Chapter 34
Chapter 34
“Something round and thin.”
DJ Cabin looked inside the open piano lid again.
The strings were vibrating.
Beside the strings he had struck, an untouched string was resonating.
Those are overtones.
To pick that up without equipment, your ears would have to separate sound by frequency.
No, wait.
Round.
Thin.
Could it be...
DJ Cabin placed his hand on the keys.
This time, he played G.
“What do you hear now?”
“Hmm... Something sharp and heavy. It’s a little richer than before.”
DJ Cabin’s fingers moved rapidly across the keys.
He played E-flat.
“It feels dark. How should I put it... like it’s ringing underwater.”
Next came F-sharp.
“It’s sharp. Kind of like scratching glass, but thinner.”
DJ Cabin’s heartbeat accelerated.
There was something he wanted to confirm.
He pressed two keys at the same time.
C and E.
“What happens when they’re combined?”
“...It’s bright. Like light spreading outward.”
“!”
DJ Cabin immediately pressed C and E-flat together.
“What about this?”
“It’s narrower than before. And it feels like fog.”
Goosebumps rose along DJ Cabin’s arms.
Absolute pitch alone can’t explain this.
Absolute pitch was the ability to identify notes.
But what Shotgun was demonstrating went beyond that.
He was sensing the texture of sound.
Color, shape, weight, density.
It was closer to synesthesia.
(Translator’s Note:Synesthesia — A neurological phenomenon in which stimulation in one sensory or cognitive domain produces an additional involuntary experience in another. Music-related synesthesia can involve perceiving pitches, keys, or timbres as colors, shapes, textures, or spatial forms.)
Shit.
Those ridiculous pieces of feedback this bastard had given Nova.
—Not round. Make it feel a little more angular.
That wasn’t nonsense.
A guy who perceived sound as shapes had been giving feedback in the language of shapes.
Round meant the texture of drawing a note out to fill the space.
Angular meant the texture of cutting the notes off with staccato.
In terms of physical sound waves, the two had completely different forms.
Huh. I think I finally understand what he meant.
It felt as though all the time he had spent tearing his hair out had suddenly been resolved.
What happens if he properly learns piano in this state?
A guy who had done nothing but teach himself composition was already separating overtones and resonance by ear.
If instrumental training was added to that, he would become able to recreate the textures of sounds through an instrument.
Then the piano would become a palette of sound for him.
DJ Cabin slowly opened his mouth.
“You... can see sound.”
“Ah, I can’t actually see it. It just sort of forms a picture in my head.”
“...”
“But isn’t that normal? Everyone has impressions when they listen to music.”
“...”
This bastard...
He was even pretending to be humble.
DJ Cabin sighed as he stood up from the piano bench.
“I’ve won a Grammy, reached No. 1 on Billboard, and after retiring, I thought I could look back without regrets.”
Then he stared directly at Shotgun.
“But looking at you now has changed my mind a little. At the same time...”
He grinned.
A boyish light appeared on his face.
“I’m fucking excited to see what you’ll make in the future.”
“...”
“Oh, right. I can’t come to Aella’s recording session next week. I’m going to see my granddaughter.”
“...?”
“Look at this picture. Cute, isn’t she? Hahaha. Her belly is so chubby I want to run over there right now and shower her with kisses.”
I stood in my room, staring out the window and blinking.
A truck was parked in the front yard, and several men in work clothes were struggling to carry something enormous.
Wow. He actually sent it.
Remembering what Big Joe had told me a few days earlier, I went downstairs.
“Your delivery has arrived. A Steinway piano. Please sign here.”
(Translator’s Note:Steinway & Sons — A prestigious piano manufacturer founded in Manhattan in 1853 by German immigrant Henry Engelhard Steinway, originally Heinrich Engelhard Steinweg.)
The deliveryman handed me the delivery note.
[You can’t practice without a piano. — Big Joe]
Aaaah...
The rancher had upgraded the feed to maximize the dairy cow’s productivity.
What if I don’t practice?
What would a rancher do if the amount of milk coming out of the milking machine decreased?
Disposal.
Slaughter.
But how much does a Steinway piano cost?
I searched on my phone.
My eyes widened when I saw the number.
More than forty thousand dollars if you buy one new?
“Where should we put the piano?”
“...Please put it in the living room.”
Fortunately, the living room was fairly spacious, so there was enough room.
And that evening—
“Oppa, where did this piano come from? Wooow, it’s huge...”
After Yul, my father walked around the piano, looking it over from every angle.
“Who sent it?”
