The lobby of Hae-yeol Yoo’s company was small, just one floor.
Behind the front desk were meeting rooms and offices, and a narrow hallway up front crammed in a couple of tiny studios on each side.
Compared to the massive entertainment agencies, the place looked modest. Regardless, in the music world, nobody thought of this company as small-time.
All because of one man, who was over there chatting with LOAN and the PDs. All because of CEO Hae-yeol Yoo.
“Your puffiness is all gone?” I asked Yumi.
“Yes. I was shocked when I looked in the mirror this morning, but thankfully it’s fine now. I even gave myself a good massage.”
Yumi’s face had puffed up that morning from eating tteokbokki last night. We stopped by the salon, though, and the puffiness disappeared.
Honestly, her puffy cheeks were kind of cute, almost like a bungeoppang. Part of me was a little sad to see it gone.
“It would’ve been a disaster if we met the two of them like that,” Yumi said.
“A puffy face isn’t exactly a disaster.”
“It feels rude, though, you know?”
Yumi hummed happily as she watched LOAN and Hae-yeol talking with the crew.
She was clearly excited to learn from them.
Though, judging by their faces, I had the thought that the two famous composers were even more excited.
‘Of course they are. She hasn’t even hit her ceiling yet.’
She had already proven herself in EDM and hip-hop, but her ability in other genres remained a mystery.
She was different from Hae-yeol — who dominated ballads — and LOAN, who specialized in K-pop music.
“Okay, rolling!”
The cameras started, and Hae-yeol and LOAN came over with wide grins.
“CEO Yoo, Composer LOAN,” I greeted.
“Hello! I’m Yumi Cho from Blue Sherbet!”
Hae-yeol returned our greeting with a welcoming smile.
“Yumi, we met once before. Long time no see,” Yoo said warmly.
They had met briefly back when Yumi recorded ‘I Don’t Love Anything’ here with Jin-ah. This was their first real meeting since.
Both Hae-yeol and LOAN eyed Yumi with obvious curiosity.
“Thank you for agreeing to this,” I told them. “I’ll leave Yumi in your hands today.”
“Oh no, the pleasure is all ours. We’re the ones who should be grateful. Honestly, I regret not realizing how talented she was sooner. Last time we recorded, I was buried in work for Hee-yeon’s song.”
LOAN also spoke as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head.
“I agreed because it was President Kang asking, but is there anything for me to teach? Yumi is insanely talented already, and my style’s a little unique.”
Yumi waved her hands in protest.
“No, not at all! I have so much to learn. I want to learn from you.”
After the polite back-and-forth, Hae-yeol cut straight to the point.
“I heard you composed an idol song for a movie OST. Would it be alright to ask for a listen?”
This was her first idol-style track. No wonder he looked so curious.
‘Ask and you shall receive, right?’
The recording had just finished yesterday, and it was still unmixed and raw. Still, they were musicians.
They could filter it in their heads, hear the polish that wasn’t there yet, and dissect the song on the spot.
“Is it okay, Yumi?”
She nodded eagerly.
“Please! I’d love feedback. Don’t hold back.”
Although everyone was busy getting ready to admire it, her face tightened with nerves.
‘She’s quite humble about it.’
We entered the studio and pulled the file from the cloud.
The rough mix blared through the monitors, the vocals almost embarrassingly naked.
Hae-yeol and LOAN listened in silence, then smiled with real satisfaction.
“Your sense of music is incredible,” Hae-yeol said. “Did the company ask you to boost the EDM elements?”
“Yes! That’s what they requested.”
She sat stiffly, like a college kid in her first job interview.
She didn’t need to be that nervous. She already had a reputation, after all.
However, I could tell this wasn’t just nerves. It was because Hae-yeol Yoo, a giant in the industry, was sitting right across from her.
‘One day, she’s going to be bigger than him.’
It frustrated me that no one else seemed to see that future yet.
“So, can you walk me through your process a bit?” He asked.
“Um……”
The words couldn’t make their way out as her eyes darted around.
I chuckled. She was probably acting this way because she wanted to avoid sounding arrogant. So, I answered in her place.
