“Are you by any chance a professional contrabass player?”
The bar owner felt a surge of curiosity toward this young man who had abruptly volunteered to tune his instrument.
He looks so young…
He knew that in music—especially for string instruments—early training was crucial, so it was entirely possible this was a professional bassist.
“I’m not a major in it, but I know my way around a contrabass.”
The unexpected answer surprised him, but it was intriguing nonetheless.
“Well then, would you mind taking a look?”
At that, Hyunseung carefully received the contrabass from the owner, cradling it in his arms. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the body of the instrument, savoring the pleasing texture.
Been a while since I held one of these, he thought.
Because the contrabass produces low notes, it’s typically tuned through harmonic tuning. But…
That’s too boring, Hyunseung mused.
A “music freak” like him wasn’t about to take the simplest path.
“Hang on—hang on!”
“Yes?”
“Why are you tuning it that way…?”
Hyunseung gave a casual shrug.
“You’re asking why I’m doing it with live pitches, right?”
Seeing the owner nod, he added, “It’s more fun that way.”
With that, Hyunseung smoothly began live-pitch tuning on the contrabass.
“Wow…”
All the owner could do was stare in awe. He’d been enamored with the contrabass for years, but it was the first time he’d witnessed someone tune it by live pitches rather than by harmonics. He had only ever heard rumors of notoriously picky conductors throwing bassists off by demanding a live-pitch tune.
And yet here was someone who claimed not to be a professional—and a youngster at that—tuning a contrabass in the more challenging style?
Even though the bar owner had a few years of experience under his belt, he was stunned.
At last, Hyunseung finished tuning and flashed a grin.
“All done.”
He offered a friendly smile.
“I look forward to hearing your performance.”
With that, he stepped aside, as if his task were finished.
That’s it? It’s really done?
The owner gazed blankly at the contrabass in his hands.
Could it really be properly tuned?
If it truly had been tuned perfectly with live pitches, this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance—experiencing a contrabass in such pristine condition.
Once he took his stance and prepared to play, everyone in the bar fell still. The next moment, the owner began gently moving his bow across the strings. In response, his left hand drew out a rich, resonant low tone.
The performance began. Some in the audience nodded along to the music; others closed their eyes to immerse themselves, and still others gazed at the performer, spellbound.
As for the bar owner, he couldn’t just relax into the music—because the moment he heard it, he realized. The timbre of each note was drastically different from before. It was so perfect that every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. Each note across the bass’s range blended beautifully and smoothly.
Yes—this is it, he thought.
Even in the segments he’d found most difficult, the sound flowed freely without breaking. A wave of euphoria spread through his body. Enveloped by that bliss, he hugged the contrabass close, pouring himself into the performance. Partway through, he suddenly set aside the bow and switched to pizzicato, plucking the strings. Though the volume dropped, the audience’s focus only intensified. More and more people turned toward the stage.
Once the piece finished, they rose to their feet, offering thunderous applause and cheers.
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap—!
The owner’s face was flushed with excitement.
I’m glad I let him tune it after all.
Contrary to his initial apprehension, the performance had been a success. Hyunseung also joined in the applause.
After bowing to the audience a couple of times, the owner hurried over to Hyunseung.
“Sensei—!”
He’d suddenly gone from calling him that young man to “Sensei.”
“Thanks to you, I finally found the key to that tricky section I was struggling with!”
Grasping both of Hyunseung’s hands, he added,
“You saved me. I won’t charge you for any drinks tonight!”
The bar owner had been wrestling with a difficult solo piece and seeking advice, but thanks to Hyunseung, he’d found an answer—and had performed more satisfyingly than ever before. In his mind, he had gained something priceless, more than worth the cost of a few drinks.
“It’s nothing, really. I just helped tune a bit.”
“Please, let me show my gratitude. Don’t refuse.”
“Well… then I’ll accept, and thank you.”
The owner’s eyes gleamed as he asked,
“Are you perhaps a professional tuner, Sensei?”
Hyunseung shook his head.
“No, not at all.”
“Then…?”
“I’m in a different branch of music.”
Hyunseung was a composer, both in his previous life and now—and the reason he could handle a contrabass was simple. Session work. While most composers relied on software tools to produce instrument parts, Hyunseung, in his past life, preferred either to record live instruments himself or hire session musicians. Driven by a fanatical pursuit of perfection, he naturally accumulated knowledge of lesser-used instruments like the contrabass.
“Another branch of music…?”
Sensing that Hyunseung was reluctant to share more, the owner probed carefully. Hyunseung answered vaguely,
“I dabble in a variety of things for fun.”
Realizing Hyunseung didn’t want a long conversation, the owner took a step back.
“Then, at least… may I ask for your name?”
Hyunseung hesitated, then replied,
“For now, I go by HS.”
Muttering the name a few times, the owner said,
“I do hope we can meet again someday.”
He extended his hand for a polite handshake.
“Likewise,”
Hyunseung responded, returning the gesture. Somehow, his expression seemed to say, Now, please let me enjoy some time alone.
