Chapter 39
“...Yo, Big Joe. Ma bro.”
A dense silence fell.
Then—
“What?!”
“Big Joe?! Did he just call Big Joe Bro?!”
“He mentioned the Crips boss first?!”
“Oh shit, what kind of relationship does he have with Big Joe?!”
“Who the hell names a gang OG first in a BET acceptance speech?!”
“Nah, that’s loyalty to the organization.”
“Isn’t he basically Big Joe’s right-hand man?”
The audience exploded.
BET was a major award ceremony in the hip-hop world, so there were many Black attendees.
Maybe because of that, the venue nearly shook with the noise. Everyone’s reactions were intense.
...That should be enough, right?
Big Joe was slowly lowering his fist.
The people around him were making a fuss and saying something, but Big Joe shook his head with an expression that said it was nothing.
Thankfully, the corners of his mouth were raised.
This probably meant he would not suddenly come up onstage like Will Smith.
“Big Joe is smiling?”
“He looks really pleased.”
“Shit, who’s going to mess with Shotgun now? He’s got the Crips boss standing right behind him.”
While the murmuring in the audience continued, I tightened my grip on the trophy.
What am I supposed to say?
The speech I had prepared had completely disappeared.
Nothing came to mind.
As usual, my facial muscles stiffened and my lips flattened into a straight line.
Today, it was especially severe.
Because I was fucking nervous.
“Is Shotgun not nervous at all?”
“Crazy bastard. How can a rookie be like that?”
“He’s fucking chill.”
“What’s he thinking behind those sunglasses? Why hasn’t he said anything since mentioning Big Joe?”
“Wait... is he waiting for us to quiet down?”
“Damn, that’s some nerve.”
“Everyone shut up. Who knows how long he’ll stand there otherwise.”
I had no idea what people in the audience were saying, but at some point, they began quieting down.
Thanks to that, I could finally speak.
“...First of all, thank you.”
I took a breath.
The sound went directly into the microphone.
“I don’t think this award belongs to me alone. I think it belongs to everyone I worked with.”
Then suddenly, one fundamental question struck me.
But seriously, how did I actually win this?
Until now, I had thought I was just lucky.
Big Joe grabbed me, I made a beat while terrified, and that beat happened to be good. Then Lil D happened to rap over it, and the song happened to become a hit.
The diss tracks were all the result of fear of death forcing my brain to operate at full power.
When I Wake Up was the same.
Every bit of it had been produced by fear.
But.
Could I really say it was not skill simply because fear had produced it?
Could anyone else do the same thing?
Then whose ability was this?
Or.
Had it always been there?
Maybe fear had only been the trigger.
And whatever had been inside me from the beginning had always been mine.
Maybe, really...
I still could not say for certain.
I felt like I needed more evidence, more results, before I could admit it.
No.
To be a little more honest—
Maybe it was because, if I admitted it now, the foundation of who I was would shake.
Becoming a lawyer had been my dream for so long.
I decided to find the answer later.
For now, the priority was getting off this stage safely.
I had already forgotten the acceptance speech a long time ago, so I decided to keep it short and safe.
“When I started making music...”
I only paused briefly to choose my words, but the audience held its breath.
I even heard someone say, “Shh.”
...Why is it so quiet?
The silence made me even more nervous.
Still, I had to finish what I had started saying.
“...I never once imagined I would stand on a stage this big.”
That was true.
I was not built for stages.
I was the kind of person whose fingertips trembled in front of crowds and whose back dripped with sweat inside a helmet.
And yet I was standing here holding a BET trophy.
I wanted to end with something impressive at this point, but I could not think of anything impressive.
After searching my mind for a while, I decided to simply say what I felt.
“But there is one thing I know.”
I moved closer to the microphone.
“I haven’t even started yet.”
For a moment—
Waaaaaaaah!
The audience exploded.
...Huh?
“This is a declaration of war against the entire scene!”
“A rookie is already announcing he’s going for the top!”
“Shit, I got chills!”
There really wasn’t some huge meaning behind it.
I could see Lil D on one side of the audience.
His thumb was raised, and his eyes were red.
And in the VIP section, Big Joe still had his arms crossed, but one corner of his mouth was raised crookedly.
...That should mean he’s not coming onstage.
Only then did the tension slowly leave my shoulders.
Ah, right!
I almost forgot.
There was still one thing I wanted to say most on this stage.
To the people who were probably fainting in front of the TV right now.
“Lastly.”
I looked directly into the camera lens.
Somewhere beyond the little red recording light was probably our living room.
“I’m always grateful to my family.”
