Free Web Novel“The camera cut to a one-shot of PD Na Sang-yun’s face.
“Wow. You look so pitiful right now.”
“Yeees.......”
Everyone laughed softly at the composer’s heavy sigh.
“PD-nim, I’m really sorry. Oh dear......”
“No, it’s fine......”
Na Sang-yun PD, who had been feeling bitter, soon smiled. He’d been worrying so much about airtime that he seemed relieved his segment would be edited anyway.
Of course, the entertainers noticed.
“You should get going now. You’re done for today.”
“Huh? I’m leaving?”
“You’re busy. Thank you so much for your hard work!”
“I really am going? It feels like all I did was click a mouse.”
As we applauded and laughed, Na Sang-yun PD looked flustered and at the camera.
“No, I told my mom I’d be on MiF!”
The cast, who had been ushering him out, burst into satisfied laughter.
Mo Beom-ju pointed at the camera in the center.
“Then you can film a video message before you go.”
“There? Ah, yes... Mom, as you can see, your son is doing well in Seoul.”
His 30-second video message finished, and the composer departed quietly. Everyone, even the staff, laughed for a long time as he waved with lingering regret.
“He clicked a mouse and left.”
“Wow, even the company staff here are entertaining.”
“Right?”
We grinned.
“This is normal for us.”
“Absolutely not,” the cast replied firmly.
As the laughter he’d left behind faded, everyone applauded again.
“Our Uju-teacher just created our fan song on the spot!”
“Shall we listen to it one more time in celebration?”
When the song played again, the cast exclaimed in awe.
Ji-ho chuckled.
“How is it? The song where I wrote the chorus.”
“It’s good. I like it.”
Praise followed immediately.
“I don’t know much about composition, but I can definitely feel Mr. Producer’s color.”
“Wow. Our melodies got woven in like this.”
“This song is so well written. If I’d met a composer like this, my album wouldn’t have flopped so badly.”
Singer An Jae-hee’s self-deprecating joke drew small laughs. They were genuinely impressed by how the short melodies they brought had transformed, reacting not for the camera but with true surprise.
I clapped to draw attention.
“We’re still far from completing the song. Let’s stop listening for now and give the sunbaenims their first assignment.”
“Writing lyrics?”
“That’s right!”
When I glanced, Ri-hyuk nodded, holding out a sheet of A4 paper filled with neat handwriting to the MiF cast.
“Wow, the handwriting is so pretty.”
“It looks prettier on paper. I thought it was printed.”
Praising it as a font worth selling, our kid’s ears and shoulders puffed up proudly. We all agreed—our running joke was always about whether to use “Piraruku-che” or “Clear Neua-che.”
“What are these cute little circles for, Ri-hyuk-teacher?”
“They’re spaces you need to fill.”
Ri-hyuk pointed to a sheet with circles divided into 3/3/4.
“For example, if you fill that space: ‘I am...’”
“...a potato.”
“Perfect. You write like that.”
I smiled at those nodding.
“‘Mr. Producer’ is a show that so many people enjoy. There are lots of fans.”
“They all know that story~”
“Think of this as a letter from the heart to those fans.”
Remembering something, the cast teased.
“Like the texts Ri-hyuk-teacher sent every day?”
“Exactly!”
“I remember the messages I got. Sometimes... tears... come to my eyes......”
“Like the epimedium that endures winter~”
We and the cast playfully paraphrased the poetic lines in folksy tone.
Thud. Ri-hyuk spun away in his swivel chair, and the watching writers cooed at how cute it was.
“Great teamwork.”
“You did so well! High five~”
With a collective “ta-da,” they concluded the fan-song discussion.
Now it was time to talk debut in earnest.
“You’ve already chosen a team name: A-TEN.”
“That’s right. A-TEN!”
“Usually you practice basics to improve skills, then discuss debut...”
But this is a one-off project.
“For time’s sake, we decided to choose a song quickly.”
Their lack of choreography skill was part of the reason. It was more efficient to pick one song and rehearse it incessantly. The MiF members agreed.
