Become A Music Monster Overnight! [EN]: Chapter 25

9. Hong Ui-chan

-Tadararang-

Na-eun’s self-composed song concluded with a brief guitar intro.

As the last note faded, she turned to me, her eyes searching for my reaction.

Seeing her anticipation, I scratched my chin, a nervous habit, and began hesitantly, “The song is good. Commercially viable, even. Most people in the industry would probably like it. However…”

Na-eun, feigning composure as I paused, finished my sentence for me. “It’s far from being a hit, isn’t it?”

“….”

I nodded, offering an awkward smile.

This marked the seventh time I’d evaluated one of her songs. She’d been diligently writing a new one almost every week, and each time, her compositions showed improvement.

The problem, however, lay in the *direction* of her improvement, which diverged from my intended path.

‘It’s trending toward increasing musicality and complexity.’

She might receive accolades in classical music circles. However, her trajectory was aimed at popular music, a realm that often demanded compromise, a paring down of pure artistry.

To be precise, she needed to shift her focus, even if it meant sacrificing some of her artistic inclinations.

At this rate, she risked creating music that only discerning musicians like myself would truly appreciate.

‘Seeing this, I’m starting to think being a genius isn’t always a blessing.’

Her exceptional talent allowed her to bypass crucial developmental stages at will.

It was far easier to guide a prodigy who grasped the fundamentals when presented with new concepts. With her, however, it felt like trying to control a rugby ball – unpredictable and chaotic.

‘…Turns out, being mediocre is really difficult.’

Well, I’d been calling her a genius, and that was my honest assessment.

Others might accuse me of being arrogant, but if she possessed a talent that defied common sense, like mine, she wouldn’t be facing this dilemma.

Regardless, I decided to adjust my approach, as the current method clearly wasn’t yielding the desired results.

‘It’s going to be a long road, but I can’t avoid it.’

If I wanted to redirect her, even forcefully, I had no choice but to administer a potent remedy.

“Y-You want me to do *this*?”

“Yes. Put down the guitar and start practicing this from now on.”

“….”

Her already pale complexion paled further at the task I presented.

I continued speaking, pressing on regardless of her reaction.

“I’ve explained everything. Now, master it. Including the dance, of course.”

“D-Dance?”

“Yes. If you dance with the spirit of a rabbit, you’ll command the stage.”

“I… I can’t dance. I’ve never learned.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve already secured a dance instructor. Work hard. The choreography was prepared at considerable expense.”

“P-President.”

Na-eun’s pleading eyes were truly pitiful, but I steeled myself and rejected her plea.

“This is all for your benefit. Cheer up.”

“Kueuk.”

Na-eun finally lowered her head, realizing that I wouldn’t budge.

Watching her dejection, I secretly nodded to myself.

‘It’s a song you used to sing a few years ago, so hang in there.’

The song I’d assigned her was the one she performed on her next mini-album after her debut album, *Misang*, flopped miserably.

The title was ‘Bunny Bunny,’ and as the name suggested, it was a song with a catchy, bouncy melody and lyrics that evoked the image of a rabbit.

Na-eun, mature enough to convincingly perform *Misang* even in her teens, personally struggled with the song, but her fans adored it.

She would even don a large rabbit costume and perform on stage during concerts.

I had resurrected Ina-eun’s ‘Bunny Bunny,’ a song that never existed in this timeline due to the altered circumstances, and rearranged it.

The original song wasn’t inherently bad, but it had been composed in an extreme attempt to shed the image of her first album, resulting in a track with little substance beyond its cuteness.

However, its modest popularity stemmed largely from Ina-eun’s naturally cute appearance, which resembled a rabbit.

The song’s saccharine atmosphere, which might have been easily dismissed, gained credibility because of Ina-eun’s inherent charm.

However, it was undeniably excessive, so I rearranged it to address its shortcomings.

‘She hated it so much when she was a teenager, there’s no way she can handle it now that she’s 20.’

Of course, she would perform it if fans requested it, driven by her strong sense of service, but that wasn’t the case now, was it?

I toned down the excessive cuteness and infused it with a touch of mystery.

It enhanced the music’s charm with a rabbit-like aesthetic inspired by *Alice in Wonderland*.

If I were to grade it, I’d give it an A-.

That was relatively low for an arrangement I’d worked on, but given that the original song prioritized popularity above all else, this was the best I could do.

Any further alterations risked completely erasing the original song’s essence.

“Well, even the same song can receive a different grade depending on who sings it.”

Perhaps, as in the original timeline, Ina-eun would elevate this song to a level beyond its inherent potential.

Of course, the journey to get there would be quite arduous.

“Depending on the situation, it wouldn’t be bad to debut with this song.”

It would probably take three or four months.

That was a relatively short timeframe. Given her reputation as a notorious klutz, it would take at least that long, even with dedicated effort.

‘Depending on the situation, I have to decide whether to pursue this direction for the next album.’

I felt a pang of sympathy for Na-eun, but personally, I wanted to explore this concept further.

Around the time I finalized Ina-eun’s lesson plan, the sound recording for Black Tiger concluded.

Before I knew it, we were about to begin mastering (the final editing stage before distribution), and with ample time to spare, I planned to contemplate it at my leisure.

The reason for this extra time was the music video.

Three days after my visit to the chicken restaurant to request a contract, I received a call from Hong Ui-chan.

“You made a good decision.”

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

Hong Ui-chan, whom I met three days later, looked haggard.

