Episode 58: Debut
“Han Yujin!!”
My name echoes through MyWay’s headquarters lobby.
The voice is so familiar I don’t bother looking, rushing toward the elevator.
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
My escape fails.
An arm wraps around my neck, halting me.
“Why, hyung?”
“Han Yujin, you sly little—!!”
The culprit, Park Juan, delivers a rough but playful headlock, his excitement uncontained, heedless of the stares around us.
“Juan-I hyung, let go of my neck…”
The embarrassment is all mine.
“You cheeky kid! When I begged for a song, you brushed me off, but you were scheming behind my back?”
My pleas fall on deaf ears.
‘He won’t let go unless I let him have his moment.’
Judging by his sky-high energy, I’ll have to wait it out.
‘He must’ve been really disappointed.’
Who knew he’d be this thrilled?
Back when I played First Step for Taeoh, Park Juan half-jokingly asked,
“Yujin-ah, nothing for hyung?”
I thought he didn’t care much when he dropped it.
Apparently not.
Songs don’t just materialize, so I get why he felt that way.
‘If you ask if songs come easily, I’ve got no defense. I’m the weird one.’
To be fair, Polaris’s repertoire didn’t have anything for Park Juan.
There were tracks I could’ve tweaked to fit him, but his lukewarm reaction made it feel like too much hassle.
‘If I’d known he’d be this happy, I would’ve done it.’
It wasn’t hard, just bothersome.
Well, he seems thrilled now, so it worked out.
“Thanks, Yujin-ah.”
His arm slides from my neck to my shoulder, and I straighten up.
He’s calmed down enough, so I clear up the misunderstanding.
“No need to thank me. I didn’t write it or pick it for you.”
I just arranged it and suggested it suited him.
The decision to give it to him was Gong Jiu’s and Ailee’s.
But Park Juan chuckles and counters.
“Then why’s your name in the composer credits?”
“Sigh. Yeah, why is it there?”
That day, the three songs I touched up were credited as co-compositions with Gong Jiu.
Since I’m with MyMusic, it wasn’t a big deal.
‘I said being an arranger was enough.’
But Gong Jiu used undeniable logic.
“You told me good songs deserve proper recognition. Sure, I made the base, but without you, I couldn’t have made them this great. Shouldn’t your contribution get its due too?”
My own words came back to bite me, leaving me speechless.
‘He’s so practical at the worst times.’
I only managed to dissuade him from co-crediting Blue Poem, saying it was tuition for his lesson.
If he wanted to share rights that badly, I let it slide, pretending to give in.
“Strictly speaking, I’m just the arranger. Thank Gong Jiu.”
“Oh, I did~ Treated him to a big dinner yesterday~”
His weird rhythm and swaying make me laugh briefly.
“No clue if I’m qualified to say this as someone who barely arranges, but I’ve got ears. Honestly, compared to the originals, it’s like you made them from scratch.”
His voice lowers.
He’s not wrong.
The co-composer credit is barely a step above an idol humming a tune, transcribed and polished by a pro, then touted as their composition.
Gong Jiu’s push for co-credits wasn’t kindness—it was only fair.
‘Still, I’ve got a conscience.’
The 23-year-old Han Yujin pulling this off relied on my regression cheat code.
Even if I understand and accept it, saying “I’m just the arranger” keeps my conscience from nagging.
“So, when do you start recording, hyung?”
“Dunno. Lyrics aren’t done yet. What’s the rush? I waited years for a debut song—what’s a bit more?”
I pivot to a safer topic, and he takes the bait.
“Who’s writing the lyrics?”
“No idea. Heard it’s someone Gong Jiu knows? Same person who wrote the song he’s giving you.”
“Hm.”
His words spark a name.
‘As expected, Jung Eunhye.’
Since Blue Poem’s lyrics barely changed, I figured she’d be involved.
I saw her the day I met Gong Jiu, so it’s no surprise.
‘This might speed up Jung Eunhye’s debut too.’
She started at an ad agency, debuted as a lyricist with Blue Poem, and, as Gong Jiu’s potential exploded, wrote most of his songs, becoming a full-time lyricist—and his partner.
‘Tch.’
I can’t help but grimace.
Our relationship wasn’t great.
In my past life, I thought we just didn’t click.
‘Looking back, it was inferiority.’
I couldn’t admit the envy I felt seeing a high school club senior and junior, together over a decade, married.
