So a once-in-a-lifetime song camp was formed where Korean composers gathered to make an English track.

"Wow. That’s a full-on chaos party."

"I’d appreciate it if you called it a dream-and-fantasy song camp, Jiho."

At first I was half-skeptical, but I think this can work.

To be honest, I didn’t feel any meaningful skill gap between the American composers we met and the Korean composers.

It wasn’t that they were astronomically better and therefore became world-class composers; it felt more like they were globally famous because they worked in America.

Same logic as this: if our top vocalist, Senior Cha Uhyun, had worked in America, he would have made a name as a world-class singer. Just like how, if you succeed as a K-pop singer, your name spreads across all of Asia.

"Therefore, I believe in your skills."

"No. Don’t believe."

Our ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Producing Team’s composers slumped like jelly.

"Great Sun Wooju, your humble servants lack the ability to craft a track that will work in the U.S. market."

"Show mercy, Wooju."

"No... I’m telling you, this is the kind of thing you just bring in one American composer for. Koreans making a track for America among themselves is a bit..."

I shook my head at those composers.

"Have you ever heard this line?"

"What line."

"The most Korean thing is the most global thing."

"That doesn’t sound like it belongs here."

"I realized it’s better to do what we already do than to attempt a clumsy localization. Originally I was thinking we’d craft something that would play well in the U.S. market, but..."

I changed my mind.

"We’re going to keep our musical color and release only the lyrics in English."

It was an agenda item that passed unanimously at the family meeting yesterday.

Instead of claiming we’re breaking into America by hiring an American composer to write our song and then recording something that doesn’t fit us, we’ll do what we’ve always done and make the lyrics English only.

"And I believe in your ability more than anyone. America is no big deal, right?"

"It is a big deal."

"When it pops, the money gushes out like an oil field blowing."

"Isn’t that the country where the lottery pays out a trillion won?"

I narrowed my eyes and the composers mimed zipping their mouths.

"Anyway, I believe in our A&R team and our Producing Team more than anyone."

Watching our producers shrink their shoulders during meetings with the American composers made me feel bad.

This time I’m going to boost their confidence properly.

As I glared with conviction and clenched my fist, our Producing Team’s youngest—and my friend—Hyungseob raised his hand.

"Composer Sun Wooju."

"Yes, Hyungseob."

"Honestly that’s all an excuse, and you’re hiring Koreans because you don’t think you can boss American composers around, right?"

"Huh..."

I made a dumbfounded face.

"He hit the bull’s-eye."

"Sharp, very sharp."

I met the kids’ eyes, cleared my throat, and said:

"I know some people worry about that, but... this time there’s absolutely no need to worry."

"Why not?"

"Because this song camp is going to proceed in a very unique way. Your bodies won’t be worked hard at all."

While dealing with acute gastritis and lying in the hospital, I realized a few things, and I plan to apply them to the song camp.

Of course, it’s still a secret from the staff.

"I’ll reveal the details when we get there, but you can really look forward to this song camp."

"Whoaaaa..."

"Countless meats and drinks are waiting for you!"

"Wooooo!"

"Soju!"

"Wooooo!"

"Beer!"

"Wooooo!"

Smiling at our staff cheering at the mention of alcohol like villagers from a dwarf town, I wrapped up the workshop briefing.

As everyone returned to their tasks, Team Lead Na Sangyun came up close.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"Which part?"

"Us making an English track by ourselves."

"Ah."

I smiled.

"It only feels burdensome because we keep emphasizing it’s an ‘English track.’ In reality, we’re just making one more title track."

"True."

"Lying in the hospital and thinking it over, it felt ridiculous. It’s just making one track, yet we burden ourselves by calling it a ‘U.S. debut.’"

And I realized one more thing.

"When you aim for something too hard, it can push the goal farther away. So we’re going to work while keeping our color. Not a brand-new American rookie boy band called NewBlack, but a new track by the existing K-pop act NewBlack."

"That makes sense."

After mulling it over, Team Lead Na Sangyun smiled.

"The more you aim, the farther it gets. That’s so true."

"Right?"

"Just like the more I aim to resign, the farther it gets. Heh heh heh..."

"Producer? Could we have a word in private?"

Around the same time.

Steve and Garrett, who were in the middle of recording in America, stared at their inboxes with displeased expressions.

"They turned us down."

"They don’t want to work with us?"

"A perfect rejection. Polite, but without any room to negotiate."

We wondered if they were playing push-and-pull to haggle the price, but the email from Lemon Entertainment contained a very polite refusal.

Steve stroked his beard.

"I can’t make sense of this. Among composers with availability right now, there shouldn’t be a better option than us."

That knowledge was exactly why they’d played hardball.

Excluding composers who were unavailable because they were working on other artists’ albums, they were the best option NewBlack could choose.

They also knew better than anyone that their color would mesh well with NewBlack.

And they had been looking forward to working with NewBlack.

—Steve, did you see this? They’re saying the Billboard Music Awards reaction is insane, the crowd went wild.

—If we lock this in, it’s a jackpot.

—That fandom is... wow...

