The Double Life of a Genius Musician

Chapter 9: I Admit What Needs to Be Admitted

As the recording studio door opened, a new world unfolded.

A massive mixing console, countless buttons and faders.

A microphone and pop filter visible in the booth straight ahead.

The dry air unique to recording studios.

Fear and anticipation rushed in all at once.

It felt like I had taken a step into the ‘real’ industry.

On top of that...

“Thanks, Manager Kim.”

“Ah, seriously, if it weren't for Manager Park asking, I wouldn't have made the time. It's not even the main recording, why are you so insistent?”

“It's urgent, urgent.”

“Is there anyone in this neighborhood who isn't in a hurry? I barely managed to make time, so let's finish quickly.”

He was sitting with his back to us, so I couldn’t see his face.

But even the rushed voice of Manager Kim, who was manipulating equipment at the console, sounded pleasant for some reason.

“By the way, Manager Park.”

“What.”

“What is this?”

As he spun his chair and spoke, Manager Kim's hands busily moved over the console.

“Uh...?”

There it was.

My song was playing in the studio.

Boldly and loudly through the monitor speakers.

Han Yujin hadn’t even sung my song yet.

It hadn’t been officially released either.

It was just playing briefly through the studio’s monitor speakers.

‘Why... do I like this?’

I was simply soaking in the atmosphere, intoxicated by the strange emotion.

Seeing me, Team Leader Park laughed and patted my back with a “This kid…”

Manager Kim, unconcerned, murmured to himself.

“Is this really a rookie? I don’t think so?”

The timing was a bit odd.

Just as I was about to say something, Team Leader Park gently pulled my arm.

Was that his way of telling me to stay quiet?

Team Leader Park immediately responded smoothly.

“Why, does something feel off? Did it sound that good?”

“No, it's just unique. CEO Kwak said the other day that something big was coming soon. I dismissed it thinking Kwak‑rebal was talking nonsense again... but wow, this is it. So this is why he was going on about genius this, prodigy that. The color is really distinct. Even at a glance, it’s not the work of someone who’s only written one or two songs. But, hyung... huh? Whoa, what the—weren’t you alone? …Who are you?”

Manager Kim, who had spun around in his chair and discovered us, jumped to his feet.

Then, alternating his gaze between me and Team Leader Park, he suddenly extended his right hand toward me.

“Oh? You came together? Nice to meet you. You could’ve at least made a sound.”

I shook his hand politely and replied.

“Hello. I’m Seo Taeyoon.”

“You’re the composer of this song?”

“Yes.”

“Wow... you’re tall. I thought they brought a rookie singer.”

Why did everyone keep mistaking me for a trainee or a singer?

Is that how people greet each other here?

It must’ve been meant to make me feel good.

Like when people say, “Oh my, you don’t look your age,” or “Your hairstyle suits you really well.”

If I was receiving compliments, I should give some back too.

So I said,

“If you're the chief engineer, you must have a lot of experience, but I’m surprised how young you look.”

...I said that.

“Really? Wow, it’s the first time anyone’s said I look young. That actually feels pretty good?”

Older guys seem to love it when you tell them they look young.

Thanks to that, the atmosphere lightened.

I learned something new today.

If you can’t think of a good compliment, just say they look young. Noted.

“By the way, Writer Seo, how old are you? You look really young.”

“Twenty-three.”

“You did your military service, right?”

“Whoa, how did you know?”

“You can tell from how you speak. Anyway.”

After some brief introductions, we got into the actual work explanation.

There wasn’t much to it.

He said the producer would arrive soon, and that I should just observe and learn. Fine by me.

I sat on a couch in the corner of the studio, sipping cold water while listening attentively to Manager Kim.

“Directing is half the work in music production.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“If you want good results, the process needs to be good too, obviously.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“So even if you wrote the song, there’ll be a separate producer. Is that okay?”

“I believe it’s right to follow the system.”

“Refreshing answer. When newbies insist on directing themselves, it just wastes time and gives everyone headaches.”

A melody that clung to the ears and an arrangement that made my head nod instinctively.

That was something I could definitely challenge myself with.

But directing—short for direction—was a little different.

It meant determining the direction of the album and nailing down the details.

That much I could fully accept.

“You’ve got talent.”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously. This is the best song I’ve heard recently. But who taught you?”

Should I even say I was taught?

Manager Kim looked at me with eyes full of expectation.

It was really nothing special.

If I had to name a mentor, it would be the hundreds or thousands of albums I’ve listened to.

All I’d done was analyze songs in my own way through DJing.

It felt silly to make up a mentor, so I just answered honestly.

“I don’t have one.”

“...You don’t?”

“No.”

“Self-taught?”

“I consider everyone listed in the credits of every album I’ve heard to be my seniors.”

“This is crazy. How much of this am I supposed to believe?”

A mix of doubt and astonishment.

Somewhere in between, he made an expression, then handed over two sheets of paper and asked.

“Which of the two is your lyrics, this one?”

It was exact. The one on the right.

They were written in the same font and the same size.

“Uh… I was told not to reveal it…”

“Why are you so tense? You can tell at a glance.”

Did that mean I was inexperienced?

I had nothing appropriate to reply, so I just nodded.

Clearly, the mood wasn’t bad.

“You wrote well. It’s just… I don’t know if Yujin can pull it off vocally. Just producing a great song isn’t the end.”

“I’m confident about that part.”

“Oh, why?”

“Um… you’ll probably understand when you hear her sing it later.”

Out of nowhere, Manager Kim let out a loud laugh.

