Chapter 125 : A Clear Desire
Chapter 125: A Clear Desire
Weekday afternoon, Hongdae.
Cars sped by.
People hurried past.
And there, standing amid it all, were Junhyun and me.
Even within the city’s clamor, Baek Junhyun’s voice rang clearly.
“Will I… make a lot of money if I do that?”
I paused for a moment.
It was a question I’d never quite heard before.
Sure, it could’ve been one of those common curiosities people had about the music or entertainment industry.
But among those close to me, at least, no one had ever talked about music that way.
‘Money, huh….’
I thought for a moment.
DJing, composing, producing…
Had I ever written a song purely to make money?
It was hard to say.
“Well… maybe, maybe not?”
A rather vague answer.
I hadn’t started making music to earn money — I just happened to make money doing the music I loved.
Simply put, money had never been the goal.
But that word — money.
In some ways, it sounded so worldly, even blunt.
Yet, wasn’t it also one of the clearest desires everyone had?
Vague yet distinct.
And because of that, I felt a surge of curiosity toward Junhyun.
He was honest.
The fact that he didn’t hide his desire almost made it feel genuine.
Doing music to make money —
couldn’t that actually be a decent approach?
Junhyun asked,
“What about you? Do you make a lot?”
I answered honestly.
“Pretty much?”
It wasn’t a lie.
I was earning so much these days that it barely even felt real.
I’d been getting advice from an accountant CEO Kim Minsoo had introduced me to long ago.
“Hmm…”
This time, Junhyun seemed lost in thought.
I waited, pretending to fiddle with my smartphone.
Everyone I’d grown close to through music — my hyung, and the people I’d met along the way — were all madly obsessed with it.
They saw everything in life through music, as if it was the only thing that existed in the world.
Even I thought their passion bordered on excessive.
But that wasn’t always a good thing.
Sometimes, people trapped themselves within that formless title of “artist,” ignoring reality altogether.
On the other hand, wasn’t money the coldest, yet most human goal of all?
Thinking that, I looked at Junhyun again.
The guy was… still mulling it over.
“Why, what’s got you so conflicted?”
What a guy.
Alright then — I’d just have to show him myself.
“Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you can decide for yourself whether you can make money or not.”
“What…?”
Junhyun gave me a look that said, There’s a place like that?
I hid my sly grin and replied,
“You might even discover something else there.”
Of course, not you — me.
When I said that, Junhyun’s voice rose slightly with excitement.
“I’m curious, though. I wanna see where and how you work.”
Curiosity, following right after money.
Half the job was done.
He wasn’t reckless like me — but maybe this kind of practical curiosity could make him into a more grounded artist?
So I took Junhyun with me to the backstage.
We watched the “Cheongseong” members perform for… barely three minutes.
It had been a while since they’d all gathered.
But there was no awkwardness.
Each of them played their part precisely, effortlessly connecting as one.
When the guitar scratched out a riff, the bass took a breath, and the drums locked in the rhythm with perfect timing.
The vocalist enunciated every syllable clearly, while the keyboard slipped cheerfully into the spaces between.
No one stood out, yet everyone was at the center — a performance that still felt warm.
Radiohead’s <Just>.
Every instrument spoke at once.
‘They sound even better today.’
I glanced over at Junhyun.
The kid — he was impressed, wasn’t he?
“Wow… it’s UTAR.”
He muttered something under his breath,
but the sound of the instruments drowned it out.
Still, one thing came through clearly.
What was it again? …“Damn, that’s insane”?
“I’ve never seen something this cool up close before.”
With just a single breath,
Cheongseong proved their music.
So…
that question about whether you could make money through music —
Cheongseong’s performance hit him right in the heart.
No reason, no explanation — just instantly.
‘…Didn’t expect to be this moved.’
He already looked like he’d completely forgotten about money.
When the performance ended,
Moon Jungbae-sunsaengnim approached us, pretending not to notice.
“Oh? Taeyoon, when did you get here? And who’s your friend?”
“Yeah. My friend. Oh, wow—what brings everyone here today? That was an amazing performance!”
“I swear, this kid—!”
Laughter broke out.
I barely held back my own.
To be honest, they’d told me everyone would be gathering to practice today, so if I wanted something good to eat, I should drop by.
And as soon as I walked in, he smiled at me when our eyes met.
Maybe he wanted to look cool in front of a new face.
