Chapter 23: Legendary Band Vocalist
The moment I stepped in, I could feel the atmosphere.
The owner’s voice.
I had a hunch this place wasn’t ordinary.
Anyone would feel the same.
There were instruments and music-related photos.
Even the interior, which didn’t suit a Western-style restaurant (though I still didn’t understand why Lyricist Oh Jisoo insisted it was Japanese), was somewhat understandable.
Well, it’s not unusual to see figurines and paintings in a restaurant.
But.
‘These collectibles are no joke.’
The LP records covering the entire wall were telling a different story.
It went beyond simple collecting.
Especially a few of the albums I glimpsed were legendary ones I’d only heard about.
Like the first edition of Pink Floyd released in '67, or the mono version of a Captain Beefheart album.
Albums you can’t even buy with money were displayed like they were common Gundam figures.
‘And even… the owner used to be in a band. What is this place?’
Cheongseong.
A band often casually referred to as "Blue Star" online.
How should I put it? A legendary group that lit up the dark age of Korea in the '90s?
They even coined the term “Cheongseong style” at the time.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that every band that came after was influenced by Cheongseong.
As I was reading up on them online, I suddenly gasped in surprise.
I saw the group name and thought, “No way.”
“Wow. So that’s why the group was called Cheongseong.”
Cheongseong Troop.
6th Division.
That’s right. Cheongseong was a band formed by military comrades from the 6th Division.
I was struck by a strange sense of camaraderie.
I was from the 6th Division too…!
I read the band’s story with growing interest.
As expected, the heart of a band is its vocalist!
There were the longest and most detailed anecdotes about the vocalist.
A vocal style ahead of its time, delicate lyrics.
I had known about the group, but not the name of the vocalist.
It was fascinating.
A rock band vocalist frying pork cutlets.
‘There must be a reason Lyricist Oh Jisoo brought me here….’
While I was deep in thought, the heavy voice of the owner—no, the legendary band vocalist—rang out.
“You waited long, didn’t you?”
Hearing it again…
I liked it even more.
The owner appeared with plates full in both hands.
Beside him, Lyricist Oh Jisoo winked and smiled.
I didn’t know what that meant.
But that wasn’t important right now.
I jumped up from my seat and greeted him politely.
“Cheongseong! Senior! It’s an honor to meet you.”
Moon Jeongbae, who had been placing the dishes on the table, was startled and made eye contact with Taeyoon.
What the—Cheongseong?
This pale, flour-faced-looking kid, why was his voice so loud?
If he’s Oh Jisoo’s junior, he’s probably just some guy who scribbles lyrics.
“Uh… Cheongseong?”
Did he mispronounce “salute”?
And what was with the sudden “senior”?
“I’m from the 6th Division too.”
Ah. Only then did Moon Jeongbae realize why the guy had been going on about Cheongseong.
Back in my day, it was “Victory.”
“Oh, really? You must’ve had a tough time.”
Yeah. Since we’re from the same division, I did feel a little familiar.
Cheorwon… it’s cold there.
Moon Jeongbae stared at Taeyoon.
He’d only heard he was a junior. Didn’t know the details.
One of those kids Oh Jisoo hangs around with? Predictable.
The moment they realized who he was, their attitude always changed.
They’d try to butter him up by reciting stuff he himself didn’t even remember.
Why? Because this industry runs on connections.
Even a washed-up band vocalist had some use if you got on his good side.
This kid was probably the same.
So Moon Jeongbae just gave his usual awkward smile.
But hold on.
This one… might be different?
He must’ve prepared a lot. Let’s hear what he’s got. He wasn’t so closed-minded.
Besides, the kid was a division junior. Whatever, he was in the mood to listen today.
But then, Taeyoon said something unexpected.
“Thanks for the food! Wow, it smells amazing. This spaghetti—is it that Napolitan thing? The one made with ketchup? I thought it was Western-style, but it really is Japanese.”
