Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Tap—
“Shotgun.”
The moment Big Joe’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder—
Eeeek!
Park Geon’s frightened brain began reconstructing the situation however it pleased.
The unfinished track he had heard in the studio earlier came back to mind, and Big Joe had just been talking about his brother in front of the gravestone.
“...Almost now.”
This definitely meant he was supposed to finish the unfinished track.
If he did not make it, they would bury him right here and now.
Huh?
But Big Joe, who had absolutely no such intention, could only tilt his head.
“Don’t tell me you mean the unfinished track?”
“...”
Shotgun said nothing.
That silence itself was the answer.
So while paying tribute to Little K here, inspiration struck him.
Big Joe withdrew his hand and looked down at the gravestone.
Then, in a low voice as if speaking to Little K, he murmured,
“Ma bro.”
An East Asian kid who had not even been born in the hood was shedding tears for Little K.
His brother had probably seen it too.
“This guy’s name is Shotgun.”
“...”
“Would it be all right to leave your final song to Shotgun?”
Big Joe stared at the gravestone for a while.
Then he nodded and looked at Shotgun.
“I just got the answer back. My brother says if it’s you, he can leave it to you.”
“...”
“Then I suppose we should hear Cabin’s opinion too. So? What do you think?”
But Cabin could not answer easily.
“...”
Since his retirement, he had received countless offers from people saying they wanted to take on Little K’s final song.
Producers from major labels had handed him business cards, and songwriters with Billboard-charting records had contacted him.
He had rejected every one of them.
For one reason only.
They did not have Little K in them.
They had careers, skill, and reputation, but they were not men who could shed tears while thinking of Little K.
But Shotgun just now...
Cabin’s eyes shifted to Shotgun.
The tear tracks beneath the sunglasses were drying.
“Cabin.”
Big Joe stepped closer.
“I know what you’re struggling with. But would Little K really have wanted that song to remain unfinished forever?”
“Shit...”
Cabin turned away and threw both hands into the air.
“I don’t know. Do whatever the hell you want. Fuck that shit.”
Then he started striding away.
His back grew smaller and smaller.
Big Joe grinned.
“That was permission. So make one hell of a track and knock that bastard on his ass.”
“...”
Big Joe stuck out his fist and continued.
“Ma bro.”
“...”
It was the same word he had just used for Little K.
Taking over the final work of the legendary producer DJ Cabin.
That alone was enough to make him tense, but more than anything, he was about to lay hands on the remains of the last song left behind by the older brother of a Crips OG before his death.
...I’m dead!
If he failed to make it, he would die.
If he made it badly, he would still die.
The only way to live was to make a killer track.
I remembered the last thing Big Joe had said to me.
—If you don’t make a killer track, I’ll kill you myself.
—...
The intensity of the squeezing was getting stronger and stronger.
At this rate, even a dairy cow would probably go on strike.
But if I go on strike, I’ll just get slaughtered.
The image formed in my mind on its own.
Big Joe as a ranch owner, slaughtering me.
“!”
At the same time, adrenaline released the limiter in my brain, and my synapses began firing in all directions.
In that state, I pressed play.
The intro.
Little K’s voice flowed through the headphones.
It was not rap, but playful chatter.
“Yo C, we doin’ this?”Yo C, we doing this?
With the sound of a button being pressed, Cabin’s voice as the producer cut in.
—Just rap, K.Just spit it, K.
“Yo hold on, hold on—I got somethin’.”Yo, hold on, hold on—I just thought of something.
“Had a dream last night, that I woke up.”I had a dream last night, that I woke up.
“Ain’t that some shit? Dreaming about waking up.”Ain’t that some shit? Dreaming about waking up.
“Maybe ’cuz when I’m awake, it don’t feel real. U know, I’ve been anxious lately.”Maybe it’s because when I’m awake, it doesn’t feel real. You know I’ve been anxious lately.
“But yo—if I never wake up... was I dreaming, or was I finally living?”But yo—if I never wake up... was I dreaming, or was I finally living?
Laughter.
As if he had realized his own words had gotten too deep, he shook off the mood.
“Damn, I’m getting all philosophical and shit. C, you got that?”Damn, I’m getting all philosophical and shit. C, you get that?
That was the end of it.
Then Cabin’s beat began.
A piano loop in D minor.
Slow, heavy, and quiet like the room of someone awake alone at four in the morning.
All Little K had put into the mic was that bit of joking wordplay.
The recording ended with him fooling around in the booth before he ever even started riding the beat.
But there was no time to get sentimental.
Because I would die.
My survival instinct grabbed sentimentality by the throat and shoved it into the corner.
