Episode 59: Since I’ve Regressed, I’ll Quit Being an Idol

Episode 59: The Hour of Promise

“The star that fell in the sky I looked up to,

May it grant the wish you hold.

That’s all I desire.”

The final verse closes as Shooting Star’s trajectory fades softly.

‘Okay, this is good.’

Opening my eyes, I feel the taut tension from the gazes beyond the studio’s glass.

“It’s fine like this.”

“Don’t you dare ask for another take.”

Even through the soundproof barrier, I can almost hear their thoughts.

“Great work. Let’s wrap up for today.”

Removing my headset and hanging it up, I see the four figures watching me slump in relief.

‘Was I too much?’

How many times did I repeat that 10-second final verse?

I’m not sure, but it was about 30 minutes on that part alone.

The clock on the studio wall shows it’s nearing 6 PM.

‘Two sessions down.’

Starting at 11 AM, a late sandwich lunch at 2 PM, and continuing until now.

A typical song takes one session—three and a half hours—so I’ve done about two.

No wonder everyone’s exhausted.

‘They probably didn’t expect it to take this long.’

They’ve likely heard I nailed ‘For You, A Moment’ with Bang Hokyung in one take.

That might’ve made today feel even tougher.

‘Can’t help it.’

It wasn’t lack of practice—I’d never be so unprofessional, hating singers who rehearse in the studio.

I over-prepared, and despite Park Juan’s interruption, my condition was solid.

The reason this session dragged?

One thing.

‘Once I started recording, better ideas kept coming.’

As a singer and instrumentalist, new details for the guitar, synthesizer, and bass kept emerging.

Tweaking them and aligning other elements stretched the time.

No regrets.

Deciding on those details is my right and duty as singer, instrumentalist, director, and producer.

‘Thanks to this, I’ve nailed down how to play the instruments.’

Today’s grind means tomorrow’s recording should be quick.

I’d love to do another session now, but the engineers can’t match my pace, and the drummer’s schedule limits us, so we stop here.

‘If I were with Kyungmin-I hyung, we’d be done today.’

Baek Kyungmin, who’s synced with me countless times, would’ve caught my intent and pushed to finish guitar and synth too.

But he’s running his own studio now—I can’t drag him here.

I’ll have to sync with these engineers over time.

Still, an apology’s in order.

“Sorry if it was hard to follow. Thanks for keeping up.”

Bowing as I close the door, the three engineers return awkward smiles and nods.

‘No denials.’

They don’t refute that it was tough, meaning they couldn’t hear the differences in my repeated takes.

That’s understandable—

‘No communication.’

In a normal session, a producer’s direction and singer’s feedback clarify changes.

But I questioned, approved, and tweaked myself, leaving only, “Sorry, let’s do that part again.”

No need to explain now.

They’ll notice the differences during tomorrow’s instrumental recording.

If they don’t, that’s their skill level—no need to explain then either.

“Thanks for today. It won’t take as long tomorrow. Looking forward to it.”

Bidding the engineers farewell, I turn to the gallery.

Of the original four, only Ailee remains.

“Ailee, not tired?”

“Hahaha…”

No denial from her either—she’s probably exhausted.

Unlike the others who fled, her A&R duties trapped her here.

Seo Yoonje was the first to bolt.

Having seen my recording with Bang Hokyung, he sensed something after I spent 30 minutes on the verse alone and vanished.

Next was Jeon Seonwoo.

Around the first chorus, he rushed out for an “urgent” call—whether it was real, only he knows.

Lee Ahjung was last.

After a full session on the first verse, she picked up sandwiches for our late lunch and said,

“Yujin-ssi, you’re an angel singing but a demon producing. I could never work with you.”

Then she left.

‘How many times have I heard that?’

In my past life, Lee Ahjung always said that during our collaborations but came back for more after seeing the results.

“Yujin-ssi, is your throat okay?”

Ailee, smiling awkwardly, changes the subject to check on me.

“A bit tired, but fine. I won’t sing for a while.”

I scheduled today deliberately.

