What on Earth Was This?

What on earth was this?

A songwriter had existed in the band I’d belonged to before, too. The people I’d met over the years were all heavy hitters in the Hongdae band scene, and every one of them had solid skills. The ones who had tried to recruit me on the day I won the DMC were mostly exceptional players.

And yet Rendezvous, the song Cha Seoha had made, was in a completely different league. It didn’t just exceed their level—it crushed it.

This was...

Not amateur.

This was a professional’s work.

What startled me even more was Cha Seoha’s reaction.

“What do you mean? It’s an original song.”

He really did treat his own song like it was nothing special.

Which meant...

So he didn’t just get lucky?

He really composed it on purpose?

Sometimes even composers got lucky and stumbled onto a riff or melody that outstripped their own abilities. When that happened, they usually knew it first. They could feel it right away—that this was a song they shouldn’t have been able to write yet.

But judging from Cha Seoha’s reaction, this didn’t seem to be one of those cases.

When I’d played with the others before, all I had really understood was that each individual had decent skill and that, when they came together, the chemistry was good. Now that I thought about it, though, it had probably all been possible because Cha Seoha was the center holding everything together.

“Kang Min, ready?”

“What? Re, recording?”

“Why are you stuttering?”

“No, I-I mean, how was this song born?”

“What do you mean, how? I just built it up piece by piece.”

By the straight road?

Then this was Cha Seoha’s average songwriting level?

I was so shocked I didn’t even know what to say, so when he told me not to waste the studio time, I obediently sat down behind the drums.

“All right. Let’s go.”

I started recording on Cha Seoha’s cue.

I had recorded before, of course—when I’d been making songs with the older guys, or when I got paid to play live session parts and the like. Back then it had just been work, but now something about my mindset felt different.

It was fun.

It was the kind of song that made you itch to play.

Was it because the quality was so high?

That was part of it, sure, but it wasn’t only that.

The emotions the music gave off were incredible. And, hard as it was to explain, it felt like my own taste had been woven into it somehow.

Tap—

“Good, Kang Min. As expected, that’s excellent.”

“Yeah, is this good enough?”

“Yes, perfect. You can come out.”

Cha Seoha raised a thumb from outside the booth.

For a moment, being recognized by someone like him gave me a thrill even greater than winning the DMC had.

Click, click...

Cha Seoha was fiddling with the drum track we’d just recorded, and I sat down beside him.

“You’ve done a lot of mixing too, haven’t ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you? Your hands are fast.”

“I’ve seen a lot.”

“You don’t get good at this just by watching.”

Editing tracks, equalizing them, laying on compression—he handled it all like a pro. Some of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the stuff, even when I looked at it, I had no idea what he was doing.

And yet the sound kept getting better and better, so I could tell just how high his level was.

Again, this wasn’t the kind of skill you picked up just by seeing it a lot.

“So you weren’t only good onstage.”

“If you want to succeed, you have to be good at everything.”

If you want to succeed, you have to be good at everything.

For some reason, that sounded different to me.

As if he was saying that because he was good at everything, success was inevitable.

With this guy, I felt like we could achieve far more than just satisfying my own greed.

Thinking that made my chest tingle strangely.

However I looked at it, choosing OKTOP had really been the right decision.

“Hey, Cha Seoha, welcome back.”

“Hey, Heo Junseong. You eaten yet?”

“Had a burger.”

“You’re disgusting with those burgers.”

For a while now, we’d been using Kang Min’s practice room temporarily.

We used to rehearse at the school practice room, but during vacation the students who were still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there studying on their own had complained that we were too loud, so we got kicked out.

When we arrived, Lee Doyeong was practicing bass in the corner, while Heo Junseong and Kim Jihoo were, as always, bickering and snickering at each other.

And Kang Min was stretched out on the sofa, looking at something and grinning in a sleazy way.

Probably some anime.

“Hey, so you wrote a song? Kang Min told me.”

Kim Jihoo asked with obvious curiosity.

“Yeah. It was something I had been making before, and I finished it in a hurry yesterday.”

“They say the quality is amazing. Min said it was incredible.”

This time Lee Doyeong spoke with genuine admiration.

He hadn’t even heard it yet.

“Not that incredible.”

“Oh, so you’re laying the groundwork? What if it’s actually bad?”

“Heo Junseong. Keep talking like that and you might embarrass yourself later.”

“It’s really that good?”

“You’ll know once you hear it. Seriously, it was incredible.”

In fact, Kang Min had listened to the song I’d made yesterday—or more accurately, to the sketch version of it—and left a pretty generous review.

“You’ll see once you hear it. All right, everybody sit down. Ah, Min, can I use your computer?”

“Sure.”

“I wonder what kind of song it is.”

Of everyone in the room, Kim Jihoo’s eyes were shining the brightest at the mention that I’d brought a song.

“I’m curious.”

His expression was full of it.

“All right, then. I’ll play it.”

I moved the track onto Kang Min’s computer and hit play.

In the past, the lyrics to this song had been about going to meet the girl he loved. I wanted to keep the original form if I could, but once I arranged it for the mainstream, there was no helping the lyrics—they had to be changed.