“...The president of LK Records sent it. When he heard that I liked music, he gave it to me as a kind of bonus...”
My mother ran her fingertips over the surface of the piano.
“Isn’t a Steinway an expensive piano?”
“Come on. It’s probably used.”
It was not used.
When I looked at the packaging earlier, the factory seal was still intact.
“For the company president to take such good care of you, he must be a wonderful person.”
“Bring him to Gohyangmi sometime.”
“...”
Fuck.
For a moment, I felt dizzy.
“But Oppa, do you know how to play piano?”
Yul asked as she lifted the fallboard over the keys.
“I’m going to start practicing now.”
“You’re going to play piano too? A lawyer who plays piano. That’s cool~”
“...”
I began practicing that very day.
If I don’t practice, I’ll die.
What if he found even a speck of dust on the keys?
“!”
Adrenaline surged.
The limiter on my brain came off.
The death switch flipped on.
The chord progressions began settling into my hands.
After three days, I could sense the positions of the keys without looking.
After five days, I began predicting what color a chord would have before pressing it.
This part is bright, this part is dark, and if I transition here...
Night came again.
At night, I had no choice but to stop practicing.
I could not disturb my family’s sleep.
“...”
And even while climbing the stairs to the second floor, I was unconsciously pressing imaginary chord progressions into the air.
Aella was curled up on the sofa, watching TV.
It was a documentary about gangs, with gangsters being interviewed.
Tattoos, guns, territorial disputes, retaliatory killings.
“Ugh...”
For Aella, who had grown up in Orlando, the world of gangs had always existed only on television.
What am I going to do?
There were only a few days left.
The day she was scheduled to record at a studio run by a Crips OG.
Of course, she had been the one to accept Shotgun’s feature request.
Her curiosity about the song and her interest in Shotgun as a producer.
At the moment she accepted, those things had outweighed her fear.
But now, suddenly, she was starting to regret it...
Just then, a gang member on the television said,
[Somebody comes into our territory without permission? Nah. They just disappear.]
“...How do they disappear...?”
No answer came.
She pressed the remote.
The screen went dark, and silence settled over the living room.
Can I still cancel?
No.
A Billboard pop star canceling a recording session because she got scared?
Her pride would not allow it.
That night, after tossing and turning herself to sleep, she dreamed of men in blue bandanas surrounding her.
The next morning—
“Nick, you know the recording session at HOOVER SOUND next week.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I want access restricted to essential personnel only.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to concentrate while I work.”
It sounded reasonable.
Having too many people in the studio during vocal recording really could affect a performance.
Of course, that was not the real reason.
“So only the minimum number of people stay inside, and everyone else waits outside.”
“Even the bodyguards?”
“You too.”
“...”
To maintain that justification, she had to accept that the bodyguards would also be excluded.
“Fine. Wait here.”
A few minutes later, Nick returned after finishing a call.
“It’s done. They agreed.”
Aella let out a sigh of relief.
Then there won’t be a whole crowd of Crips members packed inside.
The absence of unnecessary personnel—in other words, the Crips members—was good news for Park Geon too.
The control room at HOOVER SOUND.
Normally, Big Joe would be sitting on the sofa, while the Crips-affiliated composers glared at me from behind.
“...”
Today, it was empty.
Only one sound engineer sat in front of the console.
No one else was there.
Aaaah...
So this was paradise.
The tension left my shoulders.
My neck was not stiff either.
It was a sensation I had never experienced while working here.
Until now, I had done nothing but stare at the monitor under the pressure that one mistake could get me killed.
That was why I was not even wearing sunglasses today.
I looked around the control room.
The monitor screens were brighter than usual.
I had never noticed before because the sunglasses muted the colors.
Just as I was about to stretch comfortably—
Creeeak—
The studio door opened.
As arranged in advance, Aella entered alone.
She had not even brought her manager.
She had personally requested that access be limited to essential personnel, and she had followed the rule herself.
“Hi, Shotgun.”
Aella gave a small wave.
She held two coffees and a paper bag.
“Hey. Good to see you.”
Aella stopped.
Her eyes blinked rapidly.
...Huh?
Unlike at the listening party, Shotgun was now bare-faced, smiling softly.
Looking at him like this... he’s kind of cute.
“I brought these.”
She handed him one coffee and the bag.
There were donuts inside.
“...Ah, thanks.”
Park Geon, slightly shy around her, took a sip of coffee.
Aella sat down beside him and looked around the control room.
“This place has a nice atmosphere. It’s cozier than I expected.”
“...Well, today it is.”
“So what song are we doing today? All I was told was that it was under embargo.”
