The Reincarnated Idol Hard Carries an Indie Band - Chapter 19

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Former Idol’s Indie Band Hard Carry
Chapter 19
“Hey, you’re early.”
“Yeah, I was setting things up so we could start recording right away.”
Moon Ga-yeong wanted Cha Seo-ha to oversee the recording direction.
She would hire a professional director, of course, but she wanted to hear the original composer’s and guide vocalist’s opinions.
While Moon Ga-yeong warmed up her voice, Cha Seo-ha looked around the studio in nostalgic contemplation.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve been in this studio.’
Peanut Studio, located in Nonhyeon-dong.
This was where Cha Seo-ha had recorded his first solo album.
“What’s that stationary camera doing over there?”
“Oh, the variety show crew set it up and left. I’m not sure if we’ll use it, but it’s an outside activity anyway.”
“Yeah, well. But before that, hold on a second.”
“What?”
“The equipment here is good, so there’s something I want to do.”
Cha Seo-ha deleted the track that had been pulled from STEM and transferred the MIDI Track he’d prepared in advance into the session.
He’d brought it along just in case since he’d been here before, and sure enough, the built-in instrument quality was still solid in this era.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, the file I sent you is in a non-editable format. It’s in Waveform, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“What I brought separately is a MIDI file, so I can edit it on the fly. I want to modify the instruments here.”
“You’re editing it now?”
“Yeah, while you’re recording.”
“…Can you even do that?”
“What’s so impossible about it?”
Moon Ga-yeong had taken Composition lessons herself.
She’d learned a little before realizing she had no talent and gave up, but she understood roughly how songs were made.
In that context….
‘Why is he saying that so casually?’
She wondered if he was showing off, but his expression said nothing of the sort.
If anything, he seemed slightly annoyed at the questions she kept throwing at him.
“You’ll see once we start. Come on, let’s go in. I’m busy.”
“Oh, yeah, got it.”
So Moon Ga-yeong headed into the recording booth, and Cha Seo-ha sat down at the monitor to prepare for recording.
Moon Ga-yeong and Cha Seo-ha proceeded through a remarkably smooth recording session.
“Oh, nice. Very good—looks like you’ve done some recording before.”
“Yeah, I’m taking Vocal lessons too.”
“Excellent. Alright, let’s move on to the next part.”
“Sure!”
To anyone watching, you could feel how excited both the director and the singer were.
Moon Ga-yeong’s manager, waiting in the back, would normally have just scrolled through their phone and killed time.
But today was different.
That guy Cha Seo-ha was simultaneously directing Moon Ga-yeong’s recording while also tearing apart and fixing the instrument tracks.
Swapping out instruments or completely redoing the performance.
Or doing Mixing to refine the sound.
The manager couldn’t quite grasp exactly what he was doing, but the music was unmistakably improving in real time.
Was this even possible?
Cha Seo-ha worked with half-crazed intensity, handling the tasks with surprising speed.
And juggling multiple things at once.
“Okay, done! Come on out.”
“Yep!”
Ga-yeong emerged from the recording booth, glistening with sweat.
“Wow, that feels refreshing!”
“Was it hot? Good work.”
“No, you worked harder.”
Ga-yeong spoke informally to Cha Seo-ha, but her posture remained respectful somehow.
Anyone looking at them would assume they had the relationship of an in-house composer and a trainee at the same agency.
“Here, look at this. This is the record button.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And if you press the spacebar, it stops.”
“Okay.”
“And if you click here, the timeline resets. You can also press the number 1.”
“Got it, but why are you showing me this?”
“Ah, we’re going to record the chorus. I’m going in to sing, so you press the buttons, alright?”
“Oh, okay! Got it!”
He sings too?
“Alright, start recording!”
And so the chorus recording began.
“Wow….”
“Oh….”
His vocal ability amazed even Ga-yeong and the manager, who’d seen countless performers.
The manager had heard that even seasoned veterans usually struggled to nail chorus recordings on a single take.
Yet here was Cha Seo-ha, knocking it out in one go before casually strolling out of the booth.
Looking at him walk out, his build was impressively solid.
And quite tall too.
Hard to believe he’s an ordinary civilian.
But instead of heading straight to the monitor, he picked up a Guitar on his way.
“What’s the Guitar for?”
“Well, when I listened earlier, the Guitar pattern that comes in as the sub part didn’t sound great. Thought I’d redo it.”
“Is there seriously nothing you can’t do?”
“I’m just doing it roughly, you know.”
Roughly?
That’s absurd.
Every single task executed at professional level, and he calls it rough?
Does this guy live in his own Cha Seo-ha universe or something?
The manager felt like they’d discovered some kind of object today.
* * *
“Good work. I’m heading out.”
“Yeah, thanks so much, Seo-ha. I really won’t forget this favor.”
“Well, as long as the deal goes through, that’s enough for me. But you know the Composition Fee and Directing Fee are separate, right?”
“I know. And I figured the Composition Fee probably isn’t free either, so I was planning to send it together with the Directing Fee.”
“Those kinds of conversations happen after the sneaky handoff, via messenger.”
After spending a few hours in the same space recording, the air between them had become slightly more comfortable.
Well, for me it wasn’t awkward—Moon Ga-yeong and I had a connection from my past life anyway.
Just as I was about to head home.
“Hey, student.”
“Yes?”
Moon Ga-yeong’s manager called me back.
