Chapter 111 : Do You Have Perfect Pitch?
Chapter 111: Do You Have Perfect Pitch?
When you sit in one place for a long time, things you couldn’t see before start coming into view.
Changes in trends, the mood of the market, the flow of the public.
What kind of sound will sell next season.
What the public will go crazy for.
People call that “instinct.”
But Tae Junggi thought differently.
‘What instinct—I'm not a shaman.’
It was simply a matter of thoroughly accumulated data based on statistics.
Demand and response, failure and repetition.
If you repeated the pattern dozens of times, the results became predictable.
‘Is it one of those cases again?’
He quietly stroked his chin.
Then he fished out STaY’s report buried in a pile of documents.
He was reading it absentmindedly when his hand suddenly stopped flipping the page.
Every artist the composer had worked with showed positive results.
It wasn’t just a simple story of albums selling well or gaining influence.
The artist’s color... was changing.
He opened his laptop and searched for related videos.
It had been a while.
Since he’d paid this much attention to another company’s artist.
‘What is this supposed to mean?’
Age, gender, song style, the message the song was trying to convey—
Everything was different.
It was hard to believe these songs came from the same person's hands.
Han Yujin from ToMe, Cheongseong from KIM Entertainment.
And the one he needed to be most wary of—Signum from Manny.
Singing style, stage composition.
And before all that.
‘…Strange.’
The artists’ expressions had changed.
In behind-the-scenes videos that showed what wasn't broadcast—
The artists who had collaborated with STaY looked oddly radiant.
Their faces were relaxed, their eyes at ease on stage.
That was a good thing.
That was how you survived in the long run.
Because it meant their inner world was healthy.
However—
“Hm, this is strange…”
Tae Junggi let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
Hadn’t he been the one fulfilling that role all this time?
The one setting Taeshi’s direction, pulling her toward the goal.
He believed that was his duty—as a father, and as a CEO.
But now, another name was quietly preparing to take the lead in guiding Taeshi.
STaY.
He hadn’t even seen his face yet.
Hadn’t figured out what kind of person he was.
But the results were speaking for themselves.
He wasn’t just handing over songs.
He was reconstructing the artist.
Which was a good thing—and also what made it unsettling.
‘Why Taeshi, of all people?’
If it couldn’t be controlled, then it wasn’t a weapon—it was a variable.
There was still time.
He needed something to naturally redirect attention elsewhere.
While Tae Junggi was lost in those thoughts—
Knock knock.
Someone knocked on the CEO’s office door.
“Come in…”
Before he could finish his reply, Han Ji-hyuk burst in, panting.
“Huff, huff... CEO.”
“What is it?”
“STaY just came in with a demo.”
“Already?”
The left corner of Tae Junggi’s mouth twitched faintly.
Of course.
That young composer reassembling and redefining an artist…
What a ridiculous delusion that had been.
It hadn’t even been three days since he’d had the meeting with Taeshi.
Not enough time to flip the board.
Maybe it was just because he’d finally met someone worth paying attention to again.
He told himself his emotions had just gotten ahead of him.
See? See?
In the end, he’s just going to push a pre-made track. All that worrying for nothing.
Tae Junggi rubbed his eyelids with a clenched fist and asked,
“Should I head down now?”
“He’s meeting with Taeshi first. We’ll contact you right away once the room is ready.”
“Alright.”
Even as he watched Director Han leave the room—
‘In the end, was it just wishful thinking?’
Tae Junggi had certainly thought so.
“Kuhuhuek! Kehak!”
Taeshi let out a strange noise and started coughing uncontrollably after hearing the demo.
Well, well.
Was it that good?
Taeyoon handed her a tissue from nearby.
Taeshi clutched the tissue tightly and mumbled into the air.
“…I’m scared.”
“If the song is scaring you, what are we supposed to do? The song should be afraid of you.”
