The Double Life of a Genius Musician

Chapter 4: My Real Music

When I listened to a song, I could see the person.

Some people expressed themselves through their music, while others hid their true feelings behind it.

Han Yujin, as I saw her, belonged to the latter.

The opposite of me.

If I was an S, she was an N.

Through music, I expressed the desires I had tucked away.

My remixes were always flamboyant and confident.

‘So we’re complete opposites…….’

Music wasn’t just a series of melodies.

It was about discovering the intentions hidden behind the track.

It was about understanding the inner world concealed within the music.

That was the real reason I listened to and dissected music.

And now…

‘This sounds fun.’

I wanted to create music that truly belonged to me.

I put on my worn-out headphones.

As I plugged them into the PC, a sharp high-pitched sound scraped my ears.

I took out my 88-key keyboard for the first time in a while.

I carefully captured the accompaniment and melody that came to mind while watching Han Yujin.

The intro began calmly.

A gentle piano line marked the start of the piece.

Starting with F - Bb - Am7 - Dm7, flowing smoothly into Gm7 - C7 - F - C.

I structured it as restrained as possible to highlight the melody.

The key was harmony.

‘This key seems good enough…….’

Han Yujin was a complicated person.

She acted cheerful as if it were ingrained in her, but her inner self was composed.

At least that’s how I saw it.

So I composed it.

A song that gave courage, comfort… strong enough to make even a groaning patient spring up.

It was the first time inspiration had come to me like this.

I wanted to capture every detail without missing a single thing.

But then—

‘Why?’

Something felt off.

Even though I had honestly transcribed the melody that came to mind when I saw Han Yujin.

My head said it was right, but my heart said no.

I leaned back in my chair.

Was this not it? Why not?

Maybe I still wasn’t ready to create? Had I underestimated composing?

I felt dizzy. I closed my eyes for a moment.

Then—

‘Huh?’

A rabbit suddenly popped out in front of me.

It looked familiar. It was the one from Han Yujin’s drawing.

It bounced around excitedly, just smiling.

I simply watched it.

It danced alone. Eagerly.

It wobbled for a brief second after a flashy jump and landing, but soon steadied.

It looked at me with an innocent expression.

Our eyes met.

Its big, round eyes blinked rapidly.

“Ah……?”

A lightbulb went off in my head.

I sat up straight.

I opened my eyes wide and grabbed the mouse.

I searched through every video of Han Yujin—variety shows, music programs, award show performances, behind-the-scenes footage of her directing—until I finally understood.

Her true self.

I’d been so focused on expressing that keyword, I missed the most important part.

She was someone who tore off the layers and screamed out the innermost feelings that others wanted to keep hidden.

‘This person is depressed! She’s faking her cheerfulness! I can tell! Look, this is the real her!’—she shouted.

She even handed me a megaphone. Adding cruel words like, ‘Now it’s your turn to shout. Reveal your worries and concerns to the whole world.’

No, this wasn’t it. Definitely not.

I quickly opened a new track.

Hoping the offhand comment from Han Yujin on YouTube had been sincere.

‘Actually, I’m more confident with this. You’re all doomed.’

I began laying the track again, step by step.

From the confident melody, I could see Han Yujin.

Then suddenly, I felt sorry.

‘I shouldn’t have called it an “art disease.”’

It had just passed 3 a.m.

Inside the CEO’s office at ToMe Entertainment, lined with flashy trophies like a backdrop.

Han Yujin walked in briskly and said out of nowhere,

“He said I’ve got an art disease.”

“Pffft.”

A fountain of Americano sprayed across the expensive table made by some famous artist.

CEO and main producer of this place, Kwak Youngho, casually took out a pocket square and wiped his mouth as he asked,

“Which bastard?”

Even in that moment, he maintained his elegant smile.

“A friend.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

CEO Kwak flared his nostrils and looked at Han Yujin, then awkwardly asked again.

“Someone actually said that to you?”

“Is it true?”

“What do you want me to say?”

She’d come to talk about the next album, and suddenly this out-of-the-blue topic?

And on top of that—

‘It’s not exactly wrong.’

Hearing the thought he’d only ever kept to himself come out of her mouth made things complicated.

