Chapter 14: Letting Go Of Stubbornness
Ah, CEO Kwak appeared.
At Kwak Youngho’s entrance, Producer Nam flustered and quickly lowered his tail.
I was extremely curious to see how the big match between the two of them would unfold.
…it was exactly how I felt, as if I wanted to commentate.
I’ve never worked at a company, so I don’t really understand what kind of weight being a boss or subordinate carries. Even the owner.
I thought it might feel like a senior in the military, but that wasn’t it either.
It wasn’t just simple berating.
Perhaps….
“Our Producer Nam is finally trying to take responsibility, huh? Goodness, how do you expect to take responsibility by grabbing your junior like catching a mouse, let’s hear it?”
“No, CEO. That’s not what I meant…”
“Inside or out, I’m just too happy. I was wondering if I could put down that burden of responsibility thanks to Producer Nam. So how about I hand over the rank insignia? Want to be the responsible producer this time?”
Between the person who gives money and the one who receives it.
I guess such a clear superior‑subordinate relationship created this atmosphere, I just guessed.
And that responsibility must be related to money in some way, too.
Like a meerkat, I rolled my eyeballs around and quietly listened to their conversation.
“I thought Producer Nam wouldn’t do something like that. You rascal, before…”
“Ah, CEO, why are you bringing that up all of a sudden? Let’s stop this.”
“At least you realize it’s embarrassing in front of the kids, so that’s a relief. If a mere producer talks about responsibility, I feel slighted. Right?”
Producer Nam’s face turned bright red.
They didn’t have to embarrass him that much.
I felt like CEO Kwak was deliberately overdoing it to strike.
Honestly, let me be frank.
“Uh, Writer Seo. Don’t be nervous. This is how it’s always been here. Go ahead and continue what you were talking about. Where did we leave off?”
“Well, I—I haven’t said anything.”
“Hmm-hmm. Anyway, shall we listen to Writer Seo’s concept once more? Producer Nam, go out for a moment, drink some water, calm yourself, then come back in. You were too excited, buddy.”
Even though it felt like indiscriminately firing at Producer Nam, upon listening closely it felt like they were trying to soothe me.
“I’ll just step out to the restroom briefly.”
The moment Producer Nam left his seat.
CEO Kwak hurried beside me and asked.
“You were upset, weren’t you?”
“No, not really.”
“Then?”
“I was just wondering for a moment what responsibility really meant.”
“Oh dear. It’s really nothing. Our Writer Seo just writes songs and records them. You only need to do exactly what you’re supposed to, like now. I’ll take care of all that other stuff. Right, Team Leader Park?”
When the target abruptly shifted to him, Team Leader Park responded non‑chalantly, “Ah, of course. Sure,” sounding rather lukewarm.
I found this situation fascinating.
It felt like confirming what hyung had told me with my own eyes.
When I buy an album, I check the credits first.
Who wrote the songs, who played instruments, session musicians or MIDI, things like that.
The most interesting among them was the producer.
Strangely, most albums list the general producer as that company’s representative.
Until hyung worked in an entertainment company, I thought it was just the representative’s greed. A form of self‑realization?
Imagine how proud you’d feel if your name was boldly printed on a famous idol album.
But it wasn’t for such vain reasons, of course.
‑ Hey hey, Seo Taeyoon. Found something interesting.
‑ What?
‑ You know the general producer? It means the person who takes responsibility.
‑ Responsibility?
‑ Yeah. In short, it means the money flow.
‑ Huh?
Indeed. The general producer wasn’t just someone who planned an album.
They were the person responsible for the entire album.
Put differently: if the album thrived, it was thanks to them; if it failed, it was their fault.
They made countless decisions.
That’s why everyone looked for the representative whenever anything happened.
Financially or emotionally.
I thought that carrying “responsibility” entirely was truly admirable.
And I even developed a desire to someday become someone who takes responsibility.
You know that sort of thing, right?
“I will take full responsibility! Just do your work comfortably in your own place.”
That sort of thing.
“….Yujin, you try that method. Hey, Writer Seo. Are you listening?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Is there something on my face? Why are you looking at me so intently?”
“Because you’re so cool.”
