The Double Life of a Genius Musician

Chapter 89: A Snowflake Turns into an Avalanche

Stay, and the Busan Goblin.

They were the core marketing keywords that Manny Entertainment was holding on to.

They scattered press releases all over the place, as if rivals but not quite.

But the album information was kept strictly secret.

The reason was simple.

Until the album was released, no confirmation could be given.

Because… the outcome could never be predicted until the very end.

The result could always be overturned.

Just like right now.

“Uh… Director Kang, what’s going on? Didn’t you have a recording session? Did it end well?”

Jung Jaewook, rushing breathlessly into the Lumé Sound engineering room, asked straight away.

How dare he order around a busy man.

…was what he could have said unpleasantly.

But today, he just couldn’t.

He had heard that Taeyoon’s recording session was over.

But he couldn’t ask about it.

Whatever it was, Kang Yeonho had not shared any follow-up story and had run straight up to his studio.

Normally.

After a recording ended, there was always chatter back and forth.

He thought he would get a quick scoop from a reliable source.

But the person himself had summoned him directly.

Still, he didn’t want to act like he knew.

He planned to pretend to be uninterested and probe casually.

“Why are you pretending not to know? Chairman, you were curious, that’s why you ran straight up here, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm, me, curious about what.”

“About Composer Stay. Avalanche had its recording today. You didn’t know?”

“Oh, uh. That was today? Time’s already gone by that fast, huh?”

Kang Yeonho barely suppressed his laughter.

After all the years spent with Jung Jaewook like brothers, how could he not know what was in his heart.

A man whose insides were see-through.

“If you’re not interested, then forget it.” Fınd the newest release on novel•fire.net

“Well, since I’ve come all the way here, let’s at least hear it.”

Though he said that.

Jung Jaewook quickly sat in a chair and shot a look at the speakers.

It meant, hurry and play it.

“You shouldn’t listen, you should watch.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?”

Just listening wouldn’t be fun.

No, this wasn’t a matter to be settled with sound alone.

This had to be seen with the eyes, felt with the heart.

To grasp how fantastical a song Stay and Signum had created.

“If you only listen to the track, you won’t get the sense of it.”

“In all my life, I never thought I’d hear you going on about feelings.”

“I’m telling you. Once you see it, you’ll understand. First the video, then the recording.”

“Is it fully mastered?”

“Nope.”

Jung Jaewook’s eyes widened.

Bringing in an unmastered track and getting worked up over it? He swore he had never seen such a thing.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“There’s no time to wait for that. You’ve got time, right?”

“If I didn’t, would I be here? Stop beating around the bush. The rice will burn.”

“This isn’t rice that burns so easily. Just hold on a second.”

After joking, Kang Yeonho checked Jung Jaewook’s reaction.

Beep.

He played the video right away.

There was no need to show it all.

The opening direction scene, and the final directing scene with Lee Yehwan.

That much alone was enough.

“Well now, this better not be nothing special.”

Despite his grumbling tone.

Jung Jaewook leaned forward, pressing close to the monitor.

5 minutes, 10 minutes.

And even the roughly pieced-together track.

“…Were these kids always this good at singing?”

After watching it all, Jung Jaewook smacked Kang Yeonho’s arm hard and shouted.

“Kang Yeonho. You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

“Yep. So, what will you do now?”

But Kang Yeonho had his own thoughts.

‘This better work.’

Avalanche.

It couldn’t just remain as a follow-up track.

No, “follow-up track” sounded nice, but anything that wasn’t the title was all the same.

He had spent enough years in this industry to know.

But he couldn’t step in directly.

That would be overstepping.

He wasn’t even part of the A&R team.

He was under a subsidiary label.

He couldn’t just butt in at another’s dinner table.

Still, he wanted to interfere this much.

Because who knew? A single fallen snowflake might tumble into an avalanche.

“What do you mean, what will I do.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t just stare blankly. We’ve got to gather all the kids. Tsk. This one’s unexpected.”

“I’ll call them right now.”

