Lee Young-ah was overjoyed to learn she would finally get a song from HS.
How happy was she?
She was almost thirty, yet she bounced on a city street, letting out a cheer.
Yes, her persistence had paid off.
She had reached out both personally and through her agency with formal love calls, and they had not been in vain.
Even if it was only a track on HS’s own album, that alone was enough.
In entertainment, singers trade features and songs as favors anyway, so she could hope for more next time.
For now she threw herself into practice, determined to nail this feature.
From the moment she opened her eyes until she closed them, in the van between schedules, during shooting breaks, even while in the restroom, she hummed HS’s melody.
Since Yoon Jaeyi had said yes at once, Young-ah swore she would show her true skill. She was sure she could.
Yet why now…
Inside the recording booth, she felt like a hamster caught on a wheel that never stopped.
Clearly, she had been charmed by that handsome face and professional directing.
“Let’s go once more.”
“Again.”
“That’s not it, you know?”
Before she knew it, she was trapped in a vicious recording cycle.
The rumor was true.
HS was secretly called a devil producer in a beautiful man’s mask, and she had now learned why.
“Take ten minutes, then back in,” he said.
Like a soldier escaping a gas drill, Young-ah rushed out.
“Hu-uup.”
She inhaled the outside air, meeting it after four whole hours.
“Sunbae.”
A familiar voice made her turn. Yoon Jaeyi was standing there, looking worried.
“Oh, Jaeyi, when did you get here?”
“Just a bit ago.”
“Aren’t you crazy busy these days?”
Jaeyi handed over a coffee.
“I had to come since you were here.”
She also passed along a bag full of vitamins and sports drinks, murmuring, “I was really worried about you.”
Checking the bag, Young-ah missed the last words and answered brightly.
“Thank you so much, Jaeyi.”
“Drink these and hang in there a little longer.”
“Right, just a little more and I’m done.”
“Of course, you’ll make it.”
Young-ah lowered her voice as if sharing a secret.
“I only heard rumors, but after experiencing him myself…”
“Y-yes?”
“He really is ruthless.”
“Ah, really…?”
“He let me out only after, what, four hours.”
“Y-yes…”
Jaeyi did not mention that The Moon had recorded in lockdown for a full week.
If someone must taste hell, better they step in unaware.
Sunbae, I’m sorry, she apologized inwardly, when—
“Lee Young-ah, stop chatting.”
HS set down his headset.
“I listened to the takes. The first-verse chorus feels weak, so let’s redo it.”
His words sounded like the grim reaper calling.
A cold dread told her she should never follow.
“R-right now? Already?”
“Sure, nine minutes forty-five seconds of break have passed.”
She had to retract her comment about him seeming ruthless.
He was simply ruthless.
Next morning dawned.
“Two familiar faces today.”
Moon Beom-jae strode in as the second vocalist.
“S-senior.”
Young-ah, languishing on the couch, forced herself up to greet the veteran.
“I heard you were coming, so I waited.”
Then she added a farewell.
“I’m thrilled to meet you, but I should get going.”
Beom-jae knew why she looked battered and why her voice cracked as though she would die, so he waved her off kindly.
Alone in the studio with Hyun-seung, Beom-jae teased,
“You’ll get a reputation for devouring singers.”
“Even so, Miss Young-ah worked only about twelve hours, breaks included.”
Though long by normal standards, Beom-jae nodded in agreement.
“Twelve? She exaggerated then.”
With a proud tone he continued, “I cleared two days of rehearsal. Bring it on.”
Hyun-seung laughed softly.
“Then I won’t give you warm-up time.”
“Of course not.”
Beom-jae walked into the booth himself.
⋯⋯
Soon he came out, bewildered.
“What? That’s really it?”
Hyunseung had given the OK after only two one-takes.
Ten minutes total.
“Yep, we’re done. Come on out.”
“You cut me short because my concert schedule is tight, right?”
“Not at all.”
“Then how can it end like this?”
They argued through the glass.
“Let me do one more.”
“No.”
“Why? Just once more.”
“No.”
