Chapter 213 : What the Hell Kind of Person Are You
Chapter 213: What the Hell Kind of Person Are You?
There was a time when I recklessly charged ahead without a care.
It was around the time I'd just entered university and had become interested in DJing.
Back then, I was quite active in a DJing community.
The community was called Beat Forum.
Like most beginners, I believed my beats were the best in the world.
I was convinced that the moment I uploaded one, the entire community would erupt with comments like, "A genius has appeared," and everyone would admire me.
Naturally...
I was completely mistaken.
The view count kept climbing, but there were no reactions.
Forget criticism—even more astonishingly, no one paid any attention at all.
Back then, I probably thought something like this.
...Are they all jealous of me?
They're secretly listening and being amazed, aren't they?
When a shooting-star rookie appears, it's only natural for people to be envious.
Looking back now, the beat was so clumsy I'd wake up from embarrassment in the middle of the night.
But at the time, I was completely serious.
For a beginner to publicly share their own creation meant they had an enormous amount of confidence.
A few days passed.
Finally...
Someone left a comment.
↳ Hmm...?
I stared at that insignificant comment for hours.
It was incredibly frustrating.
What did it mean?
Was it good?
Or bad?
One day.
Two days.
Three.
Four...
Ten days passed.
Then a month.
Nothing changed.
My beat seemed destined to remain buried as nothing more than another forgotten file on the forum.
Ding—
Then one day, I received another comment notification.
I hurriedly opened it.
↳ The rhythm's solid, but the next track comes in a little too early.
↳ The melody flows smoothly enough, but if you listen carefully, the bass line feels slightly off.
↳ You're overusing the FX. Why did you add so much reverb? It's excessive. The sound's way too crowded.
↳ It's so perfect that it becomes predictable. By the third track, I could already guess what the next one would be.
It felt as though someone had smashed me over the back of the head.
It hurt.
A lot.
'What the hell kind of person are you?'
That was all I muttered to myself.
Gritting my teeth, my hands trembled, and my breathing grew ragged.
Was I angry?
No.
I was embarrassed.
And frustrated.
It wasn't enough that someone had dissected every inch of my music—
They'd completely butchered it.
It felt as though the person behind the monitor was laughing at me.
'Don't get cocky. You think you're good enough to become a professional with just that?'
To make a long story short...
That comment became my turning point.
As frustrating as it was,
I learned a tremendous amount from that person.
I devoted myself even more intensely to DJing.
How should I put it...
A determination born from humiliation?
'...Seriously, what kind of person was that?'
Their username back then was DJ Skippy.
They uploaded their own mixed beats and wandered around leaving comments that looked like advice but felt more like picking fights.
Maybe it was because their tone was so sharp.
Or maybe because they were always right.
Either way, they weren't exactly popular.
I never did find out who they really were.
But there was one thing I remembered clearly.
The beats they made...
Were really good.
Annoyingly so.
That had already been three years ago.
After returning from military service, the community had disappeared as well.
And now...
That very same person had figured out that the DJ from back then was Blackhole and had contacted my agency.
I looked at my older brother.
“Did they say anything else?”
“Oh, yeah. Hang on.”
He handed me a note.
“You still like minor keys, I see.”
Oh?
So that's how you're going to play it?
Well...
I've got plenty to say too.
“I'll contact them myself.”
“What? You actually know this person?”
“I'll have to find out.”
“You're meeting them? Want me to come with you? What if they're dangerous?”
“Dangerous? Come on.”
I barely held back my laughter.
If anyone should be nervous, it was Skippy.
“Don't worry. It'll be fine. Thanks.”
Leaving my brother, who still looked worried, behind,
I stood up.
Then I immediately sent a message to the contact information he'd given me.
Unlike my brother's concerns, Skippy wasn't someone I needed to worry about at all.
When a pumpkin rolls right up to your doorstep, why would you turn it away?
I wanted to meet them immediately.
An LP bar near Hongdae.
Soft old pop music drifted through the air.
Along with a slightly outdated citrus fragrance.
There,
DJ Skippy stared at Blackhole's video and muttered,
“Wow... This emotional style has to be Paru.”
