Chapter 117 : A Certain Firm Line
Chapter 117: A Certain Firm Line
The title of Taeshi’s song is Shift?
Honestly, I was appalled at first.
I mean, what on earth is this?
The title is Shift, Shift!
Seriously, this is a bit ridiculous.
The title determines the first impression of a song.
Is it okay? Or not?
It’s not hard to pronounce though.
Apparently, a bit of my confusion came through during the call with Director Han Ji-hyuk.
“Title? Shift? Who decided that?”
– The CEO did. It’s a bit… yeah? Hahaha.
“……How about taking a bit more time to decide on the title?”
– Sure. Then I’ll see you on Wednesday……
I let it go for now.
‘Why does this keep bothering me?’
I was taught that coming up with the title is also part of lyric writing.
And who taught me that?
Of course, Teacher Oh Jisoo did.
Of course, there are times when the production company gives a strong keyword and asks for lyrics based on that.
Or when the composer, lyricist, singer, CEO, and producer all come together and brainstorm.
But I have a slightly different view.
This is Taeshi’s song, Taeshi’s message.
So the title should be completed by Taeshi as well.
Did they even ask for Taeshi’s input?
I don’t think so.
I don’t know what made her pitch the song so easily.
But it was clear that CEO Tae Junggi hadn’t completely let go of the steering wheel.
‘……Is this his last bit of pride?’
If that’s the case, I was willing to give in a little.
If someone could protect their pride because of me.
That would be something to feel good about, in its own way.
Well, might as well hear both sides first.
…So I thought.
Come on, what’s the big deal if the title is Shift. As long as the song hits, that’s what matters.
…Part of me really felt that way.
And then—
“Shift, Shift… hmm.”
Saying it out loud, it didn’t actually sound so bad……
Just like Taeyoon predicted.
Tae Junggi really wasn’t backing down on what seemed to be his last shred of pride.
But it wasn’t something trivial like the title.
He didn’t care about such minor things.
Maybe he pouted inside, but—
The real deal was something else.
He hid his true intentions, let others misunderstand, and eventually steered things in the direction he wanted.
That was Tae Junggi’s way.
…At least that’s what Dongyoon thought.
Because of that—
“……Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Giving up producing too? That’s really unexpected.”
“Only A&R knows for now.”
Dongyoon felt both glad and awkward about the situation.
Giving Stay the role of producer?
When Taeyoon said he’d chosen Taeshi.
Part of him wanted to stop him.
Not because he didn’t trust his brother’s decision.
But as an older brother, he thought it would be better to take a well-paved, stable road.
Even objectively speaking.
Legacy was already well-established, Cardo held a dominant spot in the hip-hop scene, and then there was Taeshi—faintly known under the shadow of their father.
Wasn’t the conclusion obvious?
But Taeyoon flipped all expectations.
Because Taeshi made a brilliant song? No.
Because the puppet-like Taeshi had changed? No.
Just with that one song, he had broken through Tae Junggi’s stubbornness.
That was the key to this project.
Team Leader Bang Hyunwoo, who had been listening, asked:
“What does it mean exactly, to entrust someone with producing?”
Han Ji-hyuk waved his hand and answered.
“Literally what it sounds like. He really liked it.”
“Uh……”
“What, don’t believe it?”
“You know. It just feels like there’s something more to it.”
Dongyoon chimed in subtly.
“There isn’t some hidden meaning, right?”
“Hey now, what’s with you guys.”
Entrusting a composer with production—
It meant one of two things.
First, a simple reason: entrusting the entire plan to them.
Or—
“It’s not like he’s saying, ‘You guys handle it however you want,’ is it?”
An unspoken pressure to take full responsibility—whether it crashes or succeeds.
Everyone at the table knew the answer already.
“They’ll do fine. They already did. After seeing the Signum album, I’m not worried at all.”
Dongyoon felt like Han Ji-hyuk’s words were more of a self-assurance than a statement.
Maybe this wasn’t agreement.
More like stepping back, crossing his arms, and watching.
To see just how well they’d do after causing all that chaos.
‘No way. This is Stay we’re talking about. Positive thoughts, positive thoughts.’
He had seen similar situations many times before.
When the hands-on staff couldn’t be swayed.
Tae Junggi would pretend to side with them but quietly watch the chaos unfold with a chilling stare.
Even if Tomorrow Entertainment was called one of the Big Three management companies, not every move could be a home run.
That said, he wasn’t the kind of jerk who would demand accountability, request written apologies, cut salaries, scold people to their face, or crush morale.
He just—
‘Told you so.’
Spoke only with his eyes.
Only those who had experienced it knew how terrifying that was.
Dongyoon had endured that stare before too.
The ability to bind someone without saying a single word.
That was Tae Junggi’s truly frightening trait.
“Why? Is this bringing back memories, Deputy Dongyoon?”
“Ugh.”
Dongyoon laughed awkwardly, hit right on the mark.
Han Ji-hyuk tried to comfort him.
“This time, it won’t be like that. Don’t worry.”
“……”
Dongyoon didn’t reply, and Han Ji-hyuk paused to think of what to say next.
Some people would run from situations like this.
But Dongyoon wasn’t that kind of person.
Still, it was true that this was a precarious situation.
So, he said this for now:
“I know what you’re worried about. But this time, it’s different. We just need to do the best we can. I’ll support you—fully. And if you’re unsure, remember the Free Pass ticket, yeah?”
“That’s not it.”
Dongyoon’s firm response made Han Ji-hyuk flinch.
Dongyoon knew.