“Sounds good. Weren’t you sure this recording would finish fast? I’m curious how Yujin will sing this song.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good. Let’s make it well.”

Soon after, Han Yujin and a man who appeared to be a temporary producer entered the studio.

Just like that, in a flash, I finally got to vividly observe the process of adding Yujin’s color to my song.

“Yujin. That part just now was good, right? But when you belt ‘flowing eye line’, maybe pull back a bit on ‘ta-go’?”

“When you sing ‘tutu‑tonight’, make it tone‑night not tone‑nite. Actually, spit it out a little.”

“Ease up a bit. Otherwise it sounds like you’re threatening that you’ll kill me if I don’t date you.”

They recorded Oh Jisoo’s lyrics first.

The producer’s hand kept pressing the talkback button without rest.

Wow… this was the first time I thought that not just anyone can be a singer.

How many times were they singing the same line?

Even though it was my song, it was driving me neurotic.

If pronunciation or rhythm slipped even a little, the producer’s scary “Again, that was good, one more time” followed.

While spacing out, Team Leader Park asked me.

“Why so serious?”

“I’m overwhelmed by anxiety that they might not even let me hear my own lyrics. And already… the time…”

Team Leader Park chuckled softly then said decisively.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll finish soon.”

He cross‑armed lazily and added.

“It’s not fitting right now.”

“Ah…?”

“It doesn’t suit. And you know it yourself.”

“But she’s good. Her lyrics are really good too.”

Above all, Han Yujin’s vocal tone was truly unreal.

If a siren existed, would it feel like this?

If you heard her sing like that, you’d be dragged down into the sea, one by one.

“Oh Jisoo, you’re really good at writing lyrics, right?”

I nodded eagerly.

This was exactly what “hooks to the tongue” meant.

A top lyricist is just different.

“You’ll admit when it needs admitting?”

“How could I dare add anything to Oh Jisoo’s lyrics? I like anything that makes the song stand out.”

“That’s half right and half wrong. It’s the singer who needs to shine. That’s the job of the composer and lyricist. Sounds cruel but…”

Team Leader Park swirled a glass full of ice and added.

“Dozens of people cling to make one singer look good. Call them the people laying the stage. Everything runs centered on the singer. Even if you write the most legendary song, the public only remembers the singer and you’re left bitter. That’s why these days they raise idols themselves and put them on TV. Remember: someday you’ll feel resentful.”

No… this was good.

Wasn’t it better, less tiring?

Listening to Team Leader Park’s words made this job of composer feel even more appealing.

But right now. It wasn’t fame for composers that was the problem. Recording was.

He confidently said it would finish in an hour, and I felt embarrassed that I’d underestimated the professional world.

“Ah… I shouldn’t have suggested recording. It’s become awkward. We probably won’t finish in time.”

But despite such worry—

“No no. Don’t worry. The moment she sings your lyrics, it’ll be over soon.”

“Really, that’d be great.”

“If nothing else, Yujin’s expression is incredible.”

Team Leader Park Minseok leads ToMe Entertainment A&R Team 1.

This place was busy again today.

In an unprecedented death‑match, staff sat down with curious eyes.

“Come on, everyone, feel free to share your thoughts.”

On the table lay two sheets of paper.

Taeyoon’s lyrics and Oh Jisoo’s lyrics.

The same song with only the lyrics different played one after the other.

And as soon as the song ended—

“Ah, this one is clearly it.”

All hands pointed at one place.

“Me too.”

“Obviously me too.”

Taeyoon’s lyrics.

Even in the atmosphere flowing exactly as intended, Team Leader Park calmly listened to his team’s words.

“Oh, so this side had this vibe too.”

“The demo almost felt like the final version, right?”

“The song is just that good, isn’t it?”

“Yujin must’ve been holding back for this.”

“Skilled. She’s a rookie, right?”

“They said the recording finished quickly. Is that true?”

All eyes turned to Team Leader Park.

Everyone waited for the gossip.

I strained my ears and stared only at Team Leader Park’s lips.

What on earth happened…?!

“Yeah. She just nailed the lyrics in one take.”

Just like Team Leader Park said, recording Taeyoon’s lyrics finished quickly.

Han Yujin accurately grasped the flow and intention of the song.

“This song? The rhythm is tricky.”

“If Yujin does it, she’ll nail it.”

The murmurs spread.

Each person added a sentence here and there.

Many things were said, but the conclusion was this:

Han Yujin, got the lucky streak!

“Wow, I’m curious about the composer. Writes great lyrics too.”

“Can I hear the song again?”

That song exists.

Whether at the gym, in a PC café, in a convenience store, or a street-side phone shop…

Even in chaos it pierces right into the ear and makes you want to search for it immediately.

A song where you don’t know what to search for, so you search with the clear lyrics you hear.

A song where intellectuals and communities post the same questions, everyone with same mind trying to find the song’s identity.

「My own prey, I play by the rule I set」

The beat that bursts in the chorus.

With sensuous, easy‑to-sing phrases, it imprints on the ear like a tattoo.

There was only a small problem.

“But… who’s going to deliver this?”

“Isn’t the tanker probably the team leader?”

“If Assistant Manager Cheon tells them. Oh the lyricist seems to really like Assistant Manager Cheon?”

“That’s because I reached out to pitch the lyrics. If rejected it's painfully awkward. And after all, Oh Jisoo said she definitely wanted to do this. It’s the first time she offered to write lyrics for a rookie’s song first. Oh lyricist is surprisingly sensitive about that, you know? Ah, I’m scared.”