Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Chopin’s Étude No. 3.
The Song of Farewell.
“...”
And Park Geon was playing his own version of A Song of Farewell to the Crips, applying the piece to his own situation of having to go work at a label affiliated with the Crips.
Before long, his right hand left the keys, leaving only the arpeggio in his left hand.
One note at a time, the sound gradually faded.
Then his foot lifted from the pedal.
“Haaah. I don’t want to go to work...”
While Park Geon was grumbling to himself, he finally noticed the four people standing there.
“...How long have you been there?”
No answer came.
All four of them were staring at him with stunned expressions.
Then Park Geon suddenly checked his wristwatch.
“Ah, I need to go to work.”
He tugged at the sleeves of his suit and hurriedly stood.
Then he walked toward the front door.
The four girls split apart to either side.
Like the parting of the Red Sea.
Just as he put on his shoes and was about to leave—
“E-Excuse me...”
“That performance just now was seriously incredible!”
“A lawyer who plays piano...”
“I thought it was a scene from a movie.”
“Um, do you still not have Instagram? No, I mean, it’s not for any particular reason, just, just...”
“Suzy, your face is red right now!”
Park Geon smiled awkwardly as he tied his shoelaces.
“It’s just a hobby. Yul, I’m heading out.”
The door closed.
The moment his suited back disappeared—
“...”
Emily walked toward the grand piano and stared at the keys.
At the place where Yul’s brother’s fingers had been moments earlier.
She lightly pressed one key with her index finger.
Ding—
Emily had been playing piano since she was five years old.
She had performed in competitions dozens of times.
Throughout that process, she had heard countless performances.
People who played well.
People who played extremely well.
And the tiny handful of geniuses.
The criteria separating them were clear.
Good technique made someone a good player.
When interpretation was added to technique, they became an exceptional player.
And when a unique personal color emerged on top of that, they had entered the realm of genius.
That performance had possessed that color.
Was it technically perfect?
No.
There had been a gap in the transition of the left-hand arpeggio, and one note in the middle section had been slightly blurred.
Mistakes a pianist would not make.
Reasons for point deductions on a competition score sheet.
But the strange thing was—
None of those mistakes bothered me at all.
The emotion had covered every technical gap.
It was as though each individual note had been painted with color, the melody flowing from darkness into light.
“Um, Yul.”
“Yeah?”
“How many years has your brother played piano?”
“Years?”
Park Yul looked confused.
“It’s only been about a month.”
“What?!”
Shock spread across Emily’s face.
Then the only reason his technique was lacking was because he’s only been playing for one month?
...He was an unbelievable genius.
I pushed open the glass doors of Morrison & Reed.
“Mr. Park Geon, Attorney Laura is waiting for you on the fifth floor.”
“Thank you.”
As the elevator carried me to the fifth floor, I adjusted the knot of my tie once.
She told me to stop here before my first day at work.
Before a trainee entered the company they had been assigned to, receiving a work briefing from the supervising attorney was part of the formal procedure of the Law Reader program.
I knocked on Laura’s office door.
“Come in.”
The moment I sat down, she got straight to the point.
“You know you’re officially starting at LK Records today, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Before that, there are a few things we need to go over.”
Laura took out a folder and opened it.
“To be honest, entertainment law isn’t a popular field in our firm.”
Entertainment law was a minor field within law firms.
Unless the client was a BigLaw-level account, individual fees were low, and the work was not profitable compared to the amount of labor required.
Most attorneys wanted to build careers in M&A or litigation.
They would not even look at a rapper’s contract.
“But there’s one exception.”
“Litigation.”
“Correct. Do you know the amount of the jury verdict in the Blurred Lines case against Marvin Gaye’s estate?”
(Translator’s Note:The Blurred Lines copyright case — Williams v. Gaye, the major music-copyright litigation concerning Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams’s Blurred Lines and Marvin Gaye’s Got to Give It Up. The jury returned a multimillion-dollar verdict, and the Ninth Circuit issued its appellate decision in 2018. The case became highly influential and controversial in discussions of musical similarity and copyright boundaries.)
“Seven-point-four million dollars. It was later adjusted, but the legal issues raised during the appeals process spread into academic discussions of copyright law.”
Laura burst out laughing in disbelief.
Her expression seemed to ask how I knew that.
“Exactly. You spend your time reviewing contracts worth a few hundred dollars in fees, then one plagiarism lawsuit breaks out and suddenly the legal fees jump into the hundreds of thousands.”
But that was the artist’s damages.
Converted into attorney fees, and assuming a contingency fee of roughly thirty to forty percent...
More than two million dollars from a single lawsuit?
My trainee salary was only a few thousand dollars.
One case like that could generate the equivalent of my entire four-year apprenticeship salary many times over.
“I look forward to working with you.”