So their strategy on the video call had been this:

Stoke the fear of foreign artists who don’t know the U.S. industry and make them dependent.

Trust only us and your success is guaranteed... but then...

"I thought the meeting vibe was good..."

There were laughs throughout the meeting, and especially when they played their tracks, the laughter grew even thicker.

Garrett rubbed his head and asked:

"Should we ask again now? Quote a little lower... say we can negotiate down to this level."

"Doesn’t that look too desperate?"

"The fandom’s too big to let go. Imagine that level of artist getting one really good track."

The impact would be beyond imagination.

While the two famous composers spent a few days stroking their chins and stewing over it—

One day, an email arrived.

[ Ding-dong! ]

Thinking it might be Lemon Entertainment again, they hurried to check—then tilted their heads at the sender.

"TJ Entertainment? Who are they?"

From the content, it seemed to be the most famous record label in Korea.

An email asking if they’d consider making an English track for their boy band made the two composers snort.

Writing for people they didn’t even know...

"Hmm?"

But then they saw the number.

"Ten times the going rate?"

"What is this... some new kind of scam?"

At the offer to pay up to ten times market price if they’d take the job, the two composers’ eyes went wide.

Same time.

"Regarding the composers known to have had their meeting with NewBlack fall through—Steve and Garrett have replied positively."

"Excellent."

Chairman Park Taejun, listening to the planning team lead’s report, smiled with satisfaction.

"Did we poach them?"

"Yes, Chairman."

"CEO Park Gyuho... honestly..."

Information gathered through sources in America said this:

Lemon Entertainment had met with Steve and Garrett—composers who were on a winning streak in the U.S.—about an English track, but it fell through.

Word was they likely quoted a price higher than market, and that’s why.

"CEO Park Gyuho doesn’t know how to spend when it matters. In a time like this you go big and offer multiples of market price."

Chairman Park Taejun, recalling the Lemon Entertainment CEO who had once been a manager at TJ, clicked his tongue and slurped his tea.

"Ah. Hot, hot, hot."

After rolling his tongue against the stinging spot, the chairman regained his dignity and asked:

"News from Lemon Entertainment?"

"It seems they’re launching a large-scale song camp."

"Song camp?"

Chairman Park Taejun knew all about song camps.

"Bringing in foreign composers?"

"No. They’re holding a song camp with domestic composers and their in-house producing team... likely intending to make the English track themselves."

"That’s peculiar. What a tone-deaf decision..."

Not only were they not bringing in famous American composers, they were calling in domestic composers to write?

From Chairman Park Taejun’s perspective, it was a baffling decision.

After drumming the desk and thinking for a moment, the chairman spoke.

"Anyway, thanks for the legwork. Keep reporting anything to follow up on regarding Trickster’s English track."

"Yes, Chairman."

After the planning team lead bowed politely and left the room, Chairman Park Taejun stared out the window, lost in thought.

"With this opportunity, Trickster should try a U.S. push. We can’t take NewBlack’s position. But if we do it right, we could reach second place under NewBlack."

No matter how poor your self-assessment, even he knew they couldn’t capture NewBlack’s popularity.

So go with a second-place strategy.

Appeal to American fans that these guys are right under NewBlack, sprinkle in some underdog narrative. If we string the marketing like that, we might get a decent slice of the pie.

"Even that much money would be..."

Just thinking about the amount of money to be sucked in—it would rival what you make across the entire Asian market.

A truly critical period.

And in such a time, Chairman Park Taejun clicked his tongue at NewBlack’s plan to dink around with domestic composers.

"That’s overconfidence."

Are they thinking what worked in Korea will transfer to America as is? Ah, that youthful bravado...

As he slurped his tea, the chairman glanced at Executive Director Han Youngjun, who sat silently.

"Director Han, what do you think?"

"Trickster’s plan to enter America... may not go as easily as one might think. Things might not unfold so optimistically."

"We still have to try, don’t we?"

"Yes..."

Director Han smiled and scratched his cheek.

"Is it because of the Billboard Music Awards."

Since that day, it felt like something was stuck on Chairman Park Taejun’s eyes.

Back then it was about dance, but there was also the chagrin of having let go of a talent with genius for composition too easily.

If that kid had stayed at our company, that success would have been ours.

And then the planning team that had once said, "So what if we let him go—he can’t even dance," got their eyes spinning and joined in, and here we were.

"We weren’t wrong! We weren’t!"

"Do you think Sun Wooju achieved that alone? If our company flexes, we can do that too!"

"If we use our trump card, we win!"

It felt like they wanted to prove they hadn’t been wrong.

Director Han sipped his tea while looking at the chairman’s back as he gazed out the window.

"In times like this... you just place a stone. What else can you do."

Then Chairman Park Taejun spoke.

"Director Han."

"Yes."

"Let’s spin up our own song camp too. Let’s show them what a real song camp is."

"Understood."

As he wrote the chairman’s directive in his notebook, Director Han also resolved to make sure his nephew Han Taehyun wouldn’t get tied into the deliverables for this project.