After resting a day post-Unmask Tour shoot, today was perfect.

Three days to rest my voice, two days of tour practice, then the next shoot—ideal.

“Seven hours of singing and you’re just a bit tired? Ugh…”

Ailee and the engineers stare at me like I’m a monster, but I just shrug.

‘If they’re freaking out already, that’s a problem.’

***

The next day—

“Great work. The drums were awesome.”

“Had a blast. Call me again next time.”

Guitar recording: 20 minutes.

Synthesizer: another 20.

Briefing the drummer on changes, then bass with drums: 40 minutes.

Total: one hour and 20 minutes.

Ailee and the engineers’ gazes shift again.

They still look at me like I’m a monster, but—

‘They’ve got some skill.’

As expected of MyWay’s staff.

Their awe-filled eyes show they’ve realized yesterday’s slog was to set up today’s efficiency.

I’ve been through this before, so I brush it off and turn to Ailee for the final step.

“Ailee, how soon do we need mixing and mastering done for a December release?”

This time, Ailee really looks at me like I’m a monster.

***

November’s last day.

Winter has fully settled, with everyone bundled up in thick coats.

But Chae Sua’s blood was boiling like never before.

‘When’s it coming out?!’

A month ago, the person who gifted (and cursed) her with fandom appeared on a news interview, saying, “You’ll hear it soon.”

Born to a farming family and honed in traditional music, Chae Sua thought she’d mastered patience.

But the late-blooming obsession of stanning, with its endless waiting, shattered her patience in just a month.

Still, she was lucky.

Her housemate, her “registry mate,” became the closest confidant of her idol.

[Come here by 4 today.]

[You wanna die? Who’re you ordering around?]

[Don’t regret it later. Just come.]

Thanks to such curt messages, Chae Sua was the only fan café member to attend every Unmask Tour show.

But that same info-sharing was why her patience was shot.

“When’s Yujin oppa’s song coming out?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Am I gonna blab? Just give me a hint!”

“If you’d blabbed, I wouldn’t have told you about the tour shoots. Be grateful, human. I’m out.”

Chae Suhyuk’s tight-lipped stance was the issue.

Normally, Chae Sua would’ve smacked his cocky attitude, but the power dynamic had flipped long ago.

‘Still, seeing him head out daily, it’s gotta be soon…’

Gazing at her brother’s retreating figure, she muses briefly.

Ding.

Her phone chimes.

It’s from her registry mate, who just left.

Thinking he forgot something, she checks—

[Today 3 PM]

Familiar, yet confusing.

Like the [Incheon 6 PM] or [Daejeon 4 PM] messages for Unmask Tour shoots, but there’s no location, and—

“Huh? Today’s not a tour shoot day.”

She’d seen the Busan shoot two days ago, so this can’t be tour-related.

[What’s this?]

She replies, but the “1” on her message doesn’t budge.

Chae Sua gets ready for school.

Attends classes.

Eats lunch before practice.

[What is it?!]

Frustrated by Suhyuk’s ghosting, she sends another message, but now two “1”s stare back.

Finally—

“Sua-ya, something wrong? You’re distracted. Should we end early?”

Her professor’s words push her over the edge.

‘Chae Suhyuk, you’re dead today.’

Determined to flip the power dynamic again, her anger makes her forget the promised time.

Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Zzzzt.

“What?”

In the bathroom to cool off, her phone vibrates wildly.

Expecting Suhyuk’s reply, she sees only a café notification.

“Huh?”

She’s only in one café.

Checking the time, she taps the alert.

“Ugh…”

After a brief load, the sight before her melts her frozen fury.

A YouTube thumbnail: a radiant streak across a star-filled night sky, with a man’s silhouette gazing up from a rooftop.

Entranced, she taps it.

Amid traditional instruments around her, a modern band sound flows in.

“May it grant the wish you hold.

That’s all I desire.”

The voice, quenching a month’s thirst while leaving lingering echoes, ends with text that makes her realize—

[Shooting Star]

[2024.12.01 5PM]

It was the hour of promise.

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