EP

‘Not thinking about what comes afterward, huh.’

After returning home, Myeongjeon sat in front of the laptop and thought about what Iseo had said.

Memories of the old days. Childhood, when they warmed their lunchboxes over a stove. Myeongjeon back then…

‘I did think that it had to be guitar or nothing.’

Of course, even after growing up, Myeongjeon had still believed it had to be guitar or nothing, but it seemed that feeling had been even stronger back then.

They vaguely remembered saying, “Hongil. I’m either going to become the Beatles or throw myself off a cliff. I’ll do one or the other.” Hongil had answered, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Why had they thought that way back then?

Why had they never thought about the possibility of failure?

What had made them shout, “I’m going to succeed with the guitar!” without thinking about what would happen afterward?

Next, Myeongjeon recalled a Koshien game they had watched long ago. Had both pitchers thrown complete games through fifteen innings in the final, then complete games through nine innings again the next day? Had they thrown 950 pitches throughout the tournament, and twenty-four innings over two days in the final?

What had kept them going?

Hadn’t their arms hurt? Hadn’t they wondered what would happen afterward if they pushed themselves this hard? What about worrying over the future?

Finally, Myeongjeon remembered what had happened recently. That person had blurted things out in front of an investor without thinking, remaining faithful only to their feelings in the moment without considering what would happen afterward. They were a little removed from their teens, but…

Why had that person acted like that?

Had they not been afraid of what would come afterward?

Had the present they were facing right then seemed more important than a future that had not yet arrived?

One of the thoughts Myeongjeon had recalled was neutral.

One was positive, and one was negative.

They did have something in common.

They had surrendered themselves to their emotions.

They had acted with their feelings rather than their reason.

There was no way to call such a way of life good or bad. It was simply different.

And so Myeongjeon thought about singing of the brilliance in that.

People who threw everything away because they wanted to throw themselves into something, and because it was something they could do only now.

People who burned themselves up like that.

Whether the forest would come alive again after the flames passed, or become a wasteland… that remained to be seen. In any case, the flames themselves were beautiful.

But after thinking for a while, Myeongjeon decided not to. Flames were brilliant. Brilliant and dazzling, but weren’t they also fleeting? To burn away one’s life for a single blaze, without even knowing whether that blaze would be worth it.

Instead, Myeongjeon decided to talk about what came afterward.

The forest after the fire had swept through it.

The burned ash might become nourishment for new shoots… or the forest might remain dead just as it was. But shouldn’t someone tell that story?

That there was no need to throw away one’s entire life. That there was no need to entrust everything to a momentary emotion.

By singing about the sorrow of those who had thrown everything away.

Myeongjeon picked up the keyboard again. Like the previous song, it was a slow-tempo piece in a minor key. The arrangement was the same as well: drums, keyboard, guitar, and bass.

But the meter was a slightly precarious five-four time signature. Myeongjeon repeatedly added the faint sound of a siren drifting in from far away, to create a sense of unease and tension.

How should the instruments be balanced? Since Myeongjeon handled the guitar well, should it be the main instrument in this song too?

‘No.’

The guitar would be kept to an absolute minimum, used only for sounds that came in here and there. Myeongjeon would add a few strings as well, giving the song a slight funeral-march feel.

‘As for playing it live, we’ll figure that out somehow.’

If it really didn’t work out, they simply wouldn’t have to play this song live. And the keyboard… would follow the song along with the strings.

The important parts were the drums and bass.

First, the drums would not only use a five-four time signature but also undergo constant meter changes. Myeongjeon did not know whether Seoha would be able to play it, but Seoha would just have to work hard either way.

In contrast, the bass would use an unobtrusive riff, without any flashiness. It would be based entirely on the riff, allowing the drums to dance over the monotonous foundation.

‘Is it too much like a funeral march?’

Once it was finished, the song felt too heavy and dragging. The drums danced, and the bass was alive too, but even adding a vocal line would probably not be enough to lift the song. Myeongjeon had not intended to sing it in a way that would do that, either.

Myeongjeon surveyed the song’s overall picture once more. A monotonous bass played beneath dancing drums. A guitar that played only occasional strums. And a siren sounding uneasily in the distance.

For the background, Myeongjeon added the sound of waves to depict the far shore, engulfed and burned by the flames. Faint lapping, the sound of a siren carried over the open sea, and even a little ship’s horn.

At the beginning of the song, Myeongjeon added a keyboard tremolo to create a trembling sensation.

Was this enough groundwork? If so, what should come next? Should the regret that permeated the song be left unresolved, or should it be resolved?

‘My musical preference is to leave it unresolved, but…’

If they went that route, it would become far too bleak a song. It would not be enjoyable to listen to, either. So what should they do?

Myeongjeon folded their arms and stared at the DAW. Adding guitar would be the safe choice, and they were confident in their ability to play it. But it was too predictable, and there was no fun in it. Myeongjeon wanted to keep the guitar to a minimum and limit their role in this song to vocals.

But there had to be a highlight… After agonizing over it, Myeongjeon reached a conclusion.

And then they added an instrument.

A trumpet playing the blues scale.

So that the listener could overcome their regret. Like the blues, which sublimated sorrow, it would allow them to believe that new shoots would eventually sprout in the burned forest when the rain came.

* * *

“What do you think?”

“This is… too much.”

