The Headset Mic Gambit

I gave Jo Hyeonwu the information he needed, starting with the fact that I’d told the producer we wanted the performance live and that the station couldn’t prepare it for us, so we’d taken it on ourselves, then ending with the trouble that had come up while we were getting everything ready.

"That’s how it turned out. If we can just solve the drum part, we’re okay, but we’re a little short on time."

The drummer who’d been listening in answered for himself.

"Feels like we might have to give up, doesn’t it? How are we supposed to pull that off during rehearsal?"

"Yeah, it’s not easy. If this were a normal venue, maybe, but the setup here is way too complicated."

So there really wasn’t a better answer after all.

In that case, I’d better tell them my plan. We needed to see whether it was realistic or not.

"What if I put my handheld mic up to the drums?"

"That could work. As long as the gain is set properly and the equalizer is adjusted well, it’s fine as a temporary fix."

Ah. So it was possible.

I’d only imagined it in theory, but now I’d confirmed it could work in practice, and that was enough for me.

"But that’s not the real problem, is it? Then what about your mic?"

We only had one handheld mic prepared for today.

More precisely, it was the only mic connected to the channel.

"Oh, I think I can use a headset mic."

At my answer, the members of Jo Hyeonwu Band clicked their tongues and tilted their heads, as if this kid really didn’t know the first thing about anything.

"The idea wasn’t bad, but if both your hands are empty, it’s going to look a lot sloppier than you think. And there isn’t even a camera director here to cover for you. Besides, do you know how bad that mic’s pickup is? It’ll actually hurt the live."

Every word of that was true.

On a stage without choreography, it was rare for both hands to be empty unless you were doing a musical.

And headset mics having poor pickup was common knowledge.

Even so, the way they were trying to stop me was full of concern.

"I see. Understood. Thanks for the advice."

After that, we exchanged mutual respect and encouragement, then headed back to the waiting room.

* * *

Once we were back in the waiting room, OKTOP immediately started talking things over.

"Hey, Cha Seoha, you’re really going to do this?"

"Yeah. I can do it, so don’t worry."

Kang Min looked at Cha Seoha like he was staring at a lunatic.

Who in their right mind used a headset mic in a band performance?

It wasn’t just Kang Min; every one of them thought the same thing.

"You really think you can pull it off?"

This time, Jo Hyeonseop asked.

For this plan to work, Jo Hyeonseop’s help was absolutely essential.

"Yes, I can. It’ll be a hassle, but please just help us set up the mic on-site as quickly as possible."

Jo Hyeonseop’s expression turned strange.

"Aren’t you being too reckless? Music shows aren’t child’s play."

"I know. Because they’re not child’s play, I want to try."

Jo Hyeonseop thought back on the Cha Seoha he’d seen so far.

He was an astonishing kid.

Then he imagined OKTOP’s future.

It was a spark of light, still faint for now.

"You absolutely have to do the live. I’m not saying that lightly. I know perfectly well this isn’t a stage only one or two people are watching."

Looking at the determined expression on Cha Seoha’s face, Jo Hyeonseop felt as if he could glimpse some future beyond it.

A faint light.

How bright would it be once the fog cleared?

He could feel his own passion rising, as if he’d become a member of OKTOP himself.

"You kids had better do this right. My reputation’s on the line too. I know a lot of people here."

"We know. We’ll do our best not to be a burden."

Cha Seoha answered with complete confidence.

"You’re all going to work hard too, right?"

"Of course! What kind of question is that?"

"Just do what we always do."

With the kids brimming with confidence like that, Jo Hyeonseop had no choice but to give in.

"Fine. Then let’s all do our best."

For some reason, it reminded him of his younger days.

He decided he would do everything he could to make sure OKTOP could go live.

Just as he had when he was young.

* * *

OKTOP stepped onto the stage.

They checked their in-ear monitors, microphones, and instruments one last time.

A small audience had been brought in as prerecording spectators, and behind those seats sat the members of Jo Hyeonwu Band.

"What? He’s really using that?"

Onstage, Cha Seoha was wearing a headset mic.

"We told him not to, but he still..."

The members of Jo Hyeonwu Band frowned in unison.

It wasn’t just because those stubborn juniors had ignored advice; they were genuinely worried.

This was a precious chance for an indie band to stand on a music-show stage.

They needed to show their best side.

"No, let’s watch first."

Jo Hyeonwu fixed his gaze on the stage as he spoke.

Looking at OKTOP up there, he found himself thinking of the old days.

They had thrown themselves into a brutal market with nothing but a passion for music and absolutely nothing else.

Adults had clicked their tongues at them, and people around them had mocked them, asking how they expected any of it to work.

But they had gritted their teeth and held on, and in the end, their effort and talent had been recognized.

When he’d looked into it earlier, OKTOP seemed to be going through a rough patch too, and for some reason that made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him feel sorry for them, want to cheer them on, and feel strangely connected to them.

But if there was one difference between them and OKTOP, it was skill, planning, and execution.

Unlike Jo Hyeonwu’s generation, who had succeeded by brute-forcing everything with time and effort alone, OKTOP had real potential.

After the morning conversation ended and OKTOP returned to the waiting room, he had even gone and listened to their songs himself.

They weren’t just musical; they had remarkable instinct.

It had been exciting enough to discover promising juniors in a dying scene.

But now he wanted to see where they would end up.

Today’s music show was rough.

Still, most of the performers had agencies behind them to cushion those hardships, and they had enough experience that they wouldn’t struggle too much.

In that situation, OKTOP had no company at all and was facing the worst possible environment head-on.

If they pulled off the stage, what a perfect story that would make.

"All right! When I give the signal, let’s hear you cheer!"

OKTOP looked ready.

The members were waiting in their positions.

Watching them, Jo Hyeonwu felt his heart start to race.