‘Can things be different now?’
They’d better be.
Having written lyrics for Starlight’s artists through her bond with Gong Jiu, she’ll now inspire MyWay’s.
Honestly, Jung Eunhye was a good person.
“So, what about you? Didn’t you say your lyrics are done? When’s your recording?”
Park Juan’s question catches me mid-thought.
He’s asking early.
Glancing at his hand still on my shoulder, I meet his eyes and answer.
“Today.”
“Huh?”
“I’m heading to record now.”
My cheery reply stops him in his tracks.
Then, after a pause—
“Sorry.”
He steps back, mimicking a famous actress’s dramatic apology from an old drama.
I told you to let go first.
***
At MyWay’s recording studio, tucked in a corner of the headquarters, I arrive early despite my detour with Park Juan in the lobby.
Yet, seven people are already waiting—four familiar, three new.
I greet the strangers first.
“Sorry, looks like I’m the last one. Nice to meet you, I’m Han Yujin.”
“No, no, we’re ten minutes early. You’re the hottest name at MyWay right now, so we were curious about your skills and showed up ahead of time.”
The oldest-looking one responds on their behalf.
They’re MyWay’s recording engineers, my biggest allies for today’s session.
“Looking forward to working with you.”
After quick introductions and a bow, I turn to the four familiar faces sitting like borrowed scarecrows.
“Don’t you all have work to do?”
“I am working.”
Ailee, the only confident scarecrow, raises her hand.
Fine, overseeing recordings is part of A&R’s job.
“Team Leader Jeon?”
I glance at Jeon Seonwoo, who picks up his phone.
“Thought I’d show the trainees the importance of proper vocals. I’ll just listen for a bit.”
“Hmm…”
Sounds like an excuse, but what can I say to the trainee development team leader?
“I’m here because there’s no director, and I was worried you’d struggle alone.”
Before I even look at Seo Yoonje, he chimes in.
I frown slightly—his excuse is flimsy for someone who knows I handled Blind Singer’s backing tracks with just Baek Kyungmin.
“So, you’ll direct?”
“You’ll do fine, but if you’re struggling, I could step in.”
I poke at his weak reasoning, and he replies slickly.
‘I’m singing my own song—who’s directing who?!’
But he’s the CEO.
A fresh MyWay newbie can’t challenge him.
“Sigh…”
I let out a huff loaded with “whatever” and turn to the last scarecrow, Lee Ahjung.
“And why’s the building owner here?”
“Oh, I was bored at home, so I came to watch.”
Her brazen honesty leaves me speechless.
‘Fine… it could be worse.’
Park Juan, who fled after his headlock out of guilt for delaying me.
Taeoh, tied to his student life.
Gong Jiu, probably dissecting the demo I made.
Other seniors like Ko Yohan.
This gallery’s tame enough, I suppose.
Though, except for Ailee, I’d love to kick them all out.
‘Gotta move forward.’
My debut track, shedding its working title ‘Byulddongbyeol’ for ‘Shooting Star’, demands a grueling recording schedule.
Oh, ‘For You, A Moment’ doesn’t count.
It’s under my name now, but—
‘That was released as EUJN.’
It’s not some childish attempt to give special meaning to Shooting Star, inspired by Zia.
Anyway—
Recording the song to the DAW-made MR once.
Recording live guitar parts without the MR’s guitar once.
Same for the synthesizer part.
And a live bass session with a drummer to cover the only instrument I can’t play.
Four rounds of recording.
Unlike songs I know by heart, Shooting Star is new to me.
It’s a monumental track kicking off my new music, and I have no idea how long it’ll take to nail the parts perfectly.
Another issue: time’s tight.
With Shooting Star and Blue Poem’s spring release, plus another “project” I plan to squeeze in—
‘Recording, mixing, mastering, everything—two weeks, before November ends.’
I need results in December to justify pushing the next project.
Turning from the gallery, I step into the studio.
A thought creeps in.
‘Ugh, I didn’t want to live this intensely.’
When I sang For You, A Moment, I planned to do everything with Zia—live freely.
Now, with no time for travel or even a proposal, this murderous schedule makes me sigh.
‘It’s been less than 30 minutes since I left home, and I already miss Zia…’
Her face fills my mind, but—
“What, not gonna sing?”
It’s like her face is scolding me.
“Let’s start.”
Steeling myself, I speak into the mic.
Missing Zia fuels just the right mindset for this.