The members began to gather around us.
“Oh, our youngest brought a friend too?”
“Taeyoon, you’re making friends now? Cool kids hanging out together, huh.”
“Hey, do you do music too? If you do, how about bass? I’ll take good care of you.”
“Nah. His face says ‘keyboard’ to me. You ever take piano lessons as a kid?”
Oh, man.
As expected, too much attention.
I thought the introverted Junhyun would be flustered… but?
“Haha, thank you. I’m a Cheongseong fan! Cheongseong!”
“Huh? You from the 6th Division too, like Taeyoon?”
“No, I was in the 8th Division next to it…”
“Boo.”
“Still a single-digit division, though.”
“He’s an Ottogi, Ottogi!”
He fit right in with the middle-aged guys.
Didn’t seem bothered by their attention at all.
Passed!
But then—
“Polite, just like Taeyoon’s friend should be. Want to try the drums?”
“Hey now, didn’t you hear his voice? Solid but delicate. He should sing. Definitely sing.”
“If he’s Taeyoon’s friend, he can’t be ordinary. What are you good at? Now I’m curious.”
Everyone’s attention was locked on Junhyun.
Hey—I’m the youngest one here!
I plunged right into the chaos, cutting off their focus with my whole body.
…This wasn’t what mattered right now, anyway.
“Is the recording studio free today?”
“Of course. Taeyoon’s always welcome.”
Bang Gicheol-sunsaengnim grinned.
“Ahh, we were just wondering what kind of brilliant song Taeyoon’s brought us this time. Right?”
“Of course, of course.”
With everyone so eager, it was only right to show them.
“Want to listen?”
“For real?”
“Yes. It’s an arrangement this time.”
“Whaaat?”
They overreacted. Why?
“You arranged someone else’s song?”
“Yup.”
“That’s unexpected.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, some people think arranging others’ songs hurts their pride. You know, ‘Only original work shows my true skill,’ that kind of thing. But our Taeyoon’s a DJ too, right?”
Ah—come on, I hadn’t told him that!
Sure enough—
Baek Junhyun’s mouth fell open.
“What? You DJ too?”
“…I’ll tell you about it later.”
Ahem, cough, cough.
The members tried to cover the awkwardness with fake coughs.
Moon Jungbae-sunsaengnim silently mouthed, exaggeratedly,
‘Soooor-ry.’
It wasn’t that serious!
Before things could get any more awkward, I clapped my hands together and stood up.
“Who wants to hear Stay’s new song—no, Stay’s arrangement?”
“Me! Me!”
“No, play it for me first!”
“You can’t say no to a Stay track.”
Ah, my lovely members.
Not sure if it’s okay to say this, but…
they were just too adorable.
“Alright, let’s start with the original.”
The original version of <War, War> began to play.
As expected, everyone reacted to the beat.
Flashy, broken-up rhythm.
A hook that stuck right in your ears.
Stimulation wrapped in addiction.
Regardless of how it performed commercially, you could tell a lot of effort had gone into it.
It was perfect for dancing, easy for lip-syncing, and made to shine in short clips.
But of course, Cheongseong was Cheongseong.
They quickly caught the subtle, mismatched melody hidden underneath.
“The original’s not bad, but…”
“The melody feels too sentimental for that sound, doesn’t it?”
“It’d really pop if rearranged.”
“Feels like it’s hiding something, right?”
Taeyoon silently nodded.
Baek Junhyun copied the gesture faintly.
He still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to join in on the conversation.
Maybe sensing that, one of the Cheongseong members turned to him.
“What do you think, young man?”
“I’m Baek Junhyun!”
“Oh, right. Junhyun—what’d you think of the original?”
“...Taeyoon sings it better! Actually, earlier at the karaoke—”
What are you saying, kid?
Taeyoon quickly cut him off.
“Let’s listen to the remake version now.”
And immediately, the rearranged track began.
“Oh-ho.”
The moment the unfamiliar arrangement started,
everyone instinctively pricked up their ears.
A soft guitar, keyboard gently laid like held breath.
And then… a voice quietly holding everything together.
Everyone felt it at once.
The song had shed its flashy coat and revealed its hidden form.
Inside it… was an old letter.
Crumpled, yellowed by time.
Unread, but undeniably real sentences.
– I smiled and said hello, but truth is, I’m still running away today.
