The Double Life of a Genius Musician

Chapter 112: The Calm Before the Storm

There were several reasons why Taeshi was active as a solo rapper under Tomorrow Entertainment.

Among them, the most important reason could not be explained without mentioning Tae Junggi.

— “Our company’s roots lie in Black music.”

— “Black music was never about money, you know?”

Tomorrow Entertainment had originally presented itself as a hip-hop–specialized agency.

In the late 1990s, they scoured famous clubs like Master Plan and NB, as well as the Hongdae underground, gathering every rapper they could find.

Centered around Tae Junggi.

Real rappers, underground rappers, aspiring rappers, even pseudo-rappers — they all flocked to Tomorrow Entertainment.

— “This will definitely work!”

Up until then, Black music had never been part of the mainstream.

If anything, it was more like a niche icon.

At that time, hip-hop wasn’t just a genre.

It was an act of defiance against the social system.

A rebellion against the idol-centered music industry.

A culture that embodied the desire to make real music.

Tae Junggi, too, had been part of that first generation.

An era when people layered philosophy over beats.

They were doing well — calling themselves “Tomorrow Family” and the like.

It seemed like the public was going wild over their raw and straightforward music.

But in the early 2000s—

When the idol market began in earnest and the so-called “cow-herding vocal style” started dominating the charts—

Hip-hop gradually fell, leaving behind the impression of a “pretentious league of their own.”

— “Does that even make money?”

— “Who’s going to cover the investment loss?”

— “A hundred billion won isn’t pocket change!”

— “Since it’s come to this, let’s switch tracks. Bring in some good-looking kids and go the idol route.”

And so—

Starting with hip-hop idols, Tomorrow Entertainment slowly began to change its direction.

Now, before anyone realized it, it had become a prestigious “idol powerhouse.”

Still, they maintained the legacy of their original identity.

Tae Junggi was the kind of man who believed that a company needed at least one hip-hop label under its wing to save face.

The genre may change, but belief remains.

He still believed that, even now.

No—he didn’t just believe it.

He was instilling that belief into his daughter.

The problem was……

He was pushing his unfulfilled dreams onto her in the name of “identity.”

“Phew……”

Taeshi let out a deflated sigh.

Composer Stay.

At first, he was a bit intimidating.

Just like his cold looks, there was a chill about him.

In her mind, a hit composer was— to put it nicely, a genius eccentric; to put it bluntly, a lunatic.

But the more she saw Stay……

“Why? Do I look strange to you?”

Her wariness faded.

Even up close, she didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Right? It’s weird, isn’t it? Why this? And what’s this ‘master key’ thing?”

“Listen carefully. The reason I brought this is because—”

Scratch that.

Taeyoon was scary again.

What kind of expression was that before speaking?

“This song—I want to work on it with you, Taeshi. You feel the same way, right?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“The company will probably oppose it. You know that, right?”

“……”

She couldn’t say yes or no.

Because her father, Tae Junggi’s face, flashed through her mind.

He’d lectured her to death about how only Black music was real music.

If she had to say it, this song was the complete opposite of his teachings.

“You probably know better than I do, but a singer’s concept isn’t something that can be changed on a whim.”

Taeshi focused on Taeyoon’s words.

“Besides, even if the company says no, it’s not like I can push back. I’m not an employee at Tomorrow Entertainment, nor a producer—just some freelance composer, a nobody.”

Why was he giving such a long speech before getting to the point?

Just as Taeshi was about to respond—

Taeyoon placed his pen on the open notebook in front of him and continued.

“But you’re different, Taeshi. The one who can turn this game around isn’t me—it’s you.”

“……Me?”

That made no sense.

How?

“You’ve written lyrics before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, several times.”

Taeyoon nodded and slid the notebook and pen across the table toward her.

Taeshi blinked wide-eyed, staring down at them.

Then Taeyoon spoke casually.

“Here. For this song—why don’t you try writing the lyrics?”

“……Huh? Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“How could I possibly write lyrics for your song, Stay?”

Taeshi just blinked in disbelief.

Until now, Stay’s lyrics had either been written by himself or by Oh Jisoo.

But now, she was supposed to write lyrics for that kind of song?

Impossible.

“This song can only be completed by you, Taeshi.”

Holding back the core of his real plan for now—

Taeyoon added,

“The song will only come alive if you write the lyrics.”

As he spoke, Taeyoon watched her face.

She seemed to be thinking it over. In times like this? A little provocation worked best.

