Episode 75: Producer (4)
I’ve always held that in a recording session, the producer is god—words are law, truth absolute.
A manager questioning if it’s about “discipline” or a “power play” was unthinkable.
Back in the day, I’d have snapped.
“Spouting nonsense like that—get out now! Hey, toss this guy out!”
Whether it was a manager, Ailee, or even CEO Seo Yoonje, I’d have done it.
But the heat rushing to my head cooled fast.
Her tangled words, eyes squeezed shut as she blurted them out, reminded me of a small animal puffing up to protect its young.
‘Why am I picking on someone trembling, barely able to speak?’
The urge to obliterate her faded to embarrassment.
If she’d planned this, she’d be a mastermind.
Her quivering eyes, realizing her mistake too late, said otherwise.
‘Nah, not a chance.’
She’d likely kick her blankets tonight, muttering, “Should’ve said it differently.”
That thought revealed what I’d missed.
‘Her makeup’s heavy…’
The prickly, fussy vibe was crafted.
‘Age? Mid-to-late twenties? Twenty-seven? Eight?’
A role like Bong Cheol-jin’s isn’t young, but not old either.
Even if she pushed for it, MyWay’s bold move to pair a twenty-year-old rookie manager with a debut idol suggests proven results earned her this spot.
‘She’s likely sincere about Hylliy, at least.’
Piecing this together, I gauged her courage to stand here.
‘I wonder if this is why I regressed. Feels pathetic.’
At nearly forty mentally, scolding someone barely thirty felt absurd. I glanced at the bright winter sky, venting.
‘Is this Zia’s doing?’
Pre-regression, I’d have acted regardless of age.
Time with Zia seems to have softened me.
‘Good change or bad?’
Uncertain, but noting I framed it as “thanks to” rather than “because of” lightened my mood.
“Come along. See if this was a power play, discipline, or real producing. Decide after.”
I might be wrong about this leniency.
No matter—if she persists post-evidence, I’ll crush her then.
Back in the studio—
“Kitano-ssi, step out for now.”
I pull the flustered Sora from the soundproof room.
As she exits, I face Hylliy’s manager.
“Let’s clarify before starting. Manager Park Jiseon? Why did my order feel like a power play or discipline to you? Explain.”
“Manager Park?!”
Ailee gasps, turning to her.
Though only Ailee spoke, Sora, the engineers, and Ailee share stunned looks.
“A manager like you saying that…!”
I raise a hand, halting Ailee’s outrage.
“I’m not blaming Manager Park, Ailee.”
I turn to Park Jiseon, her lips tight.
“Misunderstandings happen. I’m confident my order had no such intent, but words alone won’t convince someone who felt otherwise. I want to hear why. So, Manager Park, why did you think that?”
If she articulates this setup, she passes.
Reconciliation might be tough, but we’ll avoid a fractured work environment.
Vague answers?
‘She’s out.’
Manager or not, she won’t touch my producing.
“Lay it all out. We’ll clear misunderstandings or find a middle ground.”
Silence thickens.
Finally—
“Hoo…”
Park Jiseon exhales, pulling a paper envelope from her bag.
“Ailee, take this.”
“Manager Park…!”
Unmarked, its meaning is clear.
But I intercept it.
“I’ll hold this. Ailee’s a third party—I won’t burden her. If it’s used, I’ll deliver it to Manager Bong or the CEO myself. No producer’s privilege allows this, nor Ailee’s.”
Her resignation in my hands, she resolves.
Relieved, she opens up.
“First, your producer role irked me.”
Faces blanch at her bluntness.
“I can see that. What specifically bothered you?”
Rumors swirled. A new boy group launch, me as producer, Hylliy as a career stepping stone.”
“No, that’s…!”
“I thought only old-timers played those games, but MyWay’s human too. Yes, it’s leaning that way. Career-building? Can’t deny it.”
I stop Ailee, affirming the rumors.
Her pause at my candor lets me counter.
“But, Manager Park? Doesn’t that make me more trustworthy?”
“Huh?”
“Hylliy’s had a lot of water under the bridge. With the right timing, a career high is within reach. But if I fail here? Replacing a confirmed producer isn’t hard—ditching a nominee like me is even easier. Didn’t it occur to you I’d pour everything into this, just to secure that position?”
