Chapter 121
Chapter 121
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Once Again, Writer
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Woo Ji-hyun wore an utterly arrogant expression.
He spun the Monami ballpoint pen in his hand between his fingers.
“No, I always write from the reader’s perspective. Call it being a commercial writer of sorts. That’s why the reactions have always been pretty good.”
In his previous life, he’d rewritten and scrapped drafts endlessly, but not this time.
He had so much experience stacked up now, and he knew exactly what worked, so he only made partial revisions—never a full overhaul.
Plus, it was a story he’d already written once before.
“Your face looks so punchable right now.”
“Still, you’ve got no choice but to admit it. My track record proves it.”
“On that note, can’t you sing a little better? Your songwriting’s stuck in neutral.”
“……I’m practicing my ass off, okay? Squeezing it in whenever I can.”
Woo Ji-hyun’s face crumpled.
He’d asked Elder for vocal training because he wanted to try it at least once in this life, but even after more than five weeks with a vocal coach, he hadn’t improved much.
If there was one gain, it was learning to produce sound properly.
Not just yelling, but finding his pure voice—that was his sole progress.
“Honestly, if you haven’t gotten better by now, you’ve got no talent. Cold hard facts.”
“Hey, I’m not a singer. I’m a writer by trade. Songwriting’s just a hobby.”
“That’s why I’m not ripping into you. You’re not a pro trainee. If you were, I’d pack your bags and send you home. You’d be better off exploring other options with this time.”
“Cold-blooded bastard.”
“That’s me helping you, idiot. Nothing wastes time like chasing the impossible.”
Elder spoke with a bitter look.
People often said there were a million trainees out there.
That many kids dreamed of being celebrities or idols.
But the ones who actually became stars? You could count them on one hand.
No—even the ones who debuted were less than 1 percent.
“Yeah. No other field demands talent like this. Sure, luck helps too.”
“But you need the spark for that luck to hit. No spark, it’s useless. Even with talent, no spark means you won’t break through—not unless it’s overwhelming talent.”
“Man, the world’s brutal. Nothing goes your way.”
Woo Ji-hyun gazed at the small recording booth in one corner of the studio, his face full of regret.
Before vocal training, he’d thought he was decent for an amateur.
His high notes went up pretty well, at least.
But once he started learning from a pro, he realized just how much of a frog in a well he’d been.
“I told you—your voice suits rap better than vocals. Your diction’s solid, and you spit lyrics with flavor. Just practice beats, and you could be a decent rapper.”
“I’m good enjoying hip-hop as a fan. Rapping’s too hard.”
“Put half the passion you dump into singing toward rap, then say that.”
Elder chuckled and tossed out the jab.
From his view, if Woo Ji-hyun practiced rap as hard as he did vocals, he’d improve fast—but the guy was obsessed with singing, no matter what. It baffled him.
Especially since he mostly listened to hip-hop.
Elder couldn’t wrap his head around that hypocrisy.
“Maybe I should just drop singing…….”
“But what’s this novel about? Modern setting?”
“Yeah, more like a professional job story.”
“Professional job?”
Woo Ji-hyun flashed a knowing smile.
It was one of his most beloved works, the novel from his past life that had truly put the name Woo Ji-hyun on the map.
Sure, it was debuting two years earlier than the 2017 original, but he was confident.
The market trends now would make it hit big.
‘The key is fun. A fun story sells, no matter how niche the premise. If it flops, it’s just not fun enough.’
He’d bombed so many times before that he knew failure inside out.
Success? He knew the theory, but pulling it off was another story.
“Yeah, it’s about a fitness trainer protagonist.”
“That’s unique. Think it’ll land?”
“We’ll see.”
“From that smug look, you’ve already decided.”
Elder smirked at Woo Ji-hyun’s cocky face.
He seemed dead certain it would connect.
“Not just decided—I’m already writing it.”
“Huh? Weren’t you outlining first?”
“I outline as I go. Just the broad plot upfront. If I plan too much, the twists feel predictable and it kills the fun.”
“Fair point. Got a draft? Let me peek.”
Elder’s eyes lit up.
He wasn’t a diehard fan, but he read genre fiction whenever he could.
Bini followed suit, grabbing whatever caught her fancy on commutes.
Mostly romance for her.
“Eyes only here.”
“Obviously. I’ll share some beats, you write lyrics.”
