Chapter 38: My Singer (3)
February 19th, 20th, and now, the 21st.
For three consecutive days, Lilac had appeared on music shows, ranking 3rd, 2nd, and 2nd, respectively.
It was expected.
Neither I nor the members were particularly disappointed.
In fact, the girls were thrilled just to have ranked higher than Pluto.
But for some reason, I was the one feeling sentimental.
With this, my work as Lilac’s producer was officially over.
Maybe that’s why my interactions with them had dwindled.
During the album production phase, my KakaoTalk had been constantly flooded with messages—directing, giving feedback, answering questions.
Now, my inbox was gathering dust.
But while things had gone quiet between me and Lilac, the name ‘Heli’ as a composer had started drawing attention.
[Hello, this is Seo Ji-hye’s manager. Producer Heli, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met during Immortal Songs, and you handed Ji-hye a CD. We’re currently planning her next album, and I wanted to reach out to discuss…]
[Greetings, I’m Kim Seok-ho, the A&R team leader at JKY Entertainment. We’re currently working on a new project, and we would love to discuss the possibility of your involvement…]
In the past week alone, I had received emails from thirteen different companies.
But every single one of them had a similar request:
“We’d love to meet and hear what pre-made songs you have prepared.”
The problem was, I didn’t have any.
I couldn’t.
I needed to meet the artist first, hear their voice, and understand them before I could even begin composing.
I tried explaining this, attempted to persuade them—
But every response was the same.
They hesitated, then circled back to, “Could you at least send us a mixtape first?”
After several frustrating conversations, I found myself realizing just how much Letter had accommodated me.
How progressive they were as a company.
How surprisingly generous Lee Ha-yeon actually was.
In the end, for various reasons, I turned down all the offers.
Which meant…
I was now officially unemployed.
A jobless man, living off copyright royalties.
Still, just lazing around all day felt a little pathetic, so I decided to start going to the gym again.
Today, after spending about 2–3 hours working out, I finally returned home.
It was already past 11 PM.
“Damn. Everything hurts.”
Massaging my aching, swollen thighs, I slumped into my desk chair.
I turned on my computer to check on the tracks I had been working on yesterday—one composed with Ji Ah-young’s voice in mind, the other for a YouTube upload.
As expected, they sounded different now compared to when I last heard them.
I backed up the original files and slowly began making adjustments to the weaker parts.
Or at least, I tried to.
“…Ugh.”
Tried.
“…This is annoying.”
Everything felt off.
“Ah, for f***’s sake.”
My cheap chair.
My outdated computer.
My old synthesizer.
The damn earphones I had to use because of the thin walls and noise complaints.
This was a far cry from Letter’s fully equipped studio.
“…Maybe it’s time for an upgrade.”
I had more than enough money now.
I had made an unexpected fortune off album covers alone, not to mention additional royalties from Alleyway and Mountain Scenery.
At this rate, I could renovate the entire studio if I wanted to.
“Hmm…”
Eventually, I closed my DAW and opened a shopping site.
There were so many MIDI devices to choose from.
The ones I had bookmarked before had already become outdated, replaced by sleek new models that came with eye-watering price tags.
Just as I was gleefully adding items to my cart—
Ka-tok.
My phone vibrated.
I glanced at the screen.
Kim Yoo-jung.
Or, more likely, Yoo Ah-ra using Kim Yoo-jung’s phone—since there was no way Kim Yoo-jung would ever message me first.
[Here’s the song I recorded today, lol]
It had been two days since I last heard from them.
The message was short, accompanied by a video attachment.
I pressed play.
“…It’s actually Kim Yoo-jung?”
In the video, Kim Yoo-jung was singing.
The melody and lyrics were very familiar.
It was Alleyway—the very first song I ever composed using my color perception ability.
With her eyes gently closed, she sang with quiet emotion, her voice murmuring through the melody.
The soft green of the piano mixed beautifully with the delicate pink of her voice, creating a harmony that transformed Yoon Hyeok-pil’s Alleyway into Kim Yoo-jung’s Alleyway.
Kim Yoo-jung’s voice was best described as ‘pretty’.
Not as uniquely distinct as Yoo Ah-ra’s, but still expressive and deeply emotional.
If I had to put it into words—
It was a voice that reminded you of your first love.
She sang so well that I felt frustrated.
This was just a video.
I wanted her to stand in front of me and sing it again.
[You sang really well. Have you been practicing a lot lately?]
That was my reply.
The (1) next to the message disappeared almost instantly.
But there was no response.
For five whole minutes.
‘So, this is what people call ‘left on read’, huh?’
Then again, knowing Kim Yoo-jung, this wasn’t surprising.
Just as I was about to put my phone down—
Ka-tok.
[ㅋㅋ]
…That was it.
Just two damn consonants.
I was both annoyed and curious at the same time.
What the hell happened in those five minutes?
Had she typed something out, deleted it, rewritten it, erased it again—
And in the end, just sent a single amused laugh?
[Wow, you’re actually texting me first? What’s the occasion?]
[Nothing much, lol. Just saw my chat with Heli and unnie at the top, so… lol.]
It seemed like adding ㅋㅋ (Korean equivalent of ‘lol’) was just a habit of hers.
