Chapter 114 : Pretending Not to Notice
Chapter 114: Pretending Not to Notice
There wasn’t much time.
Just four minutes. Before the song ended, I had to capture Tae Junggi’s attention.
And everything depended on Tae Si-hyun — her voice.
No matter how good the song was, if she couldn’t overwhelm the audience with her voice,
then my plan could end up in vain.
The next most important thing was probably my attitude.
No matter what kind of reaction came out, I couldn’t afford to waver.
If it was good, I’d take it as good. If it was bad, I’d take it as bad.
The important thing was to accept the situation with humility. That was what a composer should do.
That’s why I felt genuinely excited about being here.
As a creator. As the person who had designed this whole setup.
It was the moment I was putting something I made out into the world.
Reckless pride? Shameless anticipation?
Call it whatever you want — I didn’t care.
‘At least the atmosphere’s not bad.’
This wasn’t a concert. It was a demo evaluation session.
And since Tae Si-hyun had made a grand entrance, the stage was perfectly set.
The main character here wasn’t me — it had to be her.
I repeated that to myself several times before I finally opened my mouth.
“I know it must have startled you that we came in so suddenly. But I wanted to show you this personally.”
Saying that, I immediately met Tae Junggi’s eyes.
‘……Why does he look so cold?’
He was staring at me as if to say he wouldn’t let it slide if this didn’t go well.
I almost flinched. Almost.
“Composer Stay.”
I turned toward the voice.
It was Executive Director Han Ji-hyuk.
Beside him, my hyung was standing still, watching me.
“Yes, sir. Go ahead.”
“Don’t tell me… you’re planning to sing here?”
“That’s right. We’ll perform it live, right here.”
Why were they so surprised?
It wasn’t like it was their first time seeing a singer perform.
Then another employee spoke up.
I didn’t know who he was. A face I hadn’t seen before.
“Don’t you think this is a bit too hasty? Singing live in front of the CEO—really?”
I immediately countered,
“She’ll have to perform live on stage anyway. I think it’s better to check it here than in front of an audience.”
“Even so, doing it right here and now? Does that make sense to you?”
That same employee glanced at CEO Tae Junggi for his reaction.
Hmm… Trying to get on his good side, huh?
So this was the tragedy of being a K-office worker?
Why bring up something like that here, of all times?
I met CEO Tae Junggi’s eyes again.
I expected him to say something — but he didn’t.
He just kept looking between me and Tae Si-hyun without saying a word.
Maybe the silence felt awkward, because that same employee spoke again.
“The song’s no joke in terms of difficulty. It could backfire. How do you expect Tae Si-hyun to…”
I simply shrugged.
There was something I’d realized after seeing Tae Si-hyun.
She was the kind of person who never started something unless she was confident she could pull it off.
Anyone who’d seen that faint madness shining in her eyes would think the same.
And if she couldn’t handle it?
She’d step back immediately.
But I wasn’t worried.
That kind of thing would never happen.
The atmosphere turned a little tense because of that man’s words.
Before he could say anything else, Executive Director Han Ji-hyuk stepped in.
“Well, since you’ve prepared this much, let’s hear it.”
“Yes.”
Saying any more would’ve been unnecessary.
I turned to Tae Si-hyun.
“You’re ready, right?”
With her lips pressed tightly together, she raised her clenched fist.
I hit play on the prepared beat.
A techno rhythm reminiscent of the ’90s.
‘Ah… this never gets old.’
When this kind of beat kicked in, any true music maniac’s heart rate would’ve already shifted.
I subtly glanced around the meeting room.
As expected……. just as I thought.
The people sitting here—
They were all hardcore music maniacs.
As if they couldn’t stand not to express it,
each of them showed their excitement in their own way.
Someone nodded their head to the beat, another tapped the table with their fingers, someone’s foot bounced lightly, and a few even wiggled their bodies as if ready to jump up and snatch Taeshi’s mic away any second now.
If it weren’t for the CEO sitting there, they’d probably already be on their feet, singing along in unison.
Even—
‘Oh……?’
