Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Making of Something
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The first day wrapped up with some fantastic pork belly.
Our musical tastes aligned so well that it was a truly enjoyable time, but unfortunately, the work proceeded in fits and starts.
It was because of our individual schedules.
We had our lessons, and Senior Jang Sowon was busy with the OST for a drama set to air soon.
Even with the packed schedules, whenever we did get together, we worked happily.
"Take a listen."
The acoustic guitar in the studio.
I picked up the guitar, now familiar in my hands, and strummed the strings.
My fingers moved freely along the melody progression I'd envisioned every night while falling asleep in the dorm.
At first, the kids watched in awe, like they were at the zoo staring at a monkey.
"Hyung, now you're playing guitar too?"
"I've always known how."
"You keep pulling out new skills when we least expect it."
Even those kids now listened to my playing with familiarity.
Nodding their heads or bobbing to the rhythm.
Jang Sowon closed her eyes, focusing intently on the melody I'd added.
When the playing ended, I asked,
"How about developing the top-line melody like this?"
"Sounds good. Let me have it."
I handed the guitar over, and she immediately modified and played the melody I'd created.
Naturally, it was way better than what I'd made.
A true pro.
I couldn't help but be impressed watching her copy and tweak my melody on the spot.
After a while, Jang Sowon finished playing and asked with a smile,
"How's this?"
"It's really good."
I said.
"It feels similar to the vibe of your song Sunflower."
"Exactly. I added a bit of that sound to what you made."
"Yeah. Simple and acoustic suits it perfectly."
"Want to play it once more?"
I took the guitar back and started playing.
Whenever we did this, the kids reacted like spectators at a ping-pong match—heads turning our way with an "Ooh," then the other way with an "Ooh!"
The songwriting flowed like water.
Like building a ship.
Starting with just the frame, wood was added, metal plates fitted, and finally the mast rose up.
That was how Something came together.
Working like this felt refreshing.
It was nothing like the song production process I'd learned at the major agency TJ Entertainment.
In a way, it was a mess.
We just gathered and chatted like old folks at a neighborhood go-stop game, bouncing ideas for lyrics, creating and tweaking melodies.
Far from solemn—playful, even.
That atmosphere had its advantages.
The fun vibe made it easy to share ideas without hesitation, and we kept experimenting with new things.
A truly enjoyable experience.
It was the first time songwriting itself felt fun.
When lessons got tough and the trainers chewed us out, I'd come to the Hwayi Entertainment building to heal through work.
And in the process, we all sensed it.
No one said it out loud, but instinctively, we felt it.
A tailwind was blowing from somewhere.
* * *
Of course, not everything went smoothly.
Time was the biggest issue.
Songwriting and lyrics were fun, but recording time came, and the schedule was tight.
Hwayi Entertainment had set early February as the release date.
That was the only real hurdle.
Even after practicing hard, we weren't hitting the quality we wanted, and the mood nearly soured.
Ji-ho even burst into tears from Jang Sowon's reaction, which turned fierce like a tiger teacher.
But in the end, we nailed the recording successfully.
When we heard the final version, though, we all wore uncertain expressions.
It was worse than expected.
Jang Sowon smiled and asked,
"Sounds worse than you thought, right?"
"No? Not at all."
"It's all over your faces, you punks."
She explained.
"This hasn't gone through mixing or mastering yet."
"Mastering?"
"Simply put, it's balancing the track. The engineers fine-tune subtle sound differences. It might not seem like a big deal, but you'll know once you hear the final product."
"Ah……."
"Look forward to it."
She said confidently.
"It'll come out completely transformed."
* * *
February 2014.
The evening before Jang Sowon's album featuring Something dropped.
It was Sunday, the one day of the week we could rest in the dorm during evening hours, so the vibe was relaxed.
Like inmates in prison finally getting a break.
No.
Why did prison keep coming to mind?
I shook off the random thought and opened the smartphone browser. Typing "New Black" brought up results right away.
