“Heh heh heh heh.”

An irritating laugh tickled my ear.

I turned my head to find our main vocalist bouncing with delight.

“Why is he like that again.”

“No idea.”

The maknae said,

“He’s mumbling about how fun it was flying drones. I think he piloted the ones in the auditorium.”

“I told you he’s always doing something weird.”

Maybe he heard us talking trash; Ri Hyuk glared, eyes like axes.

“That’s not it, okay? You think I’m like you guys.”

“Then what did you do.”

“I drove off the composers who snuck in because they wanted to work, using drones.”

“...Still sounds weird no matter how I slice it.”

While Ri Hyuk trembled, he tapped at his laptop.

On screen was the composers’ roster.

“They could’ve just held out a bit. Is a couple days really that hard.”

“Are you the one to say that, hyung? You threw a whole fit in the hospital about wanting to think about composing...”

“Let’s see~ how should I build teams so people say it’s brilliantly put together~”

Resting straight through the first three days wasn’t just about squeezing variety footage or doing charity.

It was a plan to achieve the best efficiency.

Give them a few days of sightseeing to spark creativity. Plant a little guilt, too.

“Cackle cackle.”

“Tee-hee!”

Above all, it was to grasp personal styles and chemistry.

While watching about three days, we’d sort the pairs who would fight if stuck together, and bundle those who’d work well together into one team.

The past three days were groundwork for that.

Along the way, our A&R, producing team, and external composers also got to clink glasses, call each other bro, and pretend not to remember it the next day.

“Done.”

With a decisive tap of Enter, I finished the five-per-team list.

“Guys. Take a look. This should work, right?”

“Mm...”

The younger ones leaned into the monitor, checked the list, and nodded.

Biju said,

“Hyung, I think we should separate Composer Yoo Woong and Composer Sandgirl there.”

“Why?”

“Heard from the producing team—they’re exes.”

“I’ll fix it now.”

Using the intel the kids had gathered over the last two days, we tweaked a few parts.

“We’ve set the song camp teams. What’s left is the theme of our next title... let’s lock that.”

We needed to hand those teams a prompt: “Make a song with this theme!”

Providing that guideline was our job.

“All set.”

With family-meeting secretary Ri Hyuk poised pen in hand, the title-discussion began.

“Alright, let’s begin the meeting for the title we’ll release as a digital single.”

“Waaaaaa!”

“First...”

Ding-dong!

“Chicken’s here.”

We set the boneless fried chicken on the table and kept the meeting going, stabbing pieces with forks.

Biju speared a radish cube with his fork.

“I’m most curious about hyung. How do you want to build this title?”

“Mm...”

I scratched my cheek.

“I do have something in mind, but if I say it, you’ll just agree it’s great. This time I want to hear your thoughts first.”

“...”

“...”

So you really have nothing. These kids.

I was about to click my tongue when—

“I...”

The maknae spoke up.

“I’d like to go a little reflective this time. Looking back on our time.”

“Why?”

“When you collapsed in the States, it hit me. We’ve run nonstop... but we haven’t really looked back at ourselves, have we? Even when we sing, we aren’t always the center.”

“True.”

Our title tracks so far were closer to “you and me” than purely “us.”

“Fireworks” was the first meeting with “you.”

From “Masquerade” through “Falling Blossoms,” it was me who met you, getting to know each other, then saying goodbye at the end.

“Empire,” “Dokkaebi,” and “Coin” were a trilogy about conflict and reconciliation between you and me.

“I think it’s time to dig into us. What are we made of... that.”

The others and I nodded.

Ri Hyuk said,

“I agree. I think we need a track that looks back once. So if there’s anything to shake off, we shake it off, and we keep what was good deep in our hearts.”

“I’d add that it should lean future-facing.”

Junghyeon put in his view.

“Not stopping at reflection—one step further toward the future. This track will sit between our second and third full albums. Let it be the link.”

“I’m thinking the same.”

I was, too.

Maybe because we’d found common ground talking songs the past few days, there wasn’t much to clash over.

Let’s make a song that steps away from “you and me” and explores “us.”

Not a deep dive into our inner selves so much as... a bridge between the last album and the next.

“Mm...”

There was one snag, though.

“The theme’s so personal that it’s tricky to convey to the composers.”

“That’s true.”

Only we shared the memory of me collapsing from pressure on the US tour.

What’s a way to convey, intuitively, “We ran forward, but now it’s time to look at myself”?

Biju asked,

“Then what about giving a similar situation? Not necessarily that experience—maybe a place or moment that makes us think about ourselves.”

