Chapter 44
When I Wake Up was officially released.
The people who had heard the song live had been counting down the days to this moment.
Because they wanted to hear it again.
Because they wanted to confirm that the trembling they had felt that night had not been an illusion.
The moment the song went live on streaming platforms, concurrent listeners flooded in.
News that Shotgun had composed the song had already spread after the live performance.
—It’s out!
└Waiting was worth it.
└Holy shit, the studio version hits different too.
└That intro gives me chills every time.
The song played throughout the night.
People lying in bed with headphones on.
People driving at dawn with the volume turned all the way up.
People whose expressions stiffened on the subway during their morning commute.
—What the hell is this lineup?
└Didn’t expect Nova and Aella to be the features.
└This is actually Shotgun’s song, right? Not just something he produced?
└Yeah. Cabin handed it over to him.
└Damn.
By the second day after release, the charts began moving rapidly.
The song settled near the top of the global streaming rankings and began climbing the charts like an S-Rank Hunter ascending a tower.
Epic Music’s global push was backing it.
[Breaking News] WHEN I WAKE UP Enters Billboard Hot 100 Three Days After Release... Sharp Upward Trend Continues
After the flood of news articles, critical reviews began appearing as well.
[The Door That Remained Closed for Twenty Years Has Finally Opened]
The sixteen-bar intro DJ Cabin had been working on with Little K twenty years ago before K’s death made him abandon the project.
Those sixteen bars had become something of a Holy Grail within the industry.
An unfinished feast no one could continue.
I would put it this way.
The table had already been set twenty years ago.
Countless producers had sat down in front of that table, only to rise again without ever lifting a spoon.
Because completing it meant surpassing Cabin.
Then an Asian producer sat down at that table and, expressionless, finished the meal.
—Damn, that whole “dinner table theory” metaphor is good.
└Still can’t believe a rookie completed that track.
└Calling him a rookie is weird when he already has a Billboard number four.
└Can people stop talking about Drive? I’m sick of it lol. Everyone knows it only charted because of the diss battle, and no one actually respects it.
└Then do you respect this one?
Naturally, not everyone viewed him favorably.
—Honestly, isn’t this just riding the memorial hype?
└Wow, first diss-battle hype, now memorial hype.
└Wonder what kind of hype comes next.
—Would it have gotten this big if Little K hadn’t died?
└They just milked emotion using a dead rapper’s voice.
└And Cabin already made the beat twenty years ago. Shotgun only put some piano on top.
└Exactly. He just put a spoon on a table that was already set.
└Oh, so that’s why the column talked about the dinner table.
└It was sophisticated sarcasm.
└Memorial hype + Cabin hype.
Posts attacking Shotgun climbed upward as they received recommendations.
And just as quickly, replies began piling up beneath them.
└That same Cabin called him “the legend who’ll follow after me.”
└Shotgun is basically a god. Lyrics, beatmaking, production, piano performance—he does all of it. That’s one person.
└Shotgun: Yummy, already-set dinner table! (expressionless)
└LMAOOOOOO
—Seriously curious how high this song will go.
└At minimum, Billboard Top 5.
└At this rate, I’m betting it makes Top 3.
Workers were coming and going through the yard of Big Joe’s house.
The scale was completely different from the barbecue party they had held to celebrate winning the diss battle.
The speakers they had used back then sat miserably abandoned in a corner of the yard, replaced by two line-array speakers as tall as a person.
“OG! Those are the kind they use in clubs!”
Dustin’s eyes lit up.
“If these things start blasting in the yard, yo, it’s going to be insane. The sound’ll reach heaven!”
Big Joe answered with a cigar between his lips.
“That’s the point. Little K needs to hear it too.”
This party held a different kind of meaning.
It marked the moment the Crips—or more precisely, LK Records—had planted their flag in the major scene.
“Pork ribs! Brisket! Chicken wings! Sausages!”
Dustin folded down one finger after another, then suddenly slapped himself on the forehead.
“Oh, OG! Since we’re going this big anyway, how about hiring catering too? Shotgun’s parents run a restaurant in Koreatown. Gohyangmi!”
“...”
Big Joe fell silent for a moment because Shotgun’s name was involved.
But Big Joe was a gang boss.
Like one, he quickly returned to being pragmatic.
“Korean food won’t suit our guys’ tastes. Do what we always do.”
“...Aight.”