“Uh…”
“Since rumors are out, I’ll confirm. The boy group’s main vocal is Tae-oh—already signed with a hefty advance. They won’t settle for a mediocre producer for him. Right, Ailee?”
“Yes, Manager Park. I heard rumors too—some thought they’d ditch Hylliy. Not true. Yujin-ssi’s skill convinced the CEO, that’s why this is happening.”
“It seems we just viewed it differently. Does that make sense now?”
Park Jiseon couldn’t reply, but—
‘There’s logic…!’
She was already swayed.
Proof? His expression in the hallway—deflated after her “power play” jab. She’d feel the same.
“So, the kids can’t have drinks while you flaunt yours? That’s lack of care! Calling Sora ‘-ssi’ like a wall, and when I spoke, you acted like you were waiting…!”
Desperate, she spilled her guts, finding it pathetic yet fearing worse silence.
“Hmm… Drinks… Care… Fair point. As a singer, I swear—without these engineers, no skill can craft a song. The kids deserve care, but here, they’re the ones needing to earn it. Drinks? They should’ve brought their own.”
Yujin tackled it head-on.
“Titles… Didn’t expect that. I chose ‘-ssi’ to respect Kitano. Four years in Korea, sixteen or seventeen in Japan. We’re not close—‘-ssi’ felt easier. Asking her directly feels awkward, so that’s all I’ll say.”
One by one—
“The last part, I’ll apologize. I had a bias—your first impression seemed prickly. It felt like an unnecessary challenge, like I was being disciplined. I was wrong. Sorry.”
Drinks? Unarguable.
Titles? Sora’s face confirmed Yujin’s stance.
The apology? She had no retort.
Her youthful look, plus past slights to Hylliy fueling her stern makeup post-promotion, added context.
“Then… why force Sora’s ‘ㄹ’ pronunciation?!”
Park Jiseon raised her breaking point.
“I worked hard to fix Sora’s ‘ㄹ’—even studied phonetics to minimize it in songs. Why push it…!”
Sadly, she couldn’t finish.
Yujin’s first frown—deep creases screaming “Gotcha.”
“You should’ve mastered phonetics. Half-baked lessons ruined her stable pronunciation—didn’t you notice?”
His Icy tone chilled the room.
Everyone felt the honorifics vanish.
“She’s forcing ‘ㄹ’ awareness, turning ‘eoreobeorin’ into ‘orobeorin.’ Letting that slide is unprofessional. I tested it with ‘ㄹ’ and ‘ㅓ’ combos. Luck hid it till now—I won’t ignore it.”
“Uh, frozen… orobeorin… huh?!”
Unsolicited, Sora repeated it, realization dawning in her dazed voice.
Her murmur hit Park Jiseon like a slap.
The cold voice pressed on.
“Didn’t you notice her emotion shifts between Korean and Japanese? It screams ‘fixing pronunciation.’ Kitano-ssi, didn’t you feel it?”
Sora stayed silent.
Her nod sufficed.
“Ah… ahh!”
Realizing she’d harmed Sora, Park Jiseon sank.
But a voice pulled her up.
“Still, someone had to do it.”
It was Yujin, her sinker.
“If muddled pronunciation killed emotion, fixing it solves it.”
Turning to Sora, his tone warmed.
“Okay, Kitano-ssi. Try ‘oooh.’ No sound needed. Now, slowly shift to ‘ah.’ Stop! Now voice it.”
“Eeee…”
“Yes, that’s ‘ㅓ.’ Never taught?”
“No…”
“Maybe you were too good, so no one did. Korean teachers usually know this. From now, mind your tongue flick and mouth shape for ‘ㄹ.’ Can you?”
Sora’s gaze hit Park Jiseon.
Her bright eyes stirred guilt, yet—
“Yes! Manager unnie’s lessons got praise! I’ll nail yours too!”
Her warm look at her manager persisted.
“Let’s record Eunwoo’s part first. Kitano-ssi’s will wait—decide later. Eunwoo-ssi, in.”
“Yep.”
Recording resumed.
Later—
“Eoreobeorin sigani
Tik Tok umkyeo.”
“What? A genius? In an hour?”
“Producer-nim taught me well!”
Nailing the part, Sora beamed.
“Producer-nim, can I have that?”
“This? Sure, a reward for doing great.”
He handed her the white envelope from Park Jiseon.
“Hehe. Manager unnie, you’re not going anywhere!”
She tore it apart, tossing it in the trash.