“Shall I do it?”

“…!”

Okay, bullseye!

Kang Yeonho picked up his phone.

The A&R team, and the engineering team.

Anyway, in the group chat of those authorized to hear the new track, he left a short message.

[Anyone want to see Stay’s recording session video?]

Right away, replies popped up as if they had been waiting.

[Now?]

[Can I come too?]

[How was it?]

[Director Kang, you’re not mad, right? ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ]

[I’m a bit worried though… I’ll head up right away!]

[Should I brace myself before going?]

[Please don’t be too upset. He’s just a beginner.]

These kids.

I knew this would happen.

Once they saw the video, they’d be floored.

He had even summoned the employee he chatted with at the rooftop smoking area.

[Assistant Manager Kim and Manager Cho must attend.]

Hehehe.

Kang Yeonho grinned slyly as he waited for the staff.

How should this be described?

A cramped studio packed full with staff.

They just blinked at each other in silence.

Stay’s producing.

No, that wasn’t producing.

It was a fierce contrast, a clear sacrifice.

He had hidden himself completely.

Everything was centered on Signum.

And yet.

“If the recording behind-the-scenes gets revealed, it’ll be chaos.”

“Ah, we’ve got to show his face though.”

“Even when he’s not showing, he’s so visible.”

He had revealed himself perfectly.

A producer is the shadow of a singer.

The stronger the light, the clearer the shadow; when it dims, the shadow fades with it.

They pave the way a step ahead.

But on stage, they vanish completely.

Looked at another way—

If the shadow disappears, it means the light is shining properly.

The recording footage.

And after the listening session for the track ended.

“Man, I feel guilty for no reason.”

The ponytailed man scratched his head.

Just thinking about what had happened on the rooftop…

He wanted to smack his past self right then and there.

Awkward regrets spilled out here and there.

“Who knew it would be to this extent.”

“I expected it. If someone’s good at one thing, they’re usually good at everything.”

Listening quietly, Jung Jaewook stepped in with a smile.

“What’s this, you had fun conversations on the rooftop without me? You guys still smoke and badmouth rookies like that?”

Kang Yeonho chimed in playfully.

“Ah, I was the one who brought it up first. Satisfied?”

“You?”

“Yeah. I was worried today’s recording would be too intense… but the result, well, you see it for yourself.”

Even as he said that, he suddenly felt embarrassed.

After all the recording had ended.

Kang Yeonho confessed everything to Taeyoon.

I think I misunderstood.

A short line, but it carried sincerity.

Starting with that, he calmly explained the situation.

That he had been anxious, that he had been wearing tinted glasses.

That he had shared his worries with others.

But instead, Taeyoon had waved it off and reassured him.

It’s fine. It’s perfectly understandable to feel anxious. I learned so much today, it was meaningful.

Then, with a grin—

Please continue to take care of me. Kang Yeonho, you’re the best!

He had raised his thumb.

That image was still vivid in his mind.

Seriously… who was the one actually learning today?

In the middle of the commotion—

Someone replayed the video.

“I want to see it again. Even unedited, it’s so fun.”

“Right? No wonder people watch YouTube so much.”

Kang Yeonho too rewatched the footage closely.

Before the recording.

He remembered Taeyoon’s passing words.

A good song makes both enemies and allies.

A hollow laugh escaped him.

Surely, he hadn’t predicted even this situation.

“He really puts the singers at ease.”

Kang Yeonho muttered.

And right then, Taeyoon’s voice flowed out.

[Let’s hold our breath here. Hold it in, then burst out.]

[Let’s practice once. Oh, that was good. Got it all recorded, hehe.]

[It’s a bit soft, make it chewier. How should I say this? Ah! Imagine you went camping. There’s a campfire. Think of pulling a roasted marshmallow slightly. How it stretches soft and smooth. That feeling?]

“Oh…”

“Were they always this goofy?”

“The recording behind-the-scenes will need good editing.”

It was fun to watch again.

And vivid.

It felt like being right there with them, comfortable.