Focus, Park Geon. If you want to live, focus.
I pressed play again.
Little K’s voice rang out once more.
“But yo—if I never wake up... was I dreaming, or was I finally living?”But yo—if I never wake up... was I dreaming, or was I finally living?
This... couldn’t this be the theme running through the whole song?
Dream and reality.
Little K really had never woken up again.
At twenty-two, he had been shot and closed his eyes forever.
A joke had turned into a prophecy.
Then where was Little K now?
In a dream, or finally alive?
I decided to pull the direction of the song from Little K’s joking words.
Dream and reality.
Being awake and being asleep.
Being alive and not being alive.
That border Little K had spoken of in the booth as a joke.
When I’m awake, it doesn’t feel real.
If I unfolded that into the narrative of a song—
the time spent with someone you loved would feel as distant as a dream.
And when you opened your eyes, that person would already be gone.
Only memories would remain, and even those memories would gradually blur.
But when you fell asleep, you met them again.
In the dream, they were still smiling.
So you did not want to wake up.
...This is the direction.
The emotional line of the song clicked into place.
I laid my fingers on the keyboard.
[WHEN I WAKE UP]
Once the title was set, the skeleton of the song started to become visible.
My survival instinct poured in adrenaline, and my brain went into full overdrive.
I lost all sense of how many hours passed.
Each time the beat repeated in my headphones, another layer was added.
...Is this really okay?
I was not sure.
An amateur who had taught himself FL Studio was laying hands on the last work of a retired legend.
But there was still one bigger problem left.
A guide rap.
A reference vocal recorded so the rapper could follow the structure of the song.
There had to be a guide if the official recording session was going to have direction, and if I wanted to play an intermediate result for Cabin, sending just the bare beat would be far less convincing.
Who do I ask?
Naturally, the first name that came to mind was Lil D.
He was the rapper I had worked with on DRIVE, the rapper I was currently making an album with, and he had the skill for it.
But isn’t Lil D obsessed with something lately?
Even whenever I suggested we work on the album, he just kept repeating that he needed more time.
He was obviously completely absorbed in something, and if I asked him for a guide rap, it felt like I would only be interrupting him.
Then... I guess I have no choice but to ask J-Rackz.
My friend, my homie, J-Rackz!
“I’ll say it one last time. That day, I just teared up a little because I was overwhelmed with emotion. I was not crying for any other reason. And obviously I did not get on my knees.”
J-Rackz was once again losing his mind trying to clear up the rumor.
“Come on, be honest, J-Rackz.”
“Yeah, we all saw it on stage that day.”
“Dawg, so you’re admitting you cried, then?”
J-Rackz was just about to argue further when—
Bzzzz—
His phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
[SHOTGUN]
J-Rackz’s eyes widened.
The Black men around him glanced at the screen too, and at once their ears seemed to perk up.
“Yo, Shotgun.”
—Yo, J-Rackz. I’m working on DJ Cabin’s unfinished track right now. Think you could do the guide rap?
“...!”
J-Rackz’s chest swelled again.
Shotgun is directly offering me work.
And thinking back to the thumbs-up on stage that day, this definitely meant—
Shotgun has finally acknowledged me.
The moment that thought struck him, J-Rackz forgot all about the Black men around him and shouted loudly,
“Yo! Of course! Anytime, anywhere! I’ll work around everything!”
The call ended.
J-Rackz shoved his phone into his pocket and clenched his fist tight.
All those mornings spent freestyle-rapping alone in an empty room at dawn.
It felt as though every single one of them had just been repaid by this one phone call—
“See? The second Shotgun calls, he runs right over. Did you hear him say he’d fit himself around whatever Shotgun wanted?”
“When the owner calls, the dog comes wagging its tail.”
“On my mama, even the king of the underground turns into a puppy in front of Shotgun.”
“Just how scary is Shotgun, anyway?”
Meanwhile, at that same time—
Lil D was, as usual, shut away in the studio again today.
I’m still not there yet.
Then the studio door suddenly flew open.
“Yo, Lil D!”
Dustin stood there holding bags in both hands.
Chicken, cornbread, mac and cheese, cola.
Jamal came in behind him as well.
“You seriously never come out these days. We got worried and came to check on you.”
“...”
“How killer are you trying to make this album? Did you even eat?”
“Ah...”
Lil D checked the time.
The last time he had eaten anything was yesterday evening.
“So you didn’t eat. Sit down, then.”
Dustin started unpacking the bags onto the table.
Just as Lil D picked up a drumstick and took a bite—
“Oh, right.”
After gulping down some cola, Dustin spoke.
“Shotgun got handed Little K’s unfinished track.”