“Pass. I’m practicing vocals.”
“Then mic’s off.”
The vocal coach wasn’t due for a bit, so Woo Ji-hyun strode into the booth.
Just then, Elder piped up like he’d remembered something.
“Oh, right—Woo-hyung’s back next week?”
“Season over already?”
“It’s May. Right on time.”
“He’ll be boozing and hooking up nonstop again.”
Woo Ji-hyun shook his head.
Unlike the conservative Elder, Lee Woo-hyung was wide open about dating.
Didn’t cling to relationships or breakups much.
He managed himself strictly during the season—no beer, not even a can—but once it ended, all that pent-up partying exploded.
Woo Ji-hyun could picture his Korean rampage without asking.
“Dunno if he’ll have time. Transfer rumors are nonstop.”
“Yeah, prime time for one last big move. Twenty-nine’s getting late for a blockbuster transfer. Not like he’s Dortmund youth academy. Time to bounce.”
“He thinks he’s at his peak now too.”
“His presence on the field is insane.”
“Wish his personality matched that maturity.”
Elder clicked his tongue.
Pushing thirty, and Lee Woo-hyung still had that childish streak.
“People don’t change easy. He’ll be like this till eighty.”
“Ugh. Horrifying just to imagine.”
“Same here.”
Elder shuddered, picturing a wrinkly old Woo-hyung still clowning around.
But they’d have to accept it.
Unless they cut ties.
“Anyway, practice hard.”
“Got it.”
Elder released the button he’d been holding.
Woo Ji-hyun’s mouth moved silently in the clear booth.
“Guess I’ll read for real.”
Elder’s eyes shifted to the tablet Woo Ji-hyun had brought.
The title was oddly quirky.
Not your standard novel title.
“‘We’ll Make Anything(?) For You’? Weird title.”
Elder tilted his head at the unfamiliar name, then dove into the prologue.
Soon, his eyes and fingers flew across the screen.
* * *
In the president’s office of Sunrise Entertainment—a mid-tier agency, if not huge—a man fiddled with his mouse, face twisted in fury.
“Ha. How do you write lyrics like this and still ask for money? Unbelievable.”
Kim Man-sik let out a hollow laugh at the trite, boring string of lines.
Sure, clichés could sell, but this was beyond the pale.
The problem? The lyricist was a top-tier name in the industry.
“I could write better crap with my feet.”
Knock knock.
As Kim Man-sik yawned at the endless dreck, someone knocked.
“President, it’s Park Woo-kyung.”
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a neatly suited man entered.
Early thirties, hair slicked back with pomade—he looked a touch tense, probably from the summons.
“You called for me.”
“Yeah, got some questions. Sit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Park Woo-kyung eased onto one seat of the L-shaped sofa.
Kim Man-sik didn’t budge from his desk.
He just turned his head.
“How’s Rubis’s album prep?”
“Smoothly on track. Members are grinding for the comeback date.”
“That’s a given. Not what I’m asking. You saw the lyrics from Oz, right, Manager Park?”
“Yes.”
Park Woo-kyung swallowed hard.
Here it comes.
“How old’s Oz the lyricist?”
“Thirty-nine this year.”
“Korean age or full?”
“From what I know, full—like idols do.”
Park Woo-kyung answered carefully.
No clue on the boss’s angle, so he played it safe.
“That’s basically forty. No wonder his sense is shot.”
“But industry folks say that depth lets him craft richer lyrics.”
“Richer? More like worn-out clichés. And that doesn’t fit idol tracks.”
“True, it lacks that spark.”
“No shit he spits out garbage like this.”
Kim Man-sik’s face soured again.
Still trash lyrics, utterly unrelatable.
“I’ll scout another lyricist.”
“Who’s hot right now?”
Kim Man-sik slammed the file shut and hit the web.
A photo atop the entertainment news grabbed him.
Bini, killing it as a soloist, beaming bright.
“Koo Na-yeon and Hwang Jung-ah are hitting big lately.”
“Can they meet the deadline?”
“Need a meeting to confirm.”
“What about Cain? The one who did Elder and Bini’s album.”
Kim Man-sik glanced at Bini’s pic.
Not as huge as Elder’s one-sided crush, but Bini’s Breakup Beginning had blown up.
Especially since it turned an idol into a real singer.
The other pushed title tanked hard, which only boosted Breakup Beginning relatively more.