Animal Island had been popular since its very first season, yet player numbers had steadily slipped and the revenue charts kept sagging.
Then came the new season’s wholesale revamp—and, in the blink of an eye, the title achieved sensational, almost absurd success.
No exaggeration: the OST had as much to do with that turnaround as the game itself.
“Now he’s conquering game soundtracks, too…”
Seo Jini chuckled as she scrolled through the Animal Island OST album. Living in Japan, she was feeling the explosion first‑hand.
“Whatever the man touches turns to gold.”
Was it talent? Luck? Both, surely. Talent attracts luck, luck magnifies talent—the old “opportunity comes to those who’re ready.”
Her own “Walk With Me” wasn’t even the title track of her last album, yet because the song was that good an ad agency came knocking, and she’d ridden the splash all the way to a full‑blown comeback—and now a Japanese debut.
Same for Jung Arin, same for HS’s solo record.
When the music is brilliant, the rest—opportunity, serendipity—lines up behind it. The Animal Island OST was no exception.
This time the windfall was… well, downright accidental. A top game streamer, Hiyori, had a “broadcast mishap” on YouTube—crying live to the OST. Even people who’d never touched Animal Island were suddenly curious; they tried the game, got exposed to HS’s tracks, and before long were logging in just to listen to the music.
“Pilgrimage, huh…”
Browsing a big Japanese players’ forum, Jini shook her head in amazement.
[A week with Animal Island—my diary]
—Today my boss chewed me out in front of everyone; I felt sick and waited for the clock to hit five, so I could flee back to the island. It’s pretty, it’s warm, it’s safe—my world.
—But near dawn I walked the beach and the waves told me: Time to go back. You have your own life to live tomorrow.
—I hug my emptiness, climb into bed. Still—thank you, my island. See you tomorrow.
That “daily diary” style had become a fad—called the Kyomu Challenge. Kyomu is the Japanese reading of 虛無, “void.” Players would log the day’s real‑life misery and the bittersweet comfort they found in‑game.
The board was full not only of OST praise but of questions about HS himself:
Asked a Korean friend—apparently HS is a genius songwriter and drop‑dead handsome? Bring him to Japan! lol
I just learned HS wrote Seo Jini’s album and Shinnosuke’s “Dear my Beethoven.” I never guessed a pop composer made this OST—genius is scary.
Bet HS is an old‑school Animal Island whale. Otherwise how could he mine feelings this deep? That’s why he titled it Kyomu, right? Would love the guy to show up and spill the truth.
Jini laughed aloud, then hummed in thought. One thing was clear: HS—Hyunseung—wasn’t allowed a quiet life. Fan cafés in Korea, now Japan buzzing over his identity and the meaning of “Kyomu.”
Still… could she imagine Hyunseung actually playing such a cutesy game? Maybe? Sometimes he was shockingly childish—yet also not that introspective, she thought. Well, she could always ask him later.
“Anyway—good for him.”
Her mood brightened at the blow‑out start.
Inside Ninsix headquarters, late at night.
The development floor was dark save for one laptop’s glow. A lone man, headset on, replayed “Kyomu.”
“It has to be deliberate…”
The more he listened, the more emotions surfaced—warmth, joy, loneliness, chill, passion—until everything was devoured by a hollow void.
He was the original designer of Animal Island.
And the song felt as if someone had scooped out every hope, sorrow, and hidden ache he’d poured into the game and set it to music.
Did the composer intend that? Or just stumble into it?
“I’ve got to know.”
He scribbled questions: Are you a long‑time player? Did you feel these layers yourself? Did you name the piece Kyomu on purpose?
He dialed a colleague. “Shouchi, are you still in the office? I need an official inquiry sent to LS Entertainment—to their in‑house composer who handled the OST.”
If the answer was yes, then they really had built a masterpiece.
“Unexpected news from an unexpected place,” Director Choi said, reading the report Kim had brought. A satisfied smile crept across his face.
“Indeed,” Kim nodded. Game OSTs rarely exploded like this. Yet in Japan, fans were even staging mini‑protests for a wider CD release; new‑player counts were soaring.
“Oh, Jini says a ‘Kyomu Challenge’ is trending over there. People write diaries comparing real life and the island.”
“That girl certainly fires up trends. Either Hyunseung’s blessed or just outrageously good—no, both.”
Kim laughed. “To sustain success you need both, sir—and Hyunseung has them. He’ll keep winning.”
Choi’s smile deepened. Kim’s gloom had lifted recently; the kid finally had someone he could rely on.
The phone on Kim’s belt buzzed.
“Excuse me—mail from Ninsix. They want an official statement on what ‘Kyomu’ means—directly from HS.”
“Hmm… Kyomu, eh…” Choi had listened to the track. By the ending he’d felt an almost end‑of‑life emptiness himself.
“If you learn the reason, tell me too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kim headed straight to Hyunseung’s studio.
He explained the Ninsix request.
Hyunseung scratched his head. “Oh, that…”
“Kyomu?” Kim prompted.
“Yeah. It’s short for ‘Heo—mu‑da teollyeot‑ne.’”
“…‘It’s all empt‑ty’?” Kim froze.
“Exactly. ‘Heo, mu‑da teollyeot‑ne.’ I just clipped it.”
Kim stared. All those people searching for profound symbolism—and it was a dad‑joke contraction?
“This is practically fraud…”
“What’d I do?” Hyunseung muttered.
Just then Director Choi called.
“Did you ask him? Let me guess—the classic Chinese characters for Void, right?”
Kim hesitated. Should he blow the secret? For HS’s sake… better a white lie.
“Yes, sir. ‘Heo’ as in empty, ‘Mu’ as in nothing—the feeling itself. He captured that.”
“Knew it! Genius—he even predicted players would feel it, so he titled the song accordingly.”
“Right… exactly.”
Kim hung up and turned to Hyunseung. “Do me a favor. From now on, Kyomu just means ‘void,’ okay?”
“Why? That’s not the origin.”
“I’ll give you ten meal vouchers—for the good of the world.”
“…Deal. It means void.”
And so the truth of Kyomu became their shared secret—locked away for good.
T/N: The dad joke stems from 허무… 다 털렸네! when you lose all your money/coins in the arcade, etc. and whine about it. The misunderstanding comes from only hearing the first part (disregarding the rest) and it seems more profound than it is.
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