Free Web NovelLife never goes according to plan, but I never expected today to unfold so differently.
I was certain I’d return to the dorm, take a refreshing shower, tease my juniors over a glass of Coke Zero, and then sleep like a log.
But everything changed the moment a text arrived.
“Wanna meet me?”
The sender was Director Jo Gyu-hwan.
My juniors burst into laughter as I suddenly changed plans and headed to the company. Before I knew it, we were in the underground parking lot, and I was climbing into his car for a meal.
That’s as far as my memory goes.
I fell asleep.
It happens sometimes. Even when you know you absolutely mustn’t sleep, you pass out as if you’re unconscious.
That was what happened now.
I opened my eyes quietly in the passenger seat. I brushed my bangs aside and looked around.
As if nothing had happened.
“Looks like we’re almost there,” I said.
“Did you sleep well?”
“......”
Through the rear-view mirror, his eyes curved softly like a Tibetan fox’s.
I gave him a thumbs-up and said, “...The ride is really smooth.”
“I let you sleep. Somehow I felt I shouldn’t wake you.”
“I didn’t snore, did I?”
Director Jo twisted the wheel and gave a twitch of a smile.
...So I did snore.
I sighed. “I made a fool of myself—calling you at dawn, sleeping in the passenger seat...”
“No, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”
“You weren’t?”
“I was just lying there, about to sleep.”
“......”
He laughed as he saw my expression.
He’s been teasing me all this time.
Still, I was glad he seemed in a good mood.
The light turned red and the car stopped. I glanced around and saw we were near Namsan. While scanning shop signs, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Oh, I asked Scarlet’s members for a good place recently, and they recommended this.”
He pointed at a distant sign with his finger. freewёbnoνel.com
“We’re almost there. Right over there.”
“......”
Above the spot he pointed was a sign in formal script: “Original Tonkatsu House.”
“......”
“Since you said you’d buy me tonkatsu.”
“Could you please forget you ever heard that, Director?”
He hesitated. “Hmm, I don’t think that’ll be possible for a while.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to buy you the most expensive item on the menu.”
“...Huh? Why did I want to eat tonkatsu again?”
“Thank you. I’ll get you two orders.”
He burst out laughing.
Steaming plates of tonkatsu before us, I lowered my mask under my chin and took a bite.
...This is amazing.
Crispy on the outside, juicy inside—the perfect embodiment of “crunch outside, tender inside,” as Jiho would say.
And the sauce tasted exactly like the one from my childhood.
I should bring my kids here someday.
While lost in thought, I watched Director Jo eating opposite me.
He looked every bit the successful thirty-something you’d see in an ad.
At other agencies he’d be a division head or team leader by now. But at Lemon Entertainment he was the Production Director in charge of albums.
He’d produced for Scarlet and NewBlack, and wielded considerable influence over company decisions.
It felt daunting that he’d invited me out for a meal.
“How is it? Good?”
“Yes, it’s really delicious. The last time I had tonkatsu was in the military...”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll definitely bring the juniors here later.”
As I said that and took another bite, he smiled.
“You’ve been working hard as leader. Anything troubling you these days?”
“No, nothing. My juniors really listen well.”
“...True. You don’t have any troublemakers. We let go of those kinds of people before.”
He drank some water, smiling wryly. Then, as if remembering something, he said, “By the way, you appeared in an article on the portal today.”
“Really?”
“Check it out.”
I went online and saw an article:
—August Album Chart: Newcomers Shine Amid Veterans’ Success
An analysis piece noting that, while established artists dominated the Mango Monthly Top 100, newcomers showed remarkable momentum.
“Newcomers are also making their mark. For NewBlack, ‘Fireworks’ ranked 43rd on the monthly chart, ‘Night Sea’ ranked 56th, and ‘Something,’ a collaboration with Jang So-won, remains high on the chart. Notably, all three songs were composed by NewBlack member Woo-joo, which is worth paying attention to.”
Under a somewhat embarrassing nickname, “Super Rookie,” I spotted several comments mentioning us:
—NewBlack performs better than most rookies
—Did Street Boys get paid by the company?ㅋㅋ Honestly, rank 99 isn’t even worth being thereㅋㅋㅋ
—Among this year’s rookies, NewBlack is the best
They weren’t massively upvoted, but they were pleasant comments. I sent the link to the members.