Suyeon had met Chae Hokeun again after a long time for an album session. After listening to the song she played for him, Hokeun shook his head vigorously.

“How old did you say you were, Suyeon?”

“I’m a high school sophomore.”

“No, but if a high school sophomore makes a song like this… what am I, an old man, supposed to write?”

According to the story Suyeon told him, she had written the song to express her hope that young people would not entrust everything to their momentary emotions. Whether something like that could truly be conveyed through a song was another matter, but the idea itself was certainly unusual.

‘Don’t people that age write songs about burning everything away? About devoting their lives to love. About devoting everything to music. Songs like that.’

Things that were incredibly trivial when viewed over the course of an entire life. Yet they treated those things as tremendously important and declared that they would stake everything on them. Ha Suyeon was surely at that age.

Even so, why did the song she had written feel so much like it came from someone her own age? She seemed like a girl who had lived several times over, yet in reality, she was a high school student.

“I don’t think it’s quite that much.”

“No, it really is. Don’t be modest—accept my assessment as it is. It’s rare for me to praise a younger colleague like this.”

“Professor, what are you doing? Is something wrong?”

While the two of them were talking, a drummer from the session came over and joined them. Hokeun asked for his understanding and played the song for him as well. While the drummer listened in amazement, people began gathering one by one.

“This is something Suyeon made?”

“What was I doing at that age?”

“She’s a genius. A genius.”

“Didn’t you say she’s only been learning for a year? This is real talent.”

Suyeon’s face reddened slightly at the session musicians’ reactions. Hokeun clapped to draw everyone’s attention, then sent the session musicians back to their places.

“How are you planning to release it?”

“I’m thinking of making it an EP.”

After the recording ended, Hokeun lifted his coffee and asked outside the studio, where a refreshment table had somehow been prepared. Suyeon answered him.

“A proper band should release a full-length album first.”

“That’s true, but right now, I think it’s important to release an album quickly.”

Suyeon explained the circumstances as she spoke.

Her band was currently performing at Paradox, but they had recently been rejected from a government support program. (Suyeon went into this part in considerable detail, and Hokeun became quite angry.) She had also participated as a session band in Juhyeon’s concert, which had led to quite a lot of fans gathering around them.

“That’s why I’m trying to move things along a little faster. We’re thinking of making an EP with about four or five songs, bringing in a producer, and promoting it.”

“It’s a reasonable idea, but…”

Hokeun thought it was the conventional route. Of course, it was not the way bands of the past had done things, but what could they do? The music industry had already changed, and the one who needed something more had to adapt.

“Have you decided which label you’ll release it through? The label is a fairly important factor, too.”

“How about our label? The music is fantastic. I’m confident I could sell plenty of it for you.”

At Hokeun’s words, the others rushed in like lions that had suddenly spotted prey. The session musicians started clamoring for her to come to their respective labels, but Suyeon drove them all off with one answer: “I’ve already chosen a label.”

“But there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The label is pretty indie, so there’s no way to promote it.”

“Ah, promotion…” came the murmured response. These people probably had no particular solution, either.

And that made sense. If there were a good way to make a song or album take off, why would rock be in this state? They would have already used that method and ushered in another golden age of rock.

“That problem would probably be the same wherever you went. Even with me releasing an album like this… how many copies do you think I’ll sell? Still, I have to keep making music, so I’m doing it.”

“Professor, your albums sell relatively well, though. I looked up the one you released recently, and it turns out it sold six hundred copies.”

“At that point, wouldn’t it be more profitable not to release it at all?”

The session musicians’ conversation laid bare the reality of the indie scene. No matter how little promotion he did, Myeongjeon did not think music would sell quite that poorly.

Nevertheless, promotion itself was necessary. If people did not even know something existed, how could they buy it? Even without circulating supply where there was no demand through some viral campaign, people had to at least be told, “There’s a song like this. Would you listen to it just once?”

The problem was how to say, “There’s a song like this. Would you listen to it just once?”

“There’s not really any point in discussing it among ourselves~”

One of the session musicians’ comments marked the beginning of the coffee break’s slow end. Myeongjeon continued thinking about how to promote the song, but no particularly sharp solution came to mind.

No, to be precise, there were plenty of sharp solutions. Most of them were simply rather questionable.

‘For example, bulk-buying streams or running a viral campaign would be enough to make it take off.’

These days, wasn’t TikTok viral marketing supposed to be the trend? In any case, if they somehow raised the money and poured it into a viral campaign, the promotion would go well. But Myeongjeon honestly did not want to do that.

“Can I play this for people around me? There isn’t any issue with it being unreleased or anything, is there?”

“Not at all. Just don’t plagiarize it after listening.”

“We have some professional ethics, you know~”

The session musicians left after saying that. With no particularly good idea coming to mind, Myeongjeon had no choice but to head home.

* * *

Perhaps it had been inevitable.

“Everyone, I think we’ll be ending today’s stream here… Hmm. You want me to keep going? What was that KakaoTalk notification just now? Yeah, what was it? Why is Jaehyeon hyung messaging me at this hour? What song did he send? You want me to play it? Uh, hold on. This… can I… play it? There’s no reply. I guess it’s okay to play it, right? Let’s give it a listen.”

Myeongjeon’s song made its way from person to person until it reached a member of a major agency’s boy band… and was suddenly played in its entirety on an Instagram Live with more than several thousand viewers.