“She’s said that she gets a feel for it by rearranging lots of songs when she’s starting a new genre.”
“Mm.” Hae-yeol frowned slightly, seemingly unsatisfied with my answer.
He started to ask her more detailed questions. The more Yumi answered, the more his nodding grew.
“She works by feel,” he concluded. “Breaking down and rearranging songs. Absorbing fast without theory, learning within her limits, and expanding them as she repeats the process. If she keeps piling on experiences like that, and then one day inspiration strikes? That’s when masterpieces happen.”
… So, his conclusion was basically exactly what I just said?
I wasn’t sure if the viewers would understand it if they said she works by feel. I felt like the way I said was easier to understand.
Hae-yeol finally arms crossed and frowned.
“Honestly, there’s nothing I can teach her. Except theory. But that’s easy enough to learn elsewhere.”
LOAN chimed in awkwardly.
“I’m the type who gets ideas straight from a singer’s voice… Haha… I’d love to help, but, yeah, I’m kind of useless here.”
Yumi fidgeted in her chair.
“Um! That is… I-I still… have so much to learn. I’m really not….”
If this went on, the whole recording would tank. Producer Park chewed his lip, clearly panicking. We needed something else, fast.
‘Tsk! Think. What else is there?’
Right then, I something caught my eye.
‘Sheet music?’
They were scattered in one corner of the studio. Rather than sheet music, though, they were more like scribbles. Barely legible scribbles.
Hae-yeol seemed to notice the object of my attention.
“That’s just some rough ideas I jotted down. It’s unfinished and not really important. I’ll probably toss it.”
“Unfinished?”
“Yes. I toss a lot of songs like that. Even demos end up buried sometimes. You know how it is.”
“Well… I suppose so.”
I shot a look at the PD. They were in crisis mode, whispering with the AD and writers.
‘We need more fottage, and viewers won’t get anything from Hae-yeol’s lecture just now.’
Therefore, we needed something on-camera that showed her talent.
I grabbed the notebook.
“Would it be okay if Yumi tried arranging this?”
The production team’s heads turned our way.
“That could be fun. Oh, but my handwriting’s terrible,” he said, taking the sheet back.
He sat at the piano, studied his own scrawl for a moment, then began to play.
The piece was gentle, lyrical, and smooth as a brook. Pretty, but safe.
So.
‘Good, but not a hit.’
It was a good song. Putting it not so nicely, though, it was boring and formulaic.
After about a minute, he finished playing and looked at Yumi expectantly.
“Want to try?”
The sudden request would have stumped anyone if they weren’t an industry veteran. Even those veterans fell back on formula.
However, talent changed the rules.
“Yes. I’ll try it on guitar.”
She grabbed an acoustic from the corner, tuned quickly, and started playing. No hesitation.
‘…Huh?’
Some staff tilted their heads.
‘She’s barely changing it.’
I squinted, too. It wasn’t drastically different until suddenly.
“…!”
Singing.
She layered a melody on top, humming wordless lines like a guide track. Her soft voice wrapped around the piano-like accompaniment, transforming the whole feel into something warm, cozy, and unshakably soothing.
A minute and twenty seconds later, she stopped.
“Wow. That was great.” Hae-yeol clapped. “Your talent’s unreal. Want to try another one?”
“Yes, please!”
What?
They were just going to pass over this, just like that?
Something like this?
“Wait a minute.”
Everyone turned with questioning expressions.
“Why is that?”
“That song was already good enough. Maybe we should build it up more instead of moving on.”
“Sorry? But it’s not exactly chart material. And since I wrote it, wouldn’t it be weird to put on her album?”
I nodded.
“True. It doesn’t fit the album. Even polished, it wouldn’t climb the charts. However.”
Everyone looked at me with doubtful eyes. I met Yumi’s before continuing.
“Yumi’s a singer, too. And this song fits her perfectly.”
I remembered yesterday, how she lit up just being noticed at a café.
Sure, her composing talent was incredible. But she was a celebrity who dreamed of becoming a singer. That was why I pulled her out of HS in the first place. Whether she was a singer or a creator, supporting both sides of her was my job.