If he agreed, she’d sulk. If he denied it, she’d continue being a severe case. What now?

After pondering deeply, he came up with a clever move.

The classic tactic: throw the question back.

“What do you think?”

I bought some time.

Han Yujin, who had been sitting slouched, straightened up.

She pulled a tissue from the box on the side and wiped the table as she replied.

“It’s kind of bitter.”

“Because you’re upset?”

“No. Because I think it’s not wrong?”

“Ahem……”

No one in their right mind would criticize a singer who just tanked an album.

What about the CEO? Shouldn’t he be able to?

No way. Even if the CEO’s grandfather came, what can’t be done just can’t be done.

There’s no need to provoke someone already sensitive.

If she suddenly turned around and said, ‘I can’t do this,’ and disappeared into a cave, that would be a disaster.

The best thing was to pamper her and cheer her on for the next album.

That’s how it had been, and how it would continue.

But who the hell had the nerve to talk crap like “art disease” or whatever?

If I catch that punk, I’ll just—

“Wait, hold on. Yujin.”

“Yes?”

“Not many people know you’re Jeden. Who was it? Assistant Manager Chanmin? Seungho?”

“Not someone from the company.”

“You said it yourself?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“They just knew?”

“No way, you must’ve mentioned it while drinking.”

“Why would I go around spreading something that’s not even flattering?”

Kwak Youngho waved his hand.

Nonsense.

If it were a famous professional composer? Then maybe.

Everyone leaves their fingerprint in their work.

The instruments they frequently use. The melodic flow. There’s a reason people say they’re self-replicating.

But not Han Yujin.

She didn’t even have a career to be recognized by.

She only got the opportunity because it was her first solo album.

He’d been anxious from the start.

He wasn’t new to this business. He had a hunch it might not go well.

Even so, he agreed.

That was how ToMe Entertainment dealt with stubborn artists.

Composing wasn’t child’s play.

Sometimes a singer would insist on becoming some kind of singer-songwriter.

That, right there, was the true art disease.

Piling on nonsense philosophies and pushing out half-baked creations pretending to be an expert—that was art disease.

‘Surely she’s not going down that road again.’

If things couldn’t be coordinated, the company pretended to support the artist.

If it worked? Jackpot.

If it failed? That singer wouldn’t be able to voice even the smallest opinion anymore.

They’d completely conform to the company’s system—just like in their idol days.

“For the second album, changing styles would be good, right?”

“That’s what I’m planning.”

One hurdle cleared.

“You play a bit of guitar, right?”

“I do, a bit.”

Just when it seemed like the second hurdle was cleared too—

“But isn’t that a bit too predictable?”

Kwak Youngho became uneasy!

This, this.

He’d heard this script before.

“Then what’s unpredictable? Uh… what’s going on with you? You’re making my skin crawl.”

Before he could finish, Han Yujin swiftly opened her laptop.

“Don’t tell me Yujin’s at it again?”

“This isn’t a song I wrote. Isn’t that a relief?”

Only then did he let out a sigh of relief.

“What is it?”

“A friend gave it to me.”

“What? A friend?”

Still not in your right mind, huh?

Do you want me to drop dead?

Forget friends and whatnot, it’s time you listened to the company!

Kwak Youngho barely held back his true thoughts bubbling up from deep inside and asked again.

“So our Yujin has a composer friend? That’s quite something. But look. We’re professionals, right? Loyalty, friendship—those things matter when you’re young. I get it. But this is a critical time. You know that too. This time…”

“Just a moment, sir. Sorry to cut you off. I’m not saying I want to do this song. I’m not even asking you to consider it.”

“Then?”

“Just once. Just listen to it once.”

“You… something’s up, isn’t it?”

He’d known Han Yujin since she was twelve.

If she wanted something, she always begged, breaking people down with her eyes.

But today was different. There was a spark in her eyes.

Just what kind of song had made her this determined?

He was curious. But he answered firmly.

“I’ll listen.”

There would be no second time.

That was Kwak Youngho’s rule.

“You won’t regret listening to this song.”

Regret? The real regret was not stopping you from learning to compose in the first place.