“Good grief. When Writer Seo says that, it kinda makes things awkward, huh?”
Though he said that.
His lips trembled so much they almost danced.
“When Producer Nam comes back, you two continue. It’s also necessary for the composer to speak clearly. Don’t let things slide. If it doesn't match the original direction, speak up until the end. Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“This is exactly the thing that’s hard to do in moderation. Right?”
“It really is.”
“But still, know this. Anyway, Yujin’s second single’s responsible producer is Producer Nam. You learn by adjusting things this way.”
Producer Nam reappeared in the studio.
His hands full of something.
“Have a drink, everyone.”
He placed it down as if casually…
“Thank you. Producer.”
I saw it.
Amid the iced Americanos, a caramel macchiato stood out by itself.
The coffee tasted sweeter than usual today.
With the atmosphere settled.
As if nothing had happened, the recording proceeded like clockwork.
Producer Nam sat upright and told Yujin.
“We’re recording now. Yujin, relax. Let’s start again from the bridge.”
Taeyoon closed his eyes and focused on Han Yujin’s voice.
Second take, third take.
It got better and better.
As the noisy atmosphere quieted, Han Yujin revealed her true self without reserve.
“Like Writer Seo mentioned earlier, I’ll try singing as if whispering, but I’ll take a deeper breath.”
The atmosphere changed.
The song felt even more natural.
Han Yujin’s clear voice shone in those whispered moments.
The precise pitch hit my ear directly.
When Oh Jisoo lightly touched it, it rebirthed into much richer lyrics.
“Nice…”murmured CEO Kwak.
Producer Nam paid no mind and asked Taeyoon.
“Do you have the directing notes organized?”
“Yes, here.”
Producer Nam furrowed his brow as he took the notes. Taeyoon awkwardly scratched his sideburns.
“Um… what is this?”
He leaned in as if drawn into the notebook.
“Shall I read it to you?”
“They say geniuses have bad handwriting. This isn’t bad handwriting… is it a cipher?”
A light laugh burst out.
In the softened atmosphere, Taeyoon cautiously added.
“So, in the second verse, like you mentioned earlier, maybe try raising the ending slightly.”
“Hmm?”
“What if we add a slightly muffled tone? Might bring out the flavor. In a direction that enhances the vocal color.”
“That sounds good. Yujin, did you hear that?”
Yujin, inside the recording booth, firmly nodded.
Taeyoon watched Producer Nam’s behavior carefully.
Though he looked somewhat prickly, acting moody, trying to seem lone-wolf, in fact he was the type with no friends.
A pro is a pro.
There’s definitely something different about their posture.
They never leave the singer in the recording booth alone.
Inside the booth, you can’t hear the sounds from outside.
You just watch the composer and producer at the console silently mouthing words like a silent film.
I’ve never personally experienced what it feels like to be in the booth, but seeing someone left alone in there while others just mouth words outside must make you feel uneasy.
The expressions on the people at the console are usually serious.
Maybe that’s why.
I thought Producer Nam didn’t get that spot at ToMe Entertainment’s production team just by chance.
Even his unconscious actions showed deep care for the artist.
It was the trace of long experience. A habit even he wasn’t aware of.
“Producer, you keep pressing the talkback button.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Every time you speak, your hand goes toward the button.”
“Oh, did I? Well, Yujin needs to hear me, right? But Writer Seo.”
“One moment, Producer.”
“Yes?”
“You can speak casually with me.”
“Ah, can I… really? You’re an external writer.”
“Yes. I think it’ll be more comfortable that way.”
Taeyoon thought.
Though informal speech can be seen as disrespectful, if you flip it, it can also be the beginning of closeness.
We’re over ten years apart in age—what does it matter?
“Alright then. Yujin, let’s go as we discussed earlier. You can do it, right?”
“Yep. Writer Seo, I like the idea of raising the final note. I feel more comfortable projecting clearly than trying a vague high note.”
Taeyoon’s beat started up again.
That shy Han Yujin from moments ago was gone.
Now only a professional singer remained, ready to dominate the stage with a single phrase.
“Live as your true self.”
Han Yujin nodded in rhythm.
She just couldn’t keep her body still.
With one hand pressing her headphones tightly.
She turned the studio into a stage with a natural groove.