The conversation was about to end there.
“OG.”
It was Jamal.
“How about reconsidering?”
Big Joe raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Jamal normally never questioned a decision.
Once an order was given, he carried it out exactly as instructed.
“There’s a dish called galbi. It’s similar to pork ribs, but the seasoning is different. Our guys love ribs. There’s no way someone who likes ribs would hate galbi.”
“...Huh!”
Big Joe gave a short laugh.
“If anyone else said it, I wouldn’t care. But if you’re going this far...”
Dustin threw both arms into the air.
“YESSSS! Gohyangmi! I’m fucking hyped!”
Jamal leaned against the wall of the LK Records parking lot.
He was organizing Shotgun’s schedule.
Step. Step. Step.
In the distance, an Asian man wearing sunglasses was approaching.
“Wassup.”
“...Wassup.”
“You wear sunglasses at night too? You’re going to walk into something.”
“...I won’t. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about myself. If you get hurt, OG will kill me.”
“...”
Jamal slipped his phone into his back pocket.
Shotgun flinched slightly.
“You heard about the party, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How about having Gohyangmi cater it?”
“...”
“I already talked to OG. All that’s left is for you to agree.”
Shotgun remained silent.
Then, with a blank expression, he casually asked,
“What about you?”
“I’m not going.”
Jamal did not explain further.
There was only one reason.
The same reason he had never gone inside Gohyangmi.
Warm places belonged to warm people, and if he stepped into them, the warmth would disappear.
That was what the mark beneath his eye meant.
He had gotten it knowing exactly what it meant.
“...”
Shotgun stood there silently.
Then—
“...Come that day too.”
“I told you I’m not—”
Before Jamal could finish, Shotgun rummaged through his pocket.
Korean grocery stores in Koreatown sold Pokémon bread.
The same bread that had once swept across Korea had crossed the ocean and found its way into Korean markets abroad.
It was not popular enough for people to line up at opening time or anything, but Park Geon had been curious about what all the fuss was about and had happened to buy one today.
When he opened it, he had gotten a Squirtle sticker.
(Translator’s Note:Squirtle — One of the original Pokémon species introduced with the first generation of the franchise. Its Korean name is Kkobugi.)
The sticker was still in his pocket.
“...Wear this.”
Jamal’s eyes dropped to Shotgun’s palm.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he took the sticker.
“...Fuck, Shotgun.”
And turned around.
Smoke rose from the yard.
When I Wake Up blasted from the speakers, and neighbors could be seen poking their heads out of their windows.
No one complained.
...Because they were scared.
“What a wonderful day. Everyone, eat as much as you like.”
Mama Rose moved busily around the yard carrying plates of meat in both hands.
Then she tilted her head.
“But what’s with all of you today? You look like honor students.”
The chains, blue bandanas, and flashy accessories were all missing today.
Of course, they were not dressed in button-up shirts or anything.
They had simply toned things down a level from their usual rough and threatening appearance.
There was one reason.
That morning, enforcer Jamal had stood in front of the gang members and announced,
“Take off all your chains today. Don’t act like punks. And if I hear anyone swear, assume you’ll get shot. Try it once if you want to find out whether I’m serious.”
Just then, commotion rose near the entrance to the yard.
The Gohyangmi family had arrived.
Park Seung-ho entered carrying insulated bags, Kim Mi-young and Park Yul held boxes of drinks, and Park Geon came in behind them while holding the door.
At that moment—
“Ayyyy! Shotgun’s parents!”
“WELCOME! Come on in!”
Three or four people rushed over at once, taking the insulated containers, pulling out chairs, and offering drinks.
“Oh my, you really don’t have to go this far...”
Park Seung-ho whispered to Park Geon.
“The people at your company are so friendly. What a relief.”
“Haha, Dad...”
Fuck.
Then—
“...Huh?”
In the distance, a rapper wearing sunglasses was fist-bumping some Crips-affiliated rappers.
Park Seung-ho’s pupils shook.
The moment their eyes met, the rapper started walking toward him.
“...Lil Dunk?”
Lil D grinned.
“Yeah, sir. That’s me.”
For once, he did not use slang.
Strangely enough, the person who used slang first was Park Seung-ho.
“Yo, Broooo! I’m your fan! Seriously!”
He even greeted him in hood style.
They took a picture together too, arms around each other’s shoulders.
“...Honey, your smile is about to split your face.”