“It’s called When I Wake Up. DJ Cabin originally worked on it, and I’m continuing the project.”
“...Really?”
Aella’s eyes widened.
“That’s amazing. DJ Cabin said he wouldn’t let anyone else touch that song, right? If he handed it over to you, that means he trusts you that much.”
“...”
Park Geon silently took a bite of a glazed donut.
His eyes suddenly widened.
“Oh, this is good.”
“Right? This place is really famous. Nick complained nonstop about how hard it was waiting in line.”
“Hahaha. He’s probably going to quit soon.”
“Why are you making me sound like a terrible person?”
Aella laughed too.
“Anyway...”
Then she rested her chin on her hand and stared at him.
“You look much better without the sunglasses.”
“...Really?”
“Yeah. Your eyes are pretty. Why do you hide them?”
Aella giggled.
“Do you like cats?”
“Huh? I love them.”
Park Geon was serious about cats.
Although he had never been able to own one because his younger sister, Yul, was allergic to cat fur.
“I recently adopted a British Shorthair. Her name is Mew. Want to see?”
She took out her phone and showed him a picture.
Gray fur and orange eyes.
“Wow. She’s cute.”
“Right?! I take about fifty pictures of her every day.”
A little while later—
“Should we get started?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Aella entered the booth with a trace of reluctance.
She had been worried about today, but she got along well with Shotgun, and he was much nicer than she had expected.
The glass door closed, and she put on her headphones.
The moment she stood in front of the microphone, Aella’s entire atmosphere changed.
Park Geon admired the transformation inwardly and pressed a button.
“I’ll play the whole thing for you first. Listen through it once.”
Play.
“Yo C, we doin’ this?”
DJ Cabin, are we doing this?
Little K’s intro voice passed, followed by Nova’s verse.
The song ended.
Aella lowered one side of her headphones and looked through the glass.
Her face was filled with amazement.
“...This song is insane. The lyrics too.”
Park Geon grinned.
“Thanks.”
“I was complimenting DJ Cabin.”
“Thanks for that too.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my role model.”
“Oh, come on.”
Aella read the lyrics.
Then read them again.
The theme that began with Little K’s intro.
Waking and sleeping.
The boundary between dreams and reality.
A song about standing on that boundary and longing for someone who would never return.
“I’ll start right away.”
The intro played.
When the vocal section arrived, Aella opened her mouth.
If I never wake up, would you stay?
Every night I’m running from the dawn.
Wow...
’Cause when the morning comes, you’ll be gone.
So let me sleep a little longer, longer.
Hold me in this dream, don’t let me breathe.
...This is insane.
The vocal section ended.
The last note faded away.
Take one complete.
Park Geon examined the waveform and thought,
Everything is good, but...
It was not so much that something was lacking.
More that he felt it would be even better if she did something else.
“That was really good. But you know the second half?”
“Yeah, that part.”
“Kind of... like black smoke is chasing you from behind.”
“...? Black smoke?”
“The black smoke is chasing you. You don’t want it to swallow you, so you’re running away in high heels.”
“...? Why am I wearing high heels if I’m running away?”
“No, I mean... you know that click-clack sound?”
Aella lifted both hands and let them fall.
“Sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what you mean. Can you explain it differently? More specifically?”
The problem was that Park Geon himself believed he had already been giving a specific explanation.
It would’ve been nice if Delivery Man were here.
But today was restricted to essential personnel, so it could not be helped.
How do I explain this? I can’t think of the professional terminology...
While he was thinking—
Creeeak—
A sound came from the soundproof door at the back of the control room.
The door slowly opened.
“Keep going. Don’t mind me.”
It was Big Joe, dressed in a suit.
Since this was Little K’s posthumous work, he counted as essential personnel.
His right hand was in his pocket, and his shoulders were nearly as broad as Dustin’s.
The Crips boss?!
Aella’s face turned white.
Scenes from the gang documentary she had watched a few days earlier flashed through her mind like a panorama.
Come to think of it, this is the posthumous work of the Crips boss’s older brother...
Terrified, Aella’s eyes unconsciously began to sting.
Tears gathered in them.
At that moment—
She saw movement in the control room.
Shotgun took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.
He placed them over his nose, hiding his eyes.
“...?”
The boyish face that had been smiling softly and eating donuts moments earlier disappeared.
The corners of his mouth flattened into a straight line.
The expressionless face she had seen at the listening party.
“Keep that exact feeling.”
“...”
“...Start again.”
“?!”
Shotgun had returned.
And he gave the order in a low voice.