“…?”
Oh Jisoo let out a quiet laugh and asked Moon Jeongbae,
“Senior, aren’t you sitting down? Why are you just standing there watching the guest eat?”
“Uh…”
“Do you have something to say?”
“What should I say?”
Should I say I was dumbfounded?
He was completely different from the others I’d met.
Was he really here just to eat?
Why was he eating so well? Half the plate was already empty.
“Should I bring more?”
“If I’m still hungry, I’ll order more.”
Watching Taeyoon scrape up the last of the sauce, Moon Jeongbae suddenly felt embarrassed.
Ah, I misunderstood. Sorry.
He didn’t show it, but in truth, he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Let’s release an album, please listen to my music, do you know what the other members are up to?
The moment any industry person walked in, it felt like a hearing.
But Seo Taeyoon.
This kid was different.
He was making Moon Jeongbae feel anxious instead.
He talked about the 6th Division and Cheongseong, so it seemed like he was building up to ask something.
But… he didn’t ask?
Weirdly disappointing?
“The food is really delicious. You’re amazing, sir. Wow, can I come here with my hyung? He really loves pork cutlets.”
Why was he only talking about food?
Oh, right. This is a restaurant.
“Yes, sure. Come anytime.”
“He loves pork cutlets and music. I think he’ll really like your collection. Oh, and…”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“The photo on the counter is really cool. You look great singing.”
Oh? Moon Jeongbae’s eyes lit up.
He asked naturally,
“Do you perhaps know who I am?”
“Yes. You’re the vocalist of the band Cheongseong, right?”
“Do you like our songs?”
He was curious.
What kind of music did this junior like? How much did he know about him?
But Taeyoon replied,
“No. I’m sorry, I don’t really know. Honestly, I just found out you were the vocalist of Cheongseong a moment ago when I looked it up.”
“Ah-ha…?”
“Of course, I’ve heard of Cheongseong. It was one of the greatest rock bands. I’m certain many people loved you all…”
“……”
It went completely against expectations. As always.
“Why are you laughing?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve just never seen Senior Jeongbae that flustered before.”
The owner was resting his chin on his hand, staring into space.
He looked… kind of sulky.
“Did I offend you somehow…?”
“No. It’s funny. Just as I expected.”
And so, all the empty plates were cleared.
With a cup of tea and a glass of iced cocoa, I sat across from Oh Jisoo.
Not only was the food delicious, but the iced cocoa was great too.
This place was definitely a hidden gem.
“Alright, shall we hear it now? I’m curious why our Writer Seo made that kind of proposal to me.”
Oh Jisoo took a notebook and fountain pen out of her bag.
Just a moment ago, she looked like a typical neighborhood ajumma, but her eyes changed.
I couldn’t lose to that.
So I answered sincerely.
“It’s just as I said over the phone yesterday. I want to collaborate with you on songwriting.”
“Collaboration… You do know what that means, right?”
I did. No need to overthink it.
Working together and registering as co-authors. That’s what collaboration meant, didn’t it?
When I explained it simply, Oh Jisoo asked again.
“That’s it? That’s just the dictionary definition.”
She picked up her teacup and nodded slightly.
Was that her way of telling me to speak honestly?
But really, that was all I had in mind.
Maybe in another setting I’d say more, but this was business.
I came here to formally propose co-writing to Lyricist Oh Jisoo. So there was no need to hide anything.
They say in negotiations, you reveal your most important card last.
Like hitting a high note at the climax of a song.
But I didn’t have anything like that.
I’d already received so much help from her before.
Professionals are different. No—more precisely, Oh Jisoo was special.
Just changing one tiny word ending changed the tone, the timbre of the voice.
It must’ve been a technique she mastered through hundreds, thousands of recordings.
Even if she said it was nothing, I knew.
She must’ve put in an unbelievable amount of effort behind the scenes to reach that level.
