Wrong Answer, Jonghun
The prelude flowed, and the song began with Winter's basic winter groove.
<There's this guy who's been on my mind.>
<He's the kind of man I want to keep looking at, no matter how many times I see him.>
The song selection was Afu, the track Winter had been practicing nonstop. With only five days left, starting a brand-new song from scratch seemed like a bad decision. So we chose to refine Afu instead.
Of course, because of those bad habits, improving Afu felt even harder than teaching her an entirely new song. Still, it was meaningful.
<That guy who smiles like the sun.>
<That guy who's as soft as sand.>
What people in the industry call bad habits—or kuse—sometimes refers to adding excessive technique to parts that should be sung plainly. But generally, it means any element that hinders vocal or dance performance. Things like making movements more difficult, ruining breathing, or breaking the song's balance.
So what would happen to Winter once all those habits were removed?
<Look here, oh! Look there, oh!>
<That guy's the only one in my head.>
She would soar, naturally. As if all those habits had been shackles binding her, she flew higher and farther than before.
Soon the song reached its highlight. Winter's high note shot up to a three-octave D.
<Afu! I've fallen into the ocean called love!>
Many women who consider themselves decent singers can hit a three-octave F, so one might underestimate Winter's high notes. But if you saw her dancing right now, those doubts would vanish. She was delivering that high note with perfect stability amid such intense choreography. You wouldn't even realize she was singing in that range.
Even in choreography that would leave anyone gasping for breath, Winter's vocals spread out evenly and cleanly. It wasn't the kind of emotionally stirring vocal that moves people's hearts. It wasn't a voice bursting with a singer's unique personality, either. It was simply a straightforward, pure expression of a girl her age's natural tone.
To the average listener, it might even sound plain. But to a producer, it would look like a jewel that could become anything. As if any color the producer wanted could be painted onto that voice.
And that expectation wouldn't be wrong.
<That guy's the only one in my head.>
Winter was a genius. I wasn't saying that because of the A rank displayed in her status window. This was an objective assessment from someone who'd spent over a decade in an agency—and had even held the title of president, however briefly.
She might fall short of becoming the greatest vocalist. She might fall short of becoming the greatest dancer. But becoming the greatest idol? That seemed like a given.
All I'd done was brush the dust off a jewel. But it was true that I'd played a part in making that jewel shine. Honestly, I was proud of that. Being able to contribute even one hand to that light gave me confidence that even if I'd failed as a person, I hadn't failed in management.
I was so lost in admiring that light that I didn't even notice the song had ended. Still basking in the pleasant afterglow, I turned to look at Cheon Jonghun. I was certain he'd felt something similar.
“For now, have that child step outside.”
Why send Winter out? After all that hard work, she deserved a storm of praise. I didn't keep that question to myself.
“If you're going to evaluate Winter, there's no reason she shouldn't hear it herself, is there?”
“My evaluations are expensive. I have no intention of handing them out cheaply to an outsider who isn't even a trainee here yet.”
Man, he really acts like a snob. I didn't like it, but I couldn't ignore a client's request, so I told Winter to wait in the hallway for a bit. She glanced around, then bowed politely and left for the corridor.
Even after Winter was gone, Cheon Jonghun didn't speak. He simply crossed his arms and tapped his forearm with his fingers. The man and woman standing on either side of him glanced at me but quickly checked Jonghun's expression. It seemed like they had something to say, but they were waiting for their boss to speak first.
Looking at those two, it didn't seem like the kind of workplace where people could freely voice their opinions.
…Yeah, Cheon Jonghun doesn't seem like an easy boss to work under.
While I was wasting time with those random thoughts, Cheon Jonghun finally opened his heavy mouth.
“…Fine. She does seem to have some talent. But as you said, she seems far from the tense, spatial feel of a Jersey club track, doesn't she?”
“Far from it?”
“Sexy? Funky groove? I'd say it's closer to that. I won't call it bad, but it's not the level I'm looking for.”
Cheon Jonghun spoke with clear sarcasm. He sounded like a front office manager nitpicking a player's flaws to drive down the price. Winter was clearly the best prospect anyone could see. We weren't even talking about a signing bonus, so I couldn't understand why he was acting like this. He was obviously going to take her anyway.
“I see how you've judged my standards. You thought something like this would satisfy me. But my eyes are set higher than you imagine. That child looks insufficient to follow the intense, high-difficulty performances I expect.”
Only then did I realize it. The Cheon Jonghun I knew was the top producer who'd succeeded with countless songs and groups ten years from now, the one everyone called the best. But the Cheon Jonghun standing here was still just a rookie barely starting to walk his own path.
