Episode 95: Underdog (1)
Ji-woo is the type that’s easy to read.
When he says not just “I think I should go” but the much more decisive “I have to go,” there’s no choice but to let him leave.
That kind of wording means a real change has occurred in his heart.
The fact that he even added “Thank you” and “Please take good care of the song” makes it clear that the direction of that change is positive.
‘I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly, though.’
Considering Ji-woo’s personality—he tends to become quite timid unless it’s a truly decisive moment—I had thought that maybe only after the recording was completely finished and everyone was going “aww, good job~” would it have some effect on him.
But it seems that decisive moment arrived quite a bit earlier than expected.
‘Anyway, that bastard Tae-oh is seriously a walking lucky charm.’
Even from inside the studio, it was clearly visible that Ji-woo and Tae-oh were having a conversation.
Thanks to the unnecessarily perfect soundproofing, I couldn’t hear exactly what they talked about, but it was obvious that Tae-oh was the one who gave Ji-woo the final push.
Bringing the Orion members here was definitely the right decision.
The only problem is that the expression on the face of Tae-oh—the one who actually made that right decision—looks a little dark.
‘He seems to think he made a mistake.’
It’s understandable that he’d react that way if, right after talking with him, the other person suddenly gets up and leaves.
Knowing Tae-oh as I do, I don’t think he would have done anything wrong, but I also can’t deny that some people might find that kind of behavior unpleasant.
I turned my steps, which had been heading toward the microphone, and opened the studio door again.
“Kang Tae-oh, why’s your face like that?”
In truth, I didn’t bring the Orion members here just to use them as a clapping machine.
There are plenty of singers far more suitable than these guys if the goal was simply to cheer Ji-woo up.
‘Even if bringing the CEO or Ah-jeong sunbae would be too much… there’s Yo-han hyung, and Juan hyung too.’
It’s not a lie to say that this recording is also a lesson for them.
It’s a great opportunity to show them how a recording session actually proceeds and what my producing style is like.
However, Tae-oh was the exception among the five.
He’s the type who naturally knows how to handle his emotions in a way that suits him, and having already experienced Blind Singer, he’s also the one who’s already gone through actual recording sessions.
Still, since I was calling the other four anyway, I couldn’t very well leave Tae-oh out on purpose.
‘That’s why I actually considered giving Tae-oh a little heads-up in advance.’
But I didn’t trust his acting skills enough, so I just left him alone.
And that was definitely the right call.
‘He can’t even hide that level of embarrassment—he’s practically broadcasting it.’
Ji-woo may be timid, but he’s not clueless.
If I had given Tae-oh that kind of role on purpose, Ji-woo would’ve definitely noticed and the situation would’ve become even more awkward. I can picture it clearly.
Well, thanks to that, we ended up with an unexpected harvest, so I should at least cheer up the guy who played such a big role.
‘I’m also a bit curious about what exactly the two of them talked about.’
With that thought, I pointed at him.
“That… um… I think… I made a slip of the tongue to the composer-nim…”
Tae-oh, looking unusually flustered and hesitant, honestly spilled what was on his mind.
Only then did the expressions of the other four kids darken slightly as well.
‘Still, the other four are at least capable of acting a little, huh?’
Even if the engineers didn’t hear, those four must have overheard Ji-woo and Tae-oh’s conversation.
It seems they didn’t waste their trainee years—they’re maintaining slightly awkward but passable poker faces.
I turn my gaze back to Tae-oh.
“Hmm. Ji-woo didn’t look that upset to me. What exactly did you say? Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Perhaps because I’d already laid down some groundwork to prevent the situation from getting worse, the story flows out quite smoothly.
“There’s that song by Juan hyung, right? The one called ‘Too Painful to Keep.’ He said he really loves that song and wanted to meet you once because of it.”
“And?”
“This time he’s really greedy for Blue Poem too, but since it’s a song that was made to give to hyung—no, to Teacher—he thought he shouldn’t be greedy for it…”
At that part, Tae-oh sneaks a glance at me and trails off.
‘Well, it’s true that Blue Poem and First Step could be packaged together under the same concept.’
But since Ji-woo wanted it, there’s nothing to be done.
Still, I don’t think that alone would have been enough to move Ji-woo’s heart.
“Anything else?”
When I ask one more time,
“I told him I’d work hard and become a singer that the composer-nim would want to give songs to… I think I was way too arrogant…”
Finally, the answer I’d been waiting for came.
‘How does he manage to scratch exactly the right itchy spot every time?’
It was such a pinpoint strike that I almost wondered if I could’ve paid someone to do it this perfectly.
