Jayble summoned Kang Hajun to his private studio on the eve of the long-awaited final.
Since it was their first meeting, an awkward air lingered at first, but after the small talk ended and real practice began, the awkwardness melted as quickly as a glacier under blazing sun.
While stretching his back, Jayble glanced at the digital clock on the wall and pressed the talk-back button in surprise.
“Hajun, do you want to take a break?”
“No.”
“Uh… all right. If you get tired just wave at me.”
Because the singer had never shown a single sign of fatigue, the producer had not noticed how much time had passed.
Or rather, the more they rehearsed, the stronger Hajun’s voice grew as it flowed through the speakers.
He really is born for this, Jayble thought.
If talent could be scored numerically, Hajun would receive above-average marks in every category, and disciplined effort added a big bonus on top. A good stage seemed guaranteed.
— Sing as if you are coughing up blood.
The producer threw out lines, and the singer caught them perfectly.
“That was good, but relax a little in the first verse and try again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the bridge, scrape your vocal cords a bit if you can.”
“I will try.”
The relentless drill continued until someone knocked on the studio door.
“May I come in?”
“Oh, of course.”
Recognizing the visitor, Jayble pulled out a chair.
“Please sit.”
“Thank you.”
The newcomer, whose kindly smile belied the cropped white hair, black sunglasses, and broad shoulders that gave him an imposing presence, was Baek Gyu-ho, CEO of the O&M label that employed Jayble.
“I hope I am not interrupting your preparation for the final.”
“Not at all.”
Jayble signaled through the glass for Hajun to step out of the booth.
Hajun opened the door, spotted the guest, and bowed ninety degrees. He had never met the man, yet it was impossible not to recognize him.
“It is an honor to meet you, sir. My name is Kang Hajun.”
“Good to meet you too.”
“I listened to your songs constantly when I was young.”
“So you do not listen anymore?”
At the playful jab Hajun stiffened.
“N-no, I still listen, absolutely…”
“I was joking.”
Baek Gyu-ho was still a powerful executive, but in the past his fame as a vocalist had been so great that people said anyone who did not know him must be a spy. In the heyday of Moon Beom-jae, the two had been called twin engines of rock vocals.
Facing such a legend felt like meeting a mythical beast. The white-haired elder pushed back his sunglasses, looked at Jayble, and asked,
“You said this young man will sing your piece?”
“Yes, in the final.”
“Could I hear it now?”
“Of course.”
Jayble sat at the console, and Hajun hurried back into the booth and put on his headset.
Click.
The track started, and a melancholy piano filled the control room. Hajun opened his lips, and a carefully mixed vocal poured out.
— I will tell you why I first picked up a microphone.
Baek Gyu-ho tapped the armrest in time, a habit that appeared only when he liked what he heard.
— Sing with the resolve you made long ago.
When the song reached its peak, the desperate rasp Jayble had requested tingled deep in the chest.
— Even though I am insignificant now, someday everyone will listen.
The final line arrived.
— Sing as if you cough up blood.
It was an even better finish than during practice, filled with earnest appeal despite the restrained power.
“How is it?” Jayble asked, looking at the CEO.
The question was not about the song; he knew the composition was solid, especially since the older man had tapped the armrest until the very end. What mattered was whether the vocal had satisfied him.
“Since I am retired from singing, it is not my place to judge.”
“You still have exceptional ears.”
“I am not a singer now, only a businessman.”
Inside the booth Hajun could not hear the conversation, but he sensed the curious atmosphere and stayed put. He lowered his eyes to the score and muttered,
“I should read the lyrics again.”
Baek Gyu-ho watched him and murmured,
“Very… profitable.”
“Pardon?”
“Sell like hot cakes.”
He stopped tapping the armrest.
“Soon the public will give that young man their hearts, their time, and their money.”
He lowered his sunglasses and winked. “And the song is excellent.”
Then he added quietly, after checking that the talk-back was off,
“By the way, that boy already belongs to LS Entertainment?”
“Yes, he does.”
“What a shame,” he sighed.
“Sir?”
“Kang Hajun… I hope he grows well so I can meet him again someday.”
He meant it. The star quality was that great.
Jayble finally understood and nodded.
“Indeed.”
Both men turned toward Hajun with smiles of confidence.
Day of the final
Min Jun-seok arrived at the venue with his daughter Hyun-ah.
“Wow, there are so many people.”
Unable to hear her reply, he felt her slip her arm through his; she always did this in crowds so she would not lose him, knowing he could not hear her call.
Following her lead, they entered the hall.
“Wow…”
Hyun-ah’s mouth fell open at the scale of the place.
Oops. She clamped it shut; if her brother saw, he would tease that she looked like a country mouse.
Min Jun-seok, too, looked around wide-eyed.
“Dad, I think these are our seats. They’re great!”
They sat in the very front row of the second tier and looked down at the brightly lit stage. Spotlights flashed for checks and vivid images played on the rear LED wall.
The father, who had lost his hearing young and had rarely been to performances, was dazzled.
Though he could not hear, the spectacle thrilled him just like the first time he had gone to a cinema with his late wife. Back then, subtitles had let him read the film, but he had watched only her profile.
Tap, tap. Hyun-a touched his arm.
[Dad, look over there.]
He followed her finger and saw the judges’ table; among the familiar TV faces sat a man wearing a helmet.
My son… Even with the helmet he knew at once.
Tap, tap. Hyun-ah smiled and signed, [Brother is so cool, right]
He nodded over and over like a broken robot.
Brother seems to have succeeded, she signed.
Yes, his son fulfilled the usual measures of success, and the father felt it more every day.
Today the boy was not singing but judging singers; that must be an impressive position.
Memories of his late wife surfaced.
I wish you could see this with me, he thought.
When he joined her in heaven, he would tell her everything: that their son had succeeded so grandly, that though the father had provided so little, the boy had climbed so high. He would thank her for giving him such a wonderful son.
Tap. His daughter’s gentle hand again.
[Dad, are you crying?]
He shook his head to reassure her. He was crying, but from happiness, and his considerate daughter would not press him.
I will explain every song after each stage so you will not get bored, she signed.
Yes, such a perceptive, loving daughter. He would thank his wife for her too.
Clap, clap, clap.
Applause rose as signs showed the final was about to start.
It swelled until it filled the hall.
[Looks like it is starting. Dad, clap too!]
Father and daughter joined in, hands meeting loudly as cheers and clapping announced the beginning of the championship show.
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