92 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (9)
92 – Two Geniuses with Strong Pride (9)
“An artwork?”
What Seo Chaerim showed him was a single artwork—more precisely, a photo of a painting.
A black background. Red dots scattered across it. In the center stood a man, a conductor swinging a baton.
His posture was upright, yet for some reason he felt arrogant. His face was painted black, but strangely, only the area around his mouth was cut out in stark white, making it look like he was smiling.
“Hm.”
Yoon Hajun let out a small snort as he looked at it.
There was a strange force and madness to the piece.
And for some reason, it felt familiar.
He didn’t mean the style or brushwork. Like he said before, when it came to art, he was basically illiterate. He couldn’t look at a painting style and go, “Oh, this must be so-and-so’s work.”
So when he said it felt familiar, he meant the person depicted in it.
Even though you couldn’t properly see his face at all.
Still, he looked like someone Hajun had seen somewhere before.
“Who painted it?”
“My older sister.”
“Hm.”
So Seo Chaerim had an older sister. Come to think of it, Hajun remembered hearing her bicker with someone she called “unnie” during a phone call before.
“So this is what you wanted to show me?”
“Yeah.”
“…Why?”
Was she hoping for feedback? Or was this just bragging—like, “My sister’s that good at drawing”? Even someone clueless like him could tell it was well done.
But would Seo Chaerim really talk to him just to brag about her sister? No. Seo Chaerim wasn’t that kind of person. If it didn’t benefit the company or fit into her plans, she didn’t waste words.
In fact, most of her messages were about upcoming activities.
At his words, Seo Chaerim let out a sigh.
Then she scratched her head and said, “Doesn’t this painting feel familiar?”
“Yeah, kind of. The person in it feels familiar.”
“This is you.”
“…What?”
“I mean the model for it is you.”
For a moment, Hajun blinked because he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
This person in the painting is me?
He took the phone from her and zoomed in on the image.
Hm. He still couldn’t really tell.
To begin with, there was no facial depiction in this painting. The only thing that stood out was that split-smile-looking grin.
So how could you tell who it was?
What felt familiar to him was the outline—his overall form.
That kind of thing.
But still—him, of all people, as the model?
“Why would your sister draw me?”
“No idea. No one can tell what my sister’s thinking.”
Seo Chaerim let out a shallow sigh. That older sister sounded like someone hard for Seo Chaerim to deal with. But it didn’t seem like they were on bad terms.
“From what I heard, she got inspired while watching Star Kingdom and tried drawing it. She said the way you direct from below the stage felt like this.”
So that was why it was a conductor.
“She drew it, but then she said she should probably get permission from the model, so she asked me to get your okay.”
“Well, what’s there to get permission for? It’s not like she messed it up in some weird way.”
“Good, then. You won’t come at her later over copyright or something, right?”
“It’s fine.”
He’d made songs after getting inspired by images before, too. He wasn’t going to do that.
At his answer, Seo Chaerim nodded and took her phone back.
Watching her, he asked, “The paintings in the MM Entertainment building—those are your sister’s too, right?”
“Yeah. Our CEO just took my sister’s paintings and decorated the place with them. He said he had to show off his niece’s lovely drawings or something.”
That CEO Seohoon had a side like that? Somehow, it made him feel more familiar.
As he thought that, Hajun asked, “Ah, but can you ask your sister why she drew me smiling like that? I don’t smile like that.”
“What are you talking about?”
Seo Chaerim answered like he was being ridiculous. “You smile like that.”
I smile like that? That was kind of shocking.
Well, it was hard to know what his own smile looked like. Even when he watched Star Kingdom, he cringed and ended up messing around in between.
“You didn’t even know? That’s why when I work with you, you smile like that, and I thought you liked tormenting people.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have that kind of hobby.”
“…Hm. Fine, I’ll believe you. Anyway, you said it’s okay, so I should get going.”
After saying that, Seo Chaerim started getting ready to head home.
So she really waited just to show him that and get permission?
That’s the life of a younger sibling getting dragged around by their older sister.
Watching her, something occurred to him, and he asked, “That sister of yours—what’s her name?”
“Ah.”
Seo Chaerim said only that, then stepped into the elevator.
What? Why won’t you tell him her name?
A short break ended, and the work started again.
Before entering the booth, Kim Hanol looked at Yoon Hajun and asked, “So how was what I recorded earlier? Was it decent?”
After hearing Yoon Hajun sing, Kim Hanol finally understood the style Yoon Hajun wanted. He tried to sing as close as possible to that style, and as a result, for the first time, he finally got an okay.
But even so, he felt uneasy.
He had never felt like this while recording a song before.
And now he was feeling it while working with some eighteen-year-old.
Instead of answering, Yoon Hajun played back the take they had just recorded.
A song sung in a hollow, empty way, with a powerless voice that sounded like it could vanish at any moment.
Kim Hanol listened with a serious expression.
“This is what you just recorded.”
Watching him, Yoon Hajun said that, then played the take Kim Hanol had recorded before Yoon Hajun demonstrated.
Kim Hanol’s brow furrowed hard.
Even without Yoon Hajun saying anything, he understood what he meant.
After hearing what he had just sung, then hearing what he’d sung earlier, the difference in level was obvious.
Smiling, Yoon Hajun said, “Now do you get why I kept demanding retakes?”
“Yes.”
Kim Hanol nodded honestly.
Yeah. Now he understood why Yoon Hajun had kept shouting “empty” and “hollow” and demanding endless retakes.