-Jang Sowon’s new album ‘Wishful Thinking’ release imminent
-Newbies ‘New Black’ collab on ‘Something’
-Who is the rookie boy group ‘New Black’ collaborating with Jang Sowon?
There were articles, but mostly duplicates, boiling down to 3 or 4 unique ones.
Mostly press releases from Hwayi Entertainment or our company.
Comments? Barely any.
At best, something like "Sowon unnie, fighting!"
I'd scoured every mention of New Black and found nothing substantial, leaving a twinge of disappointment.
Hope it does well.
We'd poured our hearts into it nightly, tweaking melodies, so I wanted the song to achieve something.
Still, as rookies hoping for success—greedy?
But with Senior Jang Sowon's name value, it could work?
Complicated thoughts.
People dream of winning the lottery without buying a ticket, but with release looming, humility set in naturally.
Maybe I was unconsciously building defenses against disappointment.
Eh, whatever.
I turned off the phone and sprawled on the living room sofa.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, a sweet, savory aroma wafted from the adjacent kitchen.
Dakgalbi.
Every time Bijoo, apron-clad, stirred the frying pan vigorously, the smell intensified.
"Smells good."
The maknae, pushing the mop with his foot, grinned.
"Right?"
"Yeah, amazing."
"My dad said he sent the best chicken from storage. For hyungs to eat together."
The dakgalbi Bijoo was stir-frying was from Ji-ho's dad a while back.
So much it filled the fridge.
Breasts, wings—parts galore, enough for a year.
"Ji-ho."
"Yeah?"
"What did your dad say he does?"
"Chicken shop."
"Self-employment's tough these days—sure it's okay sending this much?"
"Dunno."
The maknae shrugged.
"Dad'll handle it."
Such a carefree kid. I shook my head.
Still immature.
Dad's probably frying chicken hard so his son won't suffer.
Ji-ho's parents were devoted.
Three older sisters, him the only son—figures.
Designer-logo T-shirt and shorts.
Fancy watch on his wrist.
And there he was, mopping in them.
Thwack!
Something flew onto my face as I lay on the sofa.
"Euphu—"
Startled, I checked: my underwear.
"What? Who?"
"Who else?"
"Ri-hyeok?"
He looked at me sprawled on the sofa with pitiful eyes.
"Hey, ajusshi."
Ri-hyeok, sitting by the laundry mountain, tapped the floor.
"Folding laundry, then suddenly slacking? Get over here and fold instead of lounging."
"I'm folding."
"That?"
"I'm doing my best."
Still on the sofa, I snatched a piece with my left hand and lifted it.
Grabbed it with my right.
Shook it lightly and folded. Done.
Ri-hyeok seemed speechless for a moment.
"That one fold—you think that's actually folding? Damn, it's so absurd my words are tangling. You call that folding clothes?"
"Yeah."
"Never done housework before?"
"Lots."
"Then why fold laundry like that?"
"If it's not important, doing things half-assed is good for mental health. What's the point of folding clothes perfectly? You're just gonna wear them again."
I snagged another with my toes.
"Extremely gross, seriously."
"Life has important things and unimportant ones, Ri-hyeok."
"Huh?"
"Practice singing, get good at singing. Practice dance, get better at dance."
"Right."
"Get skilled, nail stages. Nail stages, gain fans. Gain fans, boost popularity. Yeah?"
"So?"
"Practice singing, become a good-singing idol. Practice folding laundry hard, become a good-folding-laundry idol. And that doesn't help our job. So, prioritize. That's the point."
Ri-hyeok followed my logic and concluded.
"You just hate folding laundry."
"Bingo."
"You're totally different in the practice room versus daily life."
Ri-hyeok, unhappy with my sloppy folds, refolded them.
He folded with artisan precision, no millimeter errors, and cleaned the bathroom spotless, not a speck of dust.
Lives so rigorously.
Stretching, I got up from the sofa.
