Pen and Paper Translations

“Hyung, I got you an iced Americano.”

“Hey, are you messing with me right now?”

“No, I just bought what you asked for…”

“I told you to get a hot one!”

Yet again, Oh Do-hyeon’s tyranny was in full swing. It started like this:

While gathering everyone’s coffee orders, the manager repeatedly asked Oh Do-hyeon, “Iced, right? Are you sure?” Each time, he was told—rather snappily—that iced was correct. Now, though, Oh Do-hyeon was insisting it was wrong and berating the manager for buying the wrong coffee.

Is today the day I quit…?

The manager tried to keep his anger in check, his hand hovering near the suit pocket where his resignation letter was tucked. In the end, he climbed out of the van again and headed back to the café.

“Can I get one hot Americano this time, please?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“By any chance, do you offer a scalding ‘volcanic brimstone’ Americano…?”

“Uh… no…”

He forced a little smile. “Just kidding.” Holding the buzzer, he glanced out the window at the large van. Inside sat Oh Do-hyeon—the “boss” he was forced to serve.

That demon of a guy…

Oh Do-hyeon was a singer who’d shot to stardom in a short amount of time. He only discovered music in his twenties. Thanks to his good looks, an agency took notice, and after about a year of rock band experience, he abruptly quit. From there, he switched to rock-ballad and ended up releasing multiple hit songs, becoming one of Korea’s top vocalists.

Now in his early forties, he had the image of a “chic middle-aged man,” enjoying the highest level of fame among rockers. Of course, it wasn’t all about looks. His singing voice was truly phenomenal—so much so that the manager sometimes felt envious. As someone who once dreamed of being a rocker himself, he couldn’t help but feel that twinge of longing, watching Oh Do-hyeon sail through success. Perhaps that sense of satisfaction from seeing him excel was the only reason the manager endured his grueling job.

Bzzz—!

Just as he got up when his order buzzer should have gone off—

Oh, that’s my phone, not the buzzer.

He glanced at his phone:

[ This is about the in-house composer “HS” who’s producing his own album. They’d like Oh Do-hyeon to sing the title track. Please call or drop by the A&R team any time so we can discuss details… ]

The manager clapped a hand over his mouth, but couldn’t hide his gaping expression.

Lately, no manager was unaware of “HS.” Rumor had it many were practically camping outside his personal studio, hoping to snag a song from him. Now, that famous HS was sending a love call specifically requesting Oh Do-hyeon sing the title track of his personal album.

Even if it was just a “featuring” part, forging a connection now could pave the way for getting more songs in the future.

And it’s about time we updated Oh Do-hyeon’s library of hits…

Humming a little tune, the manager took the freshly made hot Americano and returned to the van, which now felt strangely cozy.

“Here you go, hyung!”

Of course, Oh Do-hyeon responded with neither thanks nor a simple acknowledgment. He barely even glanced at the manager before grabbing his coffee.

But that was fine. The manager had bigger things on his mind.

“Hyung, once you’re done for the day, do you have any plans?”

Still glued to his phone, Oh Do-hyeon replied curtly:

“Why?”

“A new song came in. I thought we could check it out after your schedule…”

“Who’s it from?”

“You know ‘HS,’ right? The hottest composer in the company. Everyone’s talking about him—”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well, he’s the one who wrote recent hits for Seo Jini, Gong Hyo-joo, and Jung Arin… so—”

“So what?”

He had a knack for shutting down conversations.

Hold it together, man. Hold it together.

No matter how infuriating he was, the manager wanted to see his artist shine.

“Everyone’s clamoring to get a song from him these days. That incredible composer really wants you for his personal album’s title track. He’s practically begging. He says no one else but you will do—”

The manager tried his best to be persuasive, but—

“Hey.”

The moment Oh Do-hyeon heard the words “personal album,” his focus zeroed in.

“If it’s a composer’s album, that means I’d be doing a feature, right?”

“Yes… it’d technically be a featuring part, but if we just consider it a one-time favor, we could foster a good relationship and easily get more songs from him in the fut—”

Oh Do-hyeon wrinkled his brow.

“Screw that. Do I look like I’m at a point in my career where I should be featuring on some rookie composer’s track?”

“But… I really think it’s a good opportunity—”

“Opportunity? That’s a joke. The only one benefiting is that composer.”

He put on an eye mask.

“Don’t get me worked up this early. Shut up.”

It was a major opportunity, but there was no point pressing the issue and getting chewed out even more.

Psycho bastard…

In that frosty tone he never showed in public, Oh Do-hyeon continued:

“You gotta consider status. Some green nobody composer should be crawling over here on hands and knees to beg me. But does he even get that? Asking for a favor at arm’s length?”

He let out another irritated sigh:

“You’re no better—some two-bit who had one or two hits, big whoop. Now you’re acting like it’s a ‘chance.’ Clearly, he’s just getting desperate, sensing his hype is running dry, so he’s trying to latch onto a famous vocalist to stay afloat…”

After a muttered “Sorry,” the manager exhaled heavily. His eyes kept drifting to the resignation letter in his inner pocket.

---

“So that’s another fruitless day.”

Perched on a rooftop bench, a man lit a cigarette. He was Moon Beom-jae, former vocalist of the legendary rock band Tomorrow—hailed as the father of Korean rock.

