Kang Beom-jun warmly greeted Baek Ye-rin as she entered the main office and quickly moved on to the main topic.
This is what he had in mind:
“So, as a taste, I’d like Ye-rin to sing one of my songs—”
“Ye-rin?”
When I addressed her with her full name, Baek Ye-rin gave me a rather hurt look.
Usually, when people aren’t close, they tend to use the full name. Particularly between opposite genders, it’s rare to call each other just by the given name unless they’re unusually friendly, which is my personal opinion.
From this perspective, I know Baek Ye-rin to be very sociable.
Even in her previous life, she revealed this fact on a broadcast, and even from her current demeanor, one could easily tell.
But is that really her true nature?
With this slight doubt in mind, I proceeded to ask Kang Beom-jun,
“Anyway, as a sample, you want Ye-rin to record one of my songs, right?”
Kang Beom-jun didn’t answer right away and for some reason, he smirked.
It seemed he found it amusing that I called Baek Ye-rin by her first name alone, showing familiarity.
When I gave him a look that said “stop teasing,” he finally spoke up.
“Yes. If you two can present a song with harmonized performances at the regular meeting three days from now, there couldn’t be a more impactful introduction. Plus, the weekend starts tomorrow anyway.”
“It’s not a bad idea, but….”
“Why? Do you feel like there might not be enough time?”
At Kang Beom-jun’s question, I paused to think.
The time it takes to record varies greatly.
There’s a story about a famous band that managed to record an entire album’s worth of songs in just 12 hours, but on the flip side, sometimes just one song can take several days or more.
And most songs are rarely ever finished “perfectly” regardless of the time spent.
To begin with, there’s no such thing as a perfect recording in this world.
Occasionally, everything aligns perfectly and such an outcome is born, but such instances are rare. Experiencing such a phenomenon can leave one deeply grateful.
Then comes this question: if perfect recordings are nearly impossible, when exactly does the recording process end?
The answer is surprisingly pragmatic and simple.
“By the deadline, of course.”
So what if there’s no deadline?
Generally, the task progresses once the standard set by the parties involved is met.
For this reason, it’s quite common for songs to be re-recorded even after release.
That said, three days including today to record one song is rather generous by professional standards.
But the person who has to record isn’t just anyone—it’s Baek Ye-rin.
She’s a complete amateur who hasn’t even received proper vocal training and has no experience with recording.
Especially for amateurs, it’s common to find the recording process difficult or for it to take much longer.
This could be due to the phenomenon where the voice you hear in your head sounds lower than it actually is.
Therefore, during recording, people often feel their pitch coming out higher than expected, making the sound strange and awkward.
And I believe the only thing that eliminates that awkwardness is experience.
Recording is something you need to do frequently to get the feel for it.
Testing various ways of singing to find your best version.
Expecting high-quality recordings from amateurs without such a process can be somewhat harsh.
…though, this would be from the average amateur’s perspective, right?
Why did Kang Beom-jun insist on suggesting we proceed with recording?
Because he knows exactly how preposterous the talent level of the amateur middle school girl sitting beside me is.
And I know it too.
Far too well, in fact.
Thus, my answer to Kang Beom-jun’s question “Won’t three days be enough?” was already predetermined.
“Three days will be more than enough. I’m in favor.”
“Good answer. What about Ye-rin?”
After hearing my response, Kang Beom-jun smiled contentedly and turned the question to Baek Ye-rin.
I, too, curiously turned to see how Baek Ye-rin would respond.
But something odd happened.
As soon as I turned, I directly locked eyes with Baek Ye-rin who had been sitting beside me.
…Could she have been staring at me all this while?
If not, there’s no way our eyes would meet so perfectly exactly as I turned.
Why was she looking at me?
As I wore a slightly puzzled expression, subtle changes began to form on Baek Ye-rin’s face.
A faint smile blossomed on her usually blank face, and she said,
“This could be fun, right? I agree.”
…What?
Is she excited due to the thrill of her first recording? Or is she confident about her talent?
I couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that smile.
One thing was clear: she was brimming with confidence.
Ironically, I found that sight quite appealing.
She radiated the same brilliance as she did on that festival stage I had once seen.
She seemed as radiant as ever.
What is the first thing one needs to know before recording?
It’s obvious—it is essential to know the song you’re about to record well.
For this reason, Ryu Won, in the recording studio, asked Baek Ye-rin:
“Have you listened to the songs I gave you a few times?”
