Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Perfecting the Debut Tracks
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-♪~♬~
Yeonwoo had recorded his free jazz performance and set it as his alarm.
At the sound of his own piano melody, Yeonwoo’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up.
As soon as he got up, blue fairies appeared, emitting a soft glow.
Using their light as illumination, Yeonwoo found the remote and pressed it.
With a soft whir, the blackout curtains that had darkened the room drew open.
Yeonwoo turned toward the window and gazed outside. After taking in the now-familiar Tokyo skyline for a moment, he got out of bed—following the habit he’d picked up from mimicking his grandmother—roughly smoothed down his messy bedhead, folded the blankets, changed out of his pajamas into loungewear, and left the room.
Even after leaving the room, he stuck to the habit he’d formed imitating his grandmother and drank some lukewarm water.
“[Yeonwoo-chan, you’re up first? Such a hard worker.]”
In the meantime, the housekeeper lady emerged. Yeonwoo gave her a polite bow.
“[What do you want for breakfast today?]”
“[I’d like that shogayaki you made before!]”
“[Got it. I’ll whip it up quick—hang on.]”
Watching the lady bustle into the kitchen, Yeonwoo sat on the living room sofa, turned on his tablet PC, launched a MIDI app, and fiddled with the virtual instruments.
In the interim, Heo Ok woke up and sat beside him, watching what he was doing, followed by Annosuke and Yuri coming out one after the other.
Though Annosuke and Yuri now had their own dorm, with Yeonwoo’s return, they’d gone back to living together in their original lodging.
Just a few days ago, they’d looked gaunt and hollow-cheeked, but now they finally resembled regular people.
“[What’d he ask for breakfast?]”
“[Pork ginger stir-fry.]”
“[Oh, nice.]”
“[Bet that sauce’ll be great on steamed cabbage too.]”
“[Right? Yuri, you know your stuff.]”
Heo Ok looked at the three of them, their eyes sparkling at the talk of food, and said worriedly,
“[You guys keep that up, and you’ll gain all the weight back.]”
“[Ack! We’re exercising maximum restraint. We don’t wanna go back to starving.]”
“[Exactly. Better to hold back and enjoy good food than starve.]”
Remembering their days of hunger, the two shuddered.
It must have truly been a nightmare, because they weren’t even eating half of what they’d scarfed down during those mukbang days with Yeonwoo.
Watching them, Yeonwoo seemed bothered by his own weight gain too—his portions had shrunk.
After finishing breakfast, brushing their teeth, and washing up, they headed out to work.
It was a morning no different from the last, but the moment they stepped out to head to headquarters, things diverged.
Bodyguards were already waiting at the elevator.
They escorted Annosuke, Yuri, and Yeonwoo with ironclad precision to the car.
“[How long do we have to keep living like this, in hiding?]”
Clearly finding it quite inconvenient, Annosuke grumbled once inside the car.
“[No choice. They’re desperate to uncover Yuin’s identity these days.]”
“[Just hang in there a bit longer, hyung.]”
Annosuke nodded, then spoke up again.
“[Oh, by the way, what should our team name be once we debut?]”
“[How about Kuwa and Hime?]”
“[Bear and princess? You calling me the princess?]”
“[You wish! I’m the princess, you’re the bear, you idiot!]”
Annosuke clicked his tongue at Yuri.
“[I could be the princess too. What era do you think this is, clinging to stereotypes? You’re hopeless.]”
While the two bickered in the back, Yeonwoo, lost in thought, chimed in.
“Minagita? Gitamina? [What do you think?]”
“[South-North? North-South? Our Yeonwoo’s great at music but your naming sense is zilch.]”
“[Why? I think it’s good. I’m from the north, you’re from the south.]”
“[North-South, South-North—whatever, if we go with that, I’m out immediately. Just so you know.]”
Seeing Yuri lay down the ultimatum, Annosuke jumped in.
“[What about YP? Yuin Project.]”
“[…Let’s just leave the team name to the company.]”
The three failed to settle on a name by the time they reached headquarters.
Upon arrival at headquarters, Yeonwoo and the others deliberately parked in the first-floor outdoor lot and got out.
The bodyguards deftly shielded the trio as they moved, and reporters nearby shoved cameras in their faces.
Sensing JOP had no intention of hiding them, the press was far more aggressive than before, snapping away openly.
Yeonwoo wondered if it had to go this far, but trusting the company’s plan, he headed inside.
From there, the three split up.
Yuri and Annosuke went to practice the jazz track Yeonwoo had first made for them, while Yeonwoo headed off to compose the songs they’d sing.
He’d already prepared a few back in Korea, but he needed to craft a title track to fit the concept planned by Nanase—the head producer in charge of everything except Yeonwoo’s composing and recording.
Nanase wanted their debut song to be city pop.
With retro vibes trending in Japan lately, bubble-era culture was sweeping the nation.
