The Producer Who Draws Stars

Chapter 15: Still in Progress (3)

 

For the first time in her life, she presents her own composition.

The thought filled Yoo Ah-ra into a frenzy of excitement.  

Since receiving the script, she had been eagerly awaiting this scene and had fully immersed herself in the process of composing the song. All those guitar and composition lessons she’d squeezed into her schedule—it was all for this moment.  

No, it was for the future.  

If this original song went well, she might be able to include one of her own compositions in the album currently in the works.  

Though Heli was still a novice producer who didn’t know much yet, his arranging skills had been proven. She could leave the arrangement to him.  

Maybe not now, but someday, she could even produce the entire Lilac album herself.  

In other words, she would be making the music she truly wanted—music that she and her fellow members desired, without any unnecessary conflict, power struggles, or stress. Just pure, unadulterated music…  

“Hm, hm.”  

After clearing her throat, Yoo Ah-ra glanced at the staff and actors who would be her audience.  

All of them looked expectant. Could she meet those expectations? A mix of tension and confidence surged within her.  

Yoo Ah-ra spoke cautiously. 

“Shall I start?”  

PD Oh Young-chae watched her in silence. Her gaze, somewhat dull, contrasted with Yoon Ah-ra’s excitement.  

In fact, PD Oh Young-chae already knew. The way Yoo Ah-ra was acting now—this excitement she exuded—was, in fact, the early symptom of what was often referred to as the ‘Artist Syndrome’, a kind of mental affliction, if you will.  

No matter how much her argued for or against it now, unless she realized it herself, it would only sour the mood without any improvement. Besides, there was always the slim chance that the song might actually be good… at least for now, it was best to let her do it.  

“Alright, cue.”  

“Whooo… whooo…”  

At last, the PD gave her permission. Yoo Ah-ra took a deep breath and firmly gripped the guitar’s headstock.

Calluses had formed on Yoo Ah-ra’s delicate fingers, a result of playing without a pick.  

Yoo Ah-ra shouted. 

“Here we go!”  

 

---

 

There’s a talented girl named Shin Ah-rin. She has a lot of dreams, and there’s so much she wants to do, but she’s held back by the limitations of living in rural Gangwon Province and by being raised in a single-parent household.  

Living in a mountain village with no decent karaoke bars disgusts her. On top of that, her father’s already meager salary keeps disappearing into donations every month. As his daughter, who can’t even afford a guitar, she’s full of complaints. He should at least take care of her.  

Frustrated with it all, Shin Ah-rin left her hometown the moment she graduated from high school. She went to Seoul, where her divorced mother lived.  

Three years later, at the age of 22, after achieving success that everyone could see, she received the sudden news of her father’s passing.  

Shin Ah-rin, notorious for her difficult personality, didn’t want to attend the funeral. But she couldn’t ignore it, fearing what kind of news might spread if she didn’t show up. So, she reluctantly attended, but barely paid attention to the funeral proceedings.  

On the last day of the service, Shin Ah-rin read the will her father left behind.  

It began with ‘To my beloved daughter’ and contained a request for her to hold a concert in their hometown. Not an inheritance, but a favor. And it was supposed to be a charity concert—completely free.  

Naturally, Shin Ah-rin caused a scene, but her manager eventually convinced her to accept. It was all about protecting her image.  

One line from this part of the script stuck with me.

“Isn’t the content of a will supposed to be private? How does the whole village know about this?! That crazy old man set me up to the very end!”  

This was the story from episodes 2 to 4 of the script.  

What followed was somewhat predictable. At first, Shin Ah-rin absolutely despised the country folk, but as she got involved with them and the other main characters, she found herself slowly changing.  

Thanks to them, Shin Ah-rin was able to compose a song with pure, clear emotion, and eventually, her late father’s hidden past was revealed… Well, you know the kind of story I’m talking about.

“…Hmm.”  

It seems like Yoo Ah-ra doesn’t quite understand the context of the scene. The song she’s singing right now doesn’t fit the atmosphere of the story.  

It’s not a clear, pure song. It’s unnecessarily upbeat, with too many distracting elements.  

Judging by the expressions of both the audio director and the PD, it seems I’m not the only one who thinks so.  

But the biggest issue of all is her voice.  

Yoo Ah-ra is singing in a way that doesn’t suit her.  

Two years ago, during the audition program, her voice was pure and clear, like the color white, perfectly highlighting her natural charm.  

What bad habits has she picked up since then that made her sound so dull now? I can’t help but furrow my brow.  

“Wow. What’s with that expression?”  

Someone suddenly poked me in the shoulder.  

“…What?”  

Kim Ji-in was staring at me, her expression full of disbelief.  

“You’re looking at her with complete disdain. Isn’t that a bit harsh? For a rookie, she’s not that bad.”  

“Ah, well, yeah, but… it doesn’t suit the scene at all. This would be better suited for a rock festival or something… though even then, it might still fall short.”  

“Pfft. As if you could do any better.”  

Kim Ji-in shook her head, mocking me.  

“Ahem.”  

I had nothing to say, so I just cleared my throat awkwardly. She had a point. Better to do something than nothing at all, right?  

