GCSA CH 14

CHAPTER 14

[ SYSTEM – V1.0 ]

This piece is no longer a “sketch.”
It has been registered as a “completed track.”
Would you like to give it a title?

It was a notification I had never seen before.

< Mercury > hadn’t triggered anything like this.
Maybe that was because I had only transferred an already finished song back then.

‘A title…’

After thinking for a moment, I scribbled across the top of the sheet music.

[Fracture]

Fracture.

There was no better name for this piece.

A melody born from dissonance.
Ominous, yet chillingly beautiful.

It was unique—but the overall polish was still lacking.

Even to my ears, it felt raw.

‘Sometimes rough, unsettling melodies linger longer in memory.’

The public doesn’t always want perfectly refined music.

This could stand on its own—but it would also work beautifully as a “source.”

A source.

Like seasoning added to a dish.

Sometimes producers borrow a line from an old hit.
Sometimes they remix or rearrange it into something entirely different.

These days, instead of creating something completely new, many composers edit and combine strong “sources” like this.

‘The question is how to use it.’

After a brief thought, I turned on my computer.

A familiar logo appeared.

SoundPlace.
Or “Saple,” as people called it.

A platform where anyone could upload music—and anyone could listen.

Amateurs. Professionals. Even world-famous artists.
Everyone posted under the same conditions.

Some songs disappeared after ten views and a couple of likes.

Others suddenly caught someone’s ear and became the starting point of a global hit.

For amateurs like me, it was a land of opportunity—and a kind of portfolio.

‘I’ll need a new account.’

When I was much younger, I used to upload songs here.

Back in middle school or high school.

After seeing the miserable view counts, I quickly lost interest.

‘I probably had an ID and password… but I’ve completely forgotten.’

It was too long ago.

I skipped the profile picture and description.

When it came time to enter a name, I hesitated briefly.

Then typed:

YULE.

It didn’t mean anything special.

When you say “Yoon Seol” quickly, it sometimes sounds like “Yul.”

I dragged the file into the upload window.

Before clicking confirm, I glanced at Nuri.

Her small eyes sparkled as she looked up at me.

“Yeah. This is just the beginning.”

[Upload Complete]

As soon as the notification appeared, I shut down the computer.

I was a nobody.

No matter how good the content was, it was hard to shine in an environment like this.

Unless you had already built up a portfolio.

Uploading a single track wouldn’t suddenly make the world scream about a once-in-a-generation genius.

‘It’s easier to just forget about it.’

That was the lesson I’d learned before.

So I had no idea.

What was about to happen?

***

“Damn it. I’m seriously losing my mind.”

At VTunes’ office, Min Chan-hyuk hadn’t been sleeping properly for days.

His greasy hair was pushed back with a headband.
He wore a stretched-out T-shirt.

Scratching his head, eyes bloodshot, staring at the screen—

He looked like a mad scientist from a movie.

Ring ring!

“Ugh!”

He jumped at the sudden ringtone, swallowed nervously, and answered.

“Yes, sir! I was just about to call you, actually. Haha. What timing.”

—What’s the progress?

“Well… we’re almost done.”

—Almost? So we can expect results within a month?

“A month? That’s a bit tight…”

Before he could finish, the shouting came.

—Are you joking with me?! It’s already been six months!

“Ghk—”

—Our company’s flagship artist, Lee Ha-in, has delayed her comeback by six months! Do you realize her hiatus has already been two years?

“We’ve submitted several title track candidates, but you rejected all of them…”

—We can’t make a comeback with mediocre songs!

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

Min Chan-hyuk eventually ended the call after a string of “Yes, yes.”

With a final command to produce something he could be satisfied with—within a month.

“Ugh. My ears hurt. He’s got some lungs for his age.”

He muttered, rubbing his ear.

But truthfully, he was just as anxious.

“Fine. Time to dig.”

Digging.

Originally, it referred to hip-hop DJs flipping through old vinyl records for samples.

Now it meant searching for promising tracks or useful sources.

For most composers, it was daily routine.

Min Chan-hyuk opened SoundPlace.

He skimmed through tracks from beatmakers he occasionally worked with.

Checked portfolios from big names in the industry.

Nothing clicked.

“Is there some hidden gem buried in the mud? Something insanely good, but nobody knows about it yet?”

Naturally, good sources get reused everywhere.

They become familiar. Predictable.

He scrolled endlessly until his fingers hurt.

Then—

Among countless tracks—

One unfamiliar title caught his eye.

Fracture – by YULE

Views: 17
Likes: 17

“What kind of numbers are these?”

Did that mean everyone who listened liked it?

Granted, that was only seventeen people.

“Did they buy likes or something?”

People bought social media followers all the time. Why not here?

Though… 17 was oddly modest.

“Let’s hear it.”

He clicked, not expecting much.

♩♪♬♩…

The first phrase played.

Min Chan-hyuk’s eyes widened.

His fingers froze.

It was rough.
Uncomfortable with dissonance.
Twisted in a strange way.

And yet—

It wouldn’t let go of his ears.

Ominous.
But mesmerizing.

He listened to the entire track without stopping.

Nearly a minute passed in an instant.

“What is this?”

He replayed it.

This time, closing his eyes, focusing completely.

‘When amateurs use dissonance, it usually just turns into messy noise.’

This was different.

The dissonance was deliberate.

It exploded at precise moments.

Then resolved into a beautiful melody.

It unsettled the listener—

Yet somehow it converged into a satisfying release.

‘…Not many people can pull this off.’

He pressed his hand to his forehead.

This wasn’t the work of a beginner.

The density.
The technique.
The confidence embedded in the composition.

‘Did some pro open a secret account? I know most composers in this scene. Who just showed up?’

Several experimental, trend-savvy composers crossed his mind.

But even among them, few could craft something this delicate.

‘Who are you, YULE?’

He stared at the name.

No answer came.

‘No profile. No introduction. Not even an email?’

YULE had left only one thing.

The song.

“Fine. So you’re going for mystery.”

It didn’t matter.

But before someone else snatched this up, he wanted to secure it.

Ideas were already flooding his head.

Without hesitation, Min Chan-hyuk opened the message window.

He typed briefly and concisely.

Hello. This is Min Chan-hyuk, producer at VTunes.

I listened to your uploaded track.

I would like to discuss contracting it as a source.

Please leave your contact information or email so we can discuss the details.