, you took a leave of absence—don’t tell me you’ve been hanging around bad people lately?”
“...”
What would their reaction be if they learned it went beyond “bad people” and all the way to gang members?
Sophia, who had gone up against me in the mock-trial finals, would probably faint.
Brian would probably say we should call the police immediately.
“But you seriously need to come back soon. You know Professor Marshall is opening that Federal Supreme Court precedent seminar next semester, right? Enrollment is capped at eight.”
Sophia chimed in at once.
“If you complete that, it’ll be a huge advantage when applying for a federal judge clerkship.”
“The professor also said he was really disappointed that you took a leave of absence because of personal circumstances.”
“Geon, honestly, I’ve never seen anyone analyze case law as well as you do.”
...Those were good days.
The days when I dug through endless precedents, built legal arguments, and presented them before the professor—and he would nod in approval.
Back then, I was not being driven by fear of death.
I had been recognized purely for my own ability.
The four people standing before me were dressed neatly.
They had no guns sticking out of their back pockets, no chains around their necks, no teardrop tattoos beneath their eyes.
“...”
As I looked at them, the time I had spent among the gang members flickered through my mind without warning.
Every time I came back from that side, I could feel the gap between that world and this one widening.
“So, Geon. You’re coming back next semester, right?”
“...”
Returning to school.
But right now, I was in the middle of making an album with Lil D.
No, if I go to law school and work on music in my spare time... if I sleep a little less, maybe it’s possible.
I could just cut down on sleep.
Law school during the day, music work at night.
It would be physically exhausting, but with this fear-of-death learning method, maybe it would not be impossible.
Yeah. This is where I’m supposed to be.
A future where I read case law, build arguments, and deliver oral arguments in court.
That was the path I was meant to take.
Among these people.
In this world.
“Huh? Geon?”
Brian waved a hand in front of my face.
“I asked if you’re coming back.”
I must have been standing there blankly.
All of my classmates’ eyes were on me.
And in that moment, without thinking—
“Aight.”
“...?”
My classmates stared at me in shock.
A listening party for a Billboard pop star.
And people from the Bloods’ side were going to be there.
What if I get shot?
So I bought body armor.
I bought three of them so I could wear three layers.
Then I checked the delivery status.
[Estimated delivery date: Thursday]
The listening party was on Wednesday.
That’s a day too late!
They had called it Prime shipping, and yet it fell short by exactly one day.
So in the end, I pulled out the thick law books again.
Constitutional Law, Criminal Law, Civil Procedure.
I would tape them to my body and go like that.
I had survived with this method before.
Then something suddenly occurred to me.
SoundCloud.
Oh, right. I uploaded those and completely forgot about them.
I logged in.
“...?”
There were comments.
Not just one or two.
What is this?
I scrolled down.
track_01.
14 comments.
—Is the guy who made this even sane? What kind of beat structure is this
—Way too difficult. Is there even a rapper who could rap over this?
—I’ll admit it’s experimental, but commercially it gets a zero
—Fucking trash lol
—What genre even is this
—Does a rapper who can rap over this kind of beat even exist in the world?
—I’m curious about the mental state of the person who made this
Half of them were like that.
The other half were more like this:
—I’ve never heard a beat like this before
—Who is this person? Do they have other work?
—Track 3 is insane. This was just buried on SoundCloud?
—Does this person have more work?
—The way it moves across genres kind of feels like DJ Cabin
track_03 had 18 comments.
track_05 had 22.
track_08 had 31.
I had assumed that if I uploaded them to SoundCloud, nobody would listen.
I thought they would not even show up in searches or recommendations.
But that was not what happened.
Some people said they were fucking terrible, and some people said they were good.
The fact that there was any reaction at all was what shocked me.
There was even a red number over the message inbox.
I opened it.
[I want to buy the beat for track_05. What’s your price?]
...What?
[I’m contacting you regarding the purchase of track_03. I think it would fit one of our label’s rappers well. Would you be open to discussing price?]
This too?
I scrolled further down.
There were five more messages asking about buying tracks.
The offered amounts varied widely.
Just as I was nearing the bottom of the scroll—
a new message notification appeared.
It had arrived just now.
[I want to buy all 8 tracks. $3,500 per track, $28,000 total.]
[groove_M]
What? Twenty-eight thousand dollars?
Something surged up inside me.
It was not just because of the amount.
If this person was offering that much, it meant he had seen that much value in my tracks.
Ah, what’s wrong with me?
My nose started to sting.
I remembered the first time I installed FL Studio in elementary school and stayed up all night wearing headphones.
I remembered being in middle school, debating whether to upload to SoundCloud, then giving up.
I remembered deciding to quit music completely and still saving only the nine tracks I liked best.
Those years had not been meaningless.
This person called groove_M was proving that for me.