And since the first track Yeonwoo gave them was jazz, they’d decided to lean fully into that direction.
It could be seen as a gamble.
Japan tended to nurture dedicated fanbases across diverse genres rather than chasing fads.
City pop was no exception—plenty of people still listened to and performed it steadily.
But this was JOP.
The Mount Olympus and holy site of genre music. If JOP did city pop, it would become mainstream.
That’s how JOP had steered every genre outside idol culture up to now.
And there was Yuin.
Even in the same genre, Yeonwoo could spin entirely new codes, birthing something fresh.
It fit Japanese tastes perfectly.
Japan preferred pioneering genres independently and shaping them in their own style over fusing existing ones—so they’d welcome Yeonwoo evolving a genre anew.
That was why tracks by Himari and Hadassah resonated so strongly in Japan.
They weren’t just absentminded mixes of obvious existing genre tropes.
This city pop would be the same.
As always, Yeonwoo devised new chords and melted city pop into them.
But after hearing the first finished track, he shook his head.
“This one’s a bit lacking.”
Blue fairies burst forth in dazzling profusion, practically blinding, but the yellow fairies were weak.
It meant high artistry, but not a commercial hit.
To make it more accessible, Yeonwoo reworked the track.
As yellow fairies multiplied, he refined it into a seamless blend of artistry and mass appeal.
“This one’s good.”
The final track emphasized a slightly younger, brighter vibe than traditional city pop.
Like a song about teenagers in the city falling in love, something like that.
Satisfied with the title track, Yeonwoo grinned broadly, then thought of the two singers.
Should he whip up a solo track for the album too?
That sparked an idea about their backgrounds.
Hiramura Annosuke of Ainu descent, and Ryukyuan Zinen Yuri.
Even if mixed, their surnames hailed from storied lineages in those regions.
What if he made songs using traditional instruments from their homelands?
Yeonwoo first searched for Hokkaido Ainu traditional instruments.
“Mukkuri? Mutkuri?”
The Ainu had a unique lamellophone called the mukkuri. Biting it and plucking produced a cartoonish boing like a spring popping.
It seemed perfect for a lively track.
Yeonwoo found a virtual mukkuri and began composing.
In rock style, but birthing an utterly novel sound.
“Oh…!”
Yeonwoo replayed his creation, awestruck.
Each signature twang of the mukkuri summoned fairies.
Unintentionally, yellow and blue ones popped out in droves.
‘Why’s this such a seller?’
He’d made it on a whim, yet the yellow fairies loved it—leaving Yeonwoo a bit flustered.
But hey, good was good, right?
Yeonwoo slotted the track into the album lineup folder, then researched Okinawan music for Zinen Yuri.
Unlike Ainu, Okinawa had maintained some independence into recent times as Ryukyu, so its music was well-developed and systematized.
Traditional Okinawan sounds had evolved into genres like uchina pop, and American influence birthed Okinawan rock.
That said, Okinawan rock was pioneered by locals, rooted in standard rock—distinct from traditional music.
Yeonwoo felt he shouldn’t meddle with traditional uchina pop or folk songs, given their ongoing independence vibes.
So how about infusing Ryukyu scales into rock, adding Okinawan staples like the sanshin?
Yeonwoo’s hands flew busily.
Basing it on sanshin played in Ryukyu scales, layering guitar and drums to build a rock edge.
“Oh, nice.”
Surrounded by the glow of blue and yellow fairies, Yeonwoo composed feverishly.
And those tracks went straight to Nanase.
* * *
In her office, Nanase gathered JOP’s key rising stars and savored the songs Yeonwoo had made for Yuri and Annosuke.
The city pop title track, the original jazz piece, and solos for each.
With each song, Nanase gripped her pen so tightly her knuckles went white—a habit when jotting impressions.
Chills ran through her with every track.
She’d heard Yeonwoo’s work before, knowing it was his, yet it hadn’t fully sunk in.
But after shadowing him repeatedly as head producer, it hit home.
These were Yeonwoo’s songs.
And Yeonwoo was a true genius.
“Uncle—no, President Datemura’s words come to mind.”
As Nanase spoke, all eyes turned to her.
“The clever read trends, the gifted lead them, but a genius is born once, becoming the era’s name.”
Nanase continued Datemura Shunji’s quote.
“When I asked if the gap between a gifted like me and a genius was that vast, he said it was like me and Mozart.”
Nanase posed the question.
“Then, how far is Yuin from Mozart?”
No one answered easily.
“I… have no idea. If Mozart lived today, he’d be Yuin, wouldn’t he?”
Nanase, who evaluated music coldly through profit like no other—even Datemura Shunji—had never lavished such praise in her life.
She’d thought she never would.
But facing the ‘real thing’ now, she realized: she just hadn’t met it before.
So, for this genius demanding utmost praise, what could she do?
“Scout Japan’s top lyricist. If they’re not enough, get a Nobel Lit winner.”
She’d support his music with everything she had.