PDSG CH 03

Chapter 3

The ticking of the metronome filled the room.

As soon as it stopped, the drum beat and chords I had programmed started to play.

I’d still need to add more instruments later, but for now, this was enough to build the main melody—the topline.

Once the backing track started, I began to record the melody.

Oh.

The first note was good.

Something felt right—so I kept going.

♩ ♪ ♪

The melody flowed naturally.

My fingers moved on their own, finding notes that blended perfectly with the rhythm and chords.

♩ ♪ ♪ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬

The dance track’s melody came together smoothly, each phrase following the next as if it had always been there.

And then, a strange thought hit me.

The melody wasn’t weird.

It was too good.

♪ ♬ ♬ ♪ ♬ ♬

It felt like my hands were being guided by something.
Every note I played fit perfectly—no dissonance, no awkwardness.

It was as if I were copying a song that already existed, except I wasn’t.
The melody just came out of me, flawless and alive.

Even though the tempo was fast, my fingers didn’t stumble once.

♩ ♪ ♪

When I finally stopped, I lifted my hands off the keyboard and stared blankly.

I felt… strange.

Like I was floating.

It was as if I were walking on pink clouds, surrounded by something dreamy and unreal.

I didn’t know what this feeling was, but I knew one thing—it felt amazing.

“Alright… let’s listen.”

I dragged the sequencer bar back to the start and pressed the space bar.

“Hmm, hmm…”

I nodded along as the song played.

The punchy drum beat, the smooth chords, and the bright synthesizer melody—

They blended together perfectly.

For a few moments, it felt like the world disappeared, and it was just me and the music.

When the track finally ended—

I just sat there, stunned.

The sequencer had stopped, but I couldn’t move.

After nearly a full minute, I finally whispered,

“This is… insane.”

My jaw hung open in disbelief.

The song was good.

Not just decent—but really good.

Even though I only used three virtual instruments, it sounded incredible.

Especially the topline—the main melody—it was perfect.

“Did I really make this?”

I pressed a hand to my forehead.

I couldn’t believe it.

How could I have created such an amazing melody?

I hadn’t even planned it—I just played what felt right.

Yet somehow, it turned into something brilliant.

Even though I was the one who made it, I couldn’t help but be shocked by it.

“Wait… could it be because of the level-up earlier?”

The thought hit me like lightning.

Could that “Composition Level Up” message actually have meant something?

Was this new ability real?

Did my skills really improve when my composition level went from E to D?

“It has to be. There’s no other explanation.”

It was hard to believe, but what else could it be?

I’d never made anything this good before.

That’s why I’d been stuck in this tiny, failing agency.
That’s why I could barely make a living.

But now—this melody was on another level.

“If I think about the topline alone, there’s no mistake.”

Especially since toplines were my biggest weakness.

At Arme Entertainment, people even called me the “Topline Idiot.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

I loved music, but I’d never been good at writing it.

I didn’t go to a music college or a composition academy.

I was self-taught, and it showed.

But now—this melody was too good.

So good it scared me.

Knock, knock.

Just then, someone knocked on the studio door.

Through the thick soundproof glass, I saw a familiar face.

It was Song Joon-shik, the company’s head composer.

Though, honestly, there were only three of us, so “head composer” didn’t mean much.

“Oh, sir! You’re here?”

I jumped up to open the door.

He stepped in, smiling warmly.

“Hey, Tae-oh. Were you working on a song?”
“Ah, yes, sir. What brings you here?”
“Nothing special. I just saw you staring blankly at your screen from outside. You looked kind of tired, so I thought maybe I should take you out for lunch.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You were just sitting there like you’d given up on life. I figured your work wasn’t going well.”

Ah. So that’s what this was.

He thought I was struggling—when in reality, I was just shocked.

But I didn’t bother correcting him.

Everyone in the company already knew my position was… not great.

Among the three composers, I was the least successful one by far.

Still, today felt different.

This song was different.

“Sir.”
“Hmm? What is it? You hungry? Should we go now?”
“Haha, no. Actually… could you listen to a track I just made?”
“A track? You mean one of yours?”
“Yes. It’s just a sketch, but I think it turned out pretty well. I’d really appreciate it if you could take a quick listen.”