Bursting out of the booth, he clung to Hyunseung’s sleeve.
“You felt it lacked something too.”
“I was satisfied.”
“Don’t lie.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re not the type to settle so easily.”
Indeed, Hyunseung never recorded leniently, nor had he now.
Beom-jae had been intensely rehearsing for a nationwide tour, so his voice was fully open. The track had been composed with his tone in mind; one take had been plenty—perfect, in fact.
Beom-jae sat beside him.
“So, this is the title track, right?”
“No.”
“Knew it, I… wait, no?”
“No.”
Hyunseung kept missing his expectations and Beom-jae’s eyes wavered.
“It has to be. It sounds like the title.”
“Anyway, it isn’t.”
“Then what is?”
He hesitated, then smiled expectantly.
“There is another, a song about youth.”
Meanwhile, Kim Gwang-jin set out on a long trip to meet an old friend.
“Hyung-nim!”
He greeted none other than Lee Du-seok, an elder statesman of entertainment.
“How long has it been?”
They had called each other hyung since their youth.
“You are well, right?”
“Always.”
After a brief welcome Lee eyed him up and down.
“What’s with your outfit?”
Gwang-jin was wearing denim jacket and jeans, not exactly his age.
“I look younger, don’t I? Dressing like this even makes my heart feel young.”
Lee nodded reluctantly.
“Let’s talk in the garden.”
They walked to a bench, exchanging small news.
“The tea tastes good.”
Gwang-jin sipped the steaming cup.
“I used to hate tea, but now nothing beats a warm cup.”
“You ran hot and drank only cold water back then.”
They shared a light laugh.
“Hyung-nim.”
Gwang-jin grew serious.
“I’m going to hold a mic again.”
Lee’s face brightened.
“Releasing an album?”
Lee had been drawn to Kim’s voice in their youth.
Rough yet gentle, worn yet clear, it calmed his mind.
But age diminishes all. Both had stepped away from the stage.
Kim had basically retired as a singer after a remake album ten years ago, working only as judge and radio DJ. Now he said he would sing again—welcome news.
“Not my own album. I will sing the title track on composer HS’s solo album.”
Lee nearly choked.
HS was none other than his Go opponent, Hyunseung.
“You all right?”
“Fine.”
“Since he’s at LS Entertainment you must have heard of him.”
He decided not to mention the Go games; he had never won yet.
“So why did you decide to sing again?”
“He said he would send me back to youth. How could I refuse?”
Lee raised an eyebrow. “Youth?”
“You’ll understand when you hear the song.”
Kim smiled and called a butler.
“Could you play that track?”
“Just a moment.”
Lee felt a strange tension—no, anticipation.
A song that made Gwang-jin pick up the mic again, and by Hyunseung no less.
When music filled the garden speakers, he closed his eyes.
Maybe he too could taste youth for a moment.
A free-spirited guitar opened, and rich saxophone harmonies followed.
The slightly retro instrumental bounced over the melody with bright energy.
Listening, he remembered fearless days on the street, gripping a mic, laughing at good music.
The most splendid, brightest, hottest youth flared then faded.
Opening his wrinkled eyes he saw Kim Gwang-jin, aging waters of the long river. Kim must see the same in him.
They stared silently, sharing the same memory.
Finally, Lee spoke in a husky voice.
“It is truly a fine song.”
“So fine I worry whether I can express the youth it holds.”
As Lee listened to his friend’s worry, Kim’s younger face overlapped the wrinkles.
“Gwang-jin, you are doing it again,” Lee chuckled.
“Remember the night before that song festival? You said the same.”
“Right, I whined at you all night.”
“Yet look, you came to be called the father of pop.”
He patted Kim’s shoulder.
“You will do this song justice too.”
The strain eased from Kim’s face.
He had lived without regrets, doing what he loved. Why not keep doing so until sunset?
“This song…” Kim drifted into thought.
“I hope the next generation and the next will sing it when they think of their youth. For that, I must set the first example.”
“They will.” Lee paused, then added, “A timeless song of longing is never forgotten.”
Given how deeply the melody lingered, “Indeed, they will.”
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