Chapter 42 : Open Mic (2)

 Ha Su-yeon said this as he entered the studio.

The kids followed him in, their expressions slightly subdued.

The track began to play.

To the average listener, it sounded passable, without any glaring issues.

But Ha Su-yeon face told a different story.

So did the faces of the other kids.

Ha Su-yeon silently looked at the three, while they subtly turned their heads to avoid his gaze.

“How’s the sound?”

“Uh… it’s not syncing well…”

“Why do you think that’s happening?”

At his question, the three remained silent. Ha Su-yeon ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

At first, just syncing up with each other was hard enough, and since we had urgent tasks to handle, we let some things slide.

Honestly, the second time wasn’t much different. Plus, since it was a cover song, there was already a sound reference to work with.

But now you’re recording and planning to perform a track you’ve put together yourselves.

And it’s not going as smoothly as you’d hoped, right? Maybe thoughts like, ‘I want to stand out more’ or ‘I want more attention’ are clouding your focus.

Is that why things are coming out disjointed?”

In the past, Ha Su-yeon would have scrapped the whole session outright.

But now, as ‘ Ha Su-yeon ,’ he thought it unnecessary to go that far.

Still, even if he wasn’t going to scrap it, a firm reprimand was in order.

“Last performance, or the one before that, you might have gotten away with this. Don’t you think so?”

“Uh… yeah, no, I mean—no.”

Lee Seo, who unconsciously nodded in agreement, quickly shook her head in denial.

Ha Su-yeon chuckled lightly and continued.

The first performance was a school festival. Honestly, the level there was low-pressure.

The festival’s sound environment was so bad that people probably couldn’t hear everything properly, and the audience wasn’t skilled enough to notice any flaws.

The second performance was for anime fans, wasn’t it? The crowd was bigger, sure, but they weren’t there because they loved music; they were there because they loved the anime.

They just wanted to hear the song.

That’s why I didn’t push you guys too hard for that one.”

Hearing this, Lee Seo quickly looked up, startled.

Did I mishear that? ‘Didn’t push us too hard?’ But  Ha Su-yeon expression seemed completely sincere, as though he even felt guilty for being too lenient.

“But the third performance? Open mic. What do you think the difference is between the first, second, and third performances?”

“Is it the scale?”

“The scale? Open mic events are actually smaller. At most, a few dozen people? Maybe a hundred if it’s packed.”

“That small?”

“Uh… I think I know. Is it the audience’s taste?”

Without waiting for Ha Su-yeon response, Jeong Hyun-ah answered.

Ha Su-yeon nodded and turned back to explain to the others.

“The school festival drew everyone who was just there. The anime performance attracted anime fans. But this time, for the club audition, the audience will consist of people who practically live in that club, listening to music all the time.”

Ha Su-yeon tilted his head slightly.

Even someone like him, older and more experienced, had heard of so-called ‘Hongdae syndrome’ or ‘indie pride.’ Audience members acting like music critics tucked into a live club corner.

“They’ll go wild if it meets their standards, but if not, they’ll ignore you entirely—or worse, openly criticize you where you can hear it.”

Seoha nodded.

She knew the type: people who acted as if their mere presence was a favor to the band, believing they were the only ones who truly ‘got’ the music.

She’d seen plenty of those.

Of course, not all live club audiences were like that.

Such people were a minority.

But for artists who hadn’t encountered them before, their first experience with such an audience could be deeply shocking.

“Let’s focus. There’s still time, but not enough. You all have your schedules, right? So let’s intensify the practice sessions.”

Ha Su-yeon strummed his guitar before walking to the corner of the rehearsal room to turn on the metronome.

The steady ticking began.

“Let’s start from the top. Play the track exactly as it is. Don’t try to add any flair or embellishments. Nail the basics first, then we’ll build from there.”

After practice, Lee Seo showered and collapsed onto her bed without drying her hair.

A friend’s message greeted her.

[How was practice?]

[It was brutal.]

[ What did you expect? Why’d you join a band?]

[You know Ha Su-yeon personality; it was bound to be intense.]

[Why do you say that about Ha Su-yeon?]

[She’s strict as hell.]

[Hey, shut up.]

[Su-chan’s been nicer lately! Do you want to die?]

Lee Seo chuckled at the banter as she plucked her bass.

Following whatever rhythm came to mind, she added a slap here and a fill there, letting the music flow naturally.

Even during today’s band practice, it was the same.

Ha Su-yeon kept pointing out issues with the overall balance of the session, though she didn’t specifically criticize individual performances.

But still… Iseo knew that Ha Su-yeon wouldn’t have missed the issues she herself was aware of.

[Is  mental state okay?]

[She’s shaken, for sure.]

Ha Su-yeon before entering the practice room or stage and Ha Su-yeon after stepping in might as well have been completely different people.

At school, she mostly kept her head down, either sleeping in class or wrapping herself in a blanket, spacing out. Her classmates would sometimes drag her to the cafeteria for meals.

When she did speak, her answers were always half-hearted.

But when it came to music, she was entirely different.

With a low voice, she’d calmly say things like, “Play it with rhythm, properly,” or “Don’t try to stand out now. This isn’t your lead part.

Suppress your ego.

” Every time she made eye contact, there was a chilling intensity that froze you in place.