I'd mistakenly thought of him as a fully formed human being from the beginning. The basis for that judgment was clear. Even I, who was a manager rather than a producer, could see that obvious talent, yet he couldn't recognize it. How could someone like that be called the greatest producer?
Faced with this green, unpolished side of Cheon Jonghun—who'd once felt like an insurmountable wall—I couldn't hold back a small laugh.
“…You're laughing?”
Oops. My bad.
“Haha, my apologies. I was just so happy that I could show you the materials I'd prepared. If you hadn't said that, I would've been disappointed.”
I offered a suitable apology and pulled out the materials I'd prepared just in case.
“Could you take a look at this video for a moment?”
I played the video I'd recorded on my smartphone and handed it to Cheon Jonghun. He took my phone with a suspicious look and checked the footage. The video showed Winter from five days ago, fully displaying her dog-like bad habits as she danced and sang Afu.
“An old video? This is ridiculous. It's so bad I almost suspect you filmed it on purpose to piss me off.”
Cheon Jonghun spoke as if deeply annoyed.
“…Still, comparing it to her current performance, I have to admit she's improved a lot. But that's all.”
Cheon Jonghun looked at me with an indifferent expression.
“So what's the point of showing me this video? Are you asking me to sympathize with the child's effort? Unfortunately, I'm a businessman. I only look at results. So…”
“When do you think this video was filmed?”
At my question, Cheon Jonghun thought for a moment before answering.
“…Half a year ago? No, maybe three months?”
Wrong answer, Jonghun.
“It's from five days ago.”
Cheon Jonghun fell silent for a moment, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Ha… Do I look like I'm standing here as a joke to you? Looking at the video, it's not like she's acting or deliberately exaggerating her habits. Those are natural, habitual movements.”
His voice grew louder as he continued, clearly angry now.
“Fixing all those habits in five days? That's absurd. If you're going to exaggerate, at least keep it within reasonable bounds. Did you really think saying something like that would change my judgment?”
Everything Cheon Jonghun said made perfect sense. I found it fascinating too. I never imagined those terrible habits could be completely uprooted in five days. But they were.
“No need for long explanations. Just check the video's timestamp.”
Cheon Jonghun checked the information and shut his mouth. The recording time showed it was four days, eighteen hours, and thirty-six minutes ago. It wasn't even a full five days.
Even after seeing the record, Cheon Jonghun spoke as if he still couldn't believe it.
“You manipulated the metadata…”
“Goodness, if you're that suspicious, feel free to have an expert verify it. I'm confident in the results.”
“…”
I spoke to the now-speechless Cheon Jonghun.
“Actually, the expression I used on the phone—that Winter would suit a song with the tension and spatial feel of Jersey club—was incorrect.”
That wasn't her true nature.
“It was closer to an exaggerated statement meant to convince Team Leader Cheon in a short time. I only used limited, attention-grabbing keywords. Winter's talent isn't something so narrow.”
He seized on my words as if he'd found an opening.
“Ha… It's not that? Yet you still recommended her to me? Do you think the other trainees I selected are a joke?”
Cheon Jonghun twisted his face like a beast baring its fangs.
“The current trainees were all selected after reviewing my final entries, considering every aspect for perfect compatibility. Over three to four years, they've been optimized to match my ideals. Are you telling me to insert a raw stone that doesn't fit next to my jewels?”
“There was a flaw in my wording. Let me correct it. Winter's talent is not 'merely' that.”
You know it too. That sometimes these unreasonable kids appear.
“I will state it clearly. Winter is a genius. Whether it's Jersey club, old school, girlish, or street—any concept at all—Winter can digest it completely.”
It doesn't matter what genre or concept. Whatever you give Winter, she'll become the best at it.
“You said the existing trainees became optimized talents for you over three to four years? Congratulations. That record is about to be broken. Because Winter will catch up to them in nine months.”
“You're exaggerating too much. Nine months? That's a timeframe even the industry's top personnel would hesitate to guarantee.”
“Then of course you should attach the industry's best, right? Were you planning to assign some half-baked people? To that jewel? Is SS really an agency suffering from such a severe talent shortage?”
That was something my common sense simply couldn't accept.
“SS is where the best gather, isn't it? You should be capable of at least that much.”
I asked, half hoping for the answer.
“Don't tell me… you're not confident?”
Are you nervous, Jonghun? Why are you being so cautious with the best prospect? The more you hold back, the more disappointed I get. Just go for it already.
“…The price.”
“Pardon?”
“Name your desired price. You wouldn't hand over a child like that for free.”
I knew you'd come around! Jonghun!