“This is our company’s Business Card. If you’re interested, would you give us a call?”
“Ah, well, sorry, but I don’t have any plans to become an entertainer right now.”
“…Huh?”
“I apologize.”
The manager’s expression was genuinely taken aback.
“You’re saying you don’t want to become an entertainer?”
“Right, I have something I’m working on with my friends. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, well, that can’t be helped then. But do take the Business Card anyway. You never know what life has in store.”
“Yes, understood.”
One refusal is polite, but two would be rude.
So I decided to take the Business Card.
After exchanging farewells with Moon Ga-yeong and her manager, I slipped out of the studio.
* * *
Once the semester ended, during this winter break we decided to perform at actual venues instead of Busking or school festivals if possible.
Our song “Rendezvous,” along with “Your Time” and “Cruise!!,” had already been handed over to a Distribution Company.
The review was still ongoing, and the release date hadn’t been announced yet, but it would be soon.
In the meantime, we diligently prepared for the school festival, and Moon Ga-yeong sent over three million won.
Compared to the last Composition Fee I’d received, it was chump change, but for an obscure teenage composer, it wasn’t a small sum.
Time passed steadily, and the day of the school festival arrived.
Starting from the morning, each class decorated their classrooms and began selling food or providing entertainment.
The highlight of the festival—the concert—was scheduled to begin after evening.
It’s an annual event, but this year the entire school seemed unusually busy.
The Star Observation Cam crew was roaming the campus to film Moon Ga-yeong enjoying the school festival with Yoo Yeong-eun.
They weren’t just filming Moon Ga-yeong; the B and C teams were busily working to capture the entire festival.
It’s a bit sad to admit, but I knew exactly why there were so many film crews.
And this was the core of my plan.
Moon Ga-yeong was pretty much a boring cast member from the Star Observation Cam director’s perspective—not much content to harvest.
I heard this directly from the person who’s now a Star PD but was just a sub-director at Star Observation Cam back then.
In the end, even the three-week broadcast material mostly focused on Moon Ga-yeong’s journey as a singer, except for the first week.
If there’s no fun, you need a narrative.
So in the original timeline, the Jeong-un High School festival, which didn’t have much to offer, was given considerable airtime with captions like “the fresh scent of youth” slapped all over it.
But here’s the thing….
Now there’s something to harvest.
If the broadcast station isn’t blind.
Us.
The problem was that highlighting the entire festival and highlighting a specific team were completely different issues.
No matter how little broadcast material there was, they couldn’t just spotlight us out of nowhere.
So we needed a justification.
The relationship between us and Moon Ga-yeong.
“Pretend to be close to us. And act like you want to beat us. Like we’re the high school band that runs this neighborhood.”
“That’s not really a lie, so it’s not hard to do… but where do I beat you guys?”
“At the school festival.”
“You’re performing at Jeong-un’s festival too?”
“Exactly. So we become a sort of friendly rival. Plus, I’m the guy who composed for you—four songs now, right?”
Moon Ga-yeong seemed to think it was no big deal, and in a way, seemed bemused….
But this was the thread.
The thread connecting Moon Ga-yeong and us.
If the broadcast station judges that thread to be quite relevant, then our Rooftop performance isn’t just any performance.
It becomes “our” performance—necessary to the narrative of cast member Moon Ga-yeong.
And from my judgment, this was justified.
Of course, I have absolutely no idea how much persuasive power the broadcast station will give to that thread.
They might use it as a fleeting background image, or they might milk it to the bone.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
Because I have a plan for both scenarios.
So what’s most needed right now is….
* * *
“Makeup.”
“….”
“Hmm….”
“Um.”
“Seo-ha….”
Sure enough, their expressions weren’t happy.
“What’s with those faces?”
“Hey, we’re not even celebrities. Why go that far?”
“Yeah, Seo-ha, wouldn’t a natural look be better?”
“Makeup on a rocker? That’s a disgrace.”
“I’m not sure about that either….”
It was understandable that bandmates would be uncomfortable with wearing makeup on stage.
But so what.
Convincing these kids took all of a minute.
“You know how when you get a gift, better wrapping paper makes it better, right?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“We’re a gift. Our existence will turn this ordinary, predictable high school festival into the beginning of a legend.”
“Um….”
“That memory will be recorded as a page of youth that every student will eternally remember! And you’re going to walk out there bare-faced? Is that really showing respect to a page that becomes legend?!”
“Um….”
“Jackson changed the very meaning of the words ‘Super Bowl halftime.’ Think about how much discomfort he must have endured? Hot lights, uncomfortable clothes, thick makeup. He persevered through all of it, and that’s how an entire page of popular music history changed!”
The members’ expressions instantly shifted to ‘so how much is this makeup going to cost us anyway?’
But….
“Fine, Ji-hu, you don’t have to do it. Your expression doesn’t look right.”
Kim Ji-hu’s resistance succeeded.
Damn, smart kids don’t fall for speeches that easily.
“Really?”
“I’m not going to force you if you don’t want to. Besides, you’re the best-looking one of us anyway. Even if it’s just you without it, we’ll look similar enough.”
“Oh, um, well then….”
“Alright! We don’t have much time, so let’s get ready quick.”
So I had my friends change into clothes I’d prepared beforehand and quickly got to work.
Don’t laugh, Kim Ji-hu.
A situation where you won’t have a choice will definitely come.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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