[Isn’t she pushing too hard?]

[She seems really stressed. Maybe she should take a break.]

[We need to practice, not take breaks.]

But perhaps all of this was because she cared about the band.

Because she had embraced this band as her own, she pushed to elevate its performance.

That’s what Iseo believed.

“It’s tough, sure, but I have to accept it. It’s not just Ha Su-yeon . Both Jeong Hyun-ah and Seoha are clearly more skilled than me. To catch up to them, I have to keep putting in the effort.”

Ha Su-yeon struggled to lift two guitars out of the trunk.

A driver nearby exclaimed, “Oh my goodness!” and tried to help, but Ha Su-yeon shook his head.

There was no point.

The driver wouldn’t be following him all the way into the studio anyway.

“Seriously, a Fender would’ve been enough. Why did they insist on bringing the Tom Anderson?”

Groaning under the weight of the guitars, Ha Su-yeon grumbled inwardly.

This was a session he got through Junhong’s introduction.

The pay was decent, so he had enthusiastically agreed, “Oh, at that rate, I’m in for sure!” But when he contacted them, the first thing they said was, “We’d prefer if you could bring a Tom Anderson.”

“Wouldn’t a Fender suffice?”

“Oh, we’re not particularly fond of Fenders here.”

‘Then why the hell are you calling for a guitarist? This is ridiculous.’

Of course, he couldn’t actually say that.

At the end of the day, the session client was king.

No matter how much of a Fender enthusiast Ha Su-yeon was—almost akin to Yngwie Malmsteen—he couldn’t argue with the paying client.

But he couldn’t afford to buy a Tom Anderson outright.

So, he promised Junhong, “I’ll bring it next time,” and managed to borrow one from Junhong’s studio.

After making a call to say he had arrived, he waited a few minutes.

A burly man came down and, seeing Ha Su-yeon struggling with two guitars, rushed over to take one.

“You should’ve said something!”

“Ah, just take one. I’ve got the other.”

The man carried one guitar and led Ha Su-yeon to the studio, which felt smaller than Junhong’s.

There was a drum recording in progress.

The people inside paid no attention to who was entering, absorbed in their work.

“When should I go in?”

“I’ll talk to the director once the drum recording is done. He’ll let you know. For now, you can set up over there.”

With that, the man walked off.

Judging by the scene, it looked like they were recording for a drama OST.

‘Familiar.’

Lately, this kind of thing had become more common.

Composing OSTs right after a drama episode aired, getting the sheet music minutes before recording, and heading into the session without any prior discussion.

Thinking about it, Ha Su-yeon couldn’t help but feel exasperated.

‘What is this? Junhong goes on about respecting his mentor and discipleship, then throws me straight into this mess? If I screw this up, it’s over.’

“Ordinary guitar prodigies” would never perform well in such an environment. It was unfamiliar and unwelcoming.

The director, nervously watching from the studio, the staff bustling around handling miscellaneous tasks, all of them were far from supportive of the session musicians.

With time being tight, even minor mistakes led to frowns, and expletives were par for the course.

A temperamental music director once caused a pianist to flee in tears, ruining an entire OST recording.

The next week, that director showed up with a black eye.

As he adjusted the Tom Anderson Drop Top Shorty guitar lent by Junhong, Ha Su-yeon thought about how it cost nearly ten million won.

Its intonation was excellent, the tone outstanding, and the ability to switch freely between single-coil and humbucker pickups was a bonus.

“It’s just not a Fender.”

While he was immersed in these thoughts, the man who had brought him earlier returned.

“You’re up for recording.”

“Got it.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? You seem quite young.”

“I’ll be fine. I can listen to the music first, right?”

“Yes. The director will play it for you.”

Ha Su-yeon carried the guitar and approached the director.

The director looked him up and down, his gaze screaming, “Who is this kid?” Then he glanced at the man who had brought him.

“Who’s this girl? Why is she here? What’s with the guitar?”

“She’s the session guitarist.”

“Where’s Lim Junhong?”

“He couldn’t make it. He said she’d come in his place, and you approved it…”

“Goddammit! You bring a kid for the recording?!”

The director threw a pen at the man and stood up, exhaling heavily in frustration.

The startled staff backed away, while Ha Su-yeon calmly held out his hand to the director.

“Please give me the chord chart.”

“What?”

“The chord chart. You have a recording to do, don’t you?”

“Wait, have you even done session work before? Lim Junhong’s really messed up, sending some random girl as a substitute…”

Grumbling, the director grabbed his phone as if to make a call.

Ha Su-yeon tilted her head slightly, then spoke again.

“Please give me the chord chart. You need to get the recording done, don’t you? And let me hear the music.”

“… Are you serious? If you’re playing games, leave right now. Are you really here for the session?”

“I am.”

Ha Su-yeon gestured for the chart with a steady hand.

The director, baffled, stared at her, checked the time on his phone, sighed deeply, and reluctantly handed over the sheet music.

“Jesus, I’ve seen a lot of crap in my years as a music director, but this… This takes the cake.”

As the director muttered and slumped in resignation, his eyes now devoid of hope, Ha Su-yeon didn’t bother to argue.

Instead, she nudged a staff member and asked them to play the track.

For her, this wasn’t life or death. It was just another day, akin to having a drink in the evening.