90 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (7)
90 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (7)
“So what’s your concern?”
“Compared to yours, Hajun, it’s not that big of a concern.”
As Jin Sohyang began speaking, she looked at me with a thoughtful expression. It wasn’t hesitation. It was more like she was organizing how to phrase it.
Soon, as if she’d finished sorting her thoughts, Jin Sohyang opened her mouth.
“I’m a little worried because of a program.”
“A program? Like a variety show?”
“No. If I had to classify it, it’s a concert.”
“A concert? Are you guys finally doing a solo concert?”
A “solo concert” meant a standalone concert. With Hwayangyeonhwa’s popularity right now, they definitely had enough pull to hold one. And since they were starting second-title-track promotions next week, the timing would’ve been perfect.
As I was thinking that, Jin Sohyang shook her head.
“It’s not our solo concert. People have talked about it, but it’s still a long way off. What I’m talking about is the Hamu Concert.”
“Ah. That.”
The Heart Music Concert—shortened to the Hamu Concert.
It wasn’t one fixed concert. It was hosted by the Korea Entertainment Production Association and held every year around June to July. Since it was hosted by the association, popular singers who’d been active from July last year through June this year all appeared.
Because admission fees—and even the “tributes” fans sent—were all donated in full, it was also called a charity concert.
Of course, that donation system did spark subtle fanclub infighting. But since it increased donations, it ended up being one of the rare broadcast concerts that got a fairly good reception, with people calling it a “good-natured competition” and whatnot.
“Hoo.”
I let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall.
In my previous life, I’d participated in the Hamu Concert. Not because I was anything special. Any popular singer with activity records within the year could join, so I’d simply been eligible.
And there, I’d tasted reality.
Up until then, I’d believed the owner of the stage was the person standing on it. But through the Hamu Concert, I learned that wasn’t true.
Even now, it came back vividly.
The cold, bored looks in the crowd.
The murmurs of people doing other things.
A stage no one was anticipating, no one was truly listening to.
To them, my stage was just something to fill time while they waited to watch other singers.
No—worse than that.
It wasn’t even a supporting role. It was just an extra.
There were so many people in the audience, but they weren’t my audience.
And the stage I was standing on wasn’t my stage either.
“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
Maybe she noticed my expression change. At her question, I nodded like I was fine and answered.
“Yeah, I’m fine. More importantly—so you decided to go to the Hamu Concert, and then what? That’s not exactly unusual.”
“Normally, yeah. But I ended up getting an offer.”
“An offer? Did they ask you to MC or something?”
“If it were an offer like that, I wouldn’t be stressing like this.”
Jin Sohyang let out a faint sigh.
“The offer I got was for a solo stage.”
“A solo stage?”
“Yes.”
I see.
Getting a solo stage at the Hamu Concert was meaningful. The Hamu Concert was basically one artist, one stage—but artists who got the hottest response over the year were given additional stage opportunities. Naturally, they got more time than other artists, and they were given solo stages too.
But—
“Don’t they usually give a solo stage to someone who’s done solo activities within the group?”
“No one in our group has done solo activities.”
Ah. Right.
That solo-stage opportunity was a system that formed as idol groups increased. With more groups—and more members doing solo activities—it was meant to accommodate all of that.
But since Hwayangyeonhwa didn’t have any members who’d done solo activities, the offer ended up going to Jin Sohyang.
“Then why you, specifically?”
At my question, Jin Sohyang looked at me.
Like I was the reason.
Hey. That’s unfair.
What did I even do wrong?
“You know that stage we did at the practical music department concert, Hajun.”
“‘Rough’?”
“Yes. That. That one has a really good response on iTube. Like, insanely good. It already passed ten million.”
Already?
Last time I heard about it, it was at nine million.
When did it jump another million?
So in the end, it really was because of me—because of the stage I produced and directed.
“Tsk.”
I clicked my tongue.
Still, it felt good that a stage I directed got that kind of response.
“I’m not blaming you or anything. Honestly, it’d be weird if I blamed you. You gave me the performance of my life, and you showed me how fun the stage can be. And you taught me a lot of other things too.”
As she spoke, Jin Sohyang kept sneaking glances at me, like she wanted to say something but was holding it back.
Soon, she let out a quiet sigh and continued.
“And getting a solo stage opportunity at the Hamu Concert is definitely a good thing.”
“Then the answer’s already there. Just do that stage again.”
“…That’s true. But I don’t think I can do the exact same stage.”
That made sense.
Since it was a concert hosted by the Korea Entertainment Production Association, if she did the exact same stage as the practical music department concert, people could say it was half-hearted.
You might think no one would nitpick something like that, but places with “association” in the name were always narrow-minded.
“So in the end, you need to prepare a ‘Rough’ stage that’s a little different from back then?”
“Well, the ‘Rough’ stage itself doesn’t have to be different. But I think it’d be nice if there was some additional directing before it. Another song, or a remix, something like that.”
“Hm.”
I understood exactly what she was worried about.
But why was she telling me this?
“Can’t you ask another stage director for that?”
“…I could, but…”
Jin Sohyang trailed off, hesitating. She fidgeted with her fingers, glanced at me, then hesitated again.
Then, with her face faintly flushed, she said it.