Satisfied with the level of comment that didn’t just push Ji-woo’s back but practically launched him beyond the atmosphere, I sneak a glance toward the engineers and ask,
“What do you guys think? Is this kid being too cocky?”
“Nah? It’s cute. Makes me want to raise Yujin’s kids.”
“Exactly. From what I saw, it looks like Ji-woo went off to make songs for you guys, no?”
“Right. How could you stay still after hearing something like that? You’d have to squeeze out something even if you don’t have it.”
“A rookie should have at least that much guts. It’s not weird for a singer to say they want a song they really crave. Still… the opponent is too strong.”
Starting with Lee Jun-min, then Won Hye-yeon, and Shin Jong-hyeop in succession—after hearing their encouraging words and seeing their warm smiles, the darkened expressions of the kids suddenly brightened up.
“Haah…”
“Good job. Ji-woo looked like he had a lot on his mind anyway, and thanks to you, Tae-oh, it seems like he let go of some of it. Still, some people might take it the wrong way, so let’s be careful, okay?”
“Yes…”
“Ugh.”
Even after letting out a sigh full of relief, Tae-oh still hadn’t returned to his usual energy, so I deliberately ruffled his hair hard enough to practically shake his head, then turned and headed back into the studio.
And the moment Tae-oh’s energy finally came back was when
“How about that. Easy, right? Recording is just like this. Nothing difficult about it.”
I said it in the exact tone of that one painter whose trademark line was practically patented,
‘That’s only possible because it’s you…!’
Right around the time the engineers were shooting him looks that basically screamed curses,
“Sigh…”
He let out a sigh that seemed to fully agree.
***
A week passed during which Ji-woo went completely radio silent—not even responding to messages—and the Orion members, instead of being discouraged after witnessing overwhelming skill, threw themselves even more fiercely into training.
“A new song? Already?”
In the end, after I personally finished all the work on <Blue Poem>, the first outsider to hear the news was none other than Kwak Sun-bin.
“Ah, it’s already been three months, hasn’t it. <Shooting Star> stayed in the upper ranks of the charts until early February, so I guess I got a little confused. It’s a bit early, but not strange at all. Oh, but didn’t you say ‘that one’ was for May?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I heard AZ is also dropping a new song before June passes? Wow. MyWay is really charging hard in the first half of the year, huh?”
Even with tight information control, it seemed there was no stopping leaks at this level.
“How did you even know about that?”
“Your reaction just now confirmed it for sure.”
I let my guard down.
No matter how friendly Kwak Sun-bin was toward me, a reporter was still a reporter.
“Hmm. My mistake.”
“Don’t worry. There’s not enough material there to write an article anyway.”
While I was wondering whether I should believe Kwak Sun-bin’s words—spoken with a slight chuckle—
“By the way, is it really okay for you to tell me something like this? Including ‘that one’?”
“It’s fine. I already got permission.”
I had definitely received permission to share information about <Blue Poem> with Kwak Sun-bin.
“Daily Patch reporter Kwak Sun-bin? How do you know him, Yujin-ssi? Well, Kwak has some decent connections, so it should be fine. Yes, you can go ahead and talk.”
Of course, I still didn’t have permission regarding Orion.
Well, I guess we’ll just have to go with the “forgiveness is easier than permission” approach.
“Then I’ll gratefully accept the scoop. When’s it coming out?”
“Teaser drops the first week of April. Promotions probably start the week after?”
“That’s still a little thin for an article. Can’t you give me a bit more?”
“I’ll compile the rest and send it over separately.”
“OK. Got it.”
Just as I was about to end the short call,
“Ah.”
“Ahh!!”
Almost simultaneously, a regret-filled exclamation burst out from the other end of the phone and from beyond the glass window.
“What? Why?”
Given that both Kwak Sun-bin and the MyWay staff reacted almost identically at the same time, I could roughly guess the reason.
Even though I pretended not to know and asked anyway, Kwak Sun-bin delivered his own live commentary in a tone dripping with disappointment.
“<Music Squar>—Mysty is in 2nd place. The digital score is ahead for Hylliy, but… yeah, the number-one spot is brutal as expected.”
I also casually stood on tiptoe to peek at the TV screen visible above the frosted glass window.
Just as Kwak Sun-bin said, Hylliy was leading in digital score, but Pleiades was comfortably making up the gap with higher album points and fan voting points.
The fan vote ratio was almost 7:3.
‘At this point… it’s not really a disappointing margin.’
Usually, when the score is in the 8–9 thousand range—or even over 10 thousand—a 3-thousand-point gap is hard to close.