– Without a word, I just stare at my toes. Before my erased dreams ache again.
Dreams.
That foolish, wistful beginning.
Each of their stories came back to life through Taeyoon’s voice.
“Feels like the same song, yet not. Interesting. How are you this good at arranging, our youngest? But… whose song is this?”
“Busan Goblin’s.”
“Ah, Dogibong’s?”
“You know Gibong-hyung, teacher?”
“Of course. I heard he used to be a singer—so this is his song?”
“What? How’d you know that?”
“You can tell just by listening. The singing’s a bit rough, but you can feel how much he loved the song.”
…He’s not an alien—how does he even hear that?
Junhyun rolled his eyes in disbelief.
“Junhyun, you think so too, right?”
A question came out of nowhere.
I flinched, but tried to answer calmly.
“Y–Yes… sir?”
The words came out awkwardly, clumsily.
Baek Junhyun’s expression seemed to say—
I definitely heard everything, so why is it so hard to keep up?
Was this… how musicians talked to each other?
As if they’d read every bit of what Junhyun was thinking,
the Cheongseong members snickered while looking at him.
Moon Jungbae said bluntly,
“You’ll know once you sing.”
“Uh…”
Junhyun’s eyes widened as he looked at Taeyoon.
His gaze clearly said, Did you tell them I’d be recording?
But Taeyoon looked just as surprised.
His face said, How did you even know?
“How did you know I was singing…?”
Junhyun asked hesitantly, and Moon Jungbae smiled.
“You’re fidgeting that much—how could I not? Go ahead and sing. Stand tall. With confidence.”
“Taeyoon sings it too well, though.”
“Taeyoon? He just pretends to be good. He sounds good, sure, but…”
Moon Jungbae leaned closer to Baek Junhyun and whispered,
“He’s got this little ‘I’m-so-cool’ act. You know, some swagger? Remember this, young man—singing isn’t all about swagger. Oh? Taeyoon’s listening, huh?”
“Aw, teacher! Why are you badmouthing me in whispers?”
“Always got sharp ears, that one.”
Taeyoon pouted, then laughed and added,
“But yeah, he’s right. When I sing, I kind of pretend I’m a real singer. Somehow, it just turns out better that way.”
Could that really work?
Singing and producing alone?
While Baek Junhyun tilted his head, Taeyoon shrugged and went on,
“So what? Imagination’s free, right? Just think of yourself as some super famous singer and sing with confidence.”
A famous singer…
Like Han Yujin.
Or Signum.
Or UTAR.
Those kinds of singers, probably.
At Taeyoon’s words, Baek Junhyun took a deep breath, then stood before the recording booth.
And once the recording started—
“Oh…”
Moon Jungbae was the first to let out a sound of admiration.
Was it because someone with no expectations turned out better than expected?
No. He was just good.
Taeyoon felt the same.
He’s really good.
Taeyoon grinned.
He was like a blank canvas.
No bad habits, no affectation — just calm and pure.
Yet somehow, there was something quietly moving about it.
It was hard to believe this was the same timid guy from earlier.
A few days later.
I visited Dogibong’s studio.
I brought the finished file, recorded with Junhyun.
“Oh, your studio’s nice!”
“Like me, huh?”
“Ugh…”
Contrary to how he looked, the studio was tidy.
The shelf full of cute figurines didn’t quite suit Gibong-hyung, though.
“Wow, where did you get all these? They’re so cute! Isn’t this from Ma—”
“I’ll give you anything you want, just play it already.”
“Really?”
I grinned slyly.
Still as impatient as ever.
Once he heard the song was arranged and recorded, Dogibong immediately called to set a meeting.
He couldn’t wait another minute, practically dragging me to hurry.
Fine then.
“Here.”
The song began to play.
Four minutes passed quickly.
And during those four minutes,
Dogibong’s expression changed countless times.
“…Incredible. Stay’s insane. Really. You turned it into this? I’m touched, man.”
“Wipe your tears, hyung.”
As expected.
It went just as I’d hoped.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Because if he hadn’t liked it, I’d been ready to scrap the whole thing.
“But, Taeyoon.”
“Yes?”
“This is a demo. A guide recording.”
“Uh… yeah… but why?”
Dogibong downed his coffee in one gulp, then looked at me with sentimental eyes and said—
“The vocalist isn’t confirmed yet, right?”
…What?
That wasn’t part of the plan.