“They’re like one group, aren’t they?”

“Were they always this close?”

How could they be like this?

There was no trace of tension.

Neither Taeyoon, nor the Signum members.

Not like a producer, but like an older brother who had known them for years, he drew out their genuine selves.

And behind that calmness—

[Don’t overthink the s sound leaking. It’s actually charming.]

[Ah, Jaehos’s habit is pulling the rhythm forward. That makes it sound rushed. Here you need to stay on beat, so it comes out clear.]

Sharp analysis was hidden.

The singer in the booth.

And the producer sitting outside.

Their expressions said it all.

Just how enjoyable and comfortable they felt right now.

“…The song is so good.”

“Right. There’s nothing else to say.”

Seeing the staff murmuring as if entranced,

a deep smile spread across Kang Yeonho’s face.

Good, just as planned.

He subtly checked Jung Jaewook’s reaction.

A stiff expression that revealed nothing.

That face gave the staff a suffocating sense of unease.

But only Kang Yeonho could guess what was inside.

That was—

‘He must be really thinking this through.’

It was an expression that appeared only once a year.

Soon his tightly closed lips twitched briefly, and then—

“Alright, attention.”

Jung Jaewook began his real work.

The general producer.

With one word from him, an album’s concept could change, even an entire album could be scrapped.

So everyone had no choice but to stay tense and focus only on Chairman Jung Jaewook’s mouth.

Surely, they all felt the same.

They just didn’t dare to say it out loud.

“To be honest, I was a little surprised.”

A heavy silence, no one responding.

Jung Jaewook slowly opened his mouth.

“You all know, right? I personally auditioned Signum’s members and formed the debut team.”

Step, step.

With his hands behind his back, he circled the cramped studio as he continued.

“It cost a ton of money too. How much was it again?”

“Three billion won.”

“That’s right. Teaching instruments, teaching dance, tutoring them for the GED. Ah, I’m not trying to make this a headache over numbers. I think we’ve been thinking about something the wrong way.”

If not for this moment, they would have never realized it.

There were many great producers around them.

People who could catch strengths brilliantly, people who could erase flaws completely, people who could push so hard that the impossible became possible…

But, without question—

there was no producer who had found the perfect color for a singer and made them wear it.

It was a natural flow.

The song itself had been that way from the start.

Why had they only realized it now?

“The reason I’m talking so long is… I’m being cautious too.”

Jung Jaewook met the eyes of the staff listening intently.

They must have already grasped the context.

Still, with the general producer himself stepping up and giving a precise solution, their hearts would surely feel lighter.

“Let’s change Avalanche to the title track.”

Of course. No one looked surprised.

Because they all felt the same.

But naturally, the unease followed.

‘Busan Goblin.’

That name floated on everyone’s face.

And of course, Jung Jaewook knew it.

He spoke coolly.

“Busan Goblin, whatever. I’ll talk to him.”

“…You personally, Chairman?”

“This isn’t a relationship we’re ending with this project. If I step in myself, won’t it feel less unfair? I am the chairman, after all. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“What’s there to hesitate for. It’s me, Jung Jaewook. You know everything is my responsibility, right? For Signum’s second album, let’s focus only on showing the kids’ colors. Sales, reactions—don’t dwell on those too much. If we show it properly, those things will naturally follow.”

Clap, clap, clap—

For something like this, applause broke out.

And of course, there were no objections.

The decision had been made, so now the board had to be reset.

It was a little different from what I had imagined.

I thought that after my first producing gig, I’d feel uplifted, leveled up, gain a new skill or something.

But no. It felt more subdued than expected.

It felt like I had finished it without any lingering regret.

Not even a speck of remorse.

Was this a positive signal, or just emptiness?

I didn’t know.

‘Ah, I’m going to be late.’

I had no time to sit around like this.

I quickly headed toward the meeting place.

[I’ll be waiting at the PC bang in front of the entertainment building.]

Now an industry senior as well as a rival, my long-time muse.

It was time to meet Busan Goblin.