It was 199X in Hongdae.
A time when the bands dubbed the “first generation of indie” were taking over the local clubs.
On a Saturday afternoon, the alley near the famous playground—one of the area’s iconic landmarks—was packed so tight you couldn’t even squeeze through.
If the people there had merely been passersby, they might have shuffled forward bit by bit. But every single person stood frozen, eyes fixed on one club.
A car that happened upon the scene blared its horn, but no one so much as turned their head.
They only gazed longingly at the “Full House” sign posted in front of the club.
Unable to enter the alley, a luxury sedan pulled up, and two men stepped out.
“Hey, watch it!”
“Ah! Mister, don’t push!”
“Hey, hands off!”
A solidly built man started pushing through the throng of bodies, curses erupting around him.
“Wow, their popularity’s no joke.”
“Told you so. Their fandom is insane.”
The man forging ahead spoke with the pride of a parent bragging about his kids.
The two men finally reached the entrance of the club, drawing the disgruntled stares of those who couldn’t get in.
“Hey, Dong-gu hyung!”
“Yo. You’re doing great out here! This here’s our boss.”
The large man guarding the door, belatedly noticing the middle-aged man with a cold expression, bowed his head.
“Hello!”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
“This way…”
He unfastened the chain blocking the entrance and showed the two men in.
“What the—? Who are they?”
“Yo, they got in!”
“Huh?”
“Run for it!”
In an instant, the crowd that had been stamping their feet surged toward the door. The bouncer dropped the chain and tried to block them with his body, but even a slight push from dozens of people was overwhelming.
“Hey! All of you, get over here!”
He yelled into his walkie-talkie, and more bouncers rushed in behind him as he was shoved back toward the stairs. It took every bit of their strength to hold people back, leaving him looking disheveled.
This happened every Saturday for the past few months.
Depending on the decision those two men inside would make, today could be the last time he had to do this.
But honestly, it was practically settled.
Once they saw the band’s performance, there’d be no question they’d want to sign them.
“Today’s the end,” he muttered, gazing regretfully at the steps leading down into the club.
SJ Entertainment.
The largest entertainment agency in Korea.
They had elevated the first-generation idols to the top, their stock soaring to an all-time high and leaving the second-ranked agency far behind.
Yet, within the company, there was a sense of unease.
The idols who had built the company’s success were now far too old to be idol material.
Something new was needed.
Plenty of trainees had been cultivated, but there was a nagging sense that pure idol groups wouldn’t be enough.
Co-CEO and General Producer Yoon Seok-jun had recently taken an interest in Hongdae’s passionate fan culture and listened to a range of indie bands there.
They all had distinctive sounds and possessed a nearly fanatical fanbase—fascinating, to say the least.
But from a business perspective, they weren’t quite suitable.
Their music thrived on a sense of wild freedom—raw, a bit unpolished—and that was precisely why their performances were so explosive.
As soon as a proper producer got involved and cleaned it up, the rough edge that drew people in would be lost.
Set aside concerns about the low production quality of albums made under such conditions—once that raw sense of freedom was gone, so was their biggest allure.
And then, one day, he listened to a demo tape.
He felt chills course through him.
The sound created by just four members was polished enough to rival top-tier Western rock bands.
Even their original compositions were so complete that he hardly saw anything to fix.
The vocalist’s astonishing high range was world-class in itself.
Plus, there was another vocalist delivering deep, resonant lows with a tone like nothing he’d ever heard before.
“Wait, that’s a nineteen-year-old’s voice? And they’re in the same band? You’re telling me they have two voices like that?”
He had encountered countless aspiring musicians before, but never a single band with two geniuses like these.
Their recorded performances were top-notch, too.
So, he came to see them live.
If their live show was as flawless as the tape, Korea—famously barren ground for rock—would soon see the birth of a major new force in music.
And he, the man who discovered them, would once again earn his reputation as a legendary producer.
“Wow, it’s packed.”
The air was thick with cigarette smoke.
With no ventilation, his eyes stung and his throat felt scratchy.
Everyone was smoking, restlessly waiting for the performance in a chaotic mass.
“They’re going to perform in a place like this?”
No way they could bring out their best.
A quick glance at the speakers and sound system suggested they were pretty outdated.
Unstable lighting rigs and a crude stage setup—it didn’t look like the kind of place where high-quality music could be produced.
Seok-jun shook his head.
Even if they matched just half the quality of their demo, that would be impressive here.
Scanning the venue, he spotted other figures from the same industry.
“They’re from a major label in Japan.”
“Japan?”
“Word is they’re offering some incredible terms. That’s why I rushed you over here.”
Seok-jun nodded.
No wonder they’d been nagging him endlessly these past few days.
Beeep—
A harsh noise ripped through the air, followed by an ear-splitting mechanical shriek, which was instantly swallowed by thunderous cheers.
Startled, Seok-jun covered his ears.
At that signal, the band members took the stage and began checking their instruments.
“Boss. That guy, he’s the vocalist.”
A young man with a guitar slung over his shoulder was helping check his bandmates’ sounds.
Decent face, perfect height—most importantly, he didn’t have that unpolished look typical of someone who’d never been in the industry.
He was like a fully formed star.
Visually, every member cleared the bar.
“He’s the high-range singer? Or the low-range singer?”