“Sigh—”

He’d dropped by LS Entertainment to check out a new song from a composer friend he was close to, but once again, it was a waste of time.

“How can every song sound exactly the same?”

Moon Beom-jae had kept a “mystique” concept for a full thirty years, never doing any activities aside from actual music performances since his debut. He still had several legendary hits beloved by the public, and he owned a substantial amount of LS Entertainment shares. Financially speaking, he never needed to appear on broadcasts.

Hence, the label couldn’t easily force him to do any promotions. Yet he hadn’t consistently released new songs or albums either. He was known to be extremely picky about the songs he accepted. If a track felt “half-baked,” he refused to sing it.

He was currently in a slump, searching for a track that felt like a desert oasis. The dryness in his spirit made him restless.

Just then:

“Hyunseung is really amazing, isn’t he?”

“Totally.”

“He only signed as an in-house composer a little while ago, right?”

As if it were a sign from above, a nearby conversation drifted into his ears:

“So jealous. I don’t know the exact figure, but once his royalties are all tallied, he’ll probably clear over a billion won… he’s a genius, a total genius…”

“Remember when we first heard the demos he sent in? We all freaked out. He’s insane…”

“Before that, we just assumed he was some wannabe composer full of narcissism…”

“Now he’s on a whole other level. We saw the potential, but not this fast.”

Moon Beom-jae leaned closer, spotting a group of A&R staff and engineers huddled together for a smoke. From the conversation, it seemed they were praising someone named Hyunseung—an “HS” who was apparently mind-blowingly talented.

So he’s a new in-house composer considered a genius?

If the A&R staff and those picky engineers all spoke so highly of him, he must indeed have genuine skill.

At that moment:

“By the way, didn’t they say the title track is going to be sung by Oh Do-hyeon?”

“Nope. He turned it down without even listening.”

“Bet he’ll regret it.”

“Eh, let it be. It’s all up to fate.”

Their A&R team lead stubbed out his cigarette, sighing:

“From what I heard, Oh Do-hyeon’s manager tried really hard to convince him. No dice. That manager’s such a hardworking guy, but he’s stuck with an impossible artist.”

Moon Beom-jae swallowed. If he refused it without even listening, then presumably the quality of the song wasn’t the reason. Likely, it was because the composer was too new, so he turned it down out of pride.

Now I’m really curious to hear it…

He was the type to feel immense joy upon discovering a great song—especially a potential new personal “oasis.” So he made up his mind, stepping forward.

“Oh Do-hyeon turned it down, you say?”

“Oh, Mr. Moon Beom-jae—!”

They scrambled up, half-bowing. He gave a polite nod.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were so loud I couldn’t help hearing. That track he refused—”

“Yes, sir?”

“Could I possibly give it a listen?”

They exchanged glances, and an older engineer stepped forward hesitantly:

“Sure, but it’s the title track on the composer’s personal album—just a featuring part.”

“So? If the track’s good, does it matter? Let me hear it, first of all.”

The A&R team lead’s eyes lit up.

“This might be jumping ahead, but if you happen to like it—”

Moon Beom-jae nodded:

“If it really speaks to me, I might agree to sing it.”

With that, he urged them along, all but dragging the group away from the rooftop. A featuring arrangement wouldn’t earn him any direct royalties, but forging a relationship with this composer could make future requests easier. Of course, only if he truly liked the song.

“So we can just head to the engineer’s studio?”

As they followed him, the A&R team lead thought:

They say someone unlucky falls on their face and breaks their nose, but for a lucky person, even a stumble lands them in a goldmine. Since Oh Do-hyeon turned it down, now Moon Beom-jae’s waltzing in…

That Min Hyunseung is definitely a ‘lucky guy.’

---

Once inside the engineer’s studio, Moon Beom-jae took a seat at the console.

Please let it be good…

He inhaled, then put on the headphones.

Click.

A quiet intro seeped in.

“Hm?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyebrows drawing close. But once the verse kicked in—

He froze, overwhelmed by the track’s atmosphere. As the music soared toward the chorus, he felt like waves were swallowing him. The guide vocal on top felt both calm and yet brimming with anguish.

How can a track be… this…

It was heavy, painful, and heartbreaking. As the ending approached, the arrangement transformed unexpectedly, and the tension in his face loosened. The shift was wholly unforeseen—a bright, open sense of possibility. Like an open ending to a film. He found himself sitting there, dazed, even after it ended—like a moviegoer staying through the credits.

—Could you still be there, somewhere, touching up my voice?

That final line of the guide lyrics kept echoing in his mind, hinting at the next chapter in the story.

Did the composer lose someone they loved? It’s a regret-filled song, but that last chord suggests they won’t keep living like that…

He finally snapped out of it when the engineer said, “Sir?”

“Ah, yeah…”

The staff eyed him anxiously.

“So… do you like it?”

“Ah…”

He had listened to hundreds of tracks from dozens of composers in just the past six months. But nothing had grabbed him like this. Sparks flew through his body the moment he heard it, stirring a fierce desire:

I want to sing this…

He’d found his oasis at last. Now he just wanted to gulp it down and quench his thirst.

“Could you… pass along a message to the composer? Ask if I can sing this track.”

“Really? But it’s a featuring role. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, please tell him I’d love to. And do it quickly.”

He wouldn’t let this gem slip away for anything.

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