I smiled nervously but confidently.

Song Joon-shik chuckled and nodded.

“Of course. Play it for me. Let’s hear it.”

He patted my shoulder kindly.
As always, he was supportive and gentle.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll play it right now.”

I sat back down, rewound the sequencer to the start, and pressed the space bar.

The metronome ticked.

My heart pounded like it was about to explode.

Then—

♩ ♪ ♬ ♬

The song filled the studio.

* * *

Song Joon-shik.

Head composer at Arme Entertainment.

Decades ago, he had written a few national hit songs—
but now, his golden years were long gone.

That’s why he was working at a small company like this one.

His skills had dulled, but his ears were still sharp.

And to him, Yoo Tae-oh was a pitiful sight.

“He works so hard… but never gets results.”

Tae-oh was diligent.
Maybe the hardest-working young composer Joon-shik had ever seen.

But… effort doesn’t always lead to success.

No matter how many songs Tae-oh wrote, none of them sold.
None of them made it big.

It wasn’t surprising, though.
He’d never had formal training, never gone to college for music.

Still, Joon-shik couldn’t help but feel sympathy.

An orphan, living in poverty, raising a child alone—
writing music every day in this tiny studio, hoping for a miracle.

It was heartbreaking.

“This new song will probably be the same…”

That’s what Joon-shik thought when Tae-oh said he wanted him to listen to it.

He was prepared to smile politely, say a few kind words, and encourage him to keep trying.

But then—

The metronome clicked.

The drums began.

♩ ♪ ♬ ♬

At first, it sounded ordinary.

Basic drum beat.
Standard chords.

Nothing bad, but nothing special either.

Typical of Tae-oh—someone who loved music but lacked that “commercial sense.”

Then the topline began.

♪

Joon-shik blinked.

That first note—

It was good.

“He must’ve gotten lucky…”

He thought it was just a fluke.

But then—

♩ ♪ ♪ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬

The melody continued.

And suddenly, Joon-shik froze.

It wasn’t luck.

It was… beautiful.

The melody flowed effortlessly, leading the whole track instead of following it.

It elevated everything—the weak chords, the simple beat—
and turned them into something magical.

♪ ♬ ♬ ♪ ♬ ♬

By the time the melody hit its peak, Joon-shik’s mouth was hanging open.

“What… what is this?”

It was good.

No, it was amazing.

So good it made his heart race.

He’d listened to thousands of songs over his career, but this—
this one was special.

Fresh.
Unique.
Alive.

Unlike the repetitive pop songs flooding the industry, this melody was new—something he’d never heard before.

He was completely mesmerized.

By the time the music ended, Joon-shik could only sit there, speechless.

“Sir, what did you think?”

Tae-oh’s voice broke the silence.

But Joon-shik couldn’t answer.

He just stared blankly, as if his soul had left his body.

“Sir?”
“Huh? Oh—uh, right.”
“Is something wrong?”

He blinked rapidly, snapping out of his daze.

“N-no, it’s nothing.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“That’s a relief. So… what did you think of the song?”

He swallowed hard before answering.

“It was… the best.”
“Huh?”
“The best, Tae-oh. Out of all the songs you’ve made, this one’s the best.
Actually, it might be the best song I’ve heard all year.”

“R-really?”

Tae-oh’s eyes lit up in excitement.

“Yes. It’s incredible. I’m honestly shocked… I didn’t expect this.”

When Tae-oh had asked him to listen, Joon-shik planned to nod politely and give some safe advice.

But this wasn’t one of those moments.

The song was genuinely fantastic—
a hit-level melody that gave him chills.

“Thank you, sir! Really, thank you so much!”
“No need to thank me. I’m just telling the truth. But seriously—how did you do it?
Honestly, this is too good to be yours. Especially that topline.”
“Haha, I don’t even know. I just started playing randomly, and it turned out well somehow.”
“Is that so…”
“Yes! But hearing you say that makes me so happy. Thank you again, sir.”

Tae-oh’s smile was pure joy.

To be praised by Song Joon-shik—that alone was a dream come true.

The older man looked at him seriously.