77 – Like Brother, Like Sister (1)
77 – Like Brother, Like Sister (1)
77.
Filming for Star Kingdom ended.
First place went to the idol group “Closer” with 87 votes, while Blue Aka took second with 84 votes. Even though they lost first place by only three votes, none of the Blue Aka members looked particularly disappointed.
That made sense—first place was basically predetermined to go to “Closer.” Compared to the other contestants, they had an overwhelming number of fans, and they also got the best response in the live performance.
So the fact that Blue Aka was only three votes behind them was already an incredible result.
“Good work.”
After the rankings were announced, Won Seongmin spoke to the members with a satisfied expression. The members, wearing similar expressions, replied:
“Man, it’s been a while since I had that much fun.”
“Live shows really are fun.”
“If it’s live, I could do it all night.”
“Then please record every day, for the love of god.”
After that, they laughed among themselves. It might look childish to outsiders, but Blue Aka didn’t care.
Blue Aka was a band made to have fun in the first place.
“So, Producer-nim, how was it from your point of view?”
In the middle of their chatter, Won Seongmin asked Yoon Hajun. The other members all looked at Hajun too.
The way they stared at him with expectant eyes, like they wanted praise, made him chuckle.
Seriously. I can’t even tell who the adult is.
If you went by physical age, they were ten years older than him—so how could they be that pure?
It didn’t make him think they were childish, or What’s wrong with them? Nothing negative like that.
He was just jealous.
Because when he’d been their age, he hadn’t been that pure.
He couldn’t even enjoy singing, the thing he wanted so badly. He’d spent every day full of complaints and dissatisfaction.
“Was it not good?”
After Hajun didn’t answer for a while, Won Seongmin asked with a worried expression. Hajun shook his head and replied,
“No. It was the best.”
“Our producer’s got an ear.”
At Hajun’s words, Kang Minseok said that and walked over. Then he cleared his throat and lightly patted Hajun on the shoulder.
“You worked hard.”
It wasn’t just Kang Minseok. Starting with him, every member patted Hajun’s shoulder and said a word to him.
And Jin Ilman didn’t miss it—he captured all of it on camera.
The drama was over.
And it ended in the kind of ending people loved most.
§ § §
After Star Kingdom ended, life returned to normal.
By “normal,” that meant a life where no cameras followed you everywhere. God, it was comfortable. He’d spent so long watching what he did because of those damn cameras.
Even so, it didn’t mean he could rest. He planned to use what little spring break remained to finish the final work on “Drop pop.”
“So this is the end for ‘Drop pop’?”
“Yes. It’s the end.”
He nodded at Suyeon’s question.
This would be the last Cloud upload.
“That’s too bad. I liked getting comments.”
“Well, it can’t be helped.”
Now the goal had to be releasing an official track, not uploading to Cloud.
And it wasn’t just Suyeon who felt regret—he did too.
He’d worked hard during break to grow Cloud, but in the end, he hadn’t achieved what he’d wanted. Views had jumped thanks to “Rough,” so the raw numbers were satisfying.
But what he’d wanted wasn’t views—it was word of mouth, or ripple effects created by the songs they uploaded.
Looking at it that way, growing Cloud was basically a failure.
“Then we’re recording right away?”
“Yes.”
After nodding, he headed to Howl Studio. Suyeon had gotten used to Howl Studio now too, and didn’t seem particularly intimidated by Won Seongmin anymore.
While Suyeon got ready to record, he talked with Won Seongmin.
“When does it start airing?”
“Two weeks from now.”
“Then mid-March. And it’s a three-week program, right?”
“Yes.”
He knew it was a pilot, but it was still way too short. They’d filmed for almost two full weeks—how did that turn into only about three hours of broadcast?
And considering his role—Blue Aka’s helper—his screen time would be close to nonexistent.
Tch. It stung.
Couldn’t be helped, though.
After ending the conversation, they started recording with Suyeon in earnest.
The song they were working on was Catch’s “I AM BAD.”
It was currently number one on the Billboard chart, and Catch—the one who sang it—was the same age as him. And it wasn’t even a song someone else had written for Catch; Catch had composed it personally.
Of course, the producing was done by a professional producer—a very famous one—but the fact that an eighteen-year-old made a song that hit number one on Billboard showed what an absurd talent monster Catch was.
Still, as with most geniuses who are hard to pin down, Catch was the same—impossible to predict. After causing all kinds of incidents, four years later Catch even went to prison.
And yet Catch didn’t collapse. Every time a track dropped, Catch still dominated the Billboard charts.
It really was unbelievable.
Anyway, what kind of song was “I AM BAD”?
It was extremely hip.
Yes, it was basically hip-hop, but everything about it—from the progression, to the lyrics, to the music video—refused to be a “normal song.”
The melody turned gloomy, then bright, then unfolded provocatively again.
And the lyrics were overflowing with confidence—something like: if I want to, I can seduce your father, mother, younger sibling, or even your lover.
But in contrast to those lyrics, Catch’s voice had no force.
How little force?
Most people who listened said, Why is this kid’s voice so weak?
A weak voice. A unique tone.
A hip melody, and overflowing confidence on top of it.
That mix was what made “I AM BAD” take over the world.
But—
“Don’t force yourself to sing with no power.”
“Is that okay? In the original, it sounds like they’re singing right after waking up.”
At Suyeon’s words, he gave a bitter smile.
Yeah, Catch’s voice did have that feel.
Like a locked voice, as if they’d just woken up.
“It’s fine. That style works because it’s that voice. If you sing like that with your voice, it’ll just ruin you.”