“If you can’t do it, then I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

Crack.

Taeshi’s gaze sharpened.

But teasing alone wouldn’t do.

A sprinkle of praise had to follow.

The push-and-pull, so to speak.

“I really enjoyed your song ‘Burn Up.’ You wrote those lyrics yourself, right?”

“Ah—yes, I did.”

Her sharp eyes softened again.

As Taeshi’s eyes sparkled, Taeyoon said,

“There’s this part I really liked.”

Ahem.

He cleared his throat and began a short rap.

Even waving his hand as he did.

“Spotlight’s off, turned on the stove,

No recipe, but even uncertain, I move.”

A rare sight money couldn’t buy.

Taeshi gaped, blinking in silence.

Then she smacked her forehead and sighed.

“Ah……”

So even Stay wasn’t perfect.

Rap really wasn’t his thing.

But apparently, Taeyoon thought differently.

‘……Oh, that must’ve sounded pretty good.’

He brushed his hands off coolly, as if to leave no lingering impression.

Taeshi barely held back her laughter.

Who knew the flawless Stay had a side like this?

What was with that serious expression!

Ahem.

This time, I cleared my throat.

I had thought he was perfect at everything—someone who dominated the Maron Chart with every song he released.

But even Stay had things he wasn’t good at.

And yet, the way he confidently did what he wanted, expressing himself so freely—

I loosened up my tense body.

Then, with a brightened face, I pressed my palms together and said,

“You actually listened to my song? Wow, I’m touched.”

Good thing he’d listened to it in a rush on the bus.

Thinking that, Taeyoon replied,

“Just go for it. Anything you want to say, say it all. Whether you end up singing this or not, we can think about that later.”

Things I wanted to say? Too many.

Even a notebook wouldn’t be enough to contain them all.

I met Taeyoon’s eyes with resolve.

“Can I listen to the demo again?”

“As many times as you want.”

The song started playing again.

I gripped the pen tightly.

Screech, screech.

Round, neat handwriting began to fill the page quickly.

Yes—this was the first time.

The first time I had found something I wanted to do, not something I had to do.

Slowly, clearly, I began to write the first line.

— Goodbye, suffocating dreams.

The main conference room of Tomorrow Entertainment was about to burst at the seams.

Not only A&R staff, but even wandering directors and the general manager were present for this unprecedented demo evaluation meeting.

“Whoa, what brings the general manager here?”

“Ahem, just passing by. This is Stay’s demo, right?”

Anyone under five years of experience didn’t even get a seat.

They lined the walls, ears perked up.

Murmur—

Opinions erupted in all directions.

Stay had chosen Taeshi?

Wild theories flew left and right—no surprise there.

“That was fast. He must’ve had it ready beforehand.”

“At Stay’s level, he could crank out a song in no time.”

“I heard he already met with Taeshi. Then it’s not going to be an ordinary song.”

“Is that so?”

“My opinion’s a bit different. Honestly… who would dare touch Taeshi?”

The conference room fell silent.

No one there could refute that.

Everyone knew it—

That Taeshi lived under her father, Tae Junggi’s shadow.

That she was a puppet, bound by strings, moving only when tugged.

No one could pretend otherwise.

In the awkward stillness, Team Leader Bang Hyunwoo clapped his hands together.

“All right, everyone, attention. Director Han Ji-hyuk is coming in.”

Soon, Han Ji-hyuk entered the room, rubbing his temple.

“Why is everyone gathered here like this? Don’t you have work to do?”

“This is our work, sir.”

He muttered, “Well, he’s not wrong…” and took the head seat.

He was a generous man—the kind to let his whole team gather, eyes gleaming, just to listen to a new composer’s track.

“Shall we start?”

At his cue—

Everyone collectively held their breath and listened.

The casual atmosphere from earlier was gone.

“Then let’s begin.”

Team Leader Bang Hyunwoo pressed the remote.

The only sound was the quiet gulping of throats.

“……!”

No build-up, no warm-up.

An unforgiving, rough sound came crashing in.

A rhythm pounding in steady beats.

Drums shaking the entire room.

Yes—

With just a short intro, Taeyoon had—

“……Techno rock?”

In an instant, he had thrown the conference room back to the year 2000.

An outdated repertoire that once swept through pop charts.

And yet—

“He’s expressing it like this?”

This was no relic of the past.

It was nostalgia, reinterpreted for a new era.

“That’s unique.”

“It sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, that’s the charm of the known taste.”