“Hahaha!”
Only after Kim Mi-young took several pictures did the greeting finally end.
Park Seung-ho quietly approached his son.
“Geon, thank you. Because of you, your dad even got to take a picture with Lil D.”
“...”
In one corner of the yard—
“Yul!”
Dustin pushed a plate of pork ribs toward Park Yul.
“Try these. I grilled them myself. Master of the yard, Dustin!”
“W-why are they so huge?”
“Ayyyy, you can’t even eat this much?”
“...I’m not Dustin.”
Dustin flexed the muscles in his arm.
“You have to eat a lot to get like this.”
“...I don’t want to get like that.”
“What?! After the N-word thing, you’re starting again?”
“W-wait, no, I mean...”
“Haha, I’m joking, Yul.”
“...The ribs are good, though.”
“See? Admit it!”
Meanwhile, Park Seung-ho and Kim Mi-young were staring intently at one place.
“Oh my...”
“That young man really eats well.”
A young man was sitting alone in a corner of the yard, tearing into galbi.
He was eating it so deliciously that, as restaurant owners, they could not help feeling proud.
“Haha, is it good?”
The young man raised his head.
Then they saw the Squirtle sticker stuck beneath his eye.
The corners of the couple’s mouths melted into smiles.
He must be a pure-hearted young man.
“Isn’t that Squirtle? Looks like that sticker is the highlight of your outfit today. Cute.”
“Our Geon used to love Pokémon when he was little too.”
“...”
Then it happened.
A black SUV glided into the entrance.
The door opened, and a man wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his head stepped out.
“Yo, who are you?”
At first, no one recognized him.
Several people watched him warily.
Then one gang member who had been chewing on a rib froze with the bone still in his mouth.
“...W-wait. That silhouette.”
“No way...”
“That’s DJ Cabin!!”
The entire yard exploded.
“Holy shit! Why is the legend here?!”
“It’s really him! That’s Cabin!”
“Yo, this isn’t a dream, right? Somebody pinch me!”
People threw down their plates and rushed toward him.
One person even dropped to his knees and clasped both hands together.
But amid all that chaos, someone else had the most intense reaction.
“C-Cabin?! That’s really Cabin?!”
It was Park Seung-ho.
The man whose smile had already stretched from ear to ear after taking a picture with Lil D shot out of his chair.
“Honey! That’s Cabin! The Cabin whose cassette tapes I played until they wore out twenty years ago!”
“Here we go again...”
Park Geon blinked behind his sunglasses.
...Why is Cabin here?
He had not heard anything about this.
But Big Joe seemed to have discussed it with Cabin beforehand, because they casually bumped fists.
“Damn, you really came.”
“B. Nice party. But your half of the Bentley money still hasn’t come in.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not running away.”
Big Joe grinned.
Then Cabin’s gaze swept across the yard.
“There he is. That damn genius.”
Cabin strode over and jerked his chin toward the DJ booth set up on one side of the yard.
It was a proper setup connected to the line-array speakers.
“Onstage, I called you ‘the legend who’ll follow after me.’”
He turned his cap backward.
“But if I only say that with my mouth, that’s boring, right?”
In an instant, the entire yard held its breath.
A few quick-witted gang members realized what was happening first and rushed toward the booth.
“Wait, no way...”
“Cabin and Shotgun?!”
“A DJ battle?! Here?!”
“Front row is mine!”
Dustin jumped up and down while still holding his pork ribs.
“OHHH! Shotgun versus Cabin?! I’ll die before I miss this! Move!”
In the end, Dustin secured the front row.
Park Seung-ho swallowed hard and grabbed his wife’s arm.
“H-honey. Is this a dream?”
“Want me to hit you?”
“...No.”
Cold sweat ran down Park Geon’s back.
No, no, no. What kind of battle is this all of a sudden...?
The nightmare from Soundwave flashed through his mind.
The narrow field of vision through the visor.
The CDJ button he had pressed by mistake.
And this time, his opponent was none other than Cabin.
But he could not run away either.
Because—
“This should be fun.”
...Big Joe had just put a hand on his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Cabin had already placed one side of the headphones over his ear.
“OHHHHH!”
Amid the feverish cheering, the legend spoke.
“One song each. You and me, alternating.”
He grinned.
“Let’s prove right here whether ‘Real recognize real’ was actually true, Shotgun.”