Episode 8: For You, a Moment (2)
“Even when I look back, the scenery passing by the window
Is nowhere to be seen.”
Ko Yo-han’s voice, evoking fallen leaves swirling at your feet in an autumn breeze, paints the 3-minute-22-second track in deep hues.
“Where am I supposed to go?
I’m just being dragged along like this.
Where is this train taking me?”
As his voice concludes the song alongside the fading guitar melody, Bang Hokyung lifts his head slightly.
Bang Hokyung’s philosophy on recording is about “closing the gap.”
Since he, the songwriter, isn’t the one singing, it’s only natural that a gap exists between the emotions of the singer interpreting his melody and lyrics and his own vision.
The singer’s role is to bridge that gap.
After all, no one could understand the song better than Bang Hokyung, its creator.
In that sense, Ko Yo-han was never the best match for him.
Yo-han is a good-natured guy who laughs heartily in most situations, and that description fits him perfectly—except when it comes to singing.
He’s the kind of singer who won’t let go of his own vision unless the reasoning is compelling enough.
‘Thought it’d take a while.’
But during the few retakes requested, Bang Hokyung’s brow didn’t furrow once.
Yo-han’s expression only grew brighter.
Yo-han’s voice carried the exact lonely sentiment Bang Hokyung wanted.
What pleased Bang Hokyung pleased Yo-han too, and the parts Yo-han wanted to redo were the same ones Bang Hokyung felt needed work.
After a few rounds of perfectly aligned feedback, Bang Hokyung glanced at the clock, where the hands neatly overlapped between 8 and 9, and let out a small chuckle.
‘8:44, huh…’
It wasn’t particularly surprising.
When two strong egos are aligned in their direction, the recording session naturally goes smoothly.
It just felt a bit unfair now, considering his last session with Yo-han had taken all day.
“Alright, Yo-han, you’re done.”
“No more takes?”
Yo-han asked with mock surprise, but Bang Hokyung’s brow finally furrowed slightly.
He knew Yo-han was aware that further recording was pointless.
“You think you could do better if we kept going?”
“Tch.”
Bang Hokyung shot back at Yo-han, who was clearly just enjoying the song now.
Caught out, Yo-han smacked his lips in mock regret, took off his headset, and hung it back in place.
Bang Hokyung turned his gaze from the recording booth to the next singer.
The hollow look in Han Yujin’s eyes bothered him.
‘Wanted to let him rest a bit.’
For an unknown singer, this was a massive opportunity, but Bang Hokyung knew how heavy it must feel.
Even he, now behind countless hits, had spent years in obscurity.
A talent who earned an OK on a guide recording in one take.
Confidence to demand a rerecording without flinching in front of names like Bang Hokyung, Yoon Chanwoo, or Ko Yo-han.
Everything about Han Yujin tugged at Bang Hokyung’s heart, but he couldn’t cater to just one person.
‘Maybe it’s better to finish quickly so he can go rest.’
Since Han Yujin clearly understood what was expected, as long as he hadn’t gotten any strange ideas in the past few days, he’d likely wrap up by noon.
“Han Yujin, get in there.”
With that thought, Bang Hokyung called his name.
“Yes.”
With a short reply, Han Yujin stood and headed into the booth. Bang Hokyung’s brow furrowed again.
No matter how much he tried to ignore it, those dark circles kept drawing his eye.
“Fighting.”
Ko Yo-han gave Yujin a light pat on the shoulder as he passed, offering encouragement.
Click.
As the recording booth door closed, worried murmurs leaked from the staff.
“He looks really nervous…”
“Isn’t that normal? A Yoon PD drama with a Bang-ssaem song? And Yo-han singing the same track? I’d be too nervous to sleep in his shoes.”
“Ugh… hearing about him from Kyungmin makes it hit harder…”
Their delay in bringing this up was likely out of consideration, hoping not to add to Yujin’s nerves.
Hiding a similar concern, Bang Hokyung sensed Yo-han’s presence beside him and asked casually,
“Prepared a lot?”
He knew better than anyone that Yo-han never slacked on prep.
The question was more of a jest, thanks to the early finish.
But—
“Nah, I barely did anything.”
Bang Hokyung turned to Yo-han at the unexpected reply.
Yo-han, with a slight smirk, wasn’t looking at him.
“The guide told me exactly how to hit the notes and emotions. If I couldn’t manage that, I’d quit singing.
I just layered my own feel on Yujin’s guide, and you nodded along, didn’t you? Honestly, I wish Yujin could guide for me forever. Not that it’ll happen.”
