Ahn Jiho was once again on his way to LS Entertainment headquarters with the members.
Judging by how familiar the scenery outside the window looked, even the route itself now felt routine.
“Recording already? I am excited, but somehow a little sad,” Choi Jeonghyuk muttered, leaning against the passenger-side window.
“What is sad about it?”
Scratching his chin in thought, Jeong-hyuk answered,
“Once the recording is over, we won’t come to LS Entertainment again, right?”
The other members sighed in agreement.
“The cafeteria food was great, the practice room is huge, and the studio has its own booth,” he added in a half-whisper, “which we do not have.”
Jiho’s grip tightened on the steering wheel at that last comment.
He suddenly recalled the looks on their faces every time they stepped into the LS building.
Like children on their first trip to an amusement park, glowing with excitement.
Right.
Jeonghyuk raving about the cafeteria, Woomin sprinting around the spacious studio, Chanyoung thrilled to record freely without time limits.
Even after long days of grueling practice they were always smiling.
They probably enjoyed simply being inside LS.
Yes.
Someday TM Entertainment would own its own building—he had boasted about it—but he knew that would not appear overnight.
First, they had to clear the mountain of debt and become so famous that no one, at home or abroad, could ignore The Moon.
This was no time for inferiority or envy.
They had a long road ahead, and to move forward they needed every bit of help they could get.
As leader he had to set the example.
He rapped the wheel lightly.
“I get it. I also feel I am finally receiving proper training here, so ending it seems a pity. My skills have clearly improved.”
In the mirror, he saw the others nod vigorously.
“But we have to build on what we gain here. Take all the help we can, grow even more, and then we too will have our own building.”
He hoped the members shared his mindset.
Just then the car rolled to a stop at a light.
“Ji-noona was pretty,” Jeonghyuk murmured out of nowhere, gazing ahead.
“I guess we will not see her much now.”
His eyes were distant and his voice hollow.
“I really loved her.”
Laughter came from the back seat. “Idiot.”
“So the thing you will miss…”
“Not seeing Ji-noona…”
“That was the reason?”
“Hyung, it was real love.”
A horn blared behind them and Jiho stomped the accelerator in shock.
Apparently getting everyone on the same page was too much to ask.
“Hold on,” Jeonghyuk signaled surrender and collapsed.
He plopped onto the cold booth floor and exhaled the breath he had been holding.
How many hours had it been? He no longer knew.
This kind of recording was new to him.
On previous albums they rented a studio and hired a producer; even then a session wrapped in half a day.
Now, under Hyunseung, one phrase took dozens of takes, and he nit-picked final consonants relentlessly.
The engineers had warned, asking if they were strong, patient, and unlikely to bolt, but he had not realized they were serious.
Monster, devil, pervert… he cursed silently.
“Send the next member in,” the speaker ordered.
Automatically he stood, opened the booth door, and staggered out.
His cheeks were sunken, eyes dull, complexion pale.
He high-fived Jiho and collapsed on the sofa.
“Hyung, good luck.”
“Rest a bit.”
The engineers chuckled.
“Hyunseung is going easy on outsiders, huh?”
“Only five hours? He is being nice.”
“That booth is a twenty-four-hour animal pit.”
Hyunseung did not answer, just watched Jiho.
Jiho set down a tattered score and rose.
His footsteps rang with resolve, making the engineers murmur.
“That is the leader, right?”
“Look at those eyes.”
“He might show us something.”
Hyunseung nodded slightly.
At their first hallway meeting, sparks had flown; curiosity hooked him.
If Jiho had not intrigued him, he would have ignored the blackmail and sob story.
Skill-wise he was rough, but his drive matched anyone Hyunseung had seen, and his gaze kept people on edge, as if he might cause a spectacular scene.
Interesting.
Jiho entered the booth, positioned himself, and pulled on the headset.
“Ready?”
He formed an O above his head.
“You are the leader, so quitting halfway is not allowed.”
Hyunseung cut the talkback and smiled.
Good, that is the spirit.
The engineers felt it too: warm-ups were over; the real session had begun.
Would he survive?
Actually, would they survive?
“Enough is enough.”
One engineer slumped over the desk.
“Stop fighting, you two.”
“Take it easy.”
“Don’t you need the restroom?”
Neither singer nor producer yielded an inch: take after take, erase, redo.
Their eyes flashed like predators; words were hardly spoken, yet the engineers imagined conversations.
Can you nail this?
Sure, watch me.
Then prove it.
“Take a look at my back—have I been crushed yet while the big guys are duking it out?” an engineer joked, showing his shoulders.
Hyunseung glanced at the clock.
Six hours for Jiho, a full day since the group arrived.
Behind him the other members nodded over their scores, dozing.
“So weak,” he muttered, tongue clicking.
He pressed talkback.
“Want a break?”
Jiho shook his head.
“At least the restroom.”
“Not necessary.”
“No chance later.”
“I’m fine.”
Hyunseung smiled approval. Good, press on.
The engineers whispered “Perverted, obsessive maniac,” fleeing to the restroom.
Just then the door swung open and a man strode in.
“Am I too late? Finished already?”
The engineers straightened and bowed.
“Hello, Maestro.”
It was Moon Beom-jae.
He glanced around. “I hope I am not late.”
“Not at all, sir. We were about to take a break.”
One engineer whispered like a tattling child, “That obsessive pervert will never finish in a day. The guy inside is just as crazy.”
Beom-jae laughed and patted his shoulder.
Noticing him, Hyunseung stood.
“I was in the building for a meeting and heard you were recording, so I dropped by.”
“Perfect timing. Could you listen to that kid?”
Following Hyunseung’s nod, Beom-jae looked into the booth.
“This is my first time to see him. Where did you find this one?”
“He leads an idol group from another company.”
“Another company?”
“Yes. Circumstances forced me to give them a song.”
“Happens,” Beom-jae chuckled, locking eyes with Jiho.
“I want to hear him. Can we roll right now?”
“Of course.”
Hyunseung signaled, and the highlight chorus flowed.
I can do nothing without you…
Jiho’s voice filled the control room.
Despite the sudden presence of a legend, his eyes never wavered and his tone remained firm, soaked in emotion yet solid.
So he wants to impress the grand senior? In one pass he delivered a perfect chorus, usable even raw. Impressive, though a bit annoying he had not shown it earlier.
“How was it, sir?”
“What do you think of him?”
“Feels like he might cause a spectacular uproar,” Hyunseung replied without the talkback.
“A perfect metaphor,” Beom-jae laughed. “I think the same. Like someone ready to shake the industry.”
“That is why I gave him the song, so the uproar will be on the right track.”
Beom-jae nodded slowly, then narrowed his eyes, as if deciding something.
“Then, to watch that uproar properly, mind if I set a stage for him too?”
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