“Yeah, I guess I was a little upset because her voice doesn’t match what I was expecting.”  

“Her voice? Hmm… now that you mention it… wait, is it raining?”  

Kim Ji-in stretched out her hand, palm up. Raindrops started to land gently on her pale hand.

I lifted my head and looked up at the sky. Rain was falling from a cloudless sky. At first, the droplets fell gently, but they soon grew heavier.  

“And so, we—ahh!”  

Yoo Ah-ra, who had been singing, suddenly let out a sharp, high-pitched scream. It seemed a large raindrop had landed right on the top of her head.  

“Oh, it’s pouring. Let’s stop the shoot for now.” 

PD Oh Young-chae said that as she strode briskly towards Yoo Ah-ra. Facing the PD’s cold, ice-like expression, Yoo Ah-ra nervously but still asked boldly. 

“How was it, PD-nim?”  

The PD stared at her intently for a moment before quietly opening his mouth.  

“Not good. It’s really bad. We can’t use it.”  

Her blunt evaluation startled even me, and I had been watching from a distance. I could only imagine how Yoo Ah-ra must feel.  

“…What?”  

As expected, Yoo Ah-ra’s face crumpled like a wet newspaper.  

“Just as I said. It sucks. We’re not going to use it.”  

With that, the PD turned and walked away, cold as ever. Yoo Ah-ra stood there, glaring at her retreating figure with both fists clenched tightly.  

The rain continued to pour harder. In a scene more dramatic than any drama, Yoo Ah-ra stood still soaking wet, until her manager hurried over and held an umbrella over her.  

“…Shall we go inside?”  

Kim Ji-in, who had been watching the same scene, tugged at my arm.  

I didn’t know where we were going, but I followed her without saying a word.  

In this industry, pity is a sin.  

 

---

 

Thanks to the cooperation of the locals, the crew, along with Kim Ji-in and I, were able to take a short break inside the school.

“Oh my~ Ji-in-ssi, you’ve come again?”  

We were sitting on the floor of an empty classroom, trying to dry off our clothes, when a plump-looking middle-aged man came looking for Kim Ji-in. PD Oh Young-chae was with him.  

“Ah, hello. Directors.” 

“And who’s this? Your boyfriend?”  

“No, not at all. He’s just… well, not even a colleague, really. He’s Heli, the composer from yesterday.”  

“Heli…? Hmm. Ah, right. I’m Kim Seong-hak, the audio director. Are you a newcomer?”  

“Yes. I’m still a novice.”  

I stood up as I answered. Director Kim Seong-hak flinched and took a step back.  

“Wow. You’re pretty big, huh?”  

“Oh, yeah, I’ve gained a bit of weight recently.”  

“No, it’s not just a weight thing…”  

“Hello.”

PD Oh Young-chae stepped forward from behind Director Kim Seong-hak. She stood next to him, looking up at me with a curt question.  

“What brings you here?”  

It is quite straightforward.  

“I wanted to get a feel for the atmosphere and background before writing the song…”  

“We’ll need you to finish quickly. We’re only staying in Gangwon for two more weeks.” 

PD Oh Young-chae interrupted, cutting me off.  

This woman has a very cold tone of voice. 

“Coming back to Gangwon just to shoot one scene would be a hassle.”  

The way she pushed for answers reminded me of a strict teacher from my childhood. With her sharp and frosty demeanor, though, she felt more like a professor.  

“W-well, that’s why I was planning to work here.” 

I mumbled, not realizing I was making excuses.

PD Oh Young-chae tilted his head slightly and asked.  

“Here?”  

“Oh yeah? One of our staff members brought a guitar. Should I ask them to lend it to you?”  

Suddenly, Director Kim Seong-hak chimed in. PD Oh Young-chae’s laser-like gaze was still fixed on me, making me uncomfortable. He rubbed his neck as if to ease the tension.  

“Is composing really that easy? I heard this guy hasn’t even written a single note yet~” 

Kim Ji-in, who was standing next to me, teased me with a sly grin.  

“…Not even a single note?”  

For a moment, PD Oh Young-chae’s expression froze over.  

“No, no, that’s not it. I’ve already come up with the chord progression in mind. It’s just… a bit incomplete, that’s all.”  

I had thought up a melody line while at home and during the drive over. Though I had to squeeze it out, I was confident that I hadn’t strayed from the core theme of healing music.  

The issue was Yoo Ah-ra’s voice.  

I had based my concept on the unique tone she had showcased during the audition program.  

However, the voice she just revealed wasn’t the color I had envisioned. The once pure, unique white color tone had dulled into something ordinary.  

“Oh, come on. Artists are like that sometimes, right? They can be stuck for years, but then, all of a sudden, a spark of inspiration hits, and they finish in a day. Plus, look at the scenery here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  

“That only happens to geniuses.”  

Kim Ji-in’s smug grin was getting on my nerves.  

Fueled by pride, I turned to Director Kim Seong-hak and asked.  

“Where’s the guitar?”  

Kim Seong-hak, still smiling, pointed out the window with a similar grin.  

“It’s outside. They’re playing it on that stand right now.”