With that, I left Laura’s office.
As I walked down the hallway, I noticed two junior attorneys whispering to each other.
The moment our eyes met, they hurriedly turned their heads away.
...What’s wrong with them?
Ah.
Apparently, rumors had already spread that I was the trainee who had arrived with gangsters.
Is that actually good for me?
Trainee lawyers were often ignored or looked down on, but thanks to the rumors, that probably would not happen to me.
When I stepped outside, a car was waiting.
Jamal tilted his chin at me from the driver’s seat.
“Wassup.”
“...Wassup.”
A little while later—
We arrived in front of the LK Records building.
“It’s your first day today.”
Jamal reached into his back pocket.
I instinctively flinched, but what he pulled out was chocolate.
All kinds of random things come out of that back pocket.
“Let’s get it, Bro.”
“...Thanks.”
I got out of the car and entered the building.
The atmosphere in the first-floor lobby was different from when I had toured it before.
Employees moved back and forth, a beat was playing from somewhere, and someone at the far end of the hallway was holding a phone to their ear.
The label has actually started operating.
When I went up to the second floor, I found a room labeled Legal Advisory Office.
I went inside, set down my bag, and was about to sit when—
Knock, knock—
A Black woman wearing glasses came into the office.
“Are you Geon?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Tanya Williams. I’m the accountant assigned to LK Records.”
Ah.
The accountant Jamal had mentioned before.
The one they kept separately because the OG hated giving anyone even the smallest thing to use against him.
...Is she affiliated with the Crips too?
Eek, no way.
“Nice to meet you. Looks like we’ll be working together from now on.”
Tanya opened a tablet and turned the screen toward me.
“This is the label’s financial status. I thought legal counsel should understand this side as well.”
The figures were neatly organized on the screen.
Revenue from [DRIVE], distribution settlements, artist shares, label operating expenses.
“I manage the financial side, and Geon manages the legal side. That’s how Big Joe structured it.”
Tanya pushed her glasses up and looked at me.
“Oh, and I heard about you from Big Joe. The producer is also a lawyer.”
“...”
Tanya shrugged and laughed.
“Honestly, I didn’t believe it at first. Someone who makes beats also reads law books? But Big Joe was apparently thrilled after watching you review the contract during the Epic meeting.”
Big Joe was thrilled?
“So I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Tanya tapped the tablet.
“Especially when it comes to plagiarism.”
“Plagiarism?”
“[DRIVE] reached No. 4 on Billboard. Songs near the top of the charts make perfect targets for plagiarism disputes. There haven’t been any claims so far, but once the album comes out, things will be different.”
She was right.
If more than ten tracks were released, there could easily be at least one section somewhere with a melody similar to something else.
Whether intentional or not.
“It would be pretty cool if Geon handled it personally when that happens.”
Tanya smiled and left.
The door closed, leaving me alone in the office.
I’m going to be fucking busy...
If Lil D’s album exploded—
Distribution contract renegotiations would begin.
Credits with featured artists would have to be sorted out.
International distribution agreements would come in.
And if even a single plagiarism claim appeared—
All of it lands on my desk.
A second-year law student and trainee lawyer.
And I would be handling the practical work of lawsuits worth hundreds of thousands of dollars?
That’s completely insane.
But if I failed, I would die.
That switch made me place my hands on the keyboard.
What I needed to do immediately—
Copyright registration for every track on Lil D’s album.
A complete review of whether any samples had been used.
Cross-checking the contractual terms of each featured artist.
When I Wake Up will be especially complicated.
DJ Cabin owned the copyright to Little K’s original track, and he had transferred it to me.
On top of that, there was the consent of Little K’s surviving family.
Time passed quickly.
This should be enough to submit an initial report to Laura.
After finishing my work, I sat thinking for a moment.
The BET awards ceremony is... already next week.
I had been nominated for Best Track and Best Producer.
Could I actually win?
Simply being nominated was already unusual, but if I somehow won on top of that...
“!”
I noticed the time on the monitor.
It was already this late?
Today was the day I was supposed to visit DJ Cabin’s house with Big Joe.
“...”
From now on, it was time to become Shotgun.
I put on my sunglasses.
DJ Cabin’s mansion.
The grand piano standing in the middle of the living room.
And the Asian man whose fingers had been moving across its keys moments earlier.
Even after finishing the performance, his expression did not change.
“...”
DJ Cabin sat on the sofa.
The whiskey glass in one hand was tilted, but he had not taken a single sip since the performance began.
“Shit...”
Only then did DJ Cabin swallow a mouthful of whiskey.
The melted ice had made it watery.
“Shotgun, you just did something crazy.”
“...?”
The eyes behind the sunglasses looked toward him.
Probably.
“Honestly, that performance just completely exceeded what I expected.”
Meanwhile, Big Joe stood behind them with his arms crossed.