Flawless, solid vocals. Deep breaths.
Taeyoon’s emotion and Producer Nam’s skill finally harmonized.
“That’s it. Whispering works here. This is insane. The bridge is the killing part.”
Taeyoon smiled at Producer Nam’s words.
As the vocal tone shifted following Taeyoon’s advice, the whole mood of the song came to life.
Deadly charm. FATAL.
She expressed the album concept with her entire being.
‘How did he draw that out of Yujin?’
Producer Nam, not knowing the reason, could only speculate various things to himself.
But he couldn’t reach a conclusion just yet.
He would have to find out gradually.
Still, one thing was clear.
Han Yujin was finally wearing the perfect outfit.
Both the designer and the tailor.
They had let go of their pride and focused solely on the model.
Though it had been a little rocky, CEO Kwak just smiled warmly at the two, who were now slowly syncing.
“You worked hard today. Let’s meet again after mastering is done.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
At last, the Han Yujin title track recording party dispersed.
As if they had taken down a named monster, everyone looked triumphant.
Their trophy would be a perfect album.
CEO Kwak Youngho and Producer Nam Seonghyeon went up to the rooftop.
On the rooftop, where the sun was now slowly setting.
The two men, bonded more tightly through smoking than any academic or regional ties, exchanged feedback as usual.
Producer Nam spoke first.
“Wow, CEO, you were terrifying today. I was a bit hurt, honestly.”
“That’s what you get for throwing a tantrum over nothing with a rookie. Were you that upset about your song getting rejected?”
“It’s not that… ha, never mind. It’s fine.”
I thought he was just another punk riding high, acting cocky. Like those other guys.
…but he didn’t bother saying that out loud.
The ability had already been proven.
Saying such things now would only sound pathetic.
“Geez, idiot. Are you becoming like Producer Cha?”
“Why are you bringing him up out of nowhere?”
“You remember? That time you cried and said you were quitting music because Cha Producer was roasting you nonstop. CEO Kim from Tomorrow Entertainment and I barely calmed you down back then… sheesh.”
Producer Nam nodded silently.
It’s true. He had once been like Taeyoon too.
He’d suffered plenty of humiliation from senior producers.
He had vowed never to become like them—and yet, he was now acting exactly like that.
“I was nervous, you know. Worried that Writer Seo might run away saying he couldn’t do it. Do you even know how much effort we’re putting into Seo Taeyoon?”
“Stop wasting energy. It’s a lost cause.”
Producer Nam puffed on his vape and continued.
“Once Yujin’s album drops, people everywhere will be lighting fires to find out who that writer is. You think he’ll stay with us?”
“You always have to ruin things when they’re going well.”
“I’m just being honest. Writers follow the money. Can you pay as much as Tomorrow Entertainment? Can you support like Hero does?”
He wasn’t wrong.
He was painfully right.
Producer Nam looked CEO Kwak in the eye.
And realized—you really can hit someone with just your eyes. He flinched.
“Well, that’s up to fate. Not everyone moves based on conditions alone.”
“Must be nice. I used to be like that too. Guess it’s my time. Nam Seonghyeon…”
“Time for what? Just go home. Hasn’t it been over a week since you went home? What’s with your eyes? The way you’re looking, I’d say you’ll be doing this for another fifty years.”
Even while joking back and forth.
Both of their minds were full of Taeyoon.
One thought, “We have to lock him down no matter what.”
The other thought, “I’m so curious what’s going on inside that guy’s head.”
“You’re the industry senior, aren’t you? It’s hard to find a fresh sprout like that. Reach out first. Treat him to something nice, show support, and slip in an apology.”
“I already cleared it up earlier.”
“You’re so petty. That’s why you have no friends.”
They talked and talked.
It must’ve meant the day’s events left an impression.
“Alright, send him a message.”
“Hold on. Let me text him… huh?”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Writer Seo Taeyoon just messaged me?”
“What?! Let me see.”
The two middle-aged men huddled over the small phone.
After reading the message, they looked at each other and chuckled.
[Seo Taeyoon: Sorry for being rude today. But I just couldn’t yield on the bridge part. As an apology, I’d like to meet you. I’ll treat you to something delicious.]