Oh Jisoo was a swan.
Elegant above water, but paddling relentlessly below.
So I said,
“Why don’t you try hiding behind me this time, Lyricist Oh Jisoo?”
Even swans must get tired sometimes.
Oh Jisoo.
Just her name drew the public’s attention.
They expected, watched, and criticized.
What I meant was, why not take this chance to shed the title of ‘Lyricist Oh Jisoo’ and just be ‘Oh Jisoo’?
“Our Writer Seo’s back doesn’t seem wide enough to hide someone, though?”
Classic lyricist. What a metaphor.
So I answered back,
“It’s fine. ‘Lyricist Oh Jisoo’ might be a bit much, but I think I can hide ‘Oh Jisoo’ just fine.”
“Ah…”
Instead of replying, she picked up her pen and started scribbling on paper.
Meaningless words filled the white page.
That’s how she organized her thoughts, I realized.
‘Let’s throw in one last pitch.’
That’s the kind of person I am. Or rather, that’s how my songs are.
They don’t explode with high notes, but they whisper and tickle and seduce.
“Why don’t you try developing a side character this time, Lyricist Oh Jisoo?”
“Side character?”
“I feel like there’s a lot you haven’t done because of your fixed image… unless I’m wrong in assuming.”
“I think I’m being persuaded a little.”
Almost there.
Just a bit more imagination, and I might awaken a hidden dream of hers.
“I’ll give it my all too. Later, you can just go, ‘Surprise! I’m Oh Jisoo. I can write stuff like this too!’ Wouldn’t that be fun? I think it’d feel really exhilarating and refreshing.”
Tap.
Oh Jisoo closed her notebook.
As if she had made up her mind.
She looked into my eyes and asked,
“Are you confident?”
I knew exactly what that meant.
Confidence that it’ll succeed, confidence that the song will be good, confidence that she won’t regret working with me.
Something like that.
But right now, that wasn’t the point.
With the opportunity within reach, I couldn’t give a boring answer.
“Of course. I’m confident.”
“Confident about what?”
“Confident that just ‘Oh Jisoo’ is an even cooler person than ‘Lyricist Oh Jisoo.’ Let’s show them that we don’t need those fancy titles.”
Hmm… Was I too confident?
I couldn’t read her expression.
She seemed deep in thought.
After a long pause, Oh Jisoo spoke.
“Let’s hear the song you’ve prepared first. The song’s the most important part anyway.”
“Of course.”
I pulled out my laptop and began setting up.
Oh Jisoo, watching me, added,
“And I can drop the formal speech from now on, right? Collaborating is harder than it sounds. But I don’t want to be fussing over language too. That okay? I’m scary, you know?”
The spot where Taeyoon had played the song and then left quietly.
Oh Jisoo stared at it absentmindedly.
It could happen once.
Someone might strike gold with a song like <Super Ride> after years of hard work.
Maybe he had poured in all his energy like gathering a spirit bomb.
That’s why there were so many one-hit wonders.
She had met countless composers who burned out and could never write another song like their first.
‘Or maybe…’
It could’ve been a fluke.
Maybe a melody popped into his head and just happened to work.
But.
‘It can’t be a coincidence twice.’
Showing that level of quality twice in a row wasn’t a fluke.
Was it okay for her to get involved in such a refined song with her personal bias?
Wouldn’t her old-school sensibility taint something this polished?
She even had those thoughts.
Oh Jisoo pulled herself together and stood up.
She tried to shake off the unfamiliar tremble in her chest, but someone grabbed and shook her heart again.
It was Moon Jeongbae.
“Hey, Oh Jisoo. What the heck. Huh? What was that song? That, that… what’s with that 6th Division guy? Isn’t he a lyricist? What did I just hear? Whose song is that? Huh? He said he made it and just left. Is that true? I feel like I’ve been bewitched. Oh Jisoo, who the heck did you bring here?”