Ignoring Bang Hokyung’s gaze, Yo-han continued softly, scanning the room.
“Don’t worry, everyone. I was worried at first too, but nah—he’s not someone who needs our concern.”
As he shook his head, puzzled looks rained down on him.
Yo-han seemed confused by their confusion, then—
“Oh, you guys haven’t seen his eyes.”
With a small exclamation, he said it.
All eyes turned to the glass window.
Unfortunately, Han Yujin was facing away, preparing, so the “eyes” Ko Yo-han mentioned weren’t visible.
Chuckling softly at the sight, Yo-han pulled out his phone and continued.
“Seriously, what a relief. If it wasn’t for the two versions, I might’ve lost this song. You’ll see—he’s not someone who needs our concern.”
Still, no one understood Yo-han’s words.
“Ready.”
At Han Yujin’s single sentence after putting on the headset and turning around,
“Ah.”
Only Bang Hokyung let out a small gasp of understanding.
The staff stared blankly as that gasp turned into a smile, while Yo-han, with a light shrug, quickly typed out a message.
[If you’re not far, come quick. Something fun’s happening. It might end soon, so hurry.]
***
Correction: it wasn’t just a bit much.
It was way too much.
Of course, the happy time with Zia yesterday stopped within my limits.
Today’s recording might leave me a bit tired, but it’s nowhere near enough to hinder me.
‘But if others don’t see it that way, that’s another issue.’
On stage, Polaris’s main vocalist Han Yujin was always dazzling, but in the studio, Polaris’s producer Han Yujin was always haggard.
Skipping meals was routine, and pulling all-nighters was the norm.
I was so used to showing up like this that I didn’t consider how others might see me—a clear mistake.
‘Well, spilled milk and all that.’
I don’t regret yesterday’s choice.
That sweet temptation was too strong to resist, and even now, I wouldn’t hold back.
So, what I need to do is—
‘Dispel their worries with my skill.’
It’s not hard.
Just do what I planned.
“Ready.”
Well, I don’t know what Yo-han hyung said out there, but Bang Hokyung’s vibe seems a bit different.
As the intro plays, I push those thoughts aside.
No need to force the emotions.
The feelings this song demands haven’t faded with time.
I place the me from a future—or rather, a past—that won’t return right here.
“Where is this train taking me?
The scenery passing by the window distorts.
The steps of people passing me by,
Not one of them hesitating.”
I pour the regret of only hoping for Zia’s return into the verse.
“Standing still, watching them,
Why do I envy them so much?”
The foolishness of not even considering why Zia left me is expressed through the pre-chorus.
“Even when I look back, the scenery passing by the window
Is nowhere to be seen.
Not knowing where to go,
I’m just being dragged along like this.”
The emptiness of realizing, only at the end, that inertia led me there melts naturally into the chorus.
Then, the interlude begins.
A fleeting, desolate guitar melody passes, and—
“The traces of people who’ve vanished.
What am I left alone for?
Those no longer visible
Walk toward their own destinations.”
Betrayal.
And the powerlessness of realizing too late, unable to change anything, is etched into the second verse.
“Even when I look back, the scenery passing by the window
Is nowhere to be seen.
Unable to move forward,
Unable to turn back.”
In the heightened emotion of the high notes, the second chorus faintly carves the realization that everything I achieved was a mirage.
“Aah~!”
A brief interlude doubling as a bridge.
In the wordless ad-lib, I unleash the emotions I’d suppressed.
That outburst, like Yo-han hyung’s, becomes a fierce cry.
But I weave in something different.
–“Han Yujin, you heartless jerk. You don’t even understand my feelings and just accept a breakup? Live well, you bastard!”
Zia never actually said that, but her sorrowful sobs rang in my ears as if she had.
Because of that, I gained a new chance to right the past.
What I need to express is a new protagonist with that chance.
Even with the same regrets,
The ending I pursue must be different.
Thus, the final chorus following the intense ad-lib differs from Yo-han hyung’s.
“Even when I look back, the scenery passing by the window
Is nowhere to be seen.
Not knowing where to go,
I’m just being dragged along like this.”
The calm delivery is the same as the start.
But what’s woven in is different from the anguished regrets I’d cried out.
“Where is this train taking me?”
Hope that things will be different going forward.
A certainty that the future I know, steeped in regret, won’t come.
‘This is good enough, right? You can tell, can’t you?’
This is ‘For You, a Moment’, crafted by Bang Hokyung but completed by Han Yujin.