The look on Taeshi’s face, as Taeyoon saw it, was one of someone swallowing something heavy.
She had a lot to say but couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Was it admiration, or fear?
The expression on her face was impossible to interpret.
‘…What’s going on?’
They said masterpieces were born from sound feedback.
So she should at least tell him what she thought of the track.
While Taeyoon was thinking that—
Huff, puff—
Taeshi calmed her breathing.
After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she began to ask her questions one by one.
“This is the guide track, right? You didn’t grab this from another album, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“My god. The guide just devours the whole song.”
“You can do even better, Taeshi.”
“…Who’s the guide vocalist?”
“She exists, a friend. She prefers not to be named, so let’s just say… it’s a secret?”
This was something done not by the singer Han Yujin, but by Taeyoon’s friend Han Yujin.
So he had hoped they could just move on casually.
“But even if you say it’s a secret… anyone could tell. That’s Han Yujin-sunbaenim, isn’t it.”
Taeshi recognized it immediately.
And rightly so—not recognizing it would’ve been stranger.
Han Yujin’s voice had a distinctly special quality.
Taeyoon made a soft “ol” sound and gave her a thumbs-up.
“Right? It is, isn’t it? Wow… I’m a huge fan of Han Yujin-sunbaenim. Seriously.”
“I see.”
He wished she would hurry up and talk about the track.
But Taeshi, wearing a completely different, radiant expression from before, kept chattering endlessly.
“No wonder. Her high notes were so clean and powerful. I got literal chills. Other people might not know, but true fans can tell. Han Yujin-sunbaenim is secretly a high note machine. I’ve been a die-hard fan since her idol days. I even collected all her photocards. Want to see?”
Ah, there she went, shoving her smartphone forward again.
Taeyoon replied firmly.
“No, I’m good. More importantly, shall we talk about the song…?”
“Oh.”
At Taeyoon’s firm tone, Taeshi hesitated, pulling her phone back.
Then she murmured,
“Yes… The song is great, the guide is enchanting… I just need to do well.”
She wore that dazed look again.
For the first time in her life, Taeshi worried, ‘Can I really pull this off?’
Even when she rapped—despite not liking it.
Even when she moved her stiff body to learn choreography like some rhythmic dance.
Even when she wore loose clothes that didn’t match her taste.
She simply followed along, mechanically.
If it was hard, she just practiced more. If she failed, she practiced more. If she got scolded, she practiced more.
To Taeshi, music had always been like that.
You do it if you're told to.
No need to overthink it—just do it.
But after hearing the song Taeyoon brought—
For the first time, she felt something called resolve.
“This feels hard, I’ve never sung something like this before, and yet…”
‘Why do I want to try it?’
That phrase hovered at the edge of her lips, but she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.
The song was nothing short of enchanting.
But—pulling off this crazy song was a whole different matter.
“You just try it. It’s not that hard.”
“I think… I’d just be a burden.”
It was a range she’d never even considered.
She might end up sounding more like she was screaming than singing.
No one at Tomorrow Entertainment had ever asked her to do something so demanding.
Taeyoon looked straight at Taeshi, who sat there with a gloomy expression.
Why was she making that face?
You can totally do this!
While Taeyoon silently fumed—
Taeshi cautiously spoke.
“Writer STaY.”
“Yes?”
“G5… Was I right? Did I hear that correctly?”
Taeyoon was surprised by what she said.
She had identified the octave perfectly with just one listen.
G5.
By international notation, G5.
“Yes. The climax of the chorus hits G5. But, uh—what’s your vocal key, by the way?”
“You’re asking that now? Isn’t that a little backwards?”
“You don’t have to tell me. From what I heard, I already know you can handle it without strain.”
“Me?”
Taeshi paused.
‘…Is he serious?’
She couldn’t exactly belt it out here and now.
How did this composer know such a thing?
She’d only shown a tiny bit of her rap.
“How did you know my key?”
