A Midnight Duet: The Unstoppable Train

Having enjoyed a rare day off, my complexion ought to have been radiant, yet the atmosphere in the practice room hung heavy and gloomy. It was understandable, of course. We had narrowly avoided being cornered like villains and collectively lambasted, but the endless arguments over our alleged ‘attitude controversy’ still dragged on, divisive and unresolved. Just this morning, before coming here, I’d been summoned to the company office first. I hadn’t done anything drastically wrong, yet the admonition to ‘be careful in the future’ had been drilled into my head multiple times. In its wake, I found myself mechanically going through the motions of our efficiently planned schedule, devoid of any genuine enthusiasm. Perhaps the only silver lining was that we had already performed many of the songs on stage, so we weren’t starting from scratch.

“Let’s take a break, everyone!”

The company’s trainer announced the rest period. The members, who had been engrossed in practice for quite some time, immediately collapsed or sat down on the floor as soon as the words left their lips. I was no different. Leaning against the wall, the cool touch that spread through me was a welcome sensation.

‘I feel a bit nauseous, probably from exhaustion…’

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. What bothered me more was Yoon Jihyuk, standing stock-still, lost in thought with an electrolyte drink in his hand. ‘Doesn’t he ever get tired?’

“Hey.”

Han Doyoung, who had settled beside me without an invitation, glanced between Yoon Jihyuk and me, a crooked expression on his face.

“…What?”

He must have been asking why I was looking at Yoon Jihyuk like that, but it was an awkward question to answer. I couldn’t bring myself to blurt out that ‘your leader seems a bit out of it.’

“What about you, hyung? You’re awfully interested in me.”

When I deftly changed the subject, Han Doyoung looked displeased. ‘Bullshit.’ He spat out a coarse curse, then quickly shifted his attention away from Yoon Jihyuk.

“Can you handle it?”

‘Even this guy is asking about my well-being.’ I was starting to get fed up.

“More or less.”

A chilly tone involuntarily slipped out. My companion, however, didn’t seem to care about the temperature of my words. Han Doyoung tapped the floor idly with his foot before asking, “Then let’s do one more song.”

“…Hmm?”

Rummaging in his pocket, he carelessly tossed his phone onto the floor. After a few taps on the screen with his index finger, he shoved an Excel-organized cue sheet in front of me.

Roughly half of the twenty-song setlist comprised group songs from previous promotions, while about half of the remaining tracks were remixes from our pre-debut days. So, what filled the rest of the slots? Individual solo songs for each member.

Kwon Yohan’s song was a gentle acoustic piece, perfect for a seated performance and suitable as a breather. It was incredibly comfortable, requiring no particular effort.

Han Doyoung pointed to a spot between the last two group songs and his own solo track, a considerable time gap from Kwon Yohan’s solo, which appeared around the middle of the set.

“I want to add a performance track here.”

‘If you can’t do it, then don’t.’ The casual addition to his remark struck a chord deep within me.

“Let me see what song it is first.”

The song Han Doyoung brought was one that had been shortlisted for the full album but ultimately rejected. While the melody was excellent, it contained too many traditional Korean instruments, making it stand out awkwardly from the rest of the album. It had been saved with the idea that it could be included if the album concept itself ever leaned towards a traditional Korean style.

“You need a few unreleased album tracks for that fresh appeal.”

Han Doyoung, who seemed to have a clear vision in his mind, actively tried to persuade me once I showed a glimmer of interest, despite initially presenting it as a ‘take it or leave it’ proposal.

“You mean for the two of us?”

“Well, should we do it with three?”

“Hmm…”

Honestly, I was tempted.

In the group songs, excluding the previous title track, Kwon Yohan’s parts had been almost nonexistent. While the choreography itself was challenging, the plight of a ‘hidden’ member was most evident in the dance breaks. The most difficult and eye-catching parts could never be Kwon Yohan’s.

‘I could do that too.’ My body tingled whenever I watched the others perform. This was especially true because I knew that the harder something was, the more intense the satisfaction when it was executed perfectly.

I coveted those parts, and I felt stifled. A quiet solo song would never be enough to satisfy such desires.

“Is the choreography done?”

“No, we’re going to start creating it now. You’ll pick it up in a day anyway.”

Seeing the trust in his eyes, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright. Then let’s do it.”

And so, I chose to willingly bring trouble upon myself.

****

After the decision was made, things moved at lightning speed.

“Hey, let’s go out.”

“…At this hour?”

I checked my tablet; it was nearing two in the morning. I had, coincidentally, missed my usual bedtime while monitoring. Han Doyoung grabbed my wrist, telling me to follow without a word.

Donning hats and masks, we left the dorm. Han Doyoung, without explaining our destination, walked confidently until he stopped in front of a chicken shop. He then went inside and picked up a heavy bag from an empty table.

