Chapter 128 : A Comfortable Harmony
Chapter 128: A Comfortable Harmony
"Alright, let’s start the recording. Junhyun, head on in."
"…I’m suddenly nervous."
"Just do it like you did earlier."
Baek Junhyun stood inside the recording booth.
He brought his hand to his forehead.
His fingertips were cold.
A nervousness that hadn’t been there during the guide recording.
Now, the original artist was watching.
‘Right. He is the composer.’
A sharp gaze flew toward him.
To Baek Junhyun, that gaze felt exactly like it was saying, “Let’s see how good you really are.”
Half of that wasn’t wrong.
Do Gibong, too, watched Baek Junhyun with complicated emotions.
Arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.
On the surface, he seemed relaxed.
But inside, needless thoughts kept surfacing.
‘Do well. So I can give up in peace.’
The truth was, he hadn’t completely made up his mind yet.
But when he heard Taeyoon’s concept planning—
When he sat beside the guy named Junhyun—
Only then did he begin to understand.
That it was time to let go.
That the fiery passion had long since turned into mere attachment.
His face showed no expression.
Because it wasn’t exactly a joyful moment.
‘Let’s think of it as something that’s no longer in my hands.’
He repeated it over and over to himself.
This seat was not for a composer, but for an adult supporting his junior.
That’s what he wanted to believe.
That way, maybe it would hurt a little less.
The lights went out.
The soft light in the vocal booth turned on, falling gently over Baek Junhyun’s head.
“You can hear the monitor okay?”
[Yeah.]
“We’re starting.”
Taeyoon gave the signal, and the song began.
Thump—
A low-pitched drum opened up the space.
Then, Baek Junhyun’s voice quietly flowed in.
Firm, and clear.
A simple tone that subtly conveyed emotion.
His singing spoke solely of the now.
"…The kind who shines in real sessions? He’s improved since the guide recording."
"He’s good, right?"
"Yeah. Doesn’t smell amateur at all."
"Moon Jungbae-sunsaengnim gave him one-on-one lessons."
Do Gibong uncrossed his arms and replied.
“He must’ve been a good raw gem to begin with. Great choice of vocalist. I can feel it. It’s sentimental, but hopeful.”
At least this much was sincere.
Saying he was good wasn’t enough to cover it.
The emotion flowed steadily, perfectly in time.
There was no anxiety, no anticipation, no regrets.
Only a calm present existed.
Without realizing it, Do Gibong murmured to himself.
“If I’d sung it, it would've sounded overly clingy. He pulled it off well.”
Taeyoon, who had been studying the lyric sheet, paused.
He was about to say something, but held back.
There was no need to add anything more.
“Hoo…”
As the song ended, the light in the booth slowly dimmed.
“Good. Let’s take a short break.”
While Baek Junhyun opened the door and stepped out, Taeyoon asked,
“He’s good, right?”
“What more needs to be said.”
Taeyoon nodded silently.
Right now, in this very moment, it was right for this voice to complete the story.
But—
“Hyung, can I make a suggestion?”
Do Gibong turned his head to look at Taeyoon.
“What is it?”
“Hang on.”
He brought up the vocal track again.
“The second half of the song. The ending riff. That part where the emotion loosens, then comes together again.”
“Yeah.”
“What if we tried doubling that section?”
“Sure, worth a shot.”
“With your voice, hyung.”
“…Huh? Me? Me?”
This time, it was Do Gibong who stuttered like he’d short-circuited.
But Taeyoon remained unfazed, answering casually.
“Yes. The emotion now is Junhyun’s, but the beginning came from you, hyung.”
“Whoa…”
Do Gibong covered his face with both hands and slumped down on the table.
…Not exactly a pretty sight.
Even so, Taeyoon quietly waited for Do Gibong’s answer.
Though not being able to see his expression was a little frustrating.
Soon, a voice seeped out, low and lonely, with a faint smile.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Seo Taeyoon, you’re seriously dangerous.”
