How prickly.

After all the help I’ve given, and he still snaps at me.

I shot my cheeky junior a glare, then straightened my posture.

Now it was time for the live stage.

Since every move was being broadcast on Video Radio, I composed my expression calmly.

It’d be a problem if I did everything right and then got slammed for attitude at the end.

And I was curious.

What song would that duo perform?

When the ad break ended, the two idol singers took their places in front of the mic with serious expressions.

Han-jo went first.

He’s good.

A fast rhythm, a rap that sinks right into your ears.

I’d heard he did crew activities in the underground scene, and you could definitely feel that vibe.

He’s good.

Even though the lyrics were in English, they flowed right in.

The Street Boys had chosen “Silence,” an emotional hip-hop track themed on hope for tomorrow.

I’d heard it before while studying composition—a song that builds atmosphere with rapid whispers in the rap and then the vocal punches through in the chorus.

The rap is important, but the vocals in the chorus have to explode with emotion.

When Han-jo finished the rap, Ki-won brought the mic close to his mouth.

Oh...

Then a powerful projection poured out of his small frame.

I was startled.

It looked nothing like the timid image he’d shown on air until now.

His sweet voice heated up the comment feed.

Senior Jang Sa-won, who’d been leaning her chin on her hand listening, raised and lowered her eyebrows in surprise.

She wore a faint smile, as if saying she hadn’t expected that.

Ri-hyuk and I also kept smiling as we listened.

Not out of fakery, but genuine respect for a great performance.

The nearly three-minute song ended in an instant.

“Thank you.”

While the DJ and we applauded, the Street Boys bowed at ninety degrees and left the booth.

Before the door closed, I saw Ki-won nod toward Ri-hyuk.

Ri-hyuk nodded back.

Then Ki-won turned his gaze to me.

His expression looked complicated, so I raised one finger.

“...?”

Ri-hyuk tilted his head, and I mouthed the words.

“A case of bottled water.”

Ri-hyuk’s eyebrows shot up, and I laughed.

The interview with New Black that followed went extremely smoothly.

After all, only the original members of Something remained, so the atmosphere was relaxed, and as fellow composers, Jang Sa-won and I had plenty to talk about.

One topic led to another endlessly until the PD had to signal us to stop.

The DJ said with regret, “Oh, it’s time for us to part ways now. Sad, right, everyone? We’d talk more if we had the time.”

When comments popped up saying the DJ seemed the most disappointed, Senior Sa-won smiled sheepishly.

“Looks like I turned this into a personal broadcast. I guess I’m especially fond of these juniors. And Woo-joo here gives us so much to talk about. His story is truly rich.”

A military-veteran idol, the hero of Suneung day...

Once you start, there are plenty of topics people would care about.

But since today’s purpose was about composition, I’d already gotten her permission beforehand.

“It’s sad, but we have to let you go, right? Now, could you introduce the song you’ll sing for our listeners? I hear it’s an original, and you’re premiering it here on Wonderful Night.”

The words “original” and “premiere” stirred the chat feed.

I waved my hands modestly at the reaction.

“You shouldn’t have too high expectations. There are still parts that need improvement.”

“Don’t be fooled, everyone,” the DJ teased.

“I peeked at Woo-joo’s sheet music earlier. I think you can look forward to this original.”

“Oh, Senior.”

“Well then, please introduce it.”

I laughed back at her playful tone.

“Yes. The song we’ll perform is called Night Sea.”

“Night Sea—why that title?”

“I grew up in my grandmother’s arms. We lived in Gunsan, and our house was very close to the sea. At night, if I sat out in the yard, I’d smell the salty breeze and hear waves.”

As I smiled explaining, I noticed the other two watching me with identical expressions.

Why are they like that?

I felt strangely self-conscious.

“Anyway, I’ve always loved getting fresh air. When a cool breeze brushes you, it lifts your spirits and makes you feel like everything will go well. Even as a kid, on a nice spring or autumn day, I’d pester my grandmother to open the door from the living room to the yard.”

I’d nagged so much that Kim Deok-soon would grumble about opening a door at night.

Of course, she always opened it for me.

“When I couldn’t sleep at night, I’d lie on Grandma’s lap with the door open. The night sky looked so beautiful—bright moon, twinkling stars. If I closed my eyes then, I’d hear the waves, feel Grandma’s warmth. I loved it.”

“......”

“Am I overdoing the explanation? Your expressions...”

“No. Don’t mind us. Please continue.”

They looked so concerned.

I mean, I was sharing childhood memories, not reading as if I were a teen head of household.

“Yes. In any case, I wrote this song recalling those memories. I hope you enjoy listening.”

“That reminds me,” said Ri-hyuk, tapping my shoulder.

“Your grandmother’s listening, right?”

“Oh, so your grandmother is listening right now?”

“Yes, she’s probably in the front room listening on the radio.”

Honestly, I really wanted to speak directly to her.

But as a rookie, I’d held back, worried they’d accuse me of using the show for personal reasons.

“Before the ad, would you like to say a few words to your grandmother?”

“Um...”

I twisted uncomfortably, and the staff beyond the glass window smiled.

“Well, Grandma Kim Deok-soon, I love you so much. Since it’s my song, please listen carefully... and to all the grandmothers across the country, keep going! You’ve worked so hard raising grandchildren.”

I ended up blurting out a string of nonsense.

Blushing at the “ㅋㅋㅋㅋ” flooding the chat, Senior Sa-won trembled at the corners of her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“All right, enjoy the ad. We’ll be back with New Black’s Night Sea!”

Ha...