<Mysty> was still holding onto 1st place on the chart, but Pleiades was firmly in 2nd, which made it feel even more solid.
“It’s okay! 2nd place is still really good!”
A voice called out from beyond the glass.
He wasn’t wrong.
Just managing to become a contender for 1st place in a single week, beating out other idols, was already a huge achievement.
However—
“Yujin-ssi, weren’t you watching <Music Square>? I’d be disappointed if the producer himself wasn’t even keeping track of something like that.”
The voice over the phone carried a slight scolding tone—perhaps because it was a little disappointed that Hylliy didn’t take 1st.
“I just finished wrapping up the new song.”
“Huh? You’re doing that yourself too?”
“If I’m handling other singers’ songs, why wouldn’t I do my own? These days even monks shave their own heads.”
“What do you mean by that… You have to tell me stuff like this! Can I put this in an article?”
Just like with <Shooting Star>, I was actually more surprised that they hadn’t expected me to handle it personally.
‘Come to think of it… this isn’t something people are used to from me yet.’
Realizing that this was still something that would take time to become normal,
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Then I’ll contact you again later!”
The moment I answered, the call ended as sharply as a knife.
Since I’d been about to hang up anyway, I didn’t bother hiding the laugh that slipped out.
Ding.
Notifications for messages I hadn’t noticed during the call started popping up one after another.
[Hey, when are you uploading this?]
[We’ve already finished ours, so why’d you ask and then go silent?]
I paused the flood of messages flashing by without even checking the senders, set them aside for later, and started walking again.
Then,
“Excuse me.”
At the light call of my voice, the eyes that had been glued to the TV turned toward me.
Just a month ago those gazes had been sullen and grumpy,
“Ah, Yujin-ssi!”
But now they were practically dripping with honey.
“I came to return this.”
“Ah, you could’ve taken your time.”
Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. I simply held out the camcorder I’d been carrying, and a staff member from the content planning team hurriedly came over to take it.
It was the camcorder I’d borrowed during Hylliy’s showcase, claiming I needed it to cover my face.
“Hm? There’s actually footage on it? Oh, this is from the showcase, right?”
“Yes. It felt weird just holding it without using it.”
“Wow. You shot this really well.”
“For real? This could totally be uploaded as Eun-woo’s fancam.”
“Isn’t it a bit late to post showcase fancams now?”
They say even a dog that’s lived in a school for three years can recite poetry.
Having lived as the subject for sixteen years, you naturally pick up at least the surface-level know-how of how to be filmed.
But the important part came next.
“There’s one more.”
“What is it?”
“Huh…? This is…”
The reason I’d shot fancam-quality footage that most hommas or rookie cameramen couldn’t even dream of—and then hadn’t handed it over right away—was exactly this.
[TL Note: “Hommas” (홈마) are dedicated K-pop fans who run high-quality fan sites, known for capturing and sharing professional-looking photos and videos of idols, promoting them.]
“No way… Is this you, Yujin-ssi?”
It was me, following along to Mysty’s choreography.
“Huh? What is it? Ah… when was this even taken…? Did Zia film it as a prank?”
Even I could feel how awkward my own voice sounded saying that,
“Now that I think about it, I think the choreography team mentioned it wasn’t a joke when Yujin-ssi did it…”
“No, I had no idea you were this good…?”
“Yu… Yujin-ssi…! Can we film just one video with you?”
“Not long—just thirty seconds. Just one short.”
The content planning team staff didn’t even pretend to hesitate; they clung to me like that.
It probably took them this long to remember to beg—something they could’ve done the moment I walked in—because of one of MyWay’s few shortcomings: the fact that, aside from Hylliy, there are no other idols.
With only one member in the company who can actually dance—Ah-jeong—there simply wasn’t enough firepower to keep a “challenge” going.
‘But things are different now.’
No matter how much people say “2nd place is still good,” very few actually remember the runner-up.
I fully understood the desperate feeling of grasping at straws to turn the situation around.
That’s why I’d come prepared.
“Ah, filming is no problem at all. Speaking of which, someone asked if it was okay to upload challenge videos and cover songs—would that be alright?”
“Who…?”
“For the challenge, it’s Ji-yoon and Seung-hee noona from Pink Blossom, plus Sally noona and E-GIS—four in total. For the cover song, it’s Dong-gyu hyung and In sunbae-nim’s band Yell. They said they did a bit of rearrangement, though…”
The exact method I’d already benefited greatly from myself.
If your fandom’s firepower is lacking, you just call in reinforcements.