“More than enough to have memorized every lyric by heart?”
…
Is that true?
If it was, Ryu Won would naturally be delighted.
If she could memorize every lyric, it meant the songs had truly resonated with her.
And in Baek Ye-rin’s case, there was no room for lies.
It was possible that Baek Ye-rin had listened to the music file Ryu Won sent hundreds, possibly even thousands, of times.
Partly because the songs were so good that they never grew old with repeated listens, partly because of those words Ryu Won had said at their first meeting:
“Actually, these are songs made for you… Only you.”
The songs were made just for her.
To the current Baek Ye-rin, the significance of that statement was hard to grasp.
It felt heavy, profound.
How much effort must have gone into crafting such incredible songs? How much contemplation?
And Ryu Won wanted her, and none other, to sing them.
She was curious about the reasons behind this, but above all, she wanted to repay his dedication.
“Then, how about we try singing one? Out of the five songs I sent you, which one would you like to sing?”
“Can you choose for me?”
“You?”
“Yeah, there must be a song you’d like to sing first, right?”
“Then let’s go with ‘Rewind.'”
Ryu Won said instantly.
“Rewind.”
Perhaps, in Ryu Won’s eyes, it was his most meaningful piece.
Baek Ye-rin had somewhat expected to hear ‘Rewind’ from Ryu Won, sensing that it was a song deeply imbued with the essence of the composer.
“Whoosh…”
After taking a deep breath, Baek Ye-rin put on the headset. Due to her small head, it almost slid off. Ryu Won quickly stepped in to adjust it for her.
He then adjusted the microphone height so it suited Baek Ye-rin perfectly, making sure everything was just right in an instant.
When Ryu Won turned around, Kang Beom-jun greeted him with an approving smile.
“You really can do everything, huh? Your composing is great, and your handling of the equipment is impressive too. Though…it doesn’t surprise me much anymore.”
“Handling the equipment isn’t too different from what’s well documented on the internet, so I’ll admit, I adapt quickly.”
“Thanks to that, I’ve lost my job among middle schoolers.”
As Kang Beom-jun playfully lamented, Ryu Won started the melody file on his computer. It streamed into the headphones Baek Ye-rin was wearing.
Slowly…
Baek Ye-rin closed her eyes, listening to the melody that was all-too-familiar.
She closed her eyes and considered one last time how she wanted to sing this song.
When the introduction played, she slowly opened her mouth.
It was such a perfect timing that it was hard to believe it was her first recording.
People often think that the defining characteristic of a genius singer is something specific: they can hit high notes well, they have a beautiful tone, or they have great lyric delivery and emotional resonance.
All of these were true of Baek Ye-rin, but Ryu Won believed her most remarkable quality was her ability to immerse herself fully into the music.
Singers usually immerse themselves the most when they are singing their own stories.
But for Baek Ye-rin, that wasn’t even necessary.
She completely dove into the emotions of the song as if she were the person meant to sing it, conveying those emotions and drawing in the listener.
As if possessed by the song, listeners would find themselves overwhelmed by the emotions.
And Ryu Won was an honest composer.
He transformed his unfiltered, raw truths into songs that deeply resonated with listeners.
Perhaps the emotions from the singer themselves…
“If it were a dream, how much better it would have been.”
“Your face still appears clearly to me.”
“…Strange.”
Baek Ye-rin felt a sense of incongruity.
The moment she began to sing, all other thoughts vanished instantly, leaving her fully focused on the music.
It was as if the song had always belonged to her, so easy and natural to sing.
In a way, it was true.
The song “Rewind” that Baek Ye-rin was singing now wasn’t meant for anyone but her.
It was born out of regret triggered by someone’s death, and ironically, it carried the wish of the departed being the one to sing it.
And Ryu Won’s desperate wish was now being realized…
“To meet your smile again.”
“I want to turn back.”
Right now, at this moment, it was happening.
Because Baek Ye-rin, and no one else, was giving voice to his song.
Ryu Won clenched his fists tightly.
To be honest, there were many tough moments in Ryu Won’s journey as a composer.
There was much to learn, much to memorize, and much hardship to endure.
Considering how abruptly he had chosen this path, it was to be expected.
Even so, Ryu Won had never once uttered a word of weakness.
Because he believed that when the moment came for Baek Ye-rin to sing his songs, he would be fully rewarded for his youth, effort, and dreams.
…Yes.
Just like this very moment.