When Kwak Youngho gave a nod like he was ready, Han Yujin immediately played the track.

“……”

The moment the first bar of the intro played—

“……Huh?”

Kwak Youngho, who had been sitting in a grand pose, suddenly straightened up.

He focused all his attention on the song.

Before he knew it, 3 minutes and 20 seconds had passed.

Was this… real?

Han Yujin had a friend like this?

This wasn’t the kind of skill someone at a “friend” level should have.

Who the heck was it?

“What do you think?”

There were no lyrics, but I felt it.

The dreamy riff that skillfully carried the song—definitely not the work of an amateur.

No need for long words.

Kwak Youngho answered.

“There’s a hook.”

That was high praise.

Three days had passed since I’d blindly sent the song.

The email showed it was received, but Han Yujin hadn’t replied.

Maybe she was busy? Maybe she forgot? I tried to brush it off casually.

But thoughts crept in—Was it bad? Did it reek of an amateur?

Click, click—

I fiddled aimlessly with the track.

‘Can’t be helped. Another chance will come.’

It had felt too lucky anyway.

This wasn’t a comic—meeting a singer who turned out to be my fan and then having them sing my song was too dreamy to be real.

Even so, I wanted to wish for a miracle.

I really wanted to see Han Yujin singing this song.

As I was ruffling my hair thinking about all that, I heard the door lock beep. It was hyung.

I hurried to clean up and stand, but—

“Ah, geez. Say something, will you?”

Hyung was already in my room, staring intently at my monitor.

“You writing a song?”

I quickly hit Alt-Tab and switched screens, then said casually,

“I paid a lot for this gear. Gotta at least pretend to use it.”

“That track looked complicated. Whose is it?”

Hmm… what would be a good excuse?

I didn’t want to tell him yet.

If, just maybe, somehow—

If Han Yujin ended up singing my song, I wanted to go, ta-da! and brag.

Not yet.

“Just something I got off the internet. You’re home early?”

“You’ve been coming home early too. Quit your part-time job?”

“They’re doing interior work, so I’m taking a break.”

Hyung ruffled my hair, then tossed something onto my desk.

“Huh?”

It was a pair of headphones.

Studio monitoring headphones that cost over a million won.

“Found them on the way home.”

“You bought them? Come on, I’ve got money too.”

“Must be nice, being rich.”

“I’m serious.”

“Didn’t buy them. The company gave them out.”

“This expensive?”

“You know Kar, right?”

“Who doesn’t know Kar?”

Kar. The top name in the hip-hop scene. He’s with hyung’s company now.

“Kar became the model for that brand. They handed them out to commemorate.”

“Wow… I get to try these thanks to you?”

“Throw that old one away already. Look at the black powder coming off. Yikes.”

As I excitedly unboxed the headphones, I asked,

“You didn’t see the bank account by chance?”

“No. Why?”

“Take a look.”

Hyung checked his balance while casually holding his phone—then shouted.

“Hey! Seo Taeyoon!”

“What.”

“One million won? What is this?”

“I got partial severance from the part-time job. New owner.”

“Part-time jobs do that?”

“I was kind of a star employee?”

“Taeyoon, you’re not doing anything shady, right?”

Understandable worry.

His reckless little brother suddenly transferred him a million won. My hyung still thought I was a kid.

I calmed him down and spoke gently.

“I swear it’s nothing shady. Don’t worry. Hyung, I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?”

“I want to try doing music……”

I left out the parts about Han Yujin and DJing and kept it vague.

I’d need to buy gear anyway, and if I was going to do it properly, I’d need hyung’s help too.

“Sure. Doing something is always good. Go for it. Ah, but no pitching requests, alright? I’m sick of that. Don’t know why people act like I’ve got any power. I get hundreds of demos a day…”

I had nothing to say, so I just listened quietly.

Bzzt—

While hyung was ranting, my phone buzzed. It was Han Yujin.

[Teacher, our CEO wants to meet you. Is that okay? Oh, I didn’t say anything about DJ! (rabbit emoji)]

“Anyway, remember this. No favors even for family!”

Hmm… he was going to regret those words.

I put down my phone and grinned.

“Well, who knows. Maybe you’ll be begging me for a song soon.”