“It’s just… ‘Rough’ is a stage I prepared with you, Hajun. So… I guess I don’t want to prepare it with someone else. I know it’s childish, but… yeah. That’s just how it is.”
I looked at her.
I didn’t expect her to think of me like that.
It was kind of moving.
“So you want me to help you with the Hamu Concert.”
“Yeah. I mean, I’d be grateful if you did. And the CEO said it’d feel reassuring if you took it on too.”
“Hm. When is the Hamu Concert?”
“July 21st.”
“Hold on.”
I checked my schedule.
The event in June, and the practical music department concert on July 14th.
At the June event, I wouldn’t be able to help Suyeon at school. But if I prepared the stage here, handed it off to Jin Sohyang so she could practice, then joined after the practical music department concert ended—
It was doable.
“Okay.”
I looked back at Jin Sohyang.
“So how much are you paying this time?”
You weren’t going to ask me to do this for free again, right?
At my words, Jin Sohyang smiled slightly, then carefully showed me her phone screen.
Several digits were written there.
“This time it’s not me personally—this is the company outsourcing it. The pay is higher than last time.”
“I’ll do my best.”
At that amount, I was ready to grind down not just my soul, but my bones too.
I nodded with resolve.
§ § §
To begin the actual recording, Kim Hanol came to the recording studio and sat on the sofa inside, watching Yoon Hajun.
He said he’s really scary once recording starts, right?
He remembered what CEO Seohoon had told him before.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Judging from the song, Hajun did seem to have talent. But he was still just a high school kid.
No matter how “scary” a high school kid was, he was still a high school kid.
That video CEO Seohoon had sent—an edited cut of Star Kingdom’s recording-studio segment—did look sharp. But it was still just what a program showed.
The PD or writers probably wrote a script, or asked Yoon Hajun to act like that. The more provocative it looked, the more the show would blow up.
While Kim Hanol was thinking that, Yoon Hajun finished setting up for recording. Then he looked at Kim Hanol and said, “Then let’s start right away.”
“Sure.”
Kim Hanol stood and went into the recording booth.
After confirming he had his headset on, Yoon Hajun immediately played the MR.
It looked like the recording would go better than he’d worried. It was the first day, but Kim Hanol hadn’t been late, and he hadn’t been drinking either.
The MR ended, and it became time for the vocals to start.
Right on cue, Kim Hanol began singing.
“Hm.”
Listening, Yoon Hajun frowned.
He already knew the man was talented, but working together like this…
A sound slipped out of him—neither admiration nor a sigh.
Out of everyone he’d worked with, this was the smoothest session.
Even Han Goyo hadn’t been this easy to work with.
Was experience really something you couldn’t ignore?
—Throw everything away.
Sometimes, like this—
Once again, he understood why people had called Kim Hanol “demonic talent.”
And at the same time, he felt regret.
With singing this good, how could he only use it like that?
If he was going to waste it anyway, he should’ve given that talent to me.
Why give that kind of talent to someone like him—
Inferiority bubbled up again after a long time. Yoon Hajun clicked his tongue and forced it down, then let out a deep sigh and kept listening to Kim Hanol’s singing.
From start to finish.
As Yoon Hajun recorded without requesting even a single retake, Kim Hanol smiled while singing.
See? I told you.
That was definitely just something the program staged, right?
Sure, he was good, but no retakes at all?
At this rate, weren’t they going to finish in one take?
Thinking that, Kim Hanol kept singing—and soon the song ended.
He took off the headset and looked toward Yoon Hajun.
So what would Hajun say?
Would he end the session after praising his skills?
If he did, it’d be a little disappointing. He’d come in prepared for something. Still, the sooner it ended, the better.
But it ended way too fast.
There was still plenty of time before the date he’d scheduled for tonight. He could head straight to a bar.
While he was arranging his schedule in his head, Yoon Hajun finally opened his mouth.
“From the beginning again.”
Kim Hanol’s brows knitted.
“What?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Aren’t you going to okay it in one go?”
At Kim Hanol’s confident question, Yoon Hajun’s expression twisted.
What the hell was he saying right now?
Was he really asking if it was going to be okay in one take?
“What are you talking about? It’s a mess from the start.”
“…What?”
“Your emotion came on too strong right from the beginning. You need to dial it back. Sure, this song is about screaming your love and having fun, but that emotion isn’t there from start to finish. If anything, the beginning and the end have more emptiness.”
At Yoon Hajun’s words, Kim Hanol shut his mouth. He still didn’t look like he understood.
So instead of arguing, Yoon Hajun played back what Kim Hanol had just recorded.
Hearing his own voice through the headset, Kim Hanol frowned.
It was true. Starting off full throttle like that did make the song feel flat.
“When the melody and the vocal are pulling apart like this, the devices I set up—the whole progression—collapses. So we’re starting again right now.”
With that, Yoon Hajun prepared to record again.
Kim Hanol had been looking down on Yoon Hajun because of his age. But in his previous life, Yoon Hajun had been much older than Kim Hanol, and even if he lacked talent, he’d never lacked recording experience.
So he had noticed long ago that Kim Hanol was looking down on him.
And Yoon Hajun wasn’t the kind of person generous enough to let that slide.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you recording?”
Yoon Hajun said it to Kim Hanol with a smile.