“Mm... bed?”

“Brushing your teeth in the bathroom?”

“After losing a game?”

While everyone mulled situations and prompts—

Something clicked for me.

The space where I thought about myself the most.

“How about public transit—subway or bus.”

“The subway?”

“Yeah. After the monthly evaluation, or after meeting people and heading home—you ride a bus or subway, right?”

The tunnel is dark, but inside the car it’s bright.

Surrounded by countless people, you feel strangely alone.

Sitting quietly in the shaking car, listening to music... your mind drifts to yourself.

I used to think like that when I’d finished college boards and was headed to audition at Lemon Entertainment.

Biju, Junghyeon, and Ri Hyuk all nodded.

“Sounds good.”

“If it’s the subway... it could be great for the MV, and musically we could carry a vibe that inherits ‘Nine.’”

He must’ve meant how a subway appears in the opening of the “Nine” MV.

While the others praised me—“our eldest is deep!”—the maknae went hmm.

“Then I’m in.”

“Our baby doesn’t really relate, huh.”

“Yup.”

Jiho giggled.

“I don’t really ride subways or buses much. But I get the gist.”

“...”

“...”

We smiled at our little bourgeois ray of sunshine.

He’s grown up sweet and kind—that’s enough.

At last, day four: when the song camp truly began.

The composers, barely eating breakfast, arrived at the auditorium at call time.

“Whooaa...”

“We can talk music now, right?”

“Man, finally. I even got a penalty for saying Mom liked black-bean noodles because it’s a lyric reference...”

People hummed and bounced to tracks here and there as they looked around.

Partitions had been set up across the spacious hall.

Each had their own rigs set up.

“Oooh...”

And the thing that drew the most eyes was Lemon Entertainment’s composing gear.

“Wow, that’s bleeding-edge...”

“So it’s true the CEO spends big on sound and songs.”

“Whoa.”

“Isn’t that the super expensive synth Wooju uses?”

The latest, cutting-edge gear widened the composers’ eyes and drew involuntary gasps.

Clunk.

The auditorium doors opened, and the star finally arrived.

“His Majesty approaches!”

Wooju rode in on an electric palanquin, minions gripping the handles, and everyone burst out laughing.

He rose on the lift to the podium and took the mic.

“Ah-ah. Did everyone sleep well last night?”

“Yes!”

“Great. On that note, give me a three-second cheer to the front...!”

“Waaaaaa!”

“Excellent. Hearing the mighty yell of our song camp participants gives me strength too.”

As Wooju stood in the palanquin, Ri Hyuk put the slides up on the screen.

“I’d like to introduce the theme and genre of the songs you’ll be working on today.”

The content NewBlack had debated the day before rolled out intact.

“Put simply, think subway. When you get on, you go from the origin to the destination, right? Consider the origin our second full album that holds ‘Coin,’ and the destination our third full album coming next year.”

It sounded like the theme was: while riding that train, we collect our thoughts about the last cycle and cross into the next stage.

The composers nodded.

“Then we should head for forward-looking sonics. Maybe tilt to future bass?”

Right as they guessed, Wooju smiled gently.

“Sound design is up to your discretion, but if I had to recommend a lane, it’d be future bass. It’s been back on the rise in North America, too.”

Future bass.

A branch of EDM that’s hard to define with a single neat line.

Of course, it has a few hallmark traits.

But the category is fuzzy enough that among composers it’s like, “Hm? This has a future-y vibe, so let’s slot it future bass.”

“And I’d like this one to be lively and powerful. The theme is what it is, but paradoxically I want it to feel hyped. Like, shake off the past and step up to the next stage.”

“A cousin to ‘Nine’ would be great.”

At Junghyeon’s line, the composers went “Ah,” nodding.

“Nine.”

The turning point that sent NewBlack, then rising, blasting upward. As he referenced that track with its dizzyingly powerful choreography, the composers nodded along.

“Biju’s been begging to dance something more intense. Honestly, our bodies have been itching too.”

The composers smiled at the joke that “Dokkaebi” and “Coin” choreography felt mild, so they wanted a tough one this time.

“They’re going to play comparative advantage.”

NewBlack really just wanted to dance, but the composers took it as cool-headed strategy.

“In the U.S., the buzz around NewBlack was the choreography... so they want to lean hard into that strength.”

“I’ll write something fast enough for tap.”

“I’ll make a difficulty so high it murders the composer.”