“Back when you went ‘Kyaak!’ I knew. It was obvious. I even thought you might be able to hit A5, too?”
“…Do you have perfect pitch?”
Taeyoon shrugged his shoulders.
Wasn’t that something only true music geniuses had?
“Probably not?”
“Then how could you tell the note just by hearing a scream?”
“I guess… it just sounds right?”
“We decided to call that perfect pitch.”
“This? Really?”
Perfect pitch.
The ability to identify pitch and octave precisely without any reference note.
Some people can immediately play back a melody or chord they’ve just heard.
Those people often have perfect pitch.
‘I’ve never even thought about it.’
As Taeyoon thought that—
Taeshi suddenly shouted.
“Guess what note this is! Kyaaah!”
“Whoa, you startled me. …D5?”
“Kyiiiaah!”
“Oh! That was A5. Right?”
“I don’t know either. I just yelled. But yeah, that’s about my limit.”
“Whoa, you’re right. You can really hit A5?”
“Whaaat…?”
Taeyoon chuckled softly.
He couldn’t help it—it’s just what he heard.
Of course, there was no way to prove it.
Then Taeshi fidgeted a bit before shouting again.
“Aaaah!”
“F-sharp5? Uh, okay, maybe we should stop now.”
“Wait! Just a sec.”
Taeshi peeked down at her phone.
The pitch-detection app clearly read: [F#5].
“No way. You really got it. That’s perfect pitch.”
Only then did Taeyoon react with a quiet “Ah?” and a nod of recognition.
He could transcribe music the moment he heard it.
If someone asked when he first started doing that…
He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.
It had always been that way.
He just assumed everyone else could do it too.
“I see. But… does that really matter?”
He asked sincerely, curious.
It was helpful when arranging music.
He could instantly translate any note onto the keyboard.
That ability helped him produce arrangements quickly.
Whereas relative pitch aided intuitive composing, perfect pitch excelled in detailed arrangement.
“It’s not important—but it’s still amazing, isn’t it?”
Maybe she’d gained some courage.
Taeshi looked at Taeyoon and declared firmly,
“I think I can sing it. No—I want to sing it. Actually, I have to sing it. I also…”
‘...deserve to do something I really want for once, right?’
But again, she left those last words unspoken.
Whether Taeyoon understood that or not—
Under the table, he clenched his fist tightly.
‘Nice, that was smooth!’
From the look of it, Taeshi’s heart had already started to lean.
Now wasn’t the time to hesitate.
He needed to seal the deal—pull her in hard with one final push.
Feigning ignorance, Taeyoon asked,
“By the way, the lyrics are rough, right? Didn’t it sound kind of awkward?”
“No. It just felt like cool English lyrics. The guide was great and all…”
“Then why are you avoiding my eyes while you say that?”
“Uh, well…”
Taeshi trailed off.
It was true that the English lyrics didn’t match the perfection of the track.
She knew it.
The lyrics carried the core of the story.
The moment beautiful lyrics attached, the entire atmosphere of the song could become far more dramatic.
But how was she supposed to bring that up?
She had no idea.
She’d never once given feedback on someone else’s song or suggestion before.
So what came out was something pitifully generic.
“Demos are supposed to be like that…”
“I knew you’d say that!”
Rustle, rustle.
Taeyoon rummaged through his bag.
“…What are you doing?”
“Didn’t I bring it? I’m sure I packed it.”
Taeshi pouted and watched him closely.
Just what impressive thing was he planning to pull out? How much more was he going to shock her here?
Was it a gift? What would she even say to that? Should I decline it politely?
Lost in that spiral of overthinking—
“Oh, thank god. I brought it.”
Pfft.
Taeshi looked deflated.
“…Huh? What is this.”
All that came out of Taeyoon’s bag—
Was just a small notebook and a single pen.
To this, Taeyoon replied with full confidence,
“The master key that’ll unlock the real you, Taeshi-nim.”