Not long after Hyunseung left, the bar owner was tidying up the spot where he’d been sitting, wearing a slight look of regret.
“Maybe I should’ve asked for his contact information, even if it was pushy…”
Just then, a man with neatly combed silver hair entered the bar, waving a hand in greeting.
“Hey, I’m here.”
Round glasses framed his eyes, where gentle laugh lines showed his age. He wore a formal suit, as if he’d come from something important.
His name was Sakamoto Taichi—once known far and wide as a genius musician and composer who could play multiple instruments. During the music industry slump, the record label where Taichi worked—“Man Records”—had broken massive sales records and eventually promoted him to CEO. He then expanded the business to the point where Man Records became one of the top five labels in the country.
Today, he had finally made time to fulfill a favor for an old friend.
“I found a break in my schedule, so I came to help you with that tuning issue from the other day.”
“Tuning, right? I appreciate you coming all this way, but… turns out I don’t need it anymore.”
Looking awkward, the bar owner explained,
“A young man came by just now and gave me the solution.”
“A young man?” Taichi repeated. The owner, clearly excited, continued,
“He suddenly asked if he could tune my contrabass, and—get this—he did live-pitch tuning!”
“Live-pitch tuning?”
“Exactly. When I asked why, he said it was just ‘more fun.’”
He picked up the bow, adding,
“Thanks to that, I was able to freely play the section where I was stuck. Felt like I was finally rewarded for all that frustration, completely immersed in the music. His tuning skill literally boosted my abilities… an expert job.”
Taichi asked, “So, he was an experienced bassist?”
“No, he said he wasn’t a professional at all. Looked really young, too.”
“But… he still did live-pitch tuning?”
“He said he’s in another branch of music.”
“You should’ve gotten his name.”
“I did at least get the name he’s using.”
The owner hesitated, then recalled:
“He said it was ‘HS.’”
“HS?” Taichi echoed, puzzled. He knew the professional bassists well enough; if someone had the skills to do live-pitch tuning for fun, he’d likely have at least heard of them.
HS… Not a name he recognized.
“If you’ve never heard of him, guess he really isn’t a professional,” the owner said.
“He might’ve given you an alias,” Taichi suggested.
“Could be… but that’s not the impression I got.”
Taichi shrugged.
“Either way, if he’s tuning a contrabass by live pitches just for the fun of it, he’s probably quite serious about music.”
As one of the country’s top record label CEOs, Taichi had grown disillusioned with many younger musicians. Some of them relied entirely on laptop software, used loops to patch in session parts, and churned out songs by sampling and copy-pasting. He felt their approach lacked the depth and passion that once defined composing for him. The modern industry was little more than a big music factory, in his eyes.
So encountering a musician who seemed obsessive about perfect tuning for a challenging instrument? That was noteworthy.
“So I guess I came for nothing,” Taichi murmured.
“Not entirely nothing.”
“But the tuning’s already done…”
“Well, at least your drinks are on the house tonight.”
The owner poured Taichi a glass of whiskey. Just then, Taichi paused at the music playing in the background—a current pop hit, popular partly thanks to the Korean Wave. A typical hook-driven track, but something caught his ear. It wasn’t just a preset VST instrument. It sounded like a real performance had been recorded. Each take seemed to vary subtly in technique, doggedly following the vocalist’s every nuance without overshadowing it, providing strong support instead.
Whoever composed it, Taichi guessed, was likely a perfectionist—someone passionately devoted to crafting every detail of the music.
The bar owner noticed Taichi’s reaction and said,
“Not really your type of music, is it? I can change it to something you like—”
But Taichi quickly raised his hand.
“No, I’d like to hear more.”
The owner cocked his head, surprised. He knew Taichi didn’t care for trendy hook songs and usually detested them, preferring jazz or blues in private. But Taichi had his eyes closed, looking genuinely moved by the track.
What a perfect synergy between the vocals and the composition, he thought. Even without understanding the lyrics, the gentle singer’s voice felt like a soothing caress over a storm. He found himself comforted, carried along with the rise and fall of the arrangement.
“If only I could sign an artist like this…” he murmured.
“You mean Seo Jini? She’s a well-known diva thanks to this song—”
“Not the golden egg. The goose that laid it.”
The owner chuckled. “You mean the composer?”
Taichi nodded.
“So, who wrote this track?”
Walking over to the computer connected to the speakers, the owner mumbled as he clicked through some files,
“Well, your label’s certainly big enough. Maybe you can sign them. The composer’s name should be in the credits somewhere…”
He eventually found it in the album’s metadata:
“HS.”
He read it aloud, then frowned.
“Huh? HS?”
“HS,” Taichi repeated.
“Yes, it says here HS… Wait, so—”
The two men locked eyes.
“Well, look at that…” Taichi said with a slow grin. “You were right.”
It felt like discovering a pearl in the sand. The same person who had done a live-pitch contrabass tune also wrote this track that radiated an obsessive devotion to perfection. A gem of a composer—rare among the current generation, who typically lacked such a craftsman’s spirit.
“Guess this trip wasn’t in vain after all…”
Taichi’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
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