87 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (4)
87 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (4)
“Is it really okay to do this?”
Leaning against the wall, Han Goyo crouched on the bed and stared at her phone as she murmured to herself.
On the screen was her text thread with Seo Chaerim.
[I told the CEO for now.]
[We can meet next weekend.]
[I’ll handle the meeting with your parents separately, so don’t worry.]
Seo Chaerim didn’t know Han Goyo’s family situation. She simply thought Han Goyo didn’t have a good relationship with her family. That was why she comforted her like this.
“Hoo…”
Han Goyo let out a deep sigh.
To sign a contract with mm Entertainment, she needed the consent of a parent or guardian. But she couldn’t do what she did last time and just bring the contract separately to get a signature. The CEO of mm Entertainment had to meet her guardian.
She hated it.
That she would be bothering her aunt again, that she would look shameless—like she was declaring she wanted to become a singer—and that she would be showing her aunt what was really in her heart.
She hated all of it, to the point it made her feel sick.
“This is suffocating.”
At the same time, the fact that she was home started to feel suffocating too. She wanted to get out. She wanted to escape.
But where?
She had nowhere to go.
If she signed a contract, would she be able to stay there until late?
No—could she even sign with mm Entertainment in the first place?
What if her aunt didn’t allow it?
What if they rejected her?
What if she signed, debuted, and still got turned away by the public?
Han Goyo gripped herself tightly. She was anxious and restless. The negative thoughts wouldn’t disappear; they kept chaining together, one after another.
Her breathing grew faster, and just when she started thinking she wanted to vanish somewhere—
Ding.
Her phone buzzed.
“Ah.”
A dazed little sound slipped out as she saw the message.
The sender was none other than Yoon Hajun.
[So you’re signing with mm Entertainment and going on Singer Star?]
Seriously, this guy.
He was always like this.
No matter how he found out, whenever she was struggling, he showed up like a ghost. When she first heard his song “Fault.” When she was alone at the aquarium during the school trip. When she was sitting alone in the practice room.
He appeared like it was a lie.
Han Goyo stared at her phone and carefully sent a reply.
[Yes.]
What would he say about this?
Would he dislike it because it would get in the way of his younger sister?
Or would he tell her to do well together?
No—thinking about what he was usually like, he would praise her.
A reply arrived from Yoon Hajun.
And just as she expected, it was a short line of praise.
[You did well.]
Three short words on the screen.
Just three words.
But looking at them made her feel strangely full, like something inside her filled up. Like she became happy. A smile rose on her face on its own.
It was praise she heard until she was sick of it whenever she sang, but praise from him felt different.
Han Goyo hesitated, wondering what to reply. Then her finger moved, tapping at the screen, and before she knew it, she was smiling.
§ § §
Han Goyo was going on Singer Star.
She agonized over whether to go or not, and in the end, decided to go. And she would do it after signing with mm Entertainment.
As Goyo’s friend, and as the producer who promised to produce her songs, it was a very good thing. But as Suyeon’s older brother, it made him uneasy.
Singer Star already had a stacked lineup.
And now Han Goyo—the strongest favorite to win—was entering too.
Could Suyeon win?
Even if he produced for her, the others would be produced by people just as good as him—no, even better.
The CEO wants you to produce for Goyo. Even once is fine.
Seo Chaerim’s request came back to him.
He understood CEO Seohoon’s angle. Same age, same class, under the same company. On top of that, a vocalist and a genius producer—each with ridiculous talent.
It would look good on broadcast, and it would look good for the company too.
But he couldn’t accept that request. Throughout Singer Star, he had to produce for Suyeon. And wouldn’t it look better to help your little sister than a classmate?
Still, from Seohoon’s perspective, Suyeon wasn’t even signed yet. He hadn’t even seen her. So he was probably trying to push Goyo.
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
While he was turning Singer Star over in his head, Kim Taeyoung poked him in the side and asked.
Hajun hesitated, then whispered back.
“My head’s a mess because of the shoot in September.”
“September? What shoot is there then?”
“An audition program. I agreed to be the producer there.”
“Audition—wait. Singer Star?”
“How do you know that?”
Startled that Singer Star came out of Taeyoung’s mouth, Hajun looked at him.
Kim Taeyoung smirked.
“The company asked me if I wanted to appear on it. I turned them down, though.”
“Ah. Okay.”
At “turned them down,” Hajun let out a relieved breath. The lineup was already stacked—if Taeyoung joined too, it would’ve been a nightmare.
“But are you going in as a mentor too? That doesn’t make sense. The mentors are already set.”
“Not a mentor—producer. Suyeon’s planning to participate in that program.”
“Ahh. So you’re going as your sister’s producer?”
He nodded.
Kim Taeyoung made a thoughtful sound, then spoke with more interest than before.
“If you and your sister go, isn’t that basically bullying the competition?”
“It’s not that level.”
Singer Star Season 1’s contestants weren’t pushovers. No—among audition programs, it was one of the strongest lineups.
That was why the ratings were huge.
And on top of that—
“Goyo’s going too.”
“Goyo? Han Goyo?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Hey. What do you take me for?”
At Kim Taeyoung’s joking tone, Hajun let out a small laugh. Taeyoung was playful, but he wasn’t loose-lipped.
That was why Hajun told him.
“Goyo and your sister are appearing, huh.”