Then they burst into hearty laughter, clearly pleased with their own deduction.
Back then,
Blackhole's stage name had been DJ Paru.
The moment that guy uploaded his very first beat,
I knew immediately.
An extraordinary talent had appeared.
It was clumsy.
Yet powerful.
A minor chord progression that radiated a gloomy atmosphere.
It was unmistakably special.
Technically, it wasn't perfect.
But the energy was unlike anything else.
A sense of instability, as though the music could go anywhere at any moment, enveloped the entire track.
That instability itself was what made the beat so captivating.
Something you could never feel from a clean, polished track.
A raw texture.
A chilling emotional line.
'...It's just like a moonlit night.'
I vaguely remembered thinking something like that.
From that day onward,
they fought keyboard battles day and night.
Competing over who could create more complex loops.
Who could bring in more original samples.
Sometimes tearing each other's ideas apart.
Sometimes sincerely admiring and acknowledging the other's talent.
I always wanted to meet them at least once.
But in the end...
I never got the chance.
Paru disappeared.
I could only guess.
If DJ Paru was a guy...
He probably enlisted.
In Korea, when someone suddenly vanished,
it was usually because of military service...
Or prison.
...Was it different?
Eh.
Either way, you couldn't see them for a while.
'...Why am I so nervous?'
I worried that contacting them might be rude.
But more than that,
I was simply happy.
The day I first heard Blackhole's "Lunatic Beat,"
I immediately recognized the same rich emotional depth in the minor chords that I'd heard years ago in DJ Paru's tracks.
That was when I knew.
It had to be the same person.
There was no other possibility.
No one else could use minor chords with such depth.
It was a little embarrassing...
But once I became convinced, I became obsessively fixated.
The word "fan" was far too shallow to describe how I felt.
Going to Sierra every week became a given.
I even bought two copies of Blackhole's mixtape.
One for collecting.
One for actual use.
I even replaced the Airphone I'd been happily using with the Orbit Phone Blackhole had advertised.
Anyway...
The person I'd been so curious about.
The one I'd wanted to see...
For so very long.
That old friend...
Was coming here today.
As DJ Blackhole.
Five minutes before their appointment.
Ding—
The cheerful sound of the doorbell rang, and a man who appeared to be Blackhole walked into the bar.
Hidden behind a large potted plant,
the entrance couldn't see this side.
Like a beast hiding in tall grass, Blackhole cautiously looked around.
After secretly watching him for a moment, his gaze shifted this way.
'Hehe.'
DJ Skippy pulled the brim of a baseball cap lower and let out an amused smile.
Absentmindedly playing with a strand of silver hair.
There's no way he'll recognize me.
I wonder how he'll react.
Just as that thought crossed their mind—
Step.
Step.
Blackhole walked straight toward them.
As though saying, I know exactly who you are.
His steps were filled with certainty.
Soon enough,
Taeyoon stopped in front of Skippy's table and gave a polite bow.
“You're DJ Skippy, right? Hello. It's nice to meet you. I'm Blackhole.”
“......!”
What?
How did he recognize me?
“Long silver hair really suits you.”
...I'd never once given any hint that I was a woman.
The real detective wasn't me.
It was Blackhole.
Haha.
I barely managed to suppress my laughter.
She genuinely thought I wouldn't recognize her.
She knew who I was.
I didn't know who she was.
Only I would be exposing my identity in such an unfair game.
I don't play games I can't win.
I'd already figured out who she was.
I'd simply chosen not to reveal it.
This wasn't a meeting between two professionals.
It was a reunion between DJ Paru and DJ Skippy—
The two amateurs who used to exchange clumsy beats.
“...H-Huh?”
She looked like she had countless questions, but I didn't ask.
This wasn't a blind date.
There was no need to cautiously size each other up with stiff introductions.
“It's been three years since we last met.”
“Yes... um, I guess it has?”
“I really enjoyed those days. I learned a lot.”
“Ah... I'm honored.”
Was she shy?
Or simply flustered by the situation itself?
The confident, aggressive person from our keyboard battles had completely disappeared.
Somehow...