“Is that your way of saying you’re touched, hyung?”
“Kid… Can’t you just pretend not to notice at times like this?”
Just a little, just a tiny bit.
Blend it in without it showing.
Do Gibong stood in front of the mic with that thought in mind.
Singers sing well.
Even if he had been a failed idol, Do Gibong was a singer.
Which meant, Do Gibong would sing well.
Watching him stand in front of the recording booth—
Taeyoon was confident in his logic.
[Even if you realize it, that’s okay.]
Subtle yet calm emotion flowed through his voice.
Do Gibong’s vocals filled the space slowly and steadily, like an old memory.
‘This hyung… he’s singing with his whole heart.’
Like pencil strokes over an old black-and-white photo.
Not vivid, but quietly present.
[Even if you don’t look back, I know.]
It was clearly a solo song.
But strangely, it felt like a duet.
So this is what it means to fill in the blanks.
The feeling of two people walking side by side.
I quietly fidgeted with the edge of the lyric sheet.
The final line, the part Junhyun had sung.
Without a word, I only look at my feet, before the erased dream resurfaces again.
This time, Do Gibong picked up that line.
And miraculously—
Two separate timelines were overlapping into one single song.
“This is it.”
Same song, but a different flow.
Different perspective, different breath, different emotion.
Even so, the song flowed steadily in one direction.
Do Gibong, tracing the past.
Baek Junhyun, speaking of the present.
One redrew a scene he had once wanted to erase, while the other opened a page not yet fully written.
“Wow…”
I turned my head toward the sound of admiration.
There was Baek Junhyun, eyes gleaming brightly.
Skills, theory, techniques about music—
He had never studied any of it.
Yet he was fully embracing what I was feeling.
Now, I was certain.
“Wait a minute. I think this sounds better with two people than just one?”
At Taeyoon’s words—
Baek Junhyun, who had been looking at the sound track,
and Do Gibong, who had just stepped out of the recording booth,
both turned their heads toward Taeyoon.
“If you listen closely, it really sounds like the two are having a conversation. I love it.”
Do Gibong rubbed his lips with his thumb without replying. Baek Junhyun murmured softly.
“It really does. Once Gibong-hyung’s voice comes in, it feels fuller… more wistful.”
Why hesitate?
There’s no rule saying a song has to be sung alone, right?
Taeyoon pointed at the monitor with his finger and said,
“I don’t think Gibong-hyung needs to be just backing vocals.”
“Huh?”
Both Do Gibong and Baek Junhyun widened their eyes and stared at Taeyoon.
“Let’s have you two sing this together.”
“Gasp!”
“Us?”
It was an unexpected suggestion.
They’d both assumed this song was best suited for a male soloist—but Taeyoon presented an entirely different solution.
“Gibong-hyung started the song, Junhyun is telling the present. The incomplete emotion becomes whole when the two come together.”
A brief silence fell.
No one could speak.
It was Do Gibong who finally broke the silence.
“Two lead vocals… no, wait. A duet?”
“Bingo!”
Taeyoon snapped his fingers and continued.
“There’s no rule saying a song’s protagonist has to be one person.”
It wasn’t just Do Gibong’s vocal skill that sparked Taeyoon’s enthusiasm for a duet.
The visual of the two together… looked really good.
“Oho. Hold on.”
He joined his right thumb and index finger with his left thumb and index finger to form a square frame.
Then he moved it far and near, adjusting like a camera lens as he muttered,
“You two look great together.”
Inside the frame of fingers, the two of them smiled awkwardly.
Do Gibong held up his fingers in a V shape next to his face.
Baek Junhyun, glancing at him, followed with a V of his own.
See? You go well together.
“A duet, huh…”
Do Gibong muttered under his breath, then shrugged.
“Not bad, actually. Junhyun, what do you think?”
In contrast, Baek Junhyun hesitated as he asked back,
“Would you really be okay with it, hyung?”