Suyeon’s voice was mystical—like a dim dawn soaked in rain.
Rather than being locked, it was moist, and it made people emotional.
If she wasn’t whispering, but sang with no force like Catch, people wouldn’t feel “hip”—they’d just feel depressed.
Because he knew that, he arranged it in a slightly higher key than the original. And he made the tempo a little faster too.
Still, because the original was so complete, this arrangement demanded the highest difficulty out of everything they’d covered so far.
“Anyway, don’t drop the power. Just sing it a little like you’re whispering.”
“Like how Han Goyo unni did in ‘crack’?”
Suyeon’s eyes lit up as she asked.
He nodded.
“If we’re being strict, it’s similar. But you can’t do it exactly the same. What Goyo did was melodic rap, and what I’m asking you for is closer to whisper rap.”
Honestly, it wasn’t even rap if you wanted to get technical.
The beat was hip-hop, yes, but it wasn’t rap.
There was one thing songs that were popular these days—and songs that would be popular in the future—had in common.
They didn’t stick to a single genre while progressing.
A track would run in hip-hop, then suddenly flip into rock.
Or flip into a ballad.
Or a metal rock track would suddenly spit out a completely random genre out of nowhere.
An era had arrived where it was hard to succeed by drilling into just one genre.
He knew that, which was why he was challenging all kinds of genres right now.
Anyway, they started working with Suyeon like that.
And he let out a quiet sound of admiration.
He’d felt it all winter break too, working with Suyeon—her growth speed was insane.
Now, unlike before, there were no longer any fragments of Han Goyo in Suyeon’s singing.
She’d succeeded in digesting what she’d only been imitating into her own form.
Then the songs he’d prepared would need revisions.
It was extra work for no reason—but for some reason, he didn’t dislike it.
Working on the track, he grinned.
He was sure.
The moment Suyeon entered school, she was going to flip the whole place upside down.
The teachers who’d given her second place in admissions would regret it.
I gave a kid like this second place?
And he’d been preparing steadily all this time for exactly that.
No one else.
He was the one who was going to complete Suyeon.
§ § §
After spring break ended, before the new semester started, on the final weekend, he went to the academy with Suyeon.
It was because of Lee Jiyoon’s request—she’d been asking them to come by ever since before winter break.
“Hello.”
“It’s been a while.”
After giving a light greeting as they walked in, Lee Jiyoon let out a sigh.
He went into an empty room with Lee Jiyoon and accepted coffee.
“How long has it been since I told you to come? Were you that busy?”
“Well… I was pretty busy. I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m the one who asked you to come. If you were busy, then I should be the one waiting.”
As she said that, Lee Jiyoon took a sip of coffee.
He followed and took a sip too, looking Lee Jiyoon over.
Somehow, she looked even thinner than before.
She was already naturally skinny compared to normal people—an ex–girl group member who managed herself consistently—but this was the kind of thin you saw even among celebrities.
“Do you have something on your mind?”
That weight didn’t look like healthy weight loss.
There was no sense of vitality at all.
At his question, Lee Jiyoon sighed again.
“Yes. I do.”
“Is it something related to Suyeon?”
“Yes.”
Lee Jiyoon nodded.
He frowned.
Did something happen to Suyeon?
Her throat hurting, maybe?
But yesterday, during the entire session, she’d been full of energy.
If Suyeon’s throat hurt or something was wrong, he wouldn’t miss it.
“What is it?”
Or was it some other problem?
Was Suyeon being bullied?
It wasn’t impossible. When someone is overwhelmingly better, people tend to exclude them.
Han Goyo got excluded too, didn’t she?
Of course, as her older brother, if there were guys like that, he had no intention of forgiving them.
Who were they?
He’d remember every single one, and if Suyeon succeeded, he’d expose them.
At his urgent question, Lee Jiyoon’s lips twitched.
Then she frowned, as if thinking hard, and finally spoke.
“It’s related to Suyeon, but nothing bad is happening to her. So don’t worry like that.”
“Oh. Really?”
He answered calmly.
If nothing bad was happening to Suyeon, then—
“Then what is it?”
“Um… I want to ask Suyeon for a favor.”
“Then you didn’t need to call me too. You could just ask Suyeon directly, couldn’t you?”
“Whew.”
Lee Jiyoon sighed again.
At this rate, wasn’t the ground going to cave in?
What was she worrying about that made her sigh like that?
Even after that, Lee Jiyoon hesitated for a long time, then carefully said,
“Don’t misunderstand me, okay? This isn’t because I’m looking down on Suyeon or anything. Suyeon has talent that’s among the best out of all the students I’ve taught. To the point she’s comparable to Goyo.”
“Right.”
Why was she stating the obvious?
“But what I’m asking for… is something that’s too much for Suyeon as she is now. Um… I mean Suyeon alone. So I want you to help too.”
“Too much for Suyeon?”
“Yes. Not because she lacks talent. But you know this too—Suyeon hasn’t been singing seriously for very long.”
“Right.”
“That’s the problem.”
It was nothing but incomprehensible words.
So what is she actually asking for?
“So what do you want to ask?”
At his words, Lee Jiyoon spoke in a very small voice, carefully.
“You know there’s an event at your school. The one where you practice for a stage and they grade you.”
“Yes, there is.”
“I want Suyeon to beat someone there.”
…What?
Was this some kind of secret quest?
At Lee Jiyoon’s absurdly abrupt words, he frowned.
“Who is it?”
“Jeong Jinhoo.”
As if she’d done something wrong, Lee Jiyoon squeezed her eyes shut.