A Year Into the Slump
It had been nearly a year since I entered my slump hiatus.
At that time, I was stuck in a truly severe creative rut.
Do I really need to make a comeback?
With an epidemic raging, going outside held no appeal. School had moved every class online, so all I did was show up at the studio and kill time.
One might wonder if I truly had nothing to do, since I was producing for Noiris and Blooming back then.
But ninety percent of Noiris’s songs were tracks I had already written in my previous life, and Blooming had slipped into a short break after their full album and concert.
I read Yoo Seol-ha’s message with a blank face. While thinking that anyone who would feed an elementary-schooler an anime where people dropped dead left and right clearly wasn’t normal, I sent my reply.
Seo Siyeon might be ten years old, but my self-identity belonged to a man well into his thirties, so no matter how brutal or risqué the content was, it didn’t bother me.
My daily routine lately had become simple.
Wake up in the orphanage dormitory, wash quickly, then head straight to the studio.
Once I arrived, the first thing I did was check the delivery I had ordered the day before. Because I bought something almost every day—books, albums, drinks—there was always a box waiting in front of the studio.
“Yo-heave-ho…”
Unfortunately, drinks had arrived that day.
It was still before zero-sugar beverages had truly taken off, and the taste was nothing special anyway, so I had given up on them and stuck to regular cola.
After dragging the box inside and stocking the fridge, a surprising amount of time had passed.
“…Maybe I’ll watch a drama.”
I spent the whole morning with N Company’s OTT service running, watching shows. The stories and trends differed just enough from what I remembered from my previous life to make them genuinely entertaining.
By contrast, there were so many identical animations that I rarely felt like watching any.
Around lunchtime I would fall into the usual dilemma of what to eat.
I used to bring packed meals, but lately it felt like too much trouble, so I was either buying everything or skipping meals entirely.
That day I chose mala tang.
“Hello, boss.” “Oh, Siyeon, you’re here?”
The mala tang restaurant run by the former PC-bang owner, located not far from the studio.
He was one of my benefactors, so the moment the epidemic broke out I had urged him to abandon the PC bang and switch to mala tang—the industry of the future.
He had been skeptical at first, but when I casually mentioned the chairman who was our company’s main investor, he immediately transferred the PC bang for its key money and opened the restaurant with the proceeds.
It struggled in the beginning, but it had since grown into a stable shop with reliable flavor and steady sales.
“Did you put beef in twice?” “Whoa. Thank you so much.”
Double beef was non-negotiable.
After happily devouring the mala tang, I returned to the studio.
“Maybe I’ll read a book.”
I started on the new release by Kim Yoo-han—father of Kim Seol—which I had bought earlier.
I made it through about half before a wave of emptiness hit me, and I collapsed onto the simple bed.
“…Why am I so depressed?”
As expected, I could only trace the cause back to music.
For the past several months I had not written a single proper song.
It was what people called a slump.
Everyone had their own ways of overcoming a slump.
In my previous life I usually traveled overseas to shake it off, or drank with fellow composers, or sought advice from my seniors.
But at this point both options were impossible.
I had no fellow composers or seniors here, and overseas travel was out of the question because of the epidemic.
I had even been avoiding people for months, staying completely alone, afraid of drawing any suspicion.
With the industry already in chaos after several celebrities were caught throwing parties in violation of the gathering ban, avoiding any potentially risky behavior was the correct choice.
When I explained the situation in the Singer Star group chat, Joo Jin-woo diagnosed me on the spot.
And I had to admit there was some truth to it.
“…It does seem that way.”
If I were going to school, maybe it wouldn’t feel like this. Being cooped up at home watching nothing but dramas and anime made me feel like I was developing a mental illness.
The message from Yoo Ina arrived in the middle of those monotonous days.
Yoo Ina.
She looked exactly like the little girl who had lived next door to my father’s house in my previous life—the one I had promised to debut without fail back when I was still a rookie composer.
Of course she wasn’t the same person.
Unlike the girl from my previous life, Yoo Ina’s hometown was Incheon and her family was quite well-off.
The reason she offered to visit my studio was simply that she lived in Incheon, so the distance was short.
Given the timing, even Noiris—who was dominating the charts—didn’t have much work. The members had each taken vacation and were resting at home.
Yoo Ina seemed bored as well, and when she said she wanted to come to the studio I simply told her to head over that day.
“Wow. It’s pretty big.” “Well, yeah.”
After all, this place was essentially my home.
I did everything here except sleep, so the space was large and filled with all sorts of odds and ends.
She opened my fridge, eyes sparkling, and looked at me.
“Could I have just one cola…” “How much do you weigh, unnie?” “…Fifty-one.” “You sure that’s okay?”
After some back-and-forth I gave her a can. While I was at it, I ordered a whole chicken.
We put on a mellow drama and started tearing into the chicken.
The drama was one of the romance series trending lately. Because it only featured actors I already knew, it felt strangely familiar even though I was watching it for the first time.
While I was devouring the boneless chicken with the same intensity as if it had bones—
“Have you been struggling a lot lately?”
Yoo Ina asked me directly.
I had never told her my situation outright.
She might have guessed vaguely, but asking so openly meant she had a fair amount of confidence in her suspicion.
“Who told you?” “…The unnies.”
It must have been either Lee Hye-na or Haruka.
I wasn’t angry. If anything, the fact that they were worried about me warmed my heart a little.
“Is it because of the pressure?” “Yeah, something like that.”
The reason I was digging myself into this hole was simple.
Two-time WMA winner.
Four-time Handaum winner.
Number one in annual Watermelon streaming.
I had essentially achieved everything a Korean singer could achieve.
What remained? A concert at one of Korea’s three major stadiums?
But with my current stamina, even performing three songs at a university festival was barely manageable, let alone a full concert.
I exercised consistently, yet I would probably need an adult body before I could handle a proper concert.
So the thought What do I even do now? kept circling, along with a growing fear of the expectations the public placed on me.
Even though I had been a fairly successful composer in my previous life, I had only ever won a single year-end award.
In other words, I was flying far higher than my actual abilities justified.
“Then why not just stop receiving those expectations?” “What do you… mean?” “You know… like an alt? Couldn’t you just make an account under a different name and make whatever music you want?”
I fell silent for a moment.
I was momentarily confused about whether that actually made sense.
Create an alt account?
Would music come out that way?
Honestly, I wasn’t sure.
“Let’s try it right now.”
But it was definitely worth attempting.
“First, I can’t reveal my face.” “The musical style can’t overlap with my current work.” “People must not be able to recognize it easily.”
Since the person known as Seo Siyeon was far too famous in Korea, raising an alt account here was impossible.
The moment I released a song it would be exposed.
No matter how much I changed my technique or altered my voice, I would never escape the netizen detective squad.
Therefore I needed a country that shared some emotional sensibility with Korea but was not entirely the same.
And at the same time, a country whose own sensibility and music I understood well.
There was only one such country.
And so I became Japanese.