Kim Taeyoung murmured with a strangely sly smile. Seeing that annoying expression, Hajun suddenly felt uneasy.
No way this bastard…
He wasn’t going to decide to appear after hearing this, right?
§ § §
He had a lot of worries about Singer Star, but that was something he could think about after August.
Before that, Yoon Hajun had a ton to do.
He had to crush Jeong Jinhoo at the freshman concert in June.
He had to raise Suyeon’s value at the practical music department concert in July so she could sign with mm Entertainment.
He also had to work with Kim Hanol.
And for that, he needed to meet engineers too.
“Love… love.”
As Yoon Hajun quietly added flesh to the sketched song, he murmured to himself.
Somehow, he didn’t like the song. Thinking about love made him feel gloomy.
Of course, there were plenty of gloomy love songs. If you dug into ballads, you’d find endless examples. But what Kim Hanol wanted wasn’t sad love.
He wanted a bright, upbeat song that took joy in love.
“Something about it just doesn’t feel right.”
Yoon Hajun muttered that, then deleted everything he’d made so far.
He kept adding layers, but the song felt flimsy.
Like he kept piling on fat with no muscle.
“So what do you think?”
“…Did you come here just to ask that?”
At Yoon Hajun’s question, CM Ha Hyoju looked incredulous. He suddenly showed up, played a song, and then asked that.
Yoon Hajun smiled.
“You’re the only person who can help me on the composing side, teacher.”
Won Seongmin existed, sure, but the song Hajun was making now wasn’t Seongmin’s style. Seongmin aimed for the experimental rather than the mainstream, so for a mainstream song, he wasn’t much help.
At Hajun’s words, Ha Hyoju let out a small sigh.
Even if he’s a genius, he’s still a student.
Come to think of it, Yoon Hajun was always like this. He didn’t hide what he lacked, and he didn’t feel ashamed. Instead, he hungered for learning with passion.
That was one of the things she liked about him.
Ha Hyoju worked her laptop, listened again, then spoke.
“You’re trying to make something upbeat, right?”
“Yes. I tried adding some jazz and stuff, but it didn’t feel right.”
“Upbeat can be jazz, sure, but you can’t think about it simply. If you just tack jazz onto this kind of sound, it ends up feeling like neither here nor there. Like the sound has no substance. It feels like forced tension.”
“Hmm.”
Forced tension.
Hajun nodded at her words.
The dissatisfaction he’d felt the whole time—why it felt like fat instead of muscle—finally clicked.
Yeah. This song wasn’t exciting at all.
It was like someone boring was forcing themselves to pretend they were fun.
A song that wasn’t exciting, but was trying to sound exciting.
“What’s this song’s theme?”
“Love. Love for all kinds of indulgence, I guess.”
“So it’s about chasing pleasure. But if it’s that kind of thing, wouldn’t a trap beat be better?”
“That’s too hip-hop, so it’s a bit difficult.”
“Ah. So there’s someone specific you’re making it for?”
“Yes.”
At Hajun’s answer, Ha Hyoju frowned.
“Then don’t cling to ‘love.’ Try approaching it another way.”
“Another way?”
“It doesn’t have to be indulgence. Not love for nightlife—some other love. Or just make the song out of a joyful, exciting emotion.”
It didn’t have to be indulgence.
“Not every composer has every kind of experience. When you don’t, it’s important to make a song through indirect experience, or approach it differently.”
Hajun nodded.
Come to think of it, ROC Entertainment’s CEO Kwon Suyoung once said something similar—that experience mattered for composing.
And if you couldn’t get it, then at least stack up indirect experience.
Back then, Hajun thought she meant he should pick up dramas and films as a hobby.
“Thank you.”
At Hajun’s words, Ha Hyoju smiled.
“It’s nothing.”
§ § §
“Are you watching a drama?”
“Yeah.”
When Yoon Suyeon came home, she stared at Yoon Hajun with a shocked expression.
He was on the living room sofa like usual, so she assumed he was working—yet he was watching TV.
Watching TV on the sofa wasn’t shocking on its own, but when the person was Yoon Hajun, it was different.
Yoon Hajun almost never watched TV or movies. Even when he did, it was usually music-related programs—or something he appeared in, like Star Kingdom. Other than that, he was always working on his laptop or listening to music.
But now he was watching a drama.
And it was a full-on makjang.
On the screen, a chaebol third-generation heir guzzled alcohol and drove. He caused scenes everywhere. Then he got slapped by a woman, fell for her because “no one’s ever done that to me,” and—of course—she turned out to be his older brother’s fiancée.
A top-tier makjang, entertaining just to watch.
“I see.”
Watching it, Yoon Hajun nodded.
Then, as soon as the episode ended, he opened his laptop and started working again. He deleted everything he’d made so far and started from scratch.
But he wasn’t making a song by watching the drama’s protagonist.
He was making a song from the drama’s scenes.
What kind of song would fit a drinking scene?
What kind of song would fit a “joyful drunk driving” scene?
He translated the speed and the sense of motion the scene showed into sound.
If Ha Hyoju saw this, she would’ve said, This isn’t it.
What Ha Hyoju and Kwon Suyoung meant was to immerse yourself in the protagonist and gain indirect experience.
But Yoon Hajun wasn’t immersing himself in the protagonist’s emotions.
He was taking indirect experience from the drama’s scenes and turning it into music.
He was turning each scene into a song.