After grilling these young souls like this, Jion went to Contemporary’s studio, where they’d become quite close.
“Hyundae-hyung, I’m here.”
“Oh, Jion came?”
The super popular composer who, ten years later, even if you came carrying bundles of cash, wouldn’t give you a song—much less let you see his face—if he didn’t like you, Contemporary—real name Jeong Hyundae—was being saved by the beautiful angel Seong Jion, his first song buyer who recognized his potential, praised, encouraged, and supported him.
“Hyung, I heard you finished a song today.”
“Oh, yeah. But the hyung who shares the studio with me listened to it and said it seemed kind of bad… so I think I should just throw it away. When I listened to it again, it seemed like total garbage.”
“What are you talking about. Whatever. Play it.”
“I already deleted it though…”
Jeong Contemporary, a 26-year-old man who’d completed his military service this year, was a late bloomer who had belatedly started music after being discharged from the military, and was currently being gaslit by a certain composer in his late twenties who shared the studio with him. Thanks to that, his recycle bin was full of discarded masterpieces, and Jion habitually clicked restore file from his recycle bin.
“It’s nothing but good though? Hyundae-hyung, I keep telling you over and over, but that hyung person is jealous.”
In crude terms: self-sabotage, stepping on sprouts, crushing a junior’s spirit. While criticizing this hyung person he’d never met, Jion was secretly very grateful inside.
“Hyung. Why would you throw this away. It’s a total masterpiece. This one, this one. Bundle these two together and give them to us as our next single. Right?”
“You’ll buy this? I’ll just give it to you… I was going to throw it away anyway.”
“Hyung. How can you lower your own value like that.”
Jion made a serious face and held out his fingers.
“100 for both songs. Don’t bargain, just take what I’m giving. I’ll send the contract through the company.”
In Jion’s memory, Contemporary started walking the road to success around this fall. If the timing matches the past, it would be after BNCZ’s upcoming activity. After succeeding, even if he writes songs out of loyalty, the price point might not match and they might not be able to get them. So right now, while it’s a bargain sale due to self-esteem issues, he had to scrape up all the good songs.
Not knowing Jion’s dark intentions, Hyundae wiped away tears.
“Jion, you’re really a good kid…”
“It’s because hyung is an excellent musician.”
“Thanks to you, I paid this month’s studio rent too… and monthly rent… and it’s my mom’s birthday so I can buy her a meal…”
“We’ll definitely hit it big with hyung’s songs, so let’s stay together until the end. Okay?”
Seong Jion himself didn’t know it, but having regressed from his thirties to his twenties and gained shamelessness, he had acquired one more amazing special move. It was a weapon that automatically fired simply by looking up with slightly sincere, moistly wet eyes, and its name was ‘Charm.’
“…Y-yeah! Of course. How could I forget your kindness, Jion…”
And in the time period he’d regressed to, there were two men who had helplessly crumbled before this weapon of Jion’s. One was Jeong Hyundae right before his eyes—stage name Contemporary—and the other was…
“Hoooooo-oot, ha!”
“Again.”
“Hooooooooo-oot, heua!”
“Again.”
“Hooooooooooo-oot!”
“Hold your breath. Hold. Hold!”
“Paha!”
Even though Jion’s hand gesture hadn’t finished yet, something like a haenyeo diver’s breath coming up to the surface burst out from Seonwoo Jin. Did I dunk him in water or something. Jion sighed internally at his ridiculously short breath and asked with a serious expression.
“Woojin-ah. We’re really close friends, right?”
“Huh?”
“There are no secrets between us. Right?”
“That’s right…?”
“Then you can’t lie when I ask you something, okay?”
“What are you trying to ask that you’re setting the mood like this.”
Making eye contact with Seonwoo Jin, whose face had turned bright red from practicing breathing techniques, Jion carefully asked.
“Do you smoke by any chance?”
“…Have I ever smelled like cigarettes?”
“No, you haven’t, but…”
“Smell me, smell me.”
Seonwoo Jin was slightly irritated and pulled Jion, who was in front of the piano, to bury his face in his chest. Jion didn’t miss the opportunity and quickly sniffed, but from Seonwoo Jin came only the scent of fabric softener along with a slightly warm body scent—there was no cigarette smell.
“It doesn’t smell, right?”
“Maybe e-cigarettes?”
“Hey, you bastard. You’re stuck with me all day long and you suspect that?”
When Seonwoo Jin insisted on his innocence with a very hurt expression, Jion raised both hands and stepped back, laughing.
“Sorry, sorry. No, it’s just your breath was so lacking I thought maybe you smoked.”
“…That’s too much.”
“Then maybe, what, is there a problem with your lungs… When was the last time you got a health checkup?”
“Hey. Jion, you really.”
Seonwoo Jin sulked at Jion who was subtly picking on him while pretending to worry. But even while smiling brightly, Jion didn’t just soothe him.
“Haha, well then, shall we try again? Breathe in…”
“Hoooooo-eup!”
If Jion had been as generous with the voice as he was with Seonwoo Jin’s face, Seonwoo Jin probably could have entered recording around the same time as the other members.
“Again.”
Jion absolutely could not tolerate Seonwoo Jin’s breathing and pitch that trembled like mosquito wings.
“Oo—”
“Again.”
Jion closed his eyes and tried not to look at Seonwoo Jin’s face, concentrating only on his terrible voice. Because he couldn’t hold his breath inside, the moment he opened his mouth, both sound and pitch leaked out.
