The recording booth was soundproof, but it felt like the walls were closing in on me.
Through the thick glass, I could see them. Yoo Chae-rin, sitting at the mixing console like she was piloting a spaceship, and behind her, lounging on the leather sofa with his legs crossed, G-Dragon.
He was bobbing his head to the instrumental track.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry.
"San," Chae-rin's voice cut through my headphones, crisp and authoritative. "You're holding back. It sounds too polite."
"I'm trying to hit the pitch," I said into the microphone, my voice echoing slightly in the small room.
"Forget the pitch," she snapped. "I can fix pitch. I can't fix emotion. You're singing like a choir boy. I need the guy who screamed at the top of his lungs as you did in our class."
She pressed the talkback button again.
"Don't be shy. Use that scratch. The raspy texture you showed me when we were messing around with the melody. Make it gritty."
I looked at G-Dragon. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the lyrics sheet I had scribbled. He looked up, caught my eye, and tapped his chest.
Make it hurt, he mouthed.
I closed my eyes. I thought about the isolation, the pressure, the ridiculousness of being a foreigner in this cutthroat world.
I stepped closer to the mic.
The track started. The acoustic guitar—my guitar—strummed the intro.
When I opened my mouth for the first verse, I didn't try to be pretty. I let the exhaustion of the day bleed into the sound. I let my voice crack just a little on the high notes, pushing air from my diaphragm until it felt like gravel was rubbing against my vocal cords.
"이 멀리 보여, Hold on hold on..."
I poured everything into it. The Ukrainian bridge, the English chorus, the Korean verses. G-Dragon often interferred asking me to resing or add something.
Then was Yoo Chae-rin's turn. She was impecable, her professinalism unreachable. She was born to be a singer. An idol. G-Dragon and I also gave her some advice, which she(reluctantly) followed.
Then we tried to switch some parts, I tried to sing or change the already existing verse.
When the track ended, I stood there, panting slightly, staring at the pop filter.
Silence.
Then, I saw G-Dragon stand up. He walked over to the console and pressed the talkback button himself.
"One hour," he said, his voice crackling in my ear.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"We finished it in two hours," GD said. He turned to Chae-rin. "Play it back. No autotune. Just compression."
As the song filled the room, I watched them. Chae-rin was smiling—a real, satisfied smile. G-Dragon was nodding, his eyes closed, absorbing the sound.
Suddenly, the studio door opened. A frantic-looking manager in a suit poked his head in.
"Ji-yong hyung! You're one hour late for the brand strategy meeting! The CEO is waiting!"
G-Dragon didn't even turn around. He waved his hand dismissively.
"Tell them I'm busy," he said lazily. "I'm witnessing something interesting."
The manager looked like he wanted to cry, but he bowed and retreated.
G-Dragon turned off the playback. He looked through the glass at me.
"Come out, kid."
I exited the booth, my legs feeling like jelly.
G-Dragon was leaning against the mixing desk. He took off his sunglasses, revealing sharp, observant eyes.
"You have a unique color," he said quietly.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card. He slid it across the console toward me.
"I don't say this often," he said, tapping the card. "But if you ever get tired of school... if you ever decide you want to do this for real... the doors of YG are always open to you."
My heart stopped. A direct scouting offer from the King himself.
"I..." I stared at the card. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Sunbaenim. This... this means the world to me."
"Don't let it go to your head," he grinned, putting his sunglasses back on. "Chae-rin is the one who polished you. Listen to her. She has a good ear."
He patted Chae-rin on the shoulder. "Good job, little sister. Send me the final mix."
With a wave of his hand, he strolled out of the studio, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and star power behind him.
I stood there, clutching the business card like it was a holy relic.
"Did that just happen?" I whispered.
"Focus, San," Chae-rin said, though she looked pleased. She was already saving the project file. "We have the recording, but that's just the safety net."
She ejected her USB drive and stood up, smoothing her skirt.
"Let's go."
We walked out of the YG building into the late afternoon sun. The air felt cooler now. The rush of the recording session was fading, replaced by the reality of the task ahead.
"We have the song," I said, putting my guitar case in the trunk of her waiting car. "So, we're ready?"
"Not even close," Chae-rin said, sliding into the back seat. "We recorded it sitting down. We need to sing it standing up, in front of an audience."
She pulled out her phone and started typing a schedule.
"I'll take the stems home tonight. I'm going to produce a backing track with harmonies—a Phantom Singer vibe. We need to fill the stage sound since it's just the two of us."
She looked up at me, her eyes fierce with determination.
"We need to rehearse the live vocals until your muscle memory takes over. Pitch, breath control, microphone technique. We aren't just going to pass this evaluation, San."
She locked eyes with me.
"We are going to win it."