[Alright. Keep up the practice, and if you get any free time, make sure you rest.]
I sent the message as a way to wrap things up.
Not because I was actively trying to cut her off, but simply because… there really wasn’t much to talk about.
Neither of us was particularly talkative—whether in conversation or over text.
[What are you doing right now? Lol.]
Apparently, Kim Yoo-jung was just bored.
[Working. What about you?]
[Still on schedule, lol.]
[At midnight? That sounds rough.]
It was currently 11:40 PM—almost the next day.
They were really pushing them hard during promotion season.
[But luckily, this is the last oneㅁ]
[ㅂㅂ]
The conversation abruptly ended from her side.
The last message was cut off strangely—maybe her schedule had started?
Not thinking much of it, I set my phone down and went back to browsing equipment.
Meanwhile, Inside the KBC Waiting Room
“What the hell? Why’d you close it so fast?”
Yoo Ah-ra’s sharp gaze zeroed in on Kim Yoo-jung.
Caught red-handed, Yoo-jung immediately ended her chat and tilted her head innocently.
“Hm?”
“I said, what were you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“…Oh. No. Thing.?”
But Yoo Ah-ra didn’t look convinced.
Her voice turned pointed.
“Yoo-jung, you’re not… dating someone, are you?”
“No.”
Kim Yoo-jung frowned and shook her head firmly.
“…Even if you’re not, be careful. It hasn’t even been ten days since we started promotions.”
Ziiing—
A deadly laser shot from Yoo Ah-ra’s dark circles, drilling into Yoo-jung’s forehead.
Right then, Lee Yeon-ji returned from the restroom, rubbing her empty stomach.
“Ugh, I’m starving to death.”
Immediately, the target of Yoo Ah-ra’s wrath shifted.
“Hey. How many times have I told you to watch your mouth? ‘Starving to death’?”
“…Huh?”
“Do you want to die?”
“Oh… Uh… Sorry.”
Today, Yoo Ah-ra—especially hungry, exhausted, and irritated—was more sensitive than ever.
Knock knock—
At that moment, a knock on the door was followed by it swinging open.
The beast-like scowl on Yoo Ah-ra’s face instantly disappeared.
“Lilac, we’re ready to start filming.”
It was the producer of the talk show.
“Hang in there—it’ll all be over in an hour.”
The PD glanced around at the girls and offered a word of encouragement.
With a radiant, angelic smile, Yoo Ah-ra stood up.
“Got it! Let’s go, girls. Let’s finish this quickly and go get some rest!”
“Hahaha, Ah-ra-ssi is always so full of energy.”
“Huh? No, not at all! This is just part of my job as the leader.”
“Still, that’s not easy. You’ve been on schedule since 8 AM, right?”
“I was taught to be grateful for having a busy schedule…”
As the friendly conversation between the PD and Yoo Ara continued—
“…Seriously.”
“……”
Lee Yeon-ji and Kim Yoo-jung exchanged incredulous looks.
February 22 – Back at Letter After Four Days
I was called in by Lee Ha-yeon.
“A solo?”
It seemed like she was trying to assign me another project.
“Yes. Since Ah-ra already released a solo track, even if the other two don’t have any personal interest in going solo, the fans in their café keep complaining about favoritism. Lilac’s fandom is a bit… unique.”
I wasn’t quite following.
Tilting my head in confusion, I waited for her to elaborate.
“You have to remember that these three started as competitors on an audition program. In the beginning, they had more individual fans than group fans. Since those fans were attached to them as soloists, there was a lot of jealousy and rivalry between different camps.
It’s settled down a bit now, but the tension is still there.”
“…Ah.”
Unlike in the past, modern girl groups rarely focus on solo promotions.
But Lilac was different.
From the very beginning, they were meant to be soloists.
That’s why, when Letter debuted them as a group, the public was unhappy.
The audition program had highlighted their individual strengths, not their ability to perform as a team.
“But how long has it been since the album dropped? Isn’t it a little early to start talking about solos?”
“Well… the album did better than expected, so the higher-ups are a little excited.
Besides, even if we start discussions now, the actual release wouldn’t be until April or May.”
As she spoke, Lee Ha-yeon slid a document across the table.
“…And this is?”
“You’ll know once you read it—your new contract.”
“…Huh?”
Oh, right.
The contract.
I had been so focused on the charts that I completely forgot about it.
“I revised a few terms to be more favorable to you. Honestly, it might even be too generous.”
I skimmed through it.
Not that I could make sense of everything just by glancing at it.
I tucked it into my jacket for now and moved on to today’s topic.
“…So, who’s getting the solo track?”
I had a pretty good guess.
Probably Lee Yeon-ji—she was always going on about wanting a solo.
“Yoo-jung.”
“…Wait, what?”
I was caught off guard.
But then, I remembered what had happened a few days ago.
She had randomly sent me a video of her singing.
So that’s what that was about.
“Kim Yoo-jung? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“…Then what about Yeon-ji?”
Lee Ha-yeon cut me off before I could finish my sentence.
“That’s an internal matter. No need for you to worry about it.”
Then, with a polite smile, she added—
“Heli-ssi, until you sign that contract, you’re still an outsider.”
For some reason, that smile felt cold.
Well.
I had been putting off this contract decision for a while.
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