And so, while one antique-loving old man, burning with rivalry toward NewBlack, kicked off his English-track project—

"Oh dear, that old geezer."

Hearing the news from afar, KM Entertainment’s plank—no, CEO Heo Gangmin—chuckled.

"Got himself a case of American Fever in his twilight years. I caught that once and nearly bankrupted myself and the company..."

Picturing the trembling chairman of TJ Entertainment, KM’s CEO wore the same expression as that plankton-boss character.

"Foolish old man. The right answer is to follow NewBlack."

Still diligently watching NewBlack videos like stealing Krabby Patty secrets to figure out the recipe for popularity, CEO Heo Gangmin continued his study.

"Why are my ears so itchy. Is someone talking about me?"

I rubbed my ear and then peered at Ri Hyuk.

"You bad-mouthed me, didn’t you."

"It probably wasn’t me."

"Right, it wasn’t."

"Because I’m always bad-mouthing you. If that’s the criterion, my ears should itch all day—twice a second."

"You can’t even curse properly."

"..."

He talks like he’s foul-mouthed but actually struggles to let real profanity cross his lips—our main vocalist.

I chuckled at his grumbling and looked at the TV.

Saturday night.

We were taking a short break in the company lounge to watch episode 3 of "From Now On, We Are," which starts tonight.

"Let’s see..."

I was checking the list of composers attending this workshop-slash-song camp and the things we needed to bring, when—

Whoosh.

A quick hand sliced across in front of my eyes.

"Uh."

So this is what it feels like to have your nose cut off while your eyes are open.

Like a gust, something swapped hands, and what I was holding turned from documents into bags of snacks and gummies.

Junhyun was holding the documents with a warm smile.

"Don’t work, eat munchies, hyung."

"Yeah. Stop working."

Our youngest stopped me from working.

Even after recovering from stress-induced gastritis, the kids’ eyes on me were pure glass.

"What. Give me my papers back."

"Nope."

Even Biju shook his head firmly, and I gave up.

"Remember what the doctor said? Hyung, for two weeks you rest fully and try not to think about work as much as possible."

"Sure, but the doctor also said it would take me a week to recover. I recovered in three days."

"...Either way, no."

At my slightly crestfallen look, Biju started wavering about whether to return the papers.

Sadly, Ri Hyuk poured cold water on it.

"Don’t fall for that acting. He’s putting on an act to soften you."

Busted.

While our youngest went eyy, saying that’s not the acting he taught me, Biju spoke to me as I watched the TV.

"Hyung, we actually have something to tell you."

"What is it?"

"We prepared something for this song camp too."

"...?"

When I blinked, the youngest turned off the lounge lights, and Ri Hyuk set up the beam projector and opened the laptop.

A clean, tidy slide deck started to play.

Ahem, ahem—pointer in hand, Biju took his place in front of the screen. Then his gentle voice began the presentation.

"A little while ago, you were very curious about what we talked about with the Studio LM production team."

"I was."

"We want to share the results of several days of meetings and get your approval."

[ Da-dun! ]

With the presentation sting, it moved to [Planning Intent].

Ri Hyuk massaged his temple.

"I told him to remove that sound effect..."

"It’s fine."

"It can only feel fine now. At first, the sound effect was the clack-clack shell sound from Bonobono."

Looks like Ri Hyuk did a major overhaul.

At our chitchat, Biju gave a gentle smile.

"Is my voice not carrying?"

Sensing the noble-lady tone turning dangerous, I snapped to attention, back straight.

"Yes. Seeing you hospitalized from the burden and stress over the track really hurt all of us. But we can’t exactly tell you not to work, right?"

"Right, we still have to work."

"So we thought about how we could take care of your well-being while we work, and came up with this."

Then he got to the point.

[ Da-dun! ]

[ Thud! ]

An image of a beautiful resort and a smiling newlywed couple lying in bed appeared.

"For you, we’ll provide as much resort-like environment as possible, and we’ll take care of you with our best effort."

"Isn’t that just resting?"

"Of course, we’ll film the process."

Only then did I feel at ease.

If we’re filming the resting, then it’s not pure rest—it’s half work. A satisfactory plan, in its way.

"We haven’t decided whether to upload to MeTube or license it to a broadcaster, but we plan to film you working while resting during this song camp and turn it into a reality-style program."

"Ooooo. Good, good."

"And the name is..."

[ Da-dun! ]

The title our kids came up with appeared. Bonobono ran in holding a placard with the title:

[ Sun Wooju’s Rest ‘Work’ Diary ]

As I nodded, Biju spoke like a highly competent office worker.

"We’ll put emphasis on the character for ‘work’ in ‘rest-work’ to imply that you’re working too."

"Oooh."

"And this time we’re really going to show how we properly take care of you. Even for transport, we’ll move like this."

Along with the word [Transport], a photo appeared.

I shot to my feet before I knew it.

"Th-that’s..."

"Yes, it is."

Biju said with a triumphant smile.

"The vehicle we’ll carry you in during this rest period—the very palanquin a king used to ride!"

With that, the palanquin in the photo started flashing with special effects.