WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Potter
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ My Fired Uncle Is a Genius Guitarist? ◈
Chapter 34: It's Better to Do It Together
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I spoke with Plugged’s representative about the album during lunch last Tuesday. They said they would send the details by email, but it did not arrive until Saturday morning, four days later.
The email was unnecessarily long, but after skimming it, there were three main points.
First, both of Black Rabbit’s Finals songs, “Footsteps” and “RUN,” would be included on the album. Rather than using the live Finals performances, they would record them separately in a studio. The basic arrangements would follow the competition versions, though some adjustments might be made during production. The specific schedule would be coordinated with the members.
Second, they wanted us to confirm the credits. The composer listed on music sites and the album would be One Dragon, while Cha Sion would be credited as lyricist. Their real names would only be used in internal contract documents.
Third, the underage members needed guardian consent forms.
Everything else concerned settlement and rights paperwork. Nothing was urgent, but I did not close the window until I had read every word carefully. No one knew better than I did what happened when you carelessly glossed over contract matters.
‘Since the credits use my stage name, I won’t have to worry about the company finding out.’
I picked up my phone, opened the group chat, and typed.
< We got an email from Plugged.
< The underage members need guardian consent forms. Tell your families. I’ll organize the paperwork and send it to you.
< They’re recording the songs separately too. We’ll set the schedule later.
The unread count quickly disappeared. Bae Somi replied first.
Bae Somi> We’re really recording them again...?
< It’s an official release.
Bae Somi> ......
Yun Taerin> Why lol, are you scared?
Bae Somi> A little...
Bae Somi> But I want to try it.
‘The kid who always shrank back is the one stepping up to say she wants to try.’
That was not a bad change. I smiled faintly and waited for the next message. Yun Taerin’s reply immediately appeared.
Yun Taerin> I told Mom. She said to do whatever lol
My eldest sister was the one who had pushed me into this band in the first place, so there was no way she would hesitate over a single consent form now.
After I put water on to boil, Bae Somi finally replied.
Bae Somi> I told them too...
< What did they say?
Bae Somi> They asked how long I was planning to keep doing this.
Bae Somi> They said I’d only focus on studying in my third year, right...? So I said yes for now.
Yun Taerin> Hey, your grades are good though, what’s the problem?
Bae Somi> That’s why they’re saying it...
‘They’re not against it. There are just conditions.’
For parents whose daughter was in her second year of high school and wanted to be in a band, that was a fairly mild response. There was no point worrying about her third year now, so we could think about that when the time came.
But Cha Sion had only read the messages. She had not replied.
‘Why is Sion quiet again?’
The water started boiling, and I barely stopped myself from tearing open a ramyeon packet. Instead, I put three eggs into the pot.
#
Cha Sion sat at her desk, staring at her laptop screen. An email from her father was open. It was the email that had arrived a week ago, full of school names and introduction links.
Cha Sion stopped reading at the first school name, closed the window, then opened it again a moment later. This time, she scrolled all the way down, skimmed through it, and closed the window again.
The phone on one side of her desk lit up. The group chat was on the screen.
Yun Taerin> Hey Cha Sion, what about your consent form??
Cha Sion did not reply. She left it alone until the screen turned off on its own.
“Sion, come eat.”
Her father’s voice came from the kitchen.
Cha Sion closed her laptop and got up. Leaving her phone on the desk, she walked out of the room.
Kimchi stew sat on the dining table. It was one of the dishes that always appeared on weekends when her father was home. Cha Sion silently sat across from him and picked up her spoon. The television in the living room was off, and only the light clinking of dishes drifted over the table.
Her father spoke first.
“Did you see the email?”
“...Not yet.”
“You didn’t reply, so I was wondering. It’s not urgent, so take your time.”
As if it were no big deal, her father scooped up some stew and put it over his rice. Cha Sion stopped the spoon she had been about to use. The group-chat messages on the phone she had left in her room flashed through her mind.
Guardian consent form.
It felt as though she would never have another chance to bring it up if she did not do it now.
“Dad.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s something you need to sign.”
“What is it?”
“They’re releasing the songs we performed in the competition. They said minors need guardian consent.”
Her father looked at Cha Sion with his spoon still in his hand.
“A release? That competition you said you entered?”
“Yes. We came in second. They’re making an album with songs from the competition contestants.”
“Second place?”
Her father’s eyes widened slightly.
“How many teams were there?”
“A lot, if you include the Preliminary Round. There were thirty teams in the Main Round.”
“You came in second out of thirty?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, her father looked at his daughter without speaking.
“You’re doing this pretty seriously. You must be enjoying it.”
Cha Sion spoke after a beat.
“...I am.”
“Okay. Send me the paperwork when it comes. I’ll look at it.”
Normally, that would have ended the conversation. She would have said yes, finished her meal, and they would have gone back to their rooms. But Cha Sion put down the spoon she had been holding. Her father watched her quietly and asked,
“But are you going to keep doing that band?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll be hard to keep doing it if we move.”
“...That’s why.”
Cha Sion raised her head and looked straight at her father.
“I don’t want to go this time.”
Her father’s chopsticks stopped over the side dishes. He said nothing for a while, then shifted his gaze toward the stew.
“Do you not like the school? Should we look for somewhere else?”
“It’s not because of the school. I want to stay here and keep doing the band.”
Her father’s eyes widened slightly. He was clearly flustered. The chopsticks hovering in the air settled quietly onto the table.
Her father let out a small sigh and asked,
“Do you like it that much?”
“Yes.”
“Singing?”
“...That too.”
“That too?”
“I like doing it together.”
“With those friends?”
“Yes.”
Her father seemed about to ask something else, then closed his mouth. While he was lost in thought, Cha Sion rose from her seat and went to her room. Soon, she returned with the phone she had left on her desk and slid it across the table.