Wooju continued,

“And a lane we’d like you to avoid is retro-tinged synth-pop. We already used an 80s retro reference with ‘Blue Moon,’ and ‘Coin’ was neo-retro with an arcade theme.”

In other words, don’t repeat a tone we’ve already done.

Synth-pop.

A genre using electronic timbres that evoke the 80s.

“It doesn’t really fit if we want a danceable energy.”

It’s good for emphasizing lyricism, but awkward for a title.

Compared to EDM, the melody tends to feel a bit weaker.

As they listened, the composers’ minds began to sketch melodies and the shape of a track.

Verses restrained, chorus slamming.

Future-facing sonics in future bass, powerful and kinetic dance baked in...

“Any questions?”

At Wooju’s prompt, no hands went up.

He smiled.

“Alright, shall we dive into work proper?”

Buzz buzz.

The auditorium filled with voices. Teams of five gathered around tables and began to confer.

“Alright, shall we start too?”

“Yessir!”

For our team—made of me and the members—we’d called in A&R Assistant Manager Seo Pilgeun and producing team’s Hyeongseop.

Assistant Manager Seo is a beast at crafting backing tracks, and Hyeongseop has a natural gift for arrangement.

Maybe because they’d rested a few days, both faces were bright with anticipation.

And today, I planned to milk them dry—in the best way.

“Heh heh heh heh heh.”

“Stop laughing like a creep and start.”

At Ri Hyuk’s line, I popped open the laptop and got to it.

We’d decided on future bass, so first was prepping the right palette.

Short drum hits to suit the genre.

I summoned a few chords in my head and tapped the synth keys, sinking into thought.

“Mm...”

From here on, it’s the realm of feel.

Like how you can study theory for a certification but forget it when you hit the field—when you actually start writing, the theory you learned gets pushed behind you.

So often you finish and think, “How did I even make this?”

“Let’s begin.”

I pulled up one of the instrumentals I’d prepped and started.

Among the ones I’d let sit for days, the one that lingered most—something I’d built a while back.

Anyway—

...it feels good to be working again.

“We’ll swap out the drums in the backing.”

In my head, I drew a scene: on a subway that thumps and sways, my brothers and I swaying with it.

Imagining that sway, I placed drum steps like footprints one by one.

We’ve kept running, but now it’s time to look back. What rhythm does a person’s footfall have when they look back as they walk? Walk a bit, glance back, pause to see how far you’ve come, then walk again.

A drum with a hint of syncopation took shape.

Those backward-looking steps gradually lighten. You throw the heavy bag of junk far away, shake it off, and stand in place, savoring freedom.

What does that freedom look like?

In my mind, the dark subway bursts into open air.

But it isn’t a bright noon sun. It’s night—glittering, beautiful city lights welcome the protagonist. I pictured a figure walking freely through that and sketched a chorus melody.

“Something like this...”

A slightly sad minor suits this more than a bright major.

I’ve arrived at a time to look back at my past self.

But looking back doesn’t automatically equal epiphany or release. It’s only a beginning. It’s the first time I’ve truly looked into myself.

Give a touch of liberation, but add a bit of tension to say it doesn’t end here.

“The chorus goes like this...”

Once the chorus melody is set, matching the verses is easy.

Clicking in notes to the prepped drums, I filled the space. Since it’s where you start reflecting, whispery and restrained...

No.

Belting it with strength could be better. Especially a low register will make the track hit harder.

And—

If we want that strong stretch to explode at the chorus, how best to do it?

You pull a long verse taut, let it go, then pop the chorus. Hailey called that the suction effect.

Then we can drop in a monologue. Whisper a few lines, settle... then bang.

“And in the bridge, upgrade the chorus twice... to climb to the climax...”

I was laying out the frame like that, deep in focus, when I paused for water.

My eyes met the kids’—they were quietly watching me from their seats.

“Ah.”

Right.

“What about you? Thoughts?”

“...”

They stared at me with odd expressions. I was about to ask what was up when—

Murmur murmur.

“...?”

Around the partition we were using as a studio...

Composers had clustered like country puppies peeking at a village fair.

I was wondering why they were gawking like that when—

“You just asked if we had thoughts, hyung.”

The maknae said,

“I don’t know about thoughts, but I know you’re a genius.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you realize you just finished the title in an hour?”

“Finished?”

At their words, I hit play on what I’d just made.

And—

“Hm?”

A faintly baffled feeling rose.

A final?

I asked again, puzzled—because no matter how I listened, it wasn’t a final.

“A final? This...?”

Suddenly, the air around us started turning hostile.