“That does seem better. You’d practice the same choreography over and over.”
“But shouldn’t we choose a concept first?”
“Right. I heard idol groups pick a concept, then call for songs.”
They swallowed nervously.
“But the concepts we can do are...”
“We can’t do precision group dances like NewBlack sunbaenims.”
“And it’s hard to be as fresh and bright as Teenspirit. If you act all cutesy with fans half your age, you’ll end up in handcuffs.”
“How about a sexy concept? That seems possible.”
The members lit up and asked us.
“A sexy, mature look?”
“Uh....”
“Looks like the teachers think it’s not right.”
I shook my hands.
“No, sexy is really hard. The audience must go ‘Oh my!’ on stage.”
“True.”
“It requires a perfect three-part harmony of facial expression, choreography, and visuals...”
Hard to explain, so I decided to show them. Our choreography cheat key, Bi-ju, stood up.
“This is C-rank Bi-ju-teacher!”
“C-rank! C-rank!”
Everyone giggled at Bi-ju’s embarrassment.
“......?”
Tilting his chin up, Bi-ju transformed the studio’s atmosphere in an instant. Half-closed eyes, an elegant hand reach, a smooth wave drawing a curve—everyone gasped. Though °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° simple moves, the aura was impossible to imitate easily.
Bi-ju chuckled, and the amazement continued. I asked them:
“This is the easiest, though... Can you do sexy?”
“No....”
They all folded like bowed heads.
“We’re sorry. We’ll do whatever you say.”
“Then, sunbaenims, what concept do you think suits you?”
“We actually thought of one.”
“Oh!”
Average age 33.5, was it?
“Because of your age, there’s a genre that can look even cooler.”
And:
“While precision dances are great, there’s one freer style that would suit you.”
It struck me from the start. It had gotten good responses when I consulted juniors and experts. I shouted with a smile:
“The genre we’ve chosen is disco-style funk music!”
“Disco...?”
The MiF members tilted their heads.
“Isn’t disco old songs? Bim-bim-bim, that kind of thing.”
“What is disco-style funk?”
I said:
“It’s roughly this vibe.”
I played songs from last year’s U.S. trend, similar in genre. Tunes that make you nod and dance inwardly. The MiF cast exclaimed “Ah!” as they understood, enjoying the freer choreography examples.
“I think we could manage practicing this.”
“Yes, you could go very deep, but it’s a concept you can handle.”
At that moment, singer An Jae-hee asked:
“It has a pop feel—won’t it be far from idol style?”
“Oh, these are American tracks. Some idol seniors have released songs like this.”
After playing a few examples, they seemed to grasp the feel. Only Kim Ui-ji, who’d been out of the loop, asked again:
“So... we’re going for a super exciting concept? Right?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that’s great!”
Only then did he clap eagerly, and I laughed at Ji-ho basking in triumph, thinking, “I’m a music gold-medalist before these people...!” The A-TEN members looked pleased.
“I really like it.”
“Thank goodness. I was worried you might not like it.”
“Only, the song is important... now that you’ve picked the concept, could you maybe...?”
They teased, looking at me. I replied with a smile:
“As I said, I won’t participate beyond the fan song.”
“Absolutely not?”
“Not absolutely...but yes.”
I wanted to, but it was a project with pressures a hundredfold. A flop here would hurt. A hit there would also draw scrutiny. If both failed, even worse. Noise would come whichever way, so I firmly declined.
“When the song contest happens, top composers and hidden masters across the country will appear.”
“Ah... that’s a shame.”
“There are so many better than me. Truly.”
Given MiF’s recognition, absolutely great songs would appear. With concept talk over, we assigned a few more tasks and wrapped the recording.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
“You all did really well. You must be tired.”
When the cameras stopped, they thanked us warmly. Since recordings will be more scattered next week, we lingered in farewells. I called someone in the corner aside.
“Excuse me, sunbaenim.”
“......Hm?”