“Oo…”
“Again.”
Three hundred times like that? No, even five hundred times would be laughable. From 8 AM to 7 PM in the evening.
“Oo.”
“…Again.”
They must have done this one thing at least a thousand times. Seonwoo Jin only had to do the single syllable “Oo,” but Jion had the two syllables of “Again.” It seemed Jion would get vocal nodules faster than Seonwoo Jin’s sound would come out clear and clean.
“Phew…”
Finally, after thousands of “agains,” Jion raised the white flag. It was impossible to fix Seonwoo Jin’s vocalization and breathing basics and make him sing properly in this short time.
Whatever. Who would expect singing from that face. Let’s just slather on post-processing.
“Good work, Woojin-ah. Let’s ‘just’ go straight into recording starting the day after tomorrow.”
Jion tried to hide his fatigue and disappointment with a smiling face, but from the deflation felt in the word ‘just,’ Seonwoo Jin realized that Jion had given up on him.
“Ten more times, no, if we try about a hundred more times…”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t drain your energy.”
You might get nasolabial folds from working your mouth muscles so hard for no reason.
Jion cleanly abandoned his attachment to Seonwoo Jin’s vocalization, just like giving up on college entrance exam scores from a student who bombed the June mock exam in their senior year. What’s important is the willingness to work hard and a handsome face—does an idol need singing ability? That was over-spec.
“…I think I’ll get a bit better if I practice one more day… I feel like I’m getting the hang of it…”
“You’ve already practiced enough. What if you hurt your voice.”
There’s no way his voice would give out from a single syllable “oo,” but Jion protectively wrapped around Seonwoo Jin’s throat as if his vocal cords were glass that fragile.
“Now let’s go home, put on a sheet mask, and sleep early. If you sleep late, your skin gets damaged.”
Challenging something that won’t work is passion. Some people even call it romance.
But does passion and romance feed you? People should work hard at things that work. Even better if they work hard at things they’re good at.
“Oo.”
“Don’t pucker your lips.”
Jion forcibly laid Seonwoo Jin, who still hadn’t given up on vocalization, on the bed and climbed onto his lower abdomen. Then he flattened Seonwoo Jin’s lips, which had gathered pointedly to make sound, with his palm and tore open a sheet mask.
“I’ll put it on. Stay still.”
And he matched the sheet soaked with collagen from the hairline, then hurriedly readjusted the position of the eye holes.
“Look at how much is left over top and bottom because your face is too small.”
Jion folded the sheet all the way inside the chin and carefully adhered it to the skin, then squeezed the ampoule remaining in the package and smoothly applied it to Seonwoo Jin’s long, pretty neck. In the opposite direction of gravity, so neck wrinkles wouldn’t form.
“Aigoo, pretty.”
Jion cooed at Seonwoo Jin half-sincerely like changing a newborn baby’s diaper, then got down from his lower abdomen where he’d been sitting. He didn’t forget to tap the flat lower abdomen,
“Look at those abs.”
and give praise. That’s right. This was exactly the area that BNCZ and its member, Seonwoo Jin, were best at. Face. This was enough. Jion looked proudly at Seonwoo Jin, who had the white sheet stuck to his face and his hands folded obediently.
He listens well, he’s handsome, and though results don’t come out, he even tries hard. Why didn’t I know back then that Seonwoo Jin was such a pretty guy? Jion placed his hand on Seonwoo Jin’s chest and patted him. His hurt feelings melted at Jion’s gentle, warm touch, and Seonwoo Jin pulled at Jion’s clothes with his eyes closed.
“…You put on a mask and lie down too.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
“Why? Let’s do skincare together.”
“No, I have an appointment.”
“…What?”
An appointment at the awkward time of 8 PM. Moreover, an appointment he didn’t know about. Seonwoo Jin was so surprised he tried to bolt upright, but was pressed back down onto the bed by Jion’s hand on his chest.
“You’ll get wrinkles, don’t talk.”
“No, what appointment? At this hour?”
“Ah, I’m going to have a drink with Hyundae-hyung.”
To Seonwoo Jin’s questioning, his heart growing impatient, Jion shrugged and answered. That’s right. The reason Jion gave up on Seonwoo Jin’s vocalization after 11 hours was because he had a drinking appointment scheduled from 9 PM. If it weren’t for this appointment, he would have held on for about 3 more hours but…
“I’m meeting him later.”
“Who’s Hyundae again?”
“Our composer. Contemporary-hyung. His real name is Jeong Hyundae.”
“Was that his name?”
“That was his name.”
To Seonwoo Jin, who wasn’t very interested in the members’ affairs except for Jion’s, the name Jeong Hyundae was too unfamiliar and awkward. As Seonwoo Jin closed his eyes and tried to recall what this person called Contemporary looked like, he heard the sound of Jion preparing to go out.
“You’re going out now?”
“I think I need to leave now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Why would you come with me.”
Jion quickly subdued Seonwoo Jin, who was trying to remove the sheet mask he’d barely just put on, and threatened him.
“That’s 5,000 won per sheet. Take it off after 15 minutes and tap tap tap the remaining ampoule into your skin until it’s all absorbed. And drink lots of water and go straight to sleep. Okay?”
“But…”
“Your face is our hope.”
With those words, Jion drove the nail in on Seonwoo Jin, who had been about to squirm. Then he left the room, loudly calling for someone.
“Jinyeong-ah, what are you doing? You’re free, right?”