“Yumi. Do you want to make this into your own song? With CEO Yoo? Something you’ll sing yourself.”
She swallowed hard.
“…What about the album?”
“The album stays yours with all your own songs. This one, we’ll release as a single. Both are possible. No problem.”
Slowly, a smile spread across her face.
Hae-yeol chuckled.
“How unexpected. Releasing a calm single instead of chasing album success.”
“I’m not obsessed with chart rankings. Besides, this won’t hurt the album either way.”
By the time our laughter subsided, Hae-yeol was full of determination. He was about ready to throw himself into work.
Oh, but before that.
“Producer, since this one isn’t going on the album, should we wait until after we finish the shoot?”
Producer Park should his head firmly.
“No, we’re filming this. Absolutely. We said from the start, it doesn’t have to all go on the album.”
Right. I forgot.
“In that case, we’ll be in your care for this as well, CEO Yoo.”
Just like that, it was decided. Yumi Cho’s first solo song would be co-composed with Hae-yeol Yoo.
An unexpected pearl pulled from the mud. Not a chart-topper, but the kind of song that lingers with you.
‘The album will smash anyway. This single’s just the bonus round.’
***
“President Kang, do you like sandwiches or kimbap better?”
“Both?”
“Me, too! Then, what about milk or juice?”
“Normally?”
“No. For a picnic.”
A picnic.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had been on one.
Unless you had a girlfriend, it wasn’t happening. Guys didn’t exactly say to each other, ‘Hey, let’s go on a picnic.’
“Milk with sandwiches. Juice with kimbap.”
“Same!”
Honestly, I never gave it much thought before. The only pairing I would really debate was whether beer or soju went better with certain snacks.
“Then—”
“Yumi.”
“Yes?”
“The production team’s preparing all the food anyway.”
“Oh, right! Totally forgot.”
The truth was, this whole picnic was planned by us to spark inspiration.
Hae-yeol said she wasn’t the type who NEEDED inspiration, but if something brilliant hit her, a masterpiece could come out of it.
Even if it didn’t, no problem. A picnic made for good footage, and Yumi was having the time of her life.
‘Who knows? Maybe inspiration will strike.’
“President Kang, we’re ready to head out,” said the Producer.
We set off for the Han River. It was most cliché picnic spot in Seoul.
“President Kang! Hurry up!”
Still, Yumi bounced with excitement.
***
We spread out a mat and unpacked the lunchbox. Inside it was an assortment of sandwiches, kimbap, ham, and fruit.
“Wow! This looks amazing!”
She happily snapped photos of the spread. Then, selfies. Then, she looked at me.
No way.
“President Kang. Can I take one with you?”
“…Sure.”
We were at the Han River. We were also surrounded by a film crew and curious bystanders.
Click! Click!
“See? This one came out great,” she said, and then took some more.
As she continued taking pictures, I felt the weight of the stares from the people watching us. The cameras pointed at us made it all the more burdensome.
“Haha. Your face is too stiff. Look.”
Officially, this outing was to spark Yumi’s inspiration.
If things went well, a masterpiece might even come out of it. So, I went along with it as best I could.
Besides, it didn’t feel like it was just for inspiration anymore after seeing how much she was enjoying herself. There was no way I wouldn’t go along with it.
“I just need to smile like this?”
I forced a smile, and she laughed softly, snapping another.
An hour slipped by.
I sighed quietly, and she glanced at the ice cream machine behind us.
“President Kang, should we get some ice cream?”
Of course, that meant I went to buy it. I brought back two soft-serve cones.
“Thank you!”
She licked hers, then chewed thoughtfully. Suddenly, her gaze went unfocused, eyes drifting somewhere far away. She just sat there, cone in hand, blank.
‘Huh?’
I wondered what was happening, when her focus slowly returned.
She turned to me, smiling brighter than ever.
“President Kang… I have something I want to work on now.”
So much for divine bolts of inspiration. Sometimes, all it took was ice cream.
I’d better keep buying her whatever she’s craving.
—