...What the hell did I just witness?
He had never dreamed there would come a day when a piano performance moved him.
Growing up in the hood, all he had heard were 808 beats, gunshots in the background, and the sirens of police cars giving chase.
That bastard isn’t an ordinary genius.
Then—
“Oh, wait!”
DJ Cabin had suddenly thought of something.
When I Wake Up.
Rumors about the song were already circulating, and public interest was steadily heating up.
The release strategy had already been planned.
The timing was meant to make the attention surrounding rumors of DJ Cabin’s comeback explode.
“Shotgun, what do you think about unveiling this song for the first time onstage?”
“...Onstage?”
“And on that stage—”
DJ Cabin pointed at Shotgun.
“You play the piano part yourself.”
I sighed as I walked out of the building.
A car was waiting outside.
Dustin was sitting on the hood, talking about something with Jamal.
The moment he saw me, he spread both arms.
“Ayyy! You finished?”
“...Yeah. For today, I just want to get home quickly and rest.”
“Don’t worry.”
Jamal casually threw out a sentence.
“I’ll deliver you as fast as possible.”
“...?”
I got into the car.
Jamal started the engine, while Dustin twisted around in the passenger seat to look at me.
“Ma boy. I want to go to Gohyangmi again. I miss that glossy braised short rib. No lie, I even dreamed about eating it a few nights ago.”
“Yeah. He suddenly called me in the middle of the night to tell me about it.”
Ah, again.
The Jay duo was one thing, but I still felt uncomfortable bringing gang members to Gohyangmi.
I was too scared to refuse, so I was trying to come up with a believable excuse when—
...Well, they’ve worked hard too.
Just today, the two of them had waited outside for hours.
“...Fine. Let’s go.”
“Let’s Gooooo!”
Dustin happily pounded the dashboard.
Jamal frowned and told him to stop hitting it.
“Yo, Jamal! You’re coming too, right?”
“I’m not.”
“Why? Korean food isn’t your style?”
“Let’s go with that.”
“Let’s go with that? What does that mean? This is obviously because you haven’t tasted Gohyangmi’s food. I’m telling you, it’s killer. Trust me, homie.”
“...”
Without saying anything, Jamal pointed beneath his eye.
The teardrop tattoo.
“...”
I thought I understood.
Dustin was huge, but he did not have any tattoos.
To ordinary people, he just looked like a Black guy who was good at sports.
That was why my parents had naturally accepted him.
But Jamal was different.
The teardrop beneath his eye.
A gang tattoo.
Jamal knew too.
He knew what would happen to the atmosphere if he entered the restaurant.
How the customers would look at him.
And more than anything, how my family would feel.
“...”
It’s fine.
Just come with us.
The words rose all the way to my throat, then sank back down.
Because it was not fine.
Honestly, that would have been a lie.
“I’m good. You two go eat.”
Jamal kept both hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
There was no emotion in his voice.
As always.
A little while later—
“Oh, Dustin!”
My mother’s face brightened.
“Ma’am! It’s been a long time!”
His booming voice brought my father out too.
“Hahaha, look who it is!”
“Sir!”
My father and Dustin exchanged the hood-style greeting they were already used to.
The dinner crowd had already left, so the dining area was quiet.
We were shown into a private room.
The moment Dustin opened the menu, his eyes began sparkling.
“Braised short ribs, spicy stir-fried pork, hot-stone bibimbap, cold noodles!”
“...That much?”
“Nah. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been holding myself back?”
A little while after we ordered, Park Yul entered the room carrying a tray.
“This is on the house.”
A huge rolled omelet sat on the plate.
For reference, the ones the restaurant normally sold were nowhere near that large.
“Oh, Yul! Thank you!”
Just as Dustin shouted—
You drive me crazy, niga~
You make me hurt, niga~
K-pop began playing from the pocket of Yul’s school uniform.
Apparently, she had accidentally pressed something...
“What? Nigger?”
Dustin’s face twisted.
Holy shit.
The moment I realized what had happened, I flinched too.
Park Yul hurriedly searched through her pocket, but perhaps because she was panicking, she could not find her phone.
“Ah, th-th-this is, um, it’s a Korean song!”
“Ah, okay. Then what does niga mean?”
“Ah, niga means...”
Yul carefully looked at Dustin and said,
“...You.”
“...?”
“N-No, I mean, you as in you!”
“...?”
I handled what happened afterward.
Park Yul had been worried enough to send me a text, but I had just replied that she probably did not need to worry about it anymore.
“Oh... this is insane.”
Chomp, chomp—
Because Dustin was eating frantically as though nothing had happened.
I wonder if Jamal is still waiting in the car.
For reference, he had not gone home first.
I quietly stood and headed toward the kitchen.
“Dad, could you pack one order to go?”