“This is the boneless three-chicken set with eight extra cheese balls, right?”

“Yes, take the cola next to it as well.”

“Yep.” The guy replied casually, tucking a 1.5-liter cola firmly under his arm before leaving the shop.

The humid night air clung to my skin. ‘So where are we going?’ Before I could ask, Han Doyoung was busy discussing the duet song’s concept. Thanks to him, the journey wasn’t boring.

The place we arrived at was the company building.

After descending to the first basement floor, Han Doyoung boldly opened the door to a studio. Beyond the flung-open door, a crew of company composers was being wrung dry late into the night.

Han Doyoung shook the plastic bag and shouted cheerfully, “Daddy’s home!”

The composers, who had been sitting with gloomy faces, all turned their heads in unison.

“Oh! Doyoung!”

I awkwardly greeted them as they swarmed towards us like zombies. We had become acquainted during album production, but I had never properly conversed with them.

“How did you two end up coming together?”

“I came to deliver some late-night snacks and ask for a favor. Let’s eat first.”

They seemed more surprised that I was with Han Doyoung than by his late-night visit. Since they had always found Kwon Yohan a bit difficult, their clumsy attempts to be considerate only made the situation more awkward.

Still, it was convenient that with so many people, I didn’t have to force myself into conversation. I sat at the haphazardly arranged table and sipped the barley tea someone had brought out. Despite us bringing cola, everyone had a can of beer in front of them. ‘But why is there alcohol in the studio fridge?’

“Are you very busy these days? Staying until this hour?”

“Night work is always a given.”

Indeed, they were a team whose working hours weren’t interfered with, as long as they met their required output. I had often seen them arriving late in the afternoon and leaving in the early hours of the next morning.

“Still, it’s pretty relaxed these days. Your full album work is done, and the concert sound production is almost finished. But you’re going to have a comeback in the fall, right? So we can’t just rest indefinitely.”

“…A comeback in the fall?”

When I inadvertently reacted to this new information, another composer added an explanation.

“It’ll be late fall, early winter, after your overseas tour, I suppose? The schedule isn’t finalized, so it probably hasn’t been shared yet. Your Japanese debut is also intertwined with that.”

“They’re practically putting the kids in a blender and grinding them up.”

“Can’t be helped in the first year, I guess.”

As they became tipsy, their stiff attitude towards me softened considerably. It was quite pitiable to see them shudder at the thought of getting busy again, already feeling miserable.

“So, what’s the favor? Bringing bribes like this.”

“Oh, I didn’t buy it to get you to agree.”

Han Doyoung popped the piece he had been biting into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it roughly, then explained the situation. He enthusiastically relayed the concept and arrangement direction he had been talking about on the way here, omitting nothing. Even though it was the second time he was telling the same story, his fervor, instead of cooling, seemed to intensify.

“It’s good, though?”

“I bought traditional Korean instrument samples and wondered when I’d ever use them again. Now I finally can.”

The response was very positive.

“See? You were going to do it anyway.”

Han Doyoung grinned triumphantly.

Perhaps the moderate amount of alcohol fueled their motivation, as they immediately launched into work. Opinions flew back and forth fiercely, and the unfinished song grew richer and more complete.

“What about the lyrics?”

Since the vocal parts weren’t entirely removed, lyrics were necessary.

“I’ve written them. Here.”

Han Doyoung was, unexpectedly, a runaway train. The composer, taking his phone, focused on the screen and soon nodded.

“Good. We can go with this. We’ll make any necessary changes during recording.”

The unbelievable pace of progress left me dazed.

The ‘composition factory,’ left with only these deeply immersed individuals, continued to operate fervently until the sun fully rose. The fact that no one was there to rein them in wasn’t entirely a good thing. Squeezing out every last bit of energy they had for the journey home, they one by one collapsed and fell asleep wherever they were.

“One last polish tomorrow, and it’ll be done. You two should go rest.”

Only after the last person dramatically slumped forward, ending their words, did Han Doyoung get up. Together, we tidied up the remnants of our late-night snack, and as we exited the company building, it was already commuter rush hour.

The morning sunlight, which I usually paid little mind to, felt as if it was attacking me, threatening to incinerate me.

“Good thing the dorm is close… Hey, where are you going?”

“The practice room.”

“…Now?”

“I have to choreograph.”

Han Doyoung blinked, his expression asking why I was stating the obvious. He didn’t seem to care that I had called him ‘hey.’

“Do it alone. I’m out.”

I was on the verge of collapsing myself and couldn’t deal with a madman. Without bothering to argue, I unhesitatingly turned towards the dorm. Han Doyoung, who had been shouting something vigorously behind me, eventually gave up and ran over.

“No grit. No grit at all.”

In my bewilderment, I couldn’t help but laugh.