Even Tae Junggi, who had been sitting with that usual stern expression,
was now tapping his thigh with the tip of his finger.
Noticing my gaze, perhaps,
his hand froze abruptly.
He gathered his fingers on his knee, then crossed his arms as if nothing had happened.
A beat this fast and clean?
It’d be strange not to move.
Even I, who understood the flow, couldn’t stop my shoulders from bouncing.
Then murmurs began to ripple through the room.
“……It’s still good, even hearing it again.”
“Reminds me of the old club days.”
“This is the kind of song that really lasts.”
As the intro ended, Taeshi’s voice finally broke the stillness of the meeting room.
And then—
the moment I heard the first line, I was certain.
‘This is it!’
There was no need for persuasion anymore.
With just the very first line,
Taeshi swallowed the entire room whole.
“……That’s Taeshi?”
“Wow, I just got chills.”
“Shh.”
Her pitch, her rhythm—both flawless.
But those were skills anyone could master with practice.
The real issue lay elsewhere.
— Goodbye, suffocating dream.
The lyrics spilled out as if she were pushing them from her whole body.
That raw emotion—pressing painfully against the heart from the inside.
Taeyoon couldn’t take his eyes off Taeshi as he muttered inwardly.
He had thought the song’s final missing piece would be Taeshi’s hidden vocal power.
‘It’s even better than I imagined.’
But the real punch lay in the lyrics.
The words, packed tight with emotion, pierced not the ears but the heart.
Now he understood.
Taeshi didn’t capture the meeting room with her vocal power alone.
She had simply opened her heart and shown it.
As the verse ended and the pre-chorus entered, preparing to make the chorus shine—
the rhythm dipped once, and then, as if it had been waiting—
the killing part exploded.
— The scar that proves me, I swallow the moment.
The clumsy rapper who had once chased after change was gone, and in her place stood a completed diva before everyone’s eyes.
Everyone stared, mouths agape, fully focused.
Only Tae Junggi looked at his daughter with an unreadable expression.
He tried to hide it, but in truth,
no one was more shocked than Tae Junggi himself.
‘What in the world is going on here?’
When she’d followed Stay into the studio and started singing, he’d thought it was just some petty act of rebellion.
Like when she’d thrown a fit as a child, refusing to eat bell peppers.
Like when she’d first started rapping, complaining that English lyrics were too hard and demanding to use Korean instead.
Like when, after her debut performance, she’d grumbled about her baggy pants slipping down.
He had thought it was just another meaningless outburst.
But now—
‘What on earth did Stay do to her?’
This was different.
The song ended before he knew it.
Tae Junggi slowly regained his senses.
He had momentarily lost his composure, watching his daughter sing with such confidence and power.
That unfamiliar sight of her—so unlike anything he’d seen before.
He was sure of it now.
This wasn’t some impulsive burst of emotion.
It was deliberate. It was planned.
And there was someone who made that resolve possible.
Of course, it could only have been Stay.
“Wow, damn.”
With someone’s rough exclamation, applause erupted.
Clap clap clap clap clap……
It was pure emotion.
A cramped meeting room without a stage or lights—
Taeshi had turned that gray space into a dazzling stage with just her voice.
No one could hold back any longer.
They all began pouring out their impressions.
“Was that G in the 3rd octave?”
“Was hitting high notes always this easy?”
“So stable.”
“Her soulful voice hitting those high notes is really refreshing.”
“Si-hyun, when did you practice this much?”
When the song ended,
Tae Si-hyun sat there again with those wide, innocent eyes, staring straight ahead as if nothing had happened.
And then, like a lie—
“Hmm…….”
The moment Tae Junggi began to speak, the noisy room instantly fell silent.
More than the applause that had filled the room,
the sound of short breaths struck sharper.
What would he say?
Everyone’s attention fixed anxiously on Tae Junggi’s lips.
“Composer Stay.”
His low voice calling out to Taeyoon made the air in the meeting room tighten again.
“Not a style we often see in our company, but…… the level of completion is impressive.”
Neither praise nor criticism—just a single, flat remark.
Everyone else took it as a compliment, but Taeyoon sensed it right away.