The feeling the song gave off was completely different.
And at the same time, he started to feel excited.
They had only recorded two lines so far.
There was still a huge amount left to record.
If he recorded this song exactly the way Yoon Hajun demanded—
If he finished it like that—
A really good song would be born.
“Then let’s continue right away.”
“Okay.”
Watching Kim Hanol answer obediently and head into the booth, Yoon Hajun let out a small snort.
Did listening to my song make him feel something?
At least singing it was worth it.
With that thought, Yoon Hajun popped a snack into his mouth and started recording in earnest again.
After that, the session went fairly smoothly.
It seemed Kim Hanol had found the right feel, because he sang exactly the way Yoon Hajun wanted.
Yeah, there was a reason they called it “demonic talent.”
“Hold on. That part just now—sing it a little more relaxed.”
—More relaxed?
“Yeah. That scene isn’t fully hyped yet. I think it’ll be fine if you sing it a bit more relaxed.”
—Okay.
And Kim Hanol no longer talked back to Yoon Hajun.
Seeing him quietly follow instructions, Yoon Hajun let out a slow breath.
It felt unpleasant somehow.
Why is he being so obedient?
Sure, it was convenient if he followed directions. At this rate, they might even finish all the work within this week.
Mixing and mastering would be handled by the engineers anyway.
But something still felt off.
While Yoon Hajun was thinking that, Kim Hanol inside the booth watched him and scraped his nail.
It was true that hearing Yoon Hajun sing had changed something in him.
But that didn’t mean Kim Hanol himself had changed.
He wasn’t suddenly going to work hard on making music, or quit the nightlife he’d always enjoyed.
But for this moment, he would follow Yoon Hajun’s words.
Because he had lost.
He’d recorded plenty before, but this was the first time he’d ever felt this kind of defeat.
Until now, Kim Hanol had always taken control in recordings.
And he had the talent to justify it—not just as a singer, but as a singer-songwriter.
That was why he always interpreted songs his own way and sang them that way.
But now, that had been denied.
No—it wasn’t just denied. It was completely wrong.
Yoon Hajun’s direction fit the song better than Kim Hanol’s interpretation.
So for this recording alone, Kim Hanol followed Yoon Hajun.
But it wouldn’t be like this every time.
If there was a next recording session, he wouldn’t follow Yoon Hajun so easily.
He wouldn’t let himself be led.
So until then, he would just cooperate.
With that thought, Kim Hanol focused on the recording.
“Ughhh… it’s over.”
Contrary to his anxiety, the recording with Kim Hanol ended successfully, in its own way.
Now the rest was on the engineers.
He’d listen to their mixing and mastering and request any changes.
It had been a long, long job.
Thinking that, he stretched out his stiff body.
His body wasn’t exhausted, but mentally, he was drained.
If he could, he wanted to go on a short trip—even just one night, two days.
But he didn’t have time.
Now he truly had to make the song for Suyeon.
And he also had to arrange Sohyang’s song.
After that, he had to work on the song they’d sing at the festival.
And once that was done—
He needed to prepare the songs he’d sing on Singer Star ahead of time.
So at least until Singer Star ended, even if he wanted to rest, he couldn’t.
“In the second semester, I probably won’t be able to go to school much.”
Clicking his tongue, he scratched the back of his neck.
In first year, he still went to school even if he skipped a few times, but once he became a second-year, he started attending less and less.
During the Star Kingdom recording, and during this recording too, he missed at least three days each time.
But once Singer Star ended, he’d be able to travel and go to school again, right?
Of course, Suyeon would still be busy with activities.
But he was a composer.
He shut down the company computer he’d been using and pulled out his personal laptop.
Then he opened the track he was working on.
The music Suyeon asked for was “the song I can make best.”
It was a brutally difficult request.
But he was done worrying about how to approach it.
He’d gotten a hint from his conversation with Sohyang.
The song I can make best—
That’s probably the song I want to sing the most.
When he sang in the booth to demonstrate for Kim Hanol, he realized it.
Yeah. I like singing.
Composing and producing were fun too, but they couldn’t compare to the feeling of singing.
In the end, the owner of a song was the singer who sang it.
He recalled his memories.
The songs he gave up on making in his past life.
Most of the songs he made back then had a gloomy emotional tone.
And the reason was repeated failure.
It wasn’t like he only made gloomy songs from the start.
He just ended up that way after compromising over and over.
Back then, he had to sing the songs he made himself.
So he compromised a lot.
If it was a range he couldn’t handle, he cut it out.
If his tone made it less appealing, he cut it out.
That kind of thing.
Of course, in this life, he did put everything he liked into songs without compromise—
But those weren’t songs for him to sing. He made them to fit someone else.
In this life, there was only one song he made without compromise as a song he would sing himself.
『Addressee Unknown』, the one he performed for his major exam.
So now, like 『Addressee Unknown』, he was going to make a song without thinking about anyone else—thinking of it as his song to sing, with no compromise.
He let out a sigh and started working.
In the middle of it, he did occasionally think, Can Suyeon even sing this?
But he ignored that thought.
Whatever. I’ll make it first.
If she couldn’t pull it off, he could revise it then.
His fingers moved quickly.
For the first time in a while, working felt genuinely fun.
Sure, work was usually fun too, but he’d been stressed without even realizing it.
But now, he couldn’t even feel that stress.
And like that, he worked on the song for a long time.