Tap-tap-tap-tap—
With emotion swelling inside me, I started typing.
[YOOOOO BRO!!! THANK U SO MUCH!!!!!!!! :) :) :)]
[LET’S DO THIS!!!!!]
I am dreaming right now.
“...”
“...”
There was no other explanation for why I was sitting side by side in the back seat with a gang boss.
Inside my suit, three law books were taped to my body.
Constitutional Law over my chest, Civil Law over my stomach, Criminal Law over my back.
Since sweat might weaken the adhesive, I had wrapped layer after layer of tape around myself before leaving.
As a result, my upper body stayed naturally rigid and upright.
“Shotgun.”
Big Joe spoke while looking out the window.
“There’s one thing I should tell you.”
“...”
“I’m thinking about building HOOVER SOUND into an independent label.”
...An independent label?
“Lil D’s album will be the starting point. And tonight’s listening party is also part of laying the groundwork for that.”
Meanwhile, at that same time—
A mansion in the Hollywood Hills.
That was where tonight’s party was being held.
It was a private listening party for the new release of billboard pop star Aella.
Label executives, A&R staff, producers, artists.
All the faces of the industry had gathered in one place.
“I heard Big Joe’s coming with Shotgun too?”
“So tonight we finally get to see his face?”
“He wore a helmet at Soundwave. Hardly anyone’s actually seen his bare face yet.”
“You don’t think he’s going to show up wearing a helmet here too, do you?”
On the other side of the lounge, the dedicated team for tonight’s main star, Billboard pop singer Aella, was making the final preparations.
Aella herself was there as well, and while her genre was different, she too was interested in Shotgun.
“A Crips producer... that sounds kind of scary.”
Aella tilted her champagne glass slightly as she said it.
“But... I am curious what kind of person he is.”
The Bloods’ side had already arrived as well.
It was not unusual for both sides of a diss war to attend the same party.
At industry events, gang boundaries became blurred.
“Big Joe isn’t here yet?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
People’s eyes kept drifting toward the entrance from time to time.
Then—
Creeeak—
The doors of the mansion opened.
Big Joe entered first.
He was wearing a suit.
With one hand in his pocket, he walked in at an unhurried pace.
And right beside him—
“...”
Expressionless, wearing sunglasses.
That straight mouth.
A suit fitted tightly to his upper body.
“...That guy.”
“Next to Big Joe?”
Whispers spread.
“That’s Shotgun.”
“Huh...?”
All eyes in the lounge turned toward the entrance.
The first thing that stood out was the aura.
Even standing beside Big Joe, a Crips OG, he was not overwhelmed.
If anything, he was walking in lockstep with him.
“...Look at how straight his back is.”
“Does Shotgun not even know what nervousness is?”
“I can’t even tell whether he’s breathing.”
“His vibe is... insanely chill.”
And then—
“Look over there.”
A manager whispered into Aella’s ear.
“That’s him. Shotgun.”
“...”
Aella lifted the champagne glass to her lips and moved only her eyes.
She slowly looked the East Asian man over and murmured, “...He’s exactly the kind of image I imagined.”
“What kind of image?”
“A chic, aloof kind of image.”
My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my mouth.
Everyone’s eyes were on me.
I was walking beside Big Joe, and the muscles in my face had gone stiff.
...Oh, over there.
By the lounge sofa.
A face I had only ever seen on screens.
Th-this is insane. She’s actually here.
Aella.
The star of tonight’s listening party.
Big Joe exchanged greetings with people, shook hands, and held brief conversations.
And in the middle of that—
...!
I saw two people approaching in my field of vision.
Leonard.
And Marcus.
The Bloods were coming.
The same side whose rappers’ careers I had ruined by writing diss lyrics.
“Big Joe.”
Leonard spoke first.
He held a whiskey glass in one hand.
“It’s been a while.”
Big Joe answered calmly.
The two OGs met each other’s eyes, and then Leonard’s gaze shifted to me.
“Shotgun.”
“...”
“Long time no see.”
“...”
“You’re still as quiet as ever.”
I forced myself to do nothing but nod.
“By the way, we recently discovered a pretty fresh rookie composer.”
“...”
“You’d better be nervous, Big Joe. And you too, Shotgun.”
I heard Big Joe let out a derisive snort.
As if the thought were ridiculous.
“We found him on SoundCloud, and he was so full of fighting spirit.”
“Fighting spirit?”
Big Joe lifted an eyebrow.
“When we contacted him about buying tracks, he sent back the most excited reply. He was using like five exclamation marks in a row.”
Marcus grinned and picked up the thread.
“ASD one-two-three-six.”
“...”
I was thinking, That’s one ridiculously long name, when—
ASD one-two-three-six?
In my head, the letters and numbers snapped together.
[asd1236]
That...
...is me!