“This is it.”
The screen showed the email from the album representative that Lee Han Yong had captured and posted in the group chat earlier that day. Her father picked up the phone and slowly read through it. Soon, his gaze stopped at the credits section.
“You wrote the lyrics?”
“Yes.”
“For both songs?”
“Yes. Uncle wrote the songs, and I wrote the lyrics.”
“Uncle?”
“Taerin’s uncle. He’s the one who plays guitar with us.”
Her father looked back and forth between the words on the screen and Cha Sion’s face. What he had thought was a school club activity had led to an album production, and his daughter had written the lyrics herself.
Setting the phone down, her father spoke gently.
“If you want to do it, then work hard at it. I’m not against it.”
Cha Sion’s eyes trembled almost imperceptibly. Her father continued in a low, calm voice.
“But staying here is another matter.”
“...”
“I have to work too, and I can’t leave you here alone.”
Cha Sion looked down at her bowl of rice. Her father added,
“I can’t say you can stay right away. But I’m not saying you absolutely can’t, either. I’ll see if there’s a way.”
“...Okay.”
Her reply was as brief as always.
Her father picked up his spoon again. He took another scoop of stew, swallowed a few spoonfuls of rice, then casually said,
“I didn’t know you wanted this so badly.”
Cha Sion did not reply. Instead, she slowly opened the hand she had clenched beneath the table. Her palm bore neat marks from her fingernails. The stew she scooped up again had cooled a little, but it was still good enough to eat.
When her bowl was nearly empty, her father moved the empty dishes aside and said,
“Give me the consent form as soon as it comes.”
“Yes.”
This reply was much lighter than the one before.
#
It was not until Sunday afternoon that Cha Sion replied in the group chat.
Cha Sion> I think I can get it too.
‘That’s a relief.’
I had no way of knowing what had been said at Cha Sion’s home, and I did not intend to ask. Whatever her circumstances were, it was enough that she could get the consent form.
I got up, sat in front of my laptop, and began organizing the documents I needed to send Plugged one by one. Guardian consent forms for the members, credit confirmation forms, and settlement documents. The consent forms were simple. The members only had to fill in their names and dates of birth, then get their guardians’ signatures. Both my real name and stage name were listed side by side on the credit confirmation form.
At the top of the form were the two song titles and examples of the credits.
“Footsteps” Composed by One Dragon / Lyrics by Cha Sion
“RUN” Composed by One Dragon / Lyrics by Cha Sion
I captured just that section and posted it in the group chat.
< The credits will look like this. Check them.
Replies poured in immediately.
Yun Taerin> Ooooooh
Yun Taerin> Lyrics by Cha Sion lol
Cha Sion> Oh.
Yun Taerin> What do you mean, “oh” lol? Give us a proper reaction.
Cha Sion> ......I’m happy.
Bae Somi> Our names won’t be there...?
Yun Taerin> Those are the composer and lyricist credits lol. We’ll probably be credited for performing.
Bae Somi> Oh, I see.
Yun Taerin> Uncle, are you really okay with using One Dragon instead of your real name?
< It’s fine. As long as I get paid.
Yun Taerin> Fair enough lol
Watching their messages go back and forth on the screen, I quietly put down my phone.
Things had started moving properly for Black Rabbit. Now all that remained were the five songs I had sent to Muri’s agency on Friday night. There was still no reply in my inbox.
‘Well, it’s the weekend.’
It was not as if agency employees would come into the office on weekends just to listen to demos. I closed my laptop.
#
Kang Taeo did not get home until after ten on Sunday night. His throat was half gone after a schedule that had continued since morning. He threw himself onto the sofa and checked his phone, finding a message from his manager.
Manager> Taeo-hyung, I just checked the demo that arrived in the agency inbox. It came Friday night. I’m sorry. I’m sending the files now.
The moment Kang Taeo saw the message, he immediately called his manager.
“Yes, Taeo-hyung.”
“Why are you only sending it now when it came Friday?”
“I’m sorry. I was busy handling the weekend schedule, so I checked the company email late.”
“I told you to let me know as soon as the demos came in. You should’ve kept track of it properly.”
“Yes. I’ll check right away from now on.”
“Forget it. You sent all the files, right?”
“Yes. Six files. Five songs and one lyrics file.”
“Okay. Bye.”
He ended the call and opened the file list. Five audio files, OneDragon_01 through 05, were lined up, with a lyrics file beneath them.
Five songs in less than a week. So he had not been exaggerating when he said he had a lot.
Kang Taeo hurriedly connected his phone to the living-room audio system. He opened the lyrics file on the screen, turned the volume all the way up, and played the first song, “OneDragon_01.”
The drums and bass first shook the living-room floor, then a sharp guitar riff burst from the speakers as though it would tear them apart. The intro alone immediately conveyed the rushing energy of rock.
Then, when the guide vocal came in during the verse, Kang Taeo could not help snickering.
“...He sings like crap.”
But as the song moved past the middle of the verse, the smile on Kang Taeo’s lips gradually vanished.
‘This...’
He was a vocalist. Just a few lines were enough for him to instinctively know where a song would explode and where it would catch its breath.
The range where the guide vocal entered, the sections that carried out long breaths, even the way the energy was carefully compressed just before bursting free. Everything fit him almost too perfectly. It was like a custom-made suit cut from the start with his voice in mind.
“...Huh?”
Kang Taeo’s mouth slowly fell open.
The song raced relentlessly toward the chorus at full speed. The tension before the explosion filled the living room.
Kang Taeo reflexively snatched up the phone on the table. Just before the first chorus burst forth, he tapped the screen to stop the song and returned the track to the beginning.
Then he pressed play again.
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