That Taeyoon and Taeshi would pull it off in the end.
He believed in them. Just like always.
But this guy.
He’s not nervous or anything… right?
After the meeting ended,
Dongyoon casually sent a message to Taeyoon.
Dding—
While waiting for the elevator to the CEO’s office, a message from my brother came in.
[My brother: You there? Good luck with the meeting.]
At first, I thought it was just a simple schedule check-in.
He did the same when I worked with other entertainment companies.
But just as I was about to reply briefly and move on—
Dding– Dding– Dding–
[My brother: I know you’ll do great, but don’t get scared.]
[My brother: Just say ‘got it’ to whatever he says. I’ll take care of everything afterwards.]
[My brother: Say everything you wanna say. Screw it, okay?]
Messages poured in one after another.
The corners of my mouth curled up on their own.
My brother didn’t really have anything in particular to say to me.
He was just worried.
As always, in his awkward way.
And the messages kept coming.
Jeez, why does he type so fast?
[My brother: Our CEO may look scary, but he’s surprisingly soft, you know?ㅋㅋ]
……What is he doing.
That’s just how my brother is.
He still sees me as a kid.
I used to hate this kind of overbearing attention.
But now, I get it.
With that feeling in mind, I replied:
[Me: Yup yup, don’t worry.]
Ignoring the smartphone that kept buzzing in my pocket, I stepped into the CEO’s office.
“Have a seat.”
“Yes.”
I sat down across from CEO Tae Junggi at a stately table.
A subtle tension filled the space.
Tae Junggi was, as always, authoritative and curt.
He was very different from all the entertainment company heads I’d met before.
Even though they pretended to be perfectly armored with social masks—
They couldn’t hide the musical sensibilities that seeped from deep within their core.
But this man, I still couldn’t read him.
“Coffee okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
I glanced around the office.
It was a dead ringer for a chaebol chairman’s office straight out of a TV drama.
Cold furniture, monochrome walls, decorative items subtly flaunting luxurious taste.
There wasn’t a single trace left of his free-spirited, rebellious rapper days.
Like someone deliberately trying to erase the past.
“How much have you been told?”
“I was told the song was pitched, and that you entrusted me with producing it as well.”
“Hmm. So you’ve been told everything.”
Tae Junggi sat down, placing his finished coffee on the table.
Not only did he accept the song, he also gave me production responsibilities.
This meant… more than a positive review—something in him had shifted.
“Yes, thank you for the opportunity in many ways.”
Should I add more? Or wait?
I made up my mind quickly.
Just stay quiet.
That was the best move in front of this man.
A short silence passed.
Then Tae Junggi broke it and called out to me.
“Composer Stay.”
He spoke slowly and deliberately.
“I want to see how far you can bring out Taeshi.”
His tone was cold, but he couldn’t hide the expectations underneath.
Why was that?
Somehow, I could see he was trying hard to suppress his emotions.
But I didn’t need to sink into that with him.
Whether this man was the CEO of Tomorrow Entertainment,
or Taeshi’s oppressive father,
or a man with the power to cut me off in an instant—
It didn’t matter.
In front of music, everyone is equal.
That’s my way.
And then—
“I’ll prove it with the music.”
This man, too, must be someone who understands that.
Once I finished speaking,
I met his eyes without looking away.
Honestly, I was a little… scared.
It’s not like Tae Junggi is just any CEO.
He’s the CEO of an entertainment company with a market cap over 10 trillion won.
If you’re not scared, you must have guts made of steel.
But wait, huh?
The corner of Tae Junggi’s lips twitched ever so slightly.
A faint smile flickered and disappeared.
Okay, this was enough.
A grand speech would just be overkill.
See?
There’s no such thing as a bad person in music.
“Ahem.”
Clearing his throat, Tae Junggi opened his mouth again.
“Composer Stay. There’s something I’d like to ask.”
“As much as you’d like.”
“Shift—was that a calculated song, by any chance?”
Ah, come on.
Things were going too smoothly.
And now he throws in a drift like this?
He was already continuing the conversation assuming the title was Shift.
I replied.
“You can’t force good music, and you can’t calculate it either. In the end, it has to come naturally. The working title Shift was the same.”
I emphasized the word ‘working title.’
In a way, I was drawing my own clear line.
Taking a breath, I continued.
“If I interpret it my way—when Taeshi sang the working title Shift… she looked happy.”
This time, I was a bit more nervous.
Maybe I went too emotional with that one.
But it couldn’t be helped.
The words were already out, and they were my truth.
If the singer is joyful and happy—
What more do you really need?
Listeners can tell, too. They can feel what kind of heart the singer is singing with.
“I think that alone is enough.”
Tae Junggi narrowed his eyes and chuckled.
Huh? That smile… it was clearer now.
More definite than before.
With a calm but sharp tone, he asked:
“Composer, you didn’t like the title Shift, did you?”
Eh—what? Was it that obvious?
Well, I’m glad he brought it up first.
Why Tae Junggi changed his mind,
what he expected from us—
None of that really mattered anymore.
But this one thing—I wanted to make sure.
“Why was it Shift?”
“The meaning’s good, and it sounds good.”
He shrugged.
Like, what’s the problem?
Now it was my turn to throw in my opinion.
“I actually had a title of my own prepared.”
At those words, Tae Junggi leaned in closer toward me.
Oh? So he’s interested?
Without any buildup or explanation—
I just said the title straight out.
I was confident.
Confident that with just one word, I could spark real interest.
“Ashes.”
Was it a bit too cool? It sounds good though?
You might not believe it,
But I really thought so.