Hong-seok, wiping sweat with a tired face, turned his head. I asked with a smile:
“May I talk with you for a moment?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Then, this way......”
We moved to our studio. The model sat on the sofa with a puzzled expression, glancing around. I handed him a paper cup.
“Would you like some sap water?”
“Yeah. I don’t eat much during recordings... otherwise I eat anything. Huh? Sap water?”
“My dad sent this.”
“Ah......”
He sipped the water, and I spoke.
“The dancing must be really hard on you.”
“A little...?”
“I saw you practicing choreography downstairs earlier, and you seemed under a lot of pressure.”
He looked at me quietly with a calm face, then smiled.
“It does feel that way.”
He said this project was his dream. True, but I worried by how obsessively he practiced.
Hong-seok spoke slowly:
“I’m really slow at learning movement with my body... what others learn in one try, I need ten to get close.”
“Oh dear......”
“Isn’t it weird? But my body really is like this.”
He hadn’t meant that as a cheer, but he smiled awkwardly and scratched his head, then fidgeted with the cup.
“I started this idol project because I wanted to.”
“Yeah.”
“But if I can’t do it, it won’t work. Even if I’m not the best, I can’t hold everyone back.”
I listened quietly.
“But dancing doesn’t improve overnight. That’s frustrating, I guess.”
“I understand. That happens.”
“Of course your standards differ from mine......”
He waved his hand, but his slightly downcast eyes showed he was deflated—just like I used to be. After TJ’s monthly evaluations, I felt like a speck of dust in the world whenever trainers gave feedback. I never let myself get demoralized, knowing that slumping would lead to being cut.
“I think you’re doing really well, sunbaenim.”
“Really?”
“You practice so hard.”
He reacted as if that wasn’t “doing well,” but I smiled and said:
“Feelings fade with time, but skill remains.”
Hearing this basic truth, his face brightened and he set the cup down with a slightly better expression.
“Thanks for cheering me up.”
He then grabbed his coat. As he headed out to practice again, he suddenly returned.
“Can I ask you a few things?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I had questions about dance. I asked Bi-ju but his explanations were hard to follow......”
“We find it tricky sometimes too.”
I answered with a smile, and he pulled out his phone. With many questions in his notes, I answered each one in detail, and his face lit up.
“Thanks. Let me buy you a meal later.”
“Is beef okay?”
“Nothing would stop me.”
He laughed and reached for the door handle. I said:
“Sunbaenim.”
“......?”
“I know dance pressure is intense, but don’t worry too much.”
He looked as if asking why, and I smiled. During trainee days at TJ, I’d once wanted a producer to say that. They’d never have in a system where only dance mattered.
“Even if you’re a bit lacking, choreography can be complemented by other things.”
“Really?”
“You’re good at singing. A producer’s staging can change a performance a lot.”
Dance isn’t everything on stage.
“I’ll brief the producers to make your staging cool. Don’t worry so much.”
“All right.”
Hong-seok smiled and thanked me. He left, promising to see me at the next recording, and I bowed. His lighter step lifted my mood. Watching him go, I headed back to the underground rehearsal room for Naukhwa’s choreography practice. Just as I burst through the door—
“Uju has arrived~!”
At that moment, I froze in place. I was stunned. There, sitting with my juniors, were five ajusshis.
“Uju......”
“Has arrived......?”
Then they all erupted into laughter like a band of robbers. My headache worsened.
Chu Gi-seok cackled:
“Uju has arrived~?”
“Wow~ our Uju is so cute? Top-grade cute, really.”
“You guys play like this when it’s just you?”
For nearly ten minutes, I was teased at the level of the national anthem’s fourth verse by delighted ajusshis.
When the playful jibes ended, I asked the circle around the camp-fire formation:
“So what are you doing here?”
“Oh, we came secretly because we had choreography questions......”
They’d each been taking meticulous notes in notebooks about what wasn’t working and what to improve. Especially big brother Kim Ui-ji—he wrote so densely I remembered he’d been a national team member.