Still, the core of it hadn’t changed much. It just wasn’t a lover waiting at the end of the journey anymore.

It was a standard arrangement, but the excellent songwriting and the refined restraint made the lyrics and vocal stand out beautifully.

Then the song, which had been building the whole time, reached the chorus and exploded with a funky rhythm as if it had finally hit its peak.

Under the blue sky, youth in school uniforms running through the streets finally found one another.

And as if they already knew each other, they answered back to the song with one voice.

As if they’d always been close.

Roughly. Fiercely.

And after the chorus came around once more, the song closed with a bright, clear outro.

“All right, that’s the end.”

I smiled and asked,

“So? What do you think?”

For a moment, silence fell.

I got strangely tense.

I’d been judged by countless professionals and by the public alike over the years, and yet I still couldn’t stop my heart from tightening.

Besides, wasn’t this song originally one whose opinions were meant to reflect the members’ input?

I had changed it however I wanted, which only made me more nervous.

Then everyone’s reaction burst out all at once.

“What do you mean, what do I think, you crazy bastard!!”

“I-it’s insane...”

“This is our song? Seriously?”

“See? I told you! It’s amazing, right?”

Watching the members shower the track with praise without taking a breath, I felt something knotted up deep inside my chest begin to loosen.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Heo Junseong promptly rushed over to the computer and played Rendezvous again.

“Wow, that’s incredible. Let’s hear it one more time!”

Kim Jihoo sat down beside him and listened along, marveling at it too.

I felt a huge sense of relief lift me up, but I couldn’t stay lost in the feeling forever.

So with Rendezvous playing in the background, I started briefing the others on the next plan.

“All right. We’ve got work to do with this song.”

“What kind of work?”

“I already told Kang Min yesterday, but we’re going to release this as an official track. We’ll make one or two more songs too.”

“Oh! As original songs?”

“Our own release... wow...”

“Nice. If we have an official track out, it’ll definitely set us apart.”

“For that, we’ll need to record each session separately. I’m re-recording my vocals too.”

Kang Min had handled the drum recording smoothly yesterday.

His fundamentals were good, and he had plenty of recording experience too.

It had been an excellent take, one I really had nothing to nitpick about.

“The recording’s next week. Until then, focus on practice takes for your parts.”

“So this week, with recording practice too, are we taking a break from rehearsal?”

Heo Junseong asked, eyes full of hope.

Of course, the same expression had already taken hold on the faces of the other three.

“No? We still have to rehearse. We’re not skipping busking, are we?”

“Wow, what a demon.”

“Seoha’s a monster.”

“Think about it. If we end up becoming stars and doing a world tour, do you really think we’re going to separate recording practice and rehearsal practice so neatly? Of course we do both at once.”

“You really do seem like a leader when you put forward such big goals, but you’re a little over the top.”

I shrugged at Kim Jihoo’s reaction.

Over the top?

This was the reality that was coming, and the one we had to make happen.

“That guy. There’s really no one like a demon king...”

Kang Min’s word choice was as bizarre as ever, so I ignored him.

Sorry, but for us, who had only just begun, there was no such thing as free time.

Once we released an official track, we’d have a clear distinction from the other bands.

Of course, there was still the question of how to promote it...

But a good opportunity would come soon enough.

“Anyway, now that you know, work hard and come prepared by recording day!”

All of them looked at me with expressions that said they were sick of me.

But the fire inside those expressions was burning just as strongly.

Another week passed like that.

Cha Seoha came to ST Studio for the recording.

“Hello, sir.”

“So, these are your friends?”

“Hello!”

“These must be the band friends you mentioned before. Nice to meet you.”

Jo Hyeonseop scanned the band members, who were greeting him with cheerful energy, in an instant.

Heo Junseong would look pretty formidable once he grew a little more and learned how to dress himself properly.

Kim Jihoo, with his cold air, and Kang Min, whose masculine face he’d already seen before, were already complete as they were.

As for Lee Doyeong, he thought the baby fat would need to come off a little more.

No, not baby fat. Does he just need to go on a diet? Either way, the underlying material is excellent.

He didn’t have any particular motive—this was just a working habit.

“Anyway, you all worked hard. Today the first hour is on the house.”

“That’s more than enough.”

Cha Seoha led the members toward the recording room.

“You know him?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“He’s someone I’m grateful to, but we’re not close enough to say I know him well.”

“Hmm, I see. Then let’s buy him something good to eat later.”

“Sure.”

By the time Lee Doyeong and Cha Seoha finished talking, the instrument setup was done.

“All right, let’s start. You all can do this, right?”

“Obviously. If we’d still be useless after you’ve been drilling us like that, what kind of human beings would we be?”

“That was a reasonable amount of practice.”

“Seoha, that is definitely not true.”

“Sometimes that guy really doesn’t know mercy.”

“You’re the first person to destroy my drumsticks that fast.”

Today’s studio rental had a fixed time limit.

We couldn’t record forever, so today we had to get the work done in a short span of time.