Chapter 44 : Open Mic (4)

Ha Su-yeon adjusted the amp settings here and there.

He had asked the composer about the tone for the solo, but the composer didn’t have any specific preference.

“Well, then, let’s just keep it simple.”

“Let’s add a bit of drive. It’s a somewhat typical tone, but… this kind of sound works well to convey the ‘rock ballad’ vibe.”

It wasn’t a tone he usually used, but to bring out the emotions in the latter part of the song, the sound needed to project strongly and cleanly.

“As for the lines…”

He constructed the solo lines using familiar licks.

The focus was on high notes that extended smoothly, with precise bending and vibrato added in between.

A safe and unremarkable performance.

“We’ll move on to the solo now.”

Ha Su-yeon said this and waited for the cue.

Three. Two. One. A high-note bend.

As the guitar sound rang out refreshingly, Ha Su-yeon played with ease.

“Wow, that’s crisp and clear!”

The composer, listening from the side, exclaimed.

The solo carried the emotion of the vocal part seamlessly, running through with a simple, unembellished performance.

Kim Jae-hoon , however, was thoroughly impressed because of that simplicity.

“How can he play like that? At his age?”

A common mistake among guitar session players was losing control during solos.

It was as if they suddenly felt the need to prove themselves as guitarists, going overboard with their playing.

They might say, “This is better, isn’t it?” when others pointed out that it didn’t fit the piece.

Sure, their solo might sound good on its own, but they were session players, not the main act.

Even seasoned players sometimes made this mistake, let alone beginners.

However,Ha Su-yeon’s performance was exemplary for an OST guitar solo.

It felt like an extension of the vocals, merely amplifying the emotions without flashy techniques.

“Alright, it’s great. The main line is solid, but I think the start could be a bit different…”

“How so?”

“Keep the initial ‘zing’ as it rises, but then add a slide and follow it up with a quick run… really ramp it up once.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, exactly like that.”

The composer gave directions from inside the booth, and Ha Su-yeon understood immediately, executing the desired line perfectly.

Watching this, the sound engineer mumbled, “Does he have a USB port in his head or something?”

“Alright, let’s go for the overdub. Start the track.”

At those words, Seok-joon.

played the song, and the solo blended smoothly over the track once more.

“I need to get his contact info… Wait, at his age, would he even have a business card? Maybe I should just make sure he’s available for future projects.”

“Guitar is done!”

At the announcement, the staff gave a small round of applause.

“That was fast.”

“I’m grabbing some real food. Sick of these lunch boxes…”

they muttered as the mood shifted entirely from when Ha Su-yeon first arrived.

Ha Su-yeon stepped out with his guitar, followed by a staff member carrying an acoustic and nylon guitar.

The staff even asked, “Need me to carry that for you?”—a sign of how grateful they were for Ha Su-yeon work.

“The guitar was fantastic!”

The composer, overjoyed at having gained some free time, grabbed Ha Su-yeon’s hand with both of his and shook it up and down energetically.

“Thank you.”

“I really hope we can work together again next time!”

“Uh, sure…” Ha Su-yeon trailed off and headed toward another staff member.

“Everything’s done, right?”

“Yes, you can leave now. As for the payment, it’ll be processed within a week…”

Unless urgent, delays in payment were an unspoken tradition in the broadcasting industry.

Session players were always at the bottom of the hierarchy.

However, one staff member couldn’t help but think, “For such stellar work, shouldn’t we pay him faster?”

“Make sure it’s processed as soon as possible. And tidy up over there.”

“Understood!”

While the staff hurried off, Kim Jae-hoon turned toHa Su-yeon.

“Hey, you’re not upset about what I said earlier, are you?”

“Pardon?”

“No, I mean…” Kim Jae-hoon scratched his head awkwardly.

“I didn’t know much about you at first since you weren’t a verified name. I didn’t hear your portfolio or anything—just came on recommendation from Im Junhong. But hey, it all turned out great, right?”

Kim Jae-hoon rambled on, explaining how his earlier criticism was meant to be encouragement.

New session players often couldn’t show their full potential, so he wanted to pump him up, or something along those lines.

“…Anyway, that’s what I was getting at.”

Jae-hoon continued talking.

The truth was, he had been harsh on purpose, thinking it would motivate Ha Su-yeon.

After all, wasn’t it common for new session players to struggle to show their true skills? It was meant to be a kind of encouragement, a way to fire him up.

“…Anyway, I just wanted things to go well, that’s all. Do you understand what I mean? I feel bad about it, really. Let’s move forward together, alright?”

But should he keep tolerating this? Did he really have to? Why? In the past, sure, he would have nodded along to keep things smooth because his livelihood depended on it.

Now, it was different.

And so, Ha Su-yeon crossed off an item on his bucket list: giving back as good as he got to an overbearing broadcasting industry veteran.

“So, this is why people say power dynamics are so satisfying,” he thought to himself, feeling an odd sense of relief.

The exaggerated claims he had thrown out—mentions of the police, psychiatric hospitals, lawsuits—were never meant to be acted upon. But the other party didn’t know that.

Chances were, they were going through quite a bit of mental anguish right now.

And wasn’t that enough? If he had contributed to speeding up Jae-hoon’s hair loss, he could call it a job well done.

Satisfied with this, Ha Su-yeon checked his bank account.

The payment, promised to be processed that morning, had indeed been deposited.

The amount was 600,000 won.

“It should’ve been 300,000 for a 1% cut. Is this a peace offering? Or maybe they’re trying to convince me to work with them again by giving me a 2% cut instead?”

The thought was absurd.

Did they think he was a child? Well, technically, he was young.

With a faint smirk, Ha Su-yeon opened his email inbox.

Unlike before, when it had been desolate, messages were slowly piling up.

Collaboration proposals, session inquiries… not an overwhelming number, but enough to signal a change from the past.

“Is this thanks to Junhong spreading the word? Or maybe the impact of my YouTube channel? Or could it be word of mouth from the session gigs?”

He wasn’t sure which it was, but the situation was undoubtedly different from a few months ago.

Ha Su-yeon allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction at the thought.