“Ah, you’ll see,” his subordinate answered with a sly grin.
Not liking the hint of mischief on his subordinate’s face, Seok-jun shot him a glare.
The subordinate was excellent at his job, but at times like this, he could be irritating.
The drum foot pedal started thumping steadily.
Just as it began syncing with the crowd’s heartbeat,
A guitar sound joined in.
Initially thin and a bit muddled, it soon resonated nicely, filling the small club with unexpectedly rich tones.
Right from the start, they launched into an intricate, rapid-fire riff.
The melody created by the guitarist’s flying fingers flowed on seamlessly, without a single hiccup.
The composition was impressive, but the fact that he played it so effortlessly was even more astounding.
“This is better than I expected.”
The sound filling the cramped space was top-tier, wholly contradicting what the cheap system should have been capable of.
If the equipment was this poor, but they still sounded this good, it meant their producer had exceptional control over the sound.
Looking for the control booth, Seok-jun noticed the guitarist glancing over and signaling someone repeatedly, even as he played.
“Huh? He’s directing the sound while performing?”
Following the guitarist’s gaze, he saw a busy producer working in sync with the band’s cues, diligently adjusting the controls.
Suddenly, the guitar went silent.
As soon as it stopped, the noisy venue grew dead still, and faint breathing filled the speakers.
Startled, Seok-jun whipped his head back to the stage.
The vocalist leaned in close to the mic.
With a playful wink and grin, he spoke:
“Shall we get wild?”
With that, the performance erupted.
For a moment, Seok-jun’s mind went completely blank.
His jaw hung open, dazed. His mind couldn’t catch up with what his eyes and ears were experiencing.
“Boss?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah.”
Pandemonium.
On that tiny stage, he was at once a raging lion, then a crouching leopard, then an eagle soaring to the sky.
But the greatest shock was—
“A single person…is singing all that?”
Standing next to him was Director Seo Dong-gu, the SJ Entertainment executive who had first seen them a week ago. He’d been raving about the band ever since, pestering the boss until he finally came along.
Now, Seo was poking him in the ribs, grinning broadly.
“You little—”
Even so, any irritation he might have felt was swept away by the sheer power of the performance.
When he listened to the tape, he’d assumed it had to be two different vocalists.
The rough, resonant lower register hammered against your chest, while the higher notes soared almost impossibly high, all without a hint of wavering.
It was an impossible range for a single person.
Who would’ve imagined such a voice existed in Korea?
“Hey, this is all original, right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“He did all the writing and composing himself?”
“Yep!”
“You tried comparing it against any foreign tracks?”
“As you can hear, there’s nothing even remotely like it.”
“And the other members? Their playing is rock-solid.”
“Apparently, he taught them himself.”
“Taught them, too?”
This level of talent was beyond belief.
“There’s basically nothing for me to improve.”
A once-in-a-century genius.
A homegrown Korean talent who could stun the world.
At last, Seok-jun turned to look at the crowd. Teenage girls screaming at the top of their lungs, men whipping their heads wildly in time with the music.
A scene you might expect in a Hongdae club, sure—but this time, the atmosphere was anything but forced. All of it was fueled directly by the band’s energy.
Every strum, every lyric, every interaction between the vocalist and his bandmates felt deliberate; their teamwork was flawless.
If the vocalist raised a finger, the entire crowd paused and followed suit.
If he froze and stared out, everyone held their breath.
It was like a religion.
In this sacred space, not doing as he commanded felt like heresy.
Snapping back to consciousness, Seok-jun noticed that at some point he had uncrossed his arms and was now standing there with his hands in the air. His usually stern, businesslike face was lit up with pure excitement.
For the top producer in Korea—known for analyzing music in cold, commercial terms—this tiny venue had him forgetting his age, literally jumping for joy.
Seeing this, Seo Dong-gu burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
Under normal circumstances, being teased by a subordinate would rankle him, but right now he was too busy cheering along with the rest.
In twenty years in the music industry, he couldn’t remember the last time his heart raced like this.
At some point, music had become just a way to earn money—products that needed to sell.
But what he sensed from these young musicians was a boundless energy beyond any price tag.
By the time the last song drew to a close,
He locked eyes with the vocalist.
The vocalist winked, brimming with confidence.
“How was that?” he seemed to say.
He likely already knew who Seok-jun was, given that they’d been informed of his visit.
To think he’d still have the nerve for that playful smirk…
“Gutsy, too.”
Before he realized it, he found himself giving the kid a thumbs-up. It felt like he’d been spellbound.
“Hey! Hurry up and find a café for a meeting—or better yet, let’s bring them right to the company. Call a van!”
“Boss!”
His subordinate’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Yeah, exactly! These guys are the real deal!”
“Knew you’d think so!”
Seo beamed, and Seok-jun gave him a congratulatory pat.
“Let’s start recording right away, map out a schedule… There’s basically nothing to tweak. We can just release an album as is…”
If they pushed hard, they could do it in two months. In two months, they’d unleash a tidal wave on the Korean music scene.
And he would be at the forefront.
Trying to steady his pounding heart, he headed over to the waiting vocalist.
At that moment, a stage light mounted on the ceiling suddenly fell.
And the unrivaled genius, who might never appear again in this world, collapsed in a pool of blood.
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