“How do you feel?”
“Proud. I feel recognized.”
“That’s because you did well. You didn’t get it for free.”
“Thank you.”
“So, here’s the thing...”
He began to get to the point. “We’re going to add a segment to the reality show, showing the process of preparing the second album—especially focusing on you composing.”
“Like self-cams when making ‘Night Sea’?”
“Yeah. And the filming crew will come by sometimes.”
“But will fans find that interesting? They might say it’s boring...”
I asked cautiously. For other matters I could just say “Yes, that’s right,” but for our activities I couldn’t be vague.
A reality show for general viewers isn’t the same as one for dedicated fans.
Fans want to see their idols eating tasty food or having fun, not sweating through endless choreography corrections, being worn down by trainers, and looking gaunt after all-nighters.
He agreed. “Usually that’s the case. In album prep, idols don’t act on their own—they’re the subjects. Watching them just follow instructions is boring.”
I nodded. Then he said something I truly didn’t expect.
“So here’s the offer: I want you to take on the producer role for the second album.”
“...What?”
“You’re saying you want me to produce it?”
“Strictly speaking, you’d provide the ideas. The A&R team and I handle the practical parts, but the album concept and such will reflect your opinions heavily.”
“......”
“How about it? Good offer, right?”
It was an extraordinary offer. A producer oversees everything—from concept to track list, jacket photos, music videos. Apart from giving opinions on songs, most idol members just follow the A&R team’s concept. Letting me in that seat meant tremendous recognition.
Besides, producing an idol album involves hundreds of millions of won. Letting me join such a budget was a vote of confidence.
But with that came pressure.
He smiled kindly. “Don’t stress too much. It’s not that you have to do everything. It’s more like learning through this opportunity.”
My thoughts tangled. Should I accept? I wanted to. As a singer, being able to shape my own album was invaluable. Despite the responsibility, it was something I wanted.
I weighed pros and cons in my head while my eyes stayed on the tonkatsu.
Just as I reached a decision, he asked with a smile, “So, have you decided?”
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
He laughed as if he knew I’d say that. Then I asked him seriously, “But before that, may I ask why you’re offering this to me?”
After getting the offer, I spent days pulling all-nighters in the studio.
Click. I cranked the air conditioner, pulled my hood down, and clicked the mouse. On the monitor was my composition software.
The file I was working on was titled:
Pig_in_the_Dream_(1)_1_13_last+01
Similar files covered my desktop like wallpaper—endless trial-and-error over those days.
But slowly, the rough song was taking shape.
Dragging bars, adding and removing notes, I recalled Director Jo’s words:
–About the melody you played me last night...
He had a strange expression as he said:
–At first I laughed it off. But it kept sticking in my head. Familiar somehow, and pleasant. I wondered if it was a cover of an existing song.
I’d wondered the same. If he liked it, it could still be someone else’s song.
–I worried it might be plagiarism, so I stayed up all night searching for a matching melody.
“...Did you find anything?”
–Nothing.
I felt relief, but then our expressions turned serious. It was a great sign that a melody, unfamiliar yet oddly familiar and pleasant, was entirely original. We didn’t voice that, fearing to jinx it.
And that was why he offered me the producing role.
–Whether your song becomes a B-side or a double title, it’ll be the album’s centerpiece. Its color is so strong that we’ll build the album around it.
That melody—nicknamed the “Pig Song”—would anchor the next album. So from the day the reality shoot ended, I plunged into work.
“Uhaaahm~”
I yawned, then caught sight of an HBS MTV minicam mounted on the table and covered my mouth.
Embarrassed, I said to the camera, “You’ll see later... PD-nim, please edit this nicely.”
I made a scissor motion with my hand, then formed a finger-heart.
...They’ll know how to edit it well, right?
I wondered which parts they’d choose to cut in this tedious process.
Then another camera entered as the door opened.
“Tada.”
My juniors followed, peeping in like chicks. A pleasant mid-low voice sounded.
“This is our studio. I use it for mixtapes and Woo-joo hyung uses it for composing.”
“Hi.”
“Oh, looks like Woo-joo hyung’s right there.”
As I waved, Junghyun began narration.
“Nice to meet you, Sun Woo-joo.”
“Yes, hello.”