With that, hot applause and cheers broke out.
Meanwhile, another piece of news broke after the acceptance speech.
[Best Hip-Hop Track — “DRIVE” by Lil D (Prod. SHOTGUN)]
[DRIVE] had also won Best Track.
—DRIVE won two awards lol
└Best Producer and Best Track both?
└Aren’t both of them rookies? Lil D only entered the major scene this time too
└That’s insane
And there was another topic.
Shotgun had removed his helmet onstage.
—HE ACTUALLY TOOK IT OFF????
└I literally screamed watching it live
—Where’s the guy who said he was betting his entire fortune on Shotgun not taking it off lololol
└I seriously want to see the prediction stream host’s face right now
—So he really is Asian
└He kept the sunglasses on the whole time though lol
└Is that expressionless face while holding the trophy real? He owned the whole screen
—Did you see Lil D’s face when Shotgun took the helmet off lololol he looked happier than if he had won the award himself
└For real, the camera caught Lil D with red eyes
└What is this chemistry between them? It’s cute
—Honestly, I used to hate on Shotgun, but after seeing him take off the helmet today, I changed my mind
└lmao what changed?
└I can’t explain it, but his presence onstage was insane
└Ah, I get it. That expressionless face just took over the screen
└His presence was crazy, agreed
Of course, there was criticism too.
—Honestly, does it make sense for DRIVE to win two awards off one song? I think there’s a fairness problem
└The other nominees worked on full albums
└They’re giving way too much to a rookie
└Looks like they cared more about hype than musicality
—Isn’t Shotgun’s attitude too arrogant?
└Did he not prepare a speech?
└Sucked up to the Crips OG and called it a day lol
Replies immediately followed.
—The Bloods are mad
└ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
└Looks like gangs have keyboard departments now too
—If hype helped, then hype helped. What’s the problem? Awards reflect impact in a given year
└Yeah, BET doesn’t judge skill alone. Cultural impact matters too
└You can’t deny DRIVE’s cultural impact. It triggered the Crips vs Bloods diss war
Gradually, haters and fans began mixing together.
—The diss war is political context, not musicality
└Political context is part of hip-hop though
└For real, since when was hip-hop purely about music?
└Look at all this sucking up. Shotgun already has fans? Or are the Crips working overtime?
—People complaining about attitude are hilarious. Since when did anyone care about manners in hip-hop?
└More importantly, what does an Asian know about hip-hop?
└Fucking racist
└Has an Asian ever won at the BET Hip Hop Awards before?
└No
└That’s insane
└He’s Legend
—Fact is DRIVE hit No. 4 on Billboard for exactly one day and then the bubble burst and it dropped straight down, right?
└It reached No. 4 by sacrificing Blood rappers. Worship Satan Shotgun!
└It stayed in the Top 10 for three weeks though?
└This whole argument is pointless. No matter how much hype you get, you don’t reach No. 4 if you have no skill
—Honestly, I still don’t acknowledge Shotgun’s skill. People are overrating him way too much off [DRIVE] alone
└Nah, what do you mean overrating? Lil D changed completely after DRIVE too. That proves Shotgun’s producing ability
└Isn’t winning two awards with one song even more impressive?
Meanwhile—
“...”
Park Seung-ho sat in front of the TV, watching the BET ceremony.
There was a slight delay between the livestream and the television broadcast.
Kim Mi-young was using a massager on her neck, while Park Yul was upstairs in her room on her phone.
Neither of them had any interest in hip-hop.
[And the Producer of the Year award goes to... SHOTGUN!]
Oh? Isn’t that the producer who made Lil D’s song?
Park Seung-ho’s eyes fixed on the screen.
Shotgun, wearing a chrome helmet, went up onstage.
He accepted the trophy.
Then—
“...Huh?”
Shotgun raised both hands.
And removed the helmet.
Sunglasses.
A straight, expressionless mouth.
But there was no way a family member would fail to recognize that face.
“...G-Geon?”
He shot to his feet.
Even with the sunglasses, it was obvious.
That was his son.
“M-Mi-young! Mi-young!”
Kim Mi-young stopped the massager and came over.
“You scared me! What? What happened?”
Park Seung-ho could not form words.
He only pointed at the screen.
His finger was trembling.
“Y-Yul! You come down here too, quickly!!”
Park Yul came downstairs grumbling.
“What is it now? Let me guess, Lil D won an award and you’re making a fuss... Huh?”
All three pairs of eyes fixed on the screen.
Onstage, holding a trophy and standing before the microphone...
[I’m always grateful to my family.]
“G-Geon?”
“Oppa?!”