"One! Two! Cheer!"

"Waaah!"

The audience roared, the cameras started rolling, and Rendezvous began.

Jo Hyeonwu and the others held their breath and watched the stage.

* * *

The lights bathed OKTOP in brilliance.

Heo Junseong’s guitar and Lee Doyeong’s bass opened with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a quick sliding phrase, and Kang Min’s drums joined in right on cue.

Kang Min, who was usually defined by sheer intensity, poured out that trademark energy without holding anything back.

And it was all thanks to the mic Cha Seoha had given him.

The fierce drumming and Heo Junseong’s satisfying guitar lines spread outward in full force.

Lee Doyeong’s bass moved between the two with easy grace, dancing lightly through the gaps.

High above it all, Kim Jihoo’s bright synthesizer painted the sky.

That was youth, clear and vivid as it spread across the stage.

Now it was Cha Seoha’s voice’s turn to write the story on top of it.

As if rewriting the past someone had once walked through.

As if reaching ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back into forgotten memory and dragging out the passion they had once let slip away.

Please be good.

Can that kid really do it?

Even Jo Hyeonseop at the console.

Even Jo Hyeonwu Band in the audience.

Everyone, with one heart, was rooting for Cha Seoha’s song.

And Cha Seoha drew a song of memory across the face of youth.

He was wearing a headset mic instead of the handheld mic they had used that morning, even though its pickup was far worse.

"Holy crap!"

"As expected..."

The song felt very different from the original.

It carried far more fierce emotion, and its rawness stood out more than its polish.

Of course, that was only the vocal technique he had chosen so the sound would come through properly.

Still, the adults watching the stage couldn’t help reading it as if there were a different intention behind it.

For the moment, though, Cha Seoha was doing wonderfully.

Whether he could keep that tension all the way to the end was another question, but at least the start was perfect.

The friends’ playing and Cha Seoha’s singing were, in their own way, creating a beautiful harmony and moving forward smoothly.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Singing well wasn’t enough.

This was a stage, yes, but it was also a broadcast.

It had to look good on camera.

Cha Seoha had already memorized every camera cue during rehearsal.

As the song progressed, the cameras moved busily.

The light on Camera 1 came on, catching Cha Seoha from the chest up.

Cha Seoha showed effortless poise through his posing and eye contact.

Then he naturally shifted his gaze toward the Jimmy Jib drifting toward him with a flicker of red light.

Since the shot included both of his hands, he brought his right hand up to the mic wire fixed against his cheek and used his lightly clenched left hand to convey the more impassioned emotion.

The song flowed into an uplifting pre-chorus that fit the emotion he was projecting perfectly.

As the brief sectional rhythm before the chorus burst forth, the members focusing on their instruments were shown one by one.

Then Cha ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Seoha came back into frame, and the chorus began.

When we meet

That’s when it starts

A new world

A new sound

No matter how much you change

I can still recognize you

Cha Seoha was making skillful use of the camera’s framing to overcome the shortcomings of the headset mic.

The feel was very different from the original, but different wasn’t wrong.

Rendezvous held youth inside it.

Cha Seoha’s now fuller, richer voice resembled the fierce energy of youth itself.

The members, giving everything they had to the performance, sparkled under the lights.

And Cha Seoha, singing over that sparkling performance, was radiant.

He sent that radiance back out again, lighting up his friends.

The dazzling music they created inspired awe in everyone who watched.

"Hyung, those guys are amazing."

"Yeah, especially that kid handling the frontman part. He’s seriously good."

They were talking about Cha Seoha.

"It can’t be easy to make a sound like that with that mic."

"That’s not all. See how he’s working the camera?"

"The camera? What camera?"

"Since his hands would look awkward, when the camera goes in for a bust shot or a tight shot he just holds a pose, and when it pulls back to a full shot he starts using gestures. That isn’t normal."

"That can’t just be a coincidence..."

"There’s no way it’s a coincidence. He’s hitting a scene in every single moment."

"Oh, so that’s why your eye is different, hyung. You even did idol training."

They had clearly been told the company wasn’t behind them.

Jo Hyeonseop had said as much too.

And yet for a high school student to pull all of that off to this degree—it could only be explained by genius.

No, not even most geniuses could manage it like that.

He wasn’t just naturally gifted; he was smart.

His sense of the stage, his insight, and even his imagination—all of it had to be working together for him to pull this off.

But to the band guys, the most interesting person on that stage wasn’t Cha Seoha.

"Isn’t that bass player no joke?"

"Yeah. That kid’s the real deal."

For people who played instruments, nothing set the dopamine surging quite like Lee Doyeong’s meticulous playing.

Of course, everyone was excellent.

Kang Min had already been known to be that good.

Kim Jihoo’s sharp playing and Heo Junseong’s explosive style, too.

More than they’d expected, every member was highly skilled.

Jo Hyeonwu Band watched in a daze as OKTOP’s stage continued.

They did use AR for a few absolutely necessary sounds, but the members’ playing and vocals were all live.

The stage carried a very real sense of presence.

As the song moved into its latter half, the performance grew even fiercer.

It felt strange.

I hadn’t felt nervous or excited before stepping onto that stage.

I’d only been focused on building the live setup.

For one thing, I’d stood on stages like this too many times already.

And because this music show, while certainly cool and impressive, wasn’t our destination.

It was just a waypoint on the road.

And yet hearing those kids give everything they had even at a waypoint like that made my chest tighten.

A stage that had felt like nothing special could become something extraordinary when I was with them.

The success I had wanted so badly with OKTOP.

The countless what-ifs I had imagined.

Those ifs were becoming reality, blooming one by one right before my eyes.

The miracle of being able to live inside memories that had once been youth.

The fact that I could sing that miracle made me unbearably happy.