“Of course. I’m all about excessive emotion, you’re all about emotional restraint. Together, we might just drive people crazy. What’s that called again?”
Taeyoon chimed in.
“Contrast and balance?”
Then he spun his chair around and quickly brought up the DAW program on the monitor.
Not as an arranger stuck between two vocalists—but as a decisive producer.
“Let’s restructure this first. Keep Junhyun’s part, insert a short segment for Gibong-hyung in the pre-chorus, and have both overlap in the chorus. Then the ending…?”
“Alternate lines, one after the other?”
As expected, they were in sync.
“Perfect. Like one stays while the other leaves.”
Taeyoon met their eyes firmly and added,
“That line will be the heart of the song.”
Do Gibong extended his hand toward Baek Junhyun and said,
“This song is no longer just mine or yours. From now on, it’s ours. Let’s do this well, Baek Junhyun. Sound good?”
“Yes, sunbae-nim.”
Baek Junhyun took his hand.
A warm energy spread near his chest.
To walk this path with a dependable senior—what could be more reassuring?
“Alright, let’s try recording it again like this. Just like we said earlier…”
And then—
The lights turned off once more.
The two voices crossed again, harmonizing.
Do Gibong passed on the past.
Baek Junhyun carried it toward the future.
And in that way—
Taeyoon chose comfortable harmony over uneasy decisions.
The process of releasing an album is quite complex and intricate.
Selecting a song, recording it, completing mixing and mastering—
It doesn’t end there.
Jacket photoshoots, digital distribution registration, copyright clearing, music video shoots, teaser schedule coordination, marketing planning, etc.
The road for a song to be released into the world is longer than you’d expect—and just as meticulous.
But before all that—
There’s something even more important.
That’s people.
Just as a song needs an elaborate production process to reach the world, so too does an artist need one to reach the stage.
Trainees are selected and trained.
After countless eliminations and revisions—
They finally prepare for their debut stage under the name of a “debut team.”
That’s the usual process, and the logic of it. Most of the time, that’s how it goes.
Pick a singer, sign a contract, choose the right song, and debut.
“CEO, Taeyoon sent over a song, apparently?”
“Out of nowhere?”
“Yes, in the middle of the night.”
“Oho! A new track? What’s the demo like? No need to ask. It must be insane.”
“Well… it’s actually already the final.”
“…What?”
Taeyoon had completely flipped the order.
So it wasn’t strange for Kim Minsoo and Yoon Seonghan to be sitting together, question marks over their heads, trying to piece things together.
“He said it’s a male duet.”
“Show me.”
Yoon Seonghan turned his laptop toward Kim Minsoo.
The filename was simple.
[stay_duet_final.mp3]
The most eye-catching part of the email was, of course, the credits.
Kim Minsoo’s eyes widened.
[Original Song: <War, War> – Cool Down]
[Lyrics: STaY, Busan Goblin, Baek Junhyun]
[Composition: Busan Goblin, STaY]
[Arrangement: STaY]
[Title: TBD]
[Group Name: TBD (Male Duet)]
Taeyoon was confidently making a request.
I’ve created a male duet!
I’ve even got the song ready!
So please release the album?
Kim Minsoo found this kind of attitude from Taeyoon almost thrilling.
“Bwahahaha! This kid is totally nuts.”
“…Doesn’t it suit him, though? Seriously. He’s doing everything backwards.”
A breakthrough that flipped the script.
It wasn’t ordinary confidence.
“Did I judge right? Who is this Busan Goblin guy anyway? And there’s even an original track? Arrangement?”
“I listened to it—it’s a completely different song now. A dance track turned ballad, that kind of thing.”
“Phew, changing a dance song to a ballad usually kills the vibe… but if it’s STaY, it’s different. Don’t even need to hear it. It’s already audio gold. Approved! Start the debut process!”
That’s what he said—
But Kim Minsoo was already fumbling to put on his headphones.