“T-That’s our son, right?! Huh? That’s him!”
And a little while later, when Park Geon arrived home—
“G-Geon! Explain what’s going on right now!”
“...So Shotgun was you this whole time, Oppa?”
“Then you’ve been making music all this time?”
Now that Park Geon had finally told his family the truth, he felt relieved and at ease at the same time.
“Since we know now, we should listen to everything Shotgun composed. I don’t know much about hip-hop, so what should we start with?”
“Yes, Mom is curious too.”
“Oh, this one came up. Let’s see, SHOTGUN TO YOUR...”
Ah.
Aaaaah.
“I’m tired today, so I’m going to sleep first!”
...I should go to bed early tonight.
The next day.
“Epic Music contacted us.”
Big Joe listened to the report quietly, a cigar between his lips.
“A global launch...”
“As far as I know, this is the first time Epic has pushed something on this scale this year.”
Big Joe exhaled a long stream of smoke.
“The live stage will be the key.”
“Yes.”
“Understood. You can go.”
Left alone, Big Joe walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
As he looked outside, the BET ceremony suddenly came to mind.
—...Yo, Big Joe. Ma bro.
Onstage, with everyone watching, Shotgun had mentioned his name first.
The audience had gone wild, the cameras had turned toward Big Joe, and everyone sitting around him had made a huge fuss.
I didn’t expect him to call my name first.
If it had been another artist, he would not have felt much.
Actually, Lil D had also mentioned Big Joe first during his own acceptance speech, as if refusing to lose to Shotgun, but that had only made Big Joe feel pleased.
But with Shotgun...
It had gone beyond simple satisfaction.
What should he call it?
Emotion?
Shit. Emotion, my ass.
Of course, he did not want to admit to that feeling.
A gang boss feeling moved was embarrassing.
This was the same man who had refused to be the first to offer Shotgun an exclusive contract because of his pride.
Shotgun.
A guy who rarely showed emotion and never seemed to show him any particular respect.
Big Joe understood.
Shotgun was not a Crip.
He was an ordinary civilian.
That was why Big Joe sometimes wondered.
Was that guy really one of his people?
Would he suddenly leave someday?
It was natural for him to be wary.
He had seen countless betrayals on the street.
Shotgun had even sold songs to the Bloods before, so naturally, that made the doubts worse.
But now he could be certain.
That bastard was one of his people.
He had announced it onstage to everyone.
And to Big Joe himself.
“...Interesting bastard.”
Humans naturally got a rush of dopamine from the unexpected.
That reversal had been quite satisfying.
After finishing his thoughts, Big Joe left the LK Records building.
He drove to a two-story house.
When he pressed the doorbell, the sound of slippers dragging across the floor approached from inside.
“Who is it?”
The door opened.
Mama Rose.
There were traces of flour on her apron.
“Oh, Lorenzo! What brings you here without calling?”
“I have something important to tell you.”
“Have you eaten lunch?”
“...”
Apparently, what mattered most to Mama Rose was whether her son had eaten.
She gestured for him to come inside.
“I just baked cornbread.”
They sat at the dining table.
Mama Rose set down a plate.
Big Joe quietly began.
“You know my brother’s last song. It’s going to be unveiled for the first time during a live performance.”
“Oh... is that really true?”
“Come with me when it happens.”
Mama Rose looked at Big Joe.
Wrinkles gathered around her eyes.
“Of course I’ll go. It’s our Kiki’s last song.”
Kiki.
Mama Rose’s pet name for Little K.
“Who finished the song?”
“There’s someone named Shotgun.”
“Ah, that Asian boy I saw at the barbecue party?”
Big Joe nodded while eating the cornbread.
“What a grateful child. Finishing Kiki’s last song for us.”
Mama Rose took an old photograph from the top of a cabinet.
In the picture stood a boy around twelve years old.
He wore a basketball jersey far too large for his body.
A young man had one arm around the boy’s shoulders.
Little K and a young Big Joe.
“Do you remember what Kiki gave you that day?”
“...Music equipment.”
“No.”
Mama Rose tapped the back of Big Joe’s hand.
“That day, Kiki gave you a dream.”
“...”
“That’s why you’re running a label now, discovering artists, and trying to bring your brother’s song into the world.”
Mama Rose tapped the back of his hand again.
“That’s how it works, Lorenzo. When you receive something, you have to give something back. Just like your brother did.”
Big Joe stared quietly at the photograph.
Little K’s smile from that day was still vivid.
“...I understand what you mean.”
“You understand? What?”
Big Joe grinned and continued.
“What I’m going to give Shotgun.”