He appeared to have been without sleep for days, but his eyes burned with an unwavering intensity.

He handed me and the manager the file he had prepared and said, “I’ve summarized the concept you outlined. I apologize for any rough edges, as it was done in haste.”

“As expected… No, you’re amazing. I didn’t expect you to prepare this much in such a short time.”

“No. What’s truly amazing is the concept itself, which the president conceived.”

“…Ahahaha.”

I could only offer an awkward laugh.

The concept and inspiration he so admired had originated with him.

Hong Ui-chan’s camera work, his unique angle transitions, and the vibrant color palettes that amplified them.

The mesmerizing use of lighting, earning him the moniker ‘the magician of light,’ that created perfect harmony.

Youngchan had plastered it all over the music video concept.

It was nothing more than a compilation of inspirations that Hong Ui-chan had cultivated over at least seven years in the field.

Of course, being able to execute it, even with guidance, was another matter entirely.

More than technical skill, the ability to breathe life into it was paramount, and in that regard, Hong Ui-chan, the original architect, couldn’t help but be deeply impressed.

The reason he, who had turned his back on this industry in despair and anger, had returned to the battlefield might very well have been this.

Thanks to this, the draft of the music video, imbued with his genius, was created, even if it was still somewhat unrefined.

“……”

The manager, who had been observing from the sidelines, remained speechless.

Seeing him, usually so stoic, display such a reaction spoke volumes about the impact.

I handed him the materials I had prepared, taking over from the admiring manager.

“As detailed in the document, here’s a more comprehensive draft from our side.”

It contained his techniques and inspirations from his past work.

-gulp-

At this, Hong Ui-chan swallowed hard and eagerly began reviewing the materials with a nervous expression.

He became so engrossed that he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

After fifteen minutes, Hong Ui-chan looked up, attempting to conceal his awe.

Seeing that he was completely captivated, I smiled at Hong Ui-chan and said, “I want to sign an exclusive contract with you. Here’s the contract.”

It was an exclusive contract, but not a dictatorial one.

Rather, it was a highly advantageous contract for Hong Ui-chan at this stage.

To be precise, it resembled a management agreement, with the following key provisions:

Hong Ui-chan would receive a base salary from YC Entertainment, separate from project fees.

The cost of each music video would be determined on a case-by-case basis, with an 8:2 revenue split, favoring Hong Ui-chan.

Furthermore, the contract stipulated that Hong Ui-chan would have final say on all music videos produced by YC Entertainment.

YC Entertainment could offer advice, but his decisions would ultimately prevail.

Finally, YC Entertainment guaranteed a minimum investment of 30% if Hong Ui-chan decided to direct a movie after three years under contract.

These were exceptionally generous terms for a rookie director entering the field.

Hong Ui-chan tilted his head throughout the review, as if searching for a hidden catch in the contract.

I addressed Hong Ui-chan, reassuring him.

“We only want one thing: to prioritize YC Entertainment’s projects. That’s all.”

“…I will sign the contract.”

And he signed it on the spot, without hesitation.

“I appreciate your trust, but aren’t you making a decision rather quickly?”

Hong Ui-chan shook his head at my concern, despite being roughly my age but a relative newcomer to the industry.

“I understand your concern, but that’s not what matters to me.”

“…Then what is important?”

“It’s the president.”

“??”

Initially, I assumed he was referring to the inspiration I had shared.

However, I soon realized that his focus lay elsewhere, as revealed in his subsequent words.

“Are you familiar with Persona?”

“Persona?”

Of course I was. The reason I had collaborated with so many masters was because I recognized Persona-like qualities in them.

*Persona*. [In Jungian psychology, the social face an individual presents to the world.]

*Persona* has multiple meanings, but it’s often used to describe an alternate self.

Directors often used it to refer to the entity best suited to convey their message, and I, too, had drawn Persona-like inspiration from the legend in that sense.

I offered a brief acknowledgment, indicating my understanding, but he shook his head.

“I’m referring to something far more profound.”

I looked at him, bewildered by his definition of Persona.

The Persona that Hong Ui-chan described represented the ultimate goal in life.

More specifically, it referred to the pinnacle he aspired to reach, and he hoped to capture all the inspiration he saw in me through his lens.

Seeing this, I realized he truly viewed me as a Persona in the truest sense.

‘What the hell is he seeing?’

That’s why I was so confused.

When he worked with Hong Ui-chan over there, he didn’t treat me this way.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t draw inspiration, but it never deviated from my usual understanding of Persona.

‘What is Director Hong thinking?’

Since our fields differed, I couldn’t decipher the thoughts of this genius.

However, I could sense that his sparkling eyes were filled with anticipation and excitement.

When I made eye contact, he offered a smile brimming with unknown joy and said, “Please give me a month. I’ll return with the final concept within that time.”

“I understand.”

I said that and quickly handed him the corporate credit card.

I knew Hong Ui-chan was eager to start immediately, having been deprived for so long.

“You can use this to cover expenses. As you know, please remember to submit the receipts.”

“Yes. Then I’ll be going now.”

“Then I’ll see you next time.”

Hong Ui-chan left YC Entertainment as if fleeing, clutching the corporate card.

The manager shook his head, removing his sunglasses, perhaps stunned by the sight.

“There are many eccentric directors, but that one is particularly so.”

“Haha. He’s a genius. Geniuses often possess traits that ordinary people can’t comprehend.”

“……”

When I invoked the theory of genius, the manager gave me a dumbfounded look.