I bowed politely to match their skit. Meanwhile, the camera panned my grey hoodie and sweatpants from head to toe.
“Wow, is today’s concept being shabby?”
My juniors burst out laughing. Even I, exhausted from work, let out a laugh before agreeing to the interview.
“Shabby? It’s trendy. As you can see, this shabby grey hoodie and black sweatpants are the point. This is the trending composing look.”
“Composing look. Is that black spot in the middle of the hoodie also part of the point?”
“Huh? This is...”
I awkwardly covered it, and Riheok said, “That’s from the pork stir-fry sauce.”
“Hey, why’d you say that?”
“Puhaha! Look at Bijoo hyung’s face. Is that the hoodie you washed and dried yesterday?”
“It’s fine. I’m used to this now...”
While Bijoo stood before the reality cam explaining how to remove pork stir-fry stains, I changed my hoodie. Then I cleared my throat softly.
“Wow, watching me act as if nothing happened.”
“Hmm? What happened?”
As I feigned innocence, my juniors laughed. Sitting at the piano, pressing a few keys, I asked, “Are your private lessons all done?”
“It’s break time. Jiho said his acting lesson’s done, so he has nothing to do.”
Bijoo said as if recalling something, “Oh, before we came, I checked the management team’s office. Our Chuseok broadcast is fixed.”
“It’s confirmed, then.”
I’d heard we might appear on PBS’s live special ‘Challenge! Music Quiz’ on Chuseok, and now it was official. I was happy but disappointed. I thought if I had no schedule, I’d go down to Gunsan.
I wanted to eat delicious food with Grandma and watch the tidal bore together for Chuseok. The others looked similarly resigned. If not now, we wouldn’t visit until late September.
Right after the holiday sector, the 2014 Incheon Hallyu Tourism Concert was a week away, so practice was needed.
It was a bittersweet feeling. This must be how an office worker feels telling family they can’t go home for the holidays. What do I say to Kim Deok-soon telling me to come down? “Watch your grandson on TV” seems too harsh.
While I fretted, our maknae—who’s allergic to sentimentality—changed the subject.
“Hyung, is the Pig Song almost done?”
“Yeah, it is.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You seem really proud.”
“Of course. I’m the biggest... what’s that, Junghyun hyung?”
“Greatest common divisor?”
“Common contributor, hyung.”
Riheok clicked his tongue at that.
“Contributor. Con tributor.”
“Oh, right. Anyway, I’m the biggest contributor to this melody. I feel proud since I helped create it.”
“Fair enough.”
While I laughed watching our maknae, Bijoo asked, “Is it almost complete?”
“Um... yes. The technical side is nearly done, but I need to finalize something.”
I tilted my head at my juniors. “If ‘Fireworks’ had the message of playing with fans, we haven’t decided what kind of song this is. Because of that, we haven’t fixed the title yet.”
And unless we define this song clearly, we can’t confirm the album concept.
Of course, unlike ‘Fireworks,’ this melody came entirely from me. But since the fundamental idea wasn’t mine...
“Aha!”
I clapped my hands. “I missed the obvious.”
“They look like you’ve thought of something dangerous again.”
My juniors backed away, as if I’d discovered a hazardous substance—especially Junghyun and Riheok, who’d suffered over ‘Fireworks’ and ‘Night Sea.’ Bijoo was dragging them away.
But my gaze was fixed on one person.
“Jiho.”
“Yes?”
“Come over and sit here.”
It’s best to hear it from the person involved.
Jiho glanced at the others in alarm, but the other three had already escaped.
“Why so scared?”
“I, um...”
“You said your lesson’s over? You’ve got nothing else, right?”
I gave Jiho a bright smile and tapped the seat next to me.
“Come here. Let’s make a song together.”
Group chat “Team Woo-joo Without Woo-joo.”
Wang Jiho [How can hyungs do this to me]
Wang Jiho [You’re abandoning me like this?]
Wang Jiho [Wait... I’ll get my revenge]
Two hours later.
Wang Jiho [Save me]
Four hours later.
Wang Jiho [Can someone come pick me up? ㅠㅠㅠㅠ]
Six hours later.
Wang Jiho [I’m not NewBlack anymore]
Wang Jiho [Starting tomorrow, I’ll be a rookie actor]
–Wang Jiho has left the chat.