To taste the nearly done dakgalbi.
Passing by, I saw Ri-hyeok pondering how to fold a tricky shirt.
"Give it here."
"Huh?"
Exactly three seconds.
Recalling boot camp, folding uniforms perfectly for merit points, I folded it.
Handed it back.
"……Huh?"
Ri-hyeok stared blankly. I smiled.
Muttering "What? How'd he do that?" drifted from behind.
I passed Ri-hyeok scrutinizing my fold like a rival product and the maknae half-heartedly mopping, heading to the kitchen.
"Almost done?"
"Hyung, perfect timing."
Bijoo greeted me warmly.
"It's ready—just stir once more. Wanna taste?"
"Sure."
I agreed readily, and he handed me the spatula.
Perfect flavor.
I nodded, thumbs up. Bijoo turned down the heat.
"Ji-ho."
"Yeah?"
"Go wake Jung-hyun."
With tousled hair-scratching Jung-hyun arriving last, we gathered around the hot plate in the living room.
No dining table.
Too cramped for one.
Eating dakgalbi from the frying pan, we marveled at the taste.
"How is it?"
The chef's question drew praise from all.
Proud cook and proud ingredient provider's son.
Amid trivial chit-chat over the meal, talk shifted to February events.
"Wow, our maknae's graduating middle school."
Bijoo marveled.
"Time flies."
"Seriously, first time we met, he barely reached my waist—grown so much."
"Don't exaggerate, hyung. He was already huge then."
"Right. Jung-hyun hyung was shorter back then too."
"Still just 2-3cm difference."
Unfamiliar past stories, so I quietly ate dakgalbi.
Our 17-year-old maknae already 175cm.
Face youthful, but body fully grown.
"Now Ji-ho's taller than Ri-hyeok."
"Ah, Bijoo hyung!"
We laughed at Ri-hyeok's dismayed reaction.
But true.
Slightly bulkier, he looks taller now.
I asked,
"You two's heights?"
"I'm 175."
"Checked at the health center yesterday: 174.6."
"Huh?"
Jung-hyun paused mid-dakgalbi slurp.
"No way, Ji-ho's taller."
"You're not 175, right?"
Ri-hyeok coughed awkwardly at my question.
Maknae pounced.
"Then stand and measure, hyung."
"No."
"I'll assume I'm taller then."
"Sigh, why fight over height. Right, Jung-hyun?"
I offered a fist; Jung-hyun grinned and bumped.
The other two, excluding Ji-ho, looked ready to grab pitchforks in revolt.
Betrayed Bijoo.
"Way too much, Kim Jung-hyun."
"Yeah, shortest."
"Don't wanna eat dakgalbi anymore, bro?"
They'd both graduated high school and enrolled in cyber uni together, I recalled.
For military deferment.
As the same-age duo bickered, I turned to Ji-ho.
"Right, Ji-ho."
"Yeah?"
"Graduation gift—what should I get you?"
"Me?"
Ji-ho pondered, then said.
"No gift. Just hope our song does well."
"Me too."
"Tomorrow's the digital release—think it will?"
"Who knows."
The now-quiet guys stared at my mouth.
Like fortune tellers.
Ask Executive Director Jo Kyu-hwan, not me.
"Empty your minds."
"Can't."
Bijoo laughed.
"Reward psychology kicks in."
"Success or not isn't up to our hearts. Senior Jang Sowon's best was Sunflower, around 30s? Chart entry alone is huge success."
Honestly impossible.
Digital charts need streaming, and neither we nor Senior Jang Sowon have 24/7 fanbases.
Title track maybe, but track 3? Tough.
Unless sudden luck strikes.
"Huh?"
Maknae yelped, checking phone mid-meal.
"What?"
"What's up?"
"Hyungs, look at this."
Ji-ho showed the internet article on his smartphone.
We all widened our eyes.
The day before digital release, a nuclear bomb issue exploded in entertainment news.