Chu Gi-seok giggled:
“Seok works so hard. We old guys don’t want to hold him back.”
“But he’d feel so pressured if we showed off, so we came secretly.”
“That’s perfect. Uju, now that you’re here, teach us choreography.”
I nodded with a smile at their request. Though teased with “Can you really?” I’d warmed to it. For a moment, I understood why this simple format is called a national-favorite variety show.
“So can you teach us~?”
“.......”
“Uha-ha-ha!”
“All right! Everybody, stand up!”
With a gentle smile like Bi-ju’s, I said:
“I’ll start by teaching you stretching I created based on yoga poses.”
“Uju, there are flames in your eyes......”
Soon the rehearsal room echoed with ajusshis’ screams.
And that night. As an apology for that afternoon’s MiF recording, I helped PD Na Sang-yun with his song work.
“You’re submitting to the contest?”
“Yes.”
“I hope it goes well.”
“Thanks. But I need your help first......”
Though MiF members would vote on the song, as the concept chooser I was clearly needed. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
“What exactly do you want in the song?”
“A disco vibe but trendy. Remove the retro feel you see in disco.”
“Hm. Just a moment.” ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
Na Sang-yun PD pondered for a while, then moved his hands. A somewhat jarring note combination sounded.
“Like this?”
“No. Faster tempo than that.”
“This?”
“Too fast. Feels just disco, not funky enough.”
“......Then show me an example.”
“One moment.”
I placed my hands on the keys. Inspired by PD’s melody, I created a new one.
“What I mean is... start like this.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Then go like this.”
I played with my right hand and tapped the keyboard body instead of drums with my left. PD Na Sang-yun, intrigued, nodded.
“From here, add this layer.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And then......”
For liveliness, I accented every two beats as I played the melody. When we reached a certain point, Na Sang-yun PD raised his hand to stop me.
“Uju.”
“Yes.”
“This sounds like something you wrote. A song?”
“......Huh?”
Playing back the recording, indeed a song had been born.
“Uh...”
“.......”
“No way a song session could go this well. Why is this happening?”
I was genuinely astonished. It’d been ages since music flowed so easily. Pondering, I realized why.
“Ah......”
It was possible because it wasn’t for our album. Like when I studied for the CSAT in the military and even an ant’s path or ceiling pattern fascinated me. Because it wasn’t a song released under NewBlack’s name, there was no pressure, so it came out smoothly. Self-admiring, I was mid-awe when I saw someone next to me with a face ten years older, drooping.
Ah.
I swallowed.
“PD-nim.”
“.......”
Oh no. What to do? I hummed cheerfully, smiling as brightly as possible.
“You’re born to be loved~”
“Uju......”
“Yes.”
Na Sang-yun PD groaned in anguish:
“Just send this. As is.”
“PD-nim, I’m really sorry.”
“No, you really......”
After cheering him up with antics for a while, the fun song work paused as reality’s worries crept in.
“But what do we do now?”
“Why?”
“I said I wouldn’t enter the title contest.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘never.’ Just say you changed your mind and send it.”
“Hm......”
While I pondered, Na Sang-yun PD said:
“Or you could submit under a pseudonym.”
“A pseudonym?”
“Yeah. Like our team’s Saltman.”
“I see......!”
“Everyone will know it’s you, but the name isn’t your name—a symbolic feel.”
Good idea. But...
“PD-nim.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s finish the song first, then discuss.”
“......Why do I always....”
I held the departing composer by the arm and sat him down.
“You have to strike while the iron’s hot.”
“No, I......”
I decided to pull an all-nighter.
Later. MiMi writer for PBS’s ‘Mr. Producer’ spotted a notable sender amid the flood of song-contest emails.
‘Lemon Ent.?’
In Lemon Ent.’s producing-team inbox, eight contest songs arrived in a row. And then......
“Huh?”
She discovered a peculiar duo name.
‘Ujuseon & Na Sang-yun?’
Sang-yun was understandable. But Ujuseon. The obvious evocation of a person’s name made her laugh aloud.