Ah, this.
That sounded like a backhanded comment, didn’t it?
Did I understand that right?
Then came another series of polite, empty remarks.
“That was very impressive. I’m sure you all spent a lot of time thinking it through from your own perspectives.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Was he saying, “Do as you please, I won’t interfere”? I couldn’t tell.
“Taeshi, you also worked very hard today. Thank you all for spending so much time with us.”
After thinking it over carefully, the impression I got was—
‘A true gentleman.’
That was about it.
A little stiff, slightly sarcastic, maybe with a hint of edge.
But he never once revealed his true feelings outright.
It was a skill worth learning.
When I got excited, words tended to spill out before I could refine them.
“This discussion has gone on for quite a while. If anyone has other appointments, please feel free to leave.”
See?
Not a single wasted word.
It was like saying, If you didn’t catch my meaning, I’m not interested in explaining—only those who did can stay.
The employees of Tomorrow Entertainment seemed used to that kind of tone.
They exchanged awkward farewells and began to leave.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“I’ll be heading out first.”
“Well then, I have another meeting to attend……”
Was this that so-called Kyoto-style way of speaking?
And what was the right move in that case?
You pretend not to notice.
That way, they’ll drop the indirectness and speak plainly.
When all the familiar faces had disappeared,
only me, Taeshi, Director Han Ji-hyuk, and CEO Tae Junggi remained.
Now it was time for the real feedback.
“I didn’t know Taeshi had this kind of side.”
“She prepared very hard.”
“It’s not an easy thing—drawing out an artist’s hidden charm.”
“Thank you for listening kindly.”
That was a relief.
My song—and Taeshi’s performance—had landed.
I wasn’t entirely sure, but the look of being moved was unmistakable.
Today’s plan—
It had been a gamble for me too.
But I’d faced it head-on, to make sure the song didn’t slip out of my hands.
I didn’t want to hear something like, “Ah, we talked it over and decided it won’t work,” after people had whispered and debated behind my back.
Whether it turned out a failure or a success—
I wanted to finish this project with my own hands, since I was the one who started it.
I also thought that was the least courtesy I could show Taeshi.
Thankfully, Taeshi had followed along well so far.
Well, up to this point anyway.
“I was a bit surprised. Is it rude to ask your age? You’re in your early twenties, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I can tell you’ve listened and studied a lot. It’s not easy to recreate a ‘90s style this perfectly.”
Tae Junggi’s expression was still impossible to read.
His tone was calm, but it felt like his true thoughts were tucked away somewhere deep inside.
He was the kind of person who gave a pleasant compliment, then quietly layered another judgment beneath it—
and in the end, never revealed a clear conclusion.
At times like this, it was best to face things head-on.
I asked,
“You said you liked it, but it seems you haven’t made a decision yet.”
I lowered my tone—
speaking as carefully as I could.
No response.
So I pressed a little further.
“I just wanted to ask if you truly think this song suits Taeshi.”
This wasn’t persuasion or pressure.
It was more of a confirmation.
If he was still hesitant, I was suggesting we could think it through together, even now.
A brief silence fell.
Just as I wondered if I had spoken too soon, Tae Junggi quietly said,
“You have a unique sense. I find it impressive.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The awkward atmosphere began to soften, if only a little.
“So, about that.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s take an easier route.”
“An easier route?”
“You know, something easy on the ears. They call that easy listening these days, don’t they?”
…Huh? What did he just say?
Easy listening?
“Maybe it would be good to steer the song in that direction instead. What do you think?”
From talk about the song’s color to easy listening—
why did the people at Tomorrow Entertainment always seem to have such different values from mine?
I opened my mouth again, determined to set things straight.
“CEO, about that ‘easy listening’ idea.”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“It may sound nice, but I think of it more as easy singing.”
“Easy… singing?”
Tae Junggi, who had been smiling faintly, repeated softly under his breath,
“Easy singing… and what might that be?”
If he was curious, then I’d already half succeeded.
I began my explanation in a calm tone.
“With Taeshi’s skills, I don’t think there’s any reason to make that kind of choice.”