GCSA CH 19

CHAPTER 19

“This should be… the right place.”

I paused for a moment in front of the building.

Down a side alley off the main road stood a five-story building. It looked far too modest to be an entertainment agency.

But the neon sign on the outer wall clearly read “VTunes.”

‘Quest window.’

***

[ SYSTEM – SUB QUEST ]

Prove your skill!

Description: Producer Min Chan-hyuk wants to personally evaluate your ability. You only get one chance. Prove yourself on the spot and proudly put your name in the credits.

Completion Condition: Receive a “Pass” evaluation from Min Chan-hyuk

Reward:

1. New Connection Unlocked—VTunes Producer Min Chan-hyuk
2. Successful debut as a composer

Penalty: All events related to VTunes will be blocked

***

This quest window had appeared yesterday after receiving Min Chan-hyuk’s message.

After rereading it, I let out a small laugh.

‘This should be simple enough.’

It was now ten minutes before the appointment. Time to head in.

Just as I reached for the door—

Swish.

An employee opened it from the inside. We made eye contact as I stood there awkwardly with my hand half-raised.

“Oh! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Before I could say anything, the employee greeted me with a bright smile, saying they had been waiting.

‘Ah, Min Chan-hyuk must’ve told them in advance.’

That made sense.

They wouldn’t just let someone walk in and meet him without confirmation.

“Come in quickly. The CEO is waiting too.”

The CEO?

That wasn’t mentioned.

“Hurry!”

“Excuse me? Wait, just a—!”

Before I could finish, the employee grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

By the time I gathered myself, I was standing under a ring light. A simple backdrop was set up against the wall.

A camera lens was pointed directly at me. A man who looked like a photographer spoke in a flat tone.

“Look here and give us a smile.”

“Excuse me, do you normally take profile photos like this?”

The employee who had brought me in tilted their head at my question.

“Didn’t you hear you’d be doing a camera test today?”

“A camera test?”

“Yes. We’ll take profile photos, film a short introduction video, and then you’ll do a singing and dancing test in front of the CEO.”

Something was definitely wrong.

I raised my hand again.

“I’m a composer. Do composers have to do camera tests too? I understand singing, maybe, but dancing as well?”

“…Pardon?”

Silence fell over the room.

The photographer looked at the employee. The employee looked confused, as if they didn’t understand what I meant.

They cautiously asked,

“…Aren’t you trainee Lee Jina?”

“I’m Yoon Seol.”

Everyone let out an “Ah,” avoiding eye contact.

The employee hurriedly pulled out their phone, looking flustered.

“What? But the person scheduled for today—Ah! They messaged saying their flight was delayed and they’ll be three hours late. Ha, haha…”

Their awkward laughter faded into heavy silence.

“Cough. I’m sorry. There seems to have been a mix-up. These days SNS photos look nothing like real life. So… are you from some trainee program?”

“I’m just a college student.”

As soon as I indirectly implied I was too old to be an idol trainee, their interest visibly cooled.

There had clearly been a misunderstanding.

Suppressing a sigh, I continued,

“As I mentioned earlier, I’m a composer. I have an appointment with Producer Min Chan-hyuk today.”

The employee scratched their head awkwardly.

“Hmm. I’m not on the A&R team, so I didn’t hear anything about that. I can’t just let you meet him on my own authority. I’ll check first. Could you wait a moment?”

I was about to nod when—

“What’s this? The camera test isn’t finished yet?”

Someone peeked their head into the room.

Cleanly styled two-block haircut. Pale skin, like he hadn’t gone outside in days.

He was fairly handsome, but the heavy dark circles under his eyes and the strong smell of cigarettes erased that impression.

Min Chan-hyuk.

The producer I had come to meet.

“Is this the trainee?”

“Ah, no. That’s—”

The employee hesitated. I stepped forward before I could stop myself.

“I’m not a trainee. I’m a composer.”

Min Chan-hyuk’s eyes widened.

“I’m composer YULE.”

“You’re….”

He looked me up and down, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re younger than I expected. Hmm. Come with me for now.”

He walked ahead briskly. I followed.

***

When we reached his studio, a familiar sight spread before me.

‘…I’ve missed this.’

My fingertips tingle d.

I had done my best to piece together equipment in my small apartment, but it was nothing compared to this. Seeing proper gear made my heart burn with excitement.

If I could sit here, stare at that monitor, and build track upon track—

The thought consumed me.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Ah. Must be nice.”

He immediately switched to informal speech. He didn’t look older than mid-thirties himself.

“Sit here.”

He habitually pulled out a cigarette, then paused. He glanced at me and slid the pack aside.

“Ahem. I listened to. It’s a good song. Handling unstable dissonance like that isn’t easy.”

The praise continued, but his next words were cold.

“But that alone doesn’t make you a good composer.”

Let’s hear what you have to say.

“Composing isn’t just about writing a pretty melody. Planning, arranging, syncing with the singer, directing, feedback from the agency… all of that is part of composing.”

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“Realistically, putting your name in the credits isn’t simple. This is people’s livelihood. Massive funds move around in these projects.”

His tone was like he was trying to scare a child.

“For a rookie, it’s too early. Maybe after gaining experience by watching and learning first.”

He dangled a small spark of hope about the future.

“For now, I’ll refine it to fit the singer and the market. After working like that a few times, you’ll start seeing how the industry works. Then your own project will come eventually.”

I stared at him silently.

“This is how people naturally start in this industry. There are tons of kids begging to learn even without pay. What do you think?”

His tone was sweet, as if offering something reasonable. But his intention was obvious.

‘Sell outright. Leave your name off this time.’

What he said wasn’t entirely wrong.

An inexperienced beginner jumping in could easily ruin a track.

Before becoming a sous-chef, you start by washing dishes. Every industry has a probation period.

If someone suddenly skips all that and demands to be sous-chef immediately, of course they’d be stopped.

Of course.

That only applies in “normal” cases.

It didn’t apply to someone who had lived ten extra years.

I exhaled briefly, then slowly lifted my eyes. The relaxed look from before sharpened.

“You said you wanted to evaluate my skills directly. That’s why I came here. This feels a bit different.”

Min Chan-hyuk cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Well… I thought maybe you were an experienced composer using a new name. I wondered if you’d worked somewhere before. But since I’ve never seen you….”

Ah. So he thought I might be an industry veteran under a new alias. But now that I looked like a complete newbie, he changed his mind?

“Anyway! A buyout contract is cleaner for both of us. You know there are composers who make a living just providing sources, right? If I introduce you as a good source maker—”

“Let’s do this.”

I cut him off and curled my lips into a smile.

“If I pass the skill test, let me participate in the composition as I requested. On the other hand, if I fail—”

I spoke clearly.

“I’ll give it to you for free.”