She felt like someone very similar to me.
And with someone like that?
There was only one answer.
Talk about music immediately.
I asked gently,
“I've always been curious... Why do you make your music so complicated?”
I genuinely meant it.
Back then...
And even now.
Skippy's mixing was complex and layered.
She stacked layer upon layer until it became almost excessive.
Packed dense samples into every corner.
It was music that wandered through a maze she'd built herself.
Yet if you managed to make it through that maze,
an absolutely breathtaking progression awaited you.
Though the music she'd recently released under another stage name was completely different.
“Well...”
After hesitating for a moment, Skippy answered.
“I figured... if music became more complicated, maybe life would become a little easier?”
Ah...
I had absolutely no idea what she meant.
Wouldn't life become easier if music were simpler?
Seeing my puzzled expression,
she added, “If I make complicated music, I can forget how complicated reality is, right?”
“Then why don't you make that kind of complicated music anymore?”
“...Huh?”
Had I moved too fast?
She looked completely confused.
So I stopped there.
Then quietly asked,
“Do you remember?”
“Remember... what?”
“Your very first beat. The one where you only laid down half the bass, then used reverse delay on the kick drum instead.”
Skippy's eyes sparkled.
“You remember that?”
“And then the next week, you said you wanted to create a melody without a melody, so you only used harmony in the intro and filled the rest entirely with percussion. I absolutely loved that track. I almost wanted to ask what virtual instrument you used.”
Why was she making that face?
It wasn't something worth getting emotional over.
The stiffness in her expression quickly melted into a bright smile.
This was my chance.
I leaned forward slightly and whispered,
“I wish DJ Etica had shown us beats like those too.”
I quietly watched her expression.
Surprise.
Embarrassment.
And...
The complicated joy of realizing someone had truly recognized her.
“When you were Skippy, you used to say you loved playing with chords. That the tension created by dissonance, followed by the stability afterward—that was what made music truly fascinating.”
I remembered every one of those conversations perfectly.
“But Etica's music doesn't have any of that anymore. Ordinary chord progressions focused on performance. Tracks that prioritize atmosphere over mixing.”
Skippy.
Now known as Etica.
Currently the most successful female DJ in Korea.
She looked up at me,
her eyes shimmering with emotion.
I wasn't trying to provoke her.
Nor was I saying,
I know who you are.
And it certainly wasn't childish bragging.
Even if it hadn't been me, any DJ who'd been active on Beat Forum back then would've eventually realized Etica was Skippy.
No matter how flashy her performances became...
Or how much simpler her music grew...
Certain habits couldn't be hidden.
Like pulling the bass half a beat early before a break.
Or inserting filtered snare rolls at unconventional timings.
Etica was still the same DJ whose irregular timing from the Skippy days remained alive.
Just as she'd recognized me after hearing the early version of Lunatic Beat, I'd become certain through her music.
We had remembered each other...
Through music.
But as for me...
“DJ Etica. Instead of forcing yourself to drive straight down a road you don't even want to take... how about getting lost in the maze one more time?”
After thinking for a moment, I continued.
“Even if it's a complicated maze... I can help make your life a little easier.”
Had she understood what I meant?
Or was she pretending not to?
Either way,
it didn't matter.
I intended to bring back the DJ Skippy from three years ago.
Otherwise, I would've never come here in the first place.
“Forget about complicated lives and everything else. Make the music you really want to make.”
“......”
“Wouldn't that make life a little easier?”
Instead of answering, she quietly played with her glass of water.
Round and round.
Her fingers traced a steady rhythm, like a needle spinning across a turntable.
All I wanted...
Was to perform together once more, with the same emotions we had back then.
As DJ Paru.
And DJ Skippy.
Back when we knew nothing and simply chased music as though enchanted.
At the magical place where anything was possible.
Club Lunatic's opening performance.
I was certain.
Deep down, she missed those days too.
If I simply reached out my hand, she'd gladly take it.
But then—
“I don't want to.”
Short.
Simple.
Like a perfectly still lake without even the faintest ripple.
A voice completely devoid of emotion.
She stared straight at me, her expression quietly closed in sorrow.