“!”
Shock spread across Lil D’s face.
“Little K’s final work? The unfinished track he was working on with Cabin?”
“Yeah. They say he got hit with inspiration all of a sudden while looking at the gravestone. You know how Shotgun’s Zone mode is! Inspiration! Flash! Straight into work!”
Jamal nodded from the side.
“When that bastard enters the Zone, place, time, people, gang—everything disappears. He becomes a true artist.”
“Exactly!”
Lil D, still stunned, asked,
“Then what about permission? Cabin isn’t the type to approve something easily—”
“Nah, right there on the spot. They said he was like, ‘Yo, Shotgun, if it’s you, I can trust it to you,’ and threw both his hands up in celebration.”
“B-both his hands up?”
Jamal quietly added as he speared macaroni with a fork,
“No cap.”
“...”
Lil D could not believe it.
Even DJ Cabin was already acknowledging him.
Was Shotgun really a monster after all?
And just as Lil D’s hunger for Shotgun’s acknowledgment swelled even more—
“And he asked J-Rackz to do the guide rap.”
Thud—
The drumstick in Lil D’s hand fell to the floor.
“...What?”
J-Rackz.
J-Rackz again.
Lil D felt as if he understood now.
The answer had already been there that day.
When Shotgun had given J-Rackz a thumbs-up after watching his performance.
That had been acknowledgment, and this offer of the guide rap was simply an extension of that acknowledgment.
I’m still...
He bit his lip.
...still so far away.
Lil D brushed the grease from his hands and started walking back toward the recording booth.
“Yo, Lil D! Where are you going in the middle of eating?”
“Forget it.”
Dustin looked at Jamal.
Jamal clicked his tongue and shook his head.
It meant there was no point trying to stop him.
California Business and Professions Code section 16600.
(Translator’s Note: Business and Professions Code section 16600 — A California statutory provision generally restricting restraints on lawful professions, trades, or businesses. It is often discussed in relation to non-compete and exclusivity issues.)
Restrictions on outside work under an exclusive contract.
Music copyrights created by a producer during the contract period belonged to the label.
But the tracks I had sold as ASD were works I had made before signing the contract, so retroactive application did not apply.
So far, so good.
The next point was the problem.
As long as the ASD account remained active, there was still room for additional transactions to happen.
I had even sent feedback to Blood-affiliated rappers’ demos not long ago.
Strictly speaking, though, it was unclear whether that counted as an extension of an existing transaction or the provision of a new service.
To sum it up:
If I sold new beats under the ASD name during the contract period, it was legally ambiguous whether the copyrights would belong to LK Records or whether it would be recognized as a separate business activity that had existed before the contract.
In a case like this, the cleanest solution is to settle it directly with the other party.
As a lawyer, it was only natural to prepare in order to avoid legal risk.
But the real problem isn’t the law, is it?
Let’s say I get found out later.
The moment it is revealed that ASD is Shotgun—
before I ever make it to a courtroom, gang law gets applied first.
Gang law has no appeals court.
No supreme appeal, either.
The sentence is handed down and carried out at the same time.
...But I already sold songs to the Bloods. Even apart from the legal side, what if they get pissed off just because of that fact alone? No, surely not. I did it without knowing. They’ll understand, right? Please.
Before it was too late, I needed to say it today.
By coincidence, today was also the day J-Rackz’s guide rap recording was scheduled at HOOVER SOUND.
Once the recording is over, I’ll read the room...
If the reaction to the song was good, Big Joe’s mood would not be bad either.
The best timing for delivering bad news was when the other person was in a good mood.
“There’s something I need to tell you after today’s recording.”
It was rare for Shotgun to propose something first.
Just like when he had proposed the legal apprenticeship, if this guy brought something up first, it meant he had come prepared.
“Fine. I’ll hear it after the recording.”
Big Joe turned his gaze to the monitor.
The project file was open.
He read the title displayed at the top.
[WHEN I WAKE UP]
Naturally, that had not been the original title.
Shotgun had named it that.
“...”
Big Joe’s eyes lingered on that title for a long while.
Watching his reaction, Shotgun—no, Park Geon—carefully pressed play.
“Yo C, we doin’ this?”Cabin, we doing this?
At that instant, a current ran down Big Joe’s spine.
He kept that part in exactly as it was?
The intro ended.
His brother’s voice vanished, and a single beat of silence settled in.
Then new layers began to fall over Cabin’s demo beat.
Sounds that had not been there in the original.
The moment the time of the dead and the time of the living were laid over the same timeline.
And on top of that, J-Rackz’s low voice rode in.
“...”
Big Joe’s jaw dropped.