“But… can this actually work today?”

It wasn’t exactly trendy.

If anything, it was sound that went against the current era.

However—

Stay was Stay.

Perfect control of tempo and emotion. Tight, then loose.

He didn’t let anyone’s mind wander for a second.

The tension was suffocating.

And then—

“Whoa……”

“……Could anyone even perform this live?”

The very first verse was already difficult.

It began with moderate tension, then gradually built up in emotion.

— But, this time no throw!

“Wow, wow… seriously……”

The ears popped open with the runaway melody.

Once the vocals kicked in, the air grew taut.

The singing reached its limit, tension near bursting.

Drums and guitar riffs slammed down like they would shatter the speakers.

‘The song… is consuming me.’

Without a moment to breathe, it hit the latter half.

My body was being pulled toward the speakers—

Like there was a magnet.

An employee who had been sitting with arms crossed slowly unfolded them, and the pen spinning between his fingers rolled to the floor.

“……No way.”

As the song rose, it was on the verge of exploding.

Someone half-stood and muttered,

“This feels intense.”

“Is it coming? Is it about to blow?”

“This is it!”

Ears couldn’t believe it.

With an explosive beat drop—

— Break the limit, Feel the scream!!

A G note in the 3rd octave.

Delivered full-power in a belted scream that ripped the speakers apart.

Everyone listening leaned back at once and shouted in awe.

“Waaaaaah!”

“Whoa, damn. Got chills.”

“……How do you get this feeling with placeholder lyrics?”

“This doesn’t sound like a demo!”

And then—

As the echo of that high note faded, and dry electronic sounds once again struck the conference room—

“What is this feeling.”

Director Han Ji-hyuk buried his face in his hands.

Because memories from 2000 came flooding back.

When techno and ballads had fiercely competed, and the song Tears had changed the trend of popular music.

A song you imagined belting in full voice once—

But could never actually mimic in karaoke, no matter how hard you strained.

And now—

‘This could flip the entire high-note challenge scene.’

A song that would make anyone who could sing want to try it. Chapters fırst released on ⓝovelFire.net

His heart pounded violently.

Was it from the drum that felt like it could burst the speakers, or the dazzling high notes that assaulted his ears?

‘Brings back memories.’

Either way, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was—

In this dull, lifeless conference room, he had once again felt the same passion and exhilaration he’d known twenty-five years ago, back at the Deep House in Gangnam Station.

Seeing the complex expressions on everyone’s faces, Seo Dongyoon nodded to himself.

‘The real point lies elsewhere.’

If “good” were all they aimed for, there’d be no reason to craft a song like this.

Dongyoon smiled as he glanced around the room.

Everyone was lost in their own reflections, intoxicated by the music.

The youngest staff in their early twenties—

They were reminded of those Tapgol medleys they’d seen on YouTube.

Unfamiliar, but strangely refreshing—this song felt just like that.

The thirty-something assistant manager was a bit different.

It faintly reminded him of the pop songs his dad used to play in the car.

He could vividly picture his mom’s flushed face as she belted out the high notes.

And the forties, fifties…

Expressions and thoughts varied, but one thing was the same.

‘This’ll work……!’

This was a song that would bridge generations.

For some, it would bring back memories; for others, ignite their will to challenge themselves.

“All right, everyone, attention please!”

At Team Leader Bang Hyunwoo’s voice, everyone returned to reality.

Perhaps because of the song’s dramatic emotion curve—

Though explosive, its aftertaste lingered deeply.

“How should I put this……”

Team Leader Bang couldn’t find the words.

Because this emotion couldn’t be defined clearly.

Then Dongyoon stepped forward.

He summed up the tangled emotions in a single sentence.

“It’s good, isn’t it? What more needs to be said?”

Soft laughter rippled through the room.

When faced with a great song, everyone reacted the same.

Instead of adding clumsy words, they simply answered with a relaxed smile—and that was enough.

Someone murmured,

“I didn’t even sing it, but why am I out of breath?”

Others chimed in one by one.

“Me too.”

“Feels like I sprinted a hundred meters.”

“It’s been so long since I got goosebumps like this.”

The more reactions overlapped, the clearer the song’s identity became.

A song anyone could hear, but not everyone could sing.

As people shared their thoughts—

“……Huh?”

Someone turned toward the door.

Step, step.

Heavy shoes thudded across the conference room floor.

“CEO?”

CEO Tae Junggi entered with a stiff face.