I completely ruined my image today. A total disaster.

I’d failed at facial management since the army joke, and now I sounded like someone who’d just received a nationwide grandmother award.

Feeling miserable, I pulled the guitar out of its case.

“Seriously, both of you stop laughing.”

“I’m not laughing. It’s just your face is naturally kind of smiley.”

“Senior.”

At my call, Jang Sa-won smiled and looked away.

As if telling us to focus on the stage, she returned to her script.

“You too, stop laughing. You water thief.”

“Ah, I’ll buy you a case, so stop talking. You call yourself leader but you’re so stingy. If you keep it up, I’ll call you stingy.”

I decided that was the end of that joke, since I was losing out.

As we joked to ease the tension, I checked the tuning and strummed a bit.

Okay. Checked.

The instrument and player were ready—now only my partner remained.

“Ready?”

I gave him a concerned look.

He hated it when someone showed worry—but I couldn’t help it.

We’d had little rehearsal time.

And he’d struggled to find emotion because he’d never done anything like this.

I worried my own compositional ambitions were making him suffer.

Then Ri-hyuk shook his head.

“Don’t worry. You’re concerned about me finding the feeling, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the point of worrying now? We’re right at the stage.”

His usual sarcasm faded as his eyes flicked past me.

To the seat where the Street Boys had sat earlier.

He looked at me.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I think I know the feeling well enough. So...”

He gave a faint smile.

“Just trust me once. I’ll do well.”

He held out his fist as if mirroring me, and I wrapped my hand around it like a wrapped bundle.

For some reason, I had a good feeling.

Outside the booth.

The PD, engineer, and two writers watching the banter inside were smiling.

The sub-writer beamed, saying the New Black members ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) were too adorable and the atmosphere so warm.

“Right?”

“Indeed.”

The main writer said with regret, “If we’d known the three of them had such chemistry, we’d have booked them solo. And Sa-won was already pushing for a solo slot, saying she could pull so much out of them.”

“What can we do? They were already booked.”

The PD gave a wry smile.

Ever since the New Black album came out, Sa-won had been saying we should invite them. We were already planning to, but somehow DNS Media went through channels to request a battle segment, so here we were.

“Well, it turned out great in the end.”

The engineer at the console said offhandedly, “My daughter’s an idol fan and she says New Black and Street Boys were feuding hard before debut.”

“Really, Senior?”

“They say it was crazy—promotion battles, loud clashes. That’s probably why there are more comments today and the voting was intense.”

“Yes. We deleted them quickly, but there were some sharp comments.”

“Ah, so that’s why.”

“But after that moment, things quieted down.”

“When was that?”

The main writer asked, as if surprised we didn’t notice.

“Don’t you remember? The youngest Street Boy was nervous, and Ri-hyuk handed him water and said something gentle. It’s been calm since.”

“Now that you mention it, yes.”

They all nodded in agreement.

The cutting comments mysteriously vanished after Ri-hyuk gave Ki-won the water.

Then, inside the booth, Jang Sa-won signaled.

“They must be ready.”

At the PD’s cue, the engineer adjusted the console.

Soon a simple piano melody played over the speakers.

The sub-writer, looking worried, said, “I hope that file is the correct one.”

“We checked it several times before the broadcast.”

“Even so...”

The 3-minute-20-second track’s first 40 seconds repeated a simple piano motif.

Just soft, gentle keystrokes.

“How are they planning to stage this?”

I’d heard a rough idea, but didn’t know the details.

On a music broadcast, the agency and station usually coordinate the song choice.

Sometimes singers even change songs on the spot if needed.

So I worried about this unknown stage.

The sub-writer, who’d unconsciously clasped her hands in admiration of New Black’s earlier moments, made the engineer laugh.

“Soyeong, you’ve already become a fan?”

The sub-writer nodded.

“I’m thinking of checking their fan café later.”

“Enough daydreaming. Monitor the live reactions.”

“Okay...”

But all the staff watched the booth warmly as Ri-hyuk held the guitar and readied himself.

Maybe because they’d received that cake as a gift.

Or because New Black had given plenty of good broadcast material.

Somehow they seemed like nice kids, and the staff hoped they’d do well.

As they watched,

“Oh.”

Sun Woo-joo’s fingers began to move.

It was a gentle guitar intro.

I’d been worried with only piano so far, but the guitar fit perfectly.

Piano and guitar.

Just two sounds, yet so rich.

They admired it briefly, then their eyes widened.

“He’s actually humming.”

Ri-hyuk closed his eyes and began to hum.

A soft, low humming.

As the humming rose in pitch, it somehow put you at ease.

And above all, it felt natural.

It was strange.

He was filling the song’s intro with humming, yet it didn’t feel awkward or out of place.

“I know kids these days all want to debut as idols... but if they do this...”

The engineer, about to make small talk, fell silent at the others’ focused faces.

He looked around in confusion but soon joined their captivated stare.

They couldn’t stop watching.

Not just because of the song, but because Ri-hyuk inside that booth sounded like a completely different person.

Not his cold expression, not his flushed embarrassment.

Like someone else entirely.

A song’s emotion brought to life, a pleasant smile on his lips.

The sub-writer monitoring the chat said, “Listener reactions are really good. Lots of people say it’s amazing.”

“It really draws your attention. Is that why they did it?”

Someone muttered in curiosity.

Of course, if Sun Woo-joo had heard that, he’d say they hadn’t planned it—they’d just stumbled upon it.

It came from my suggestion to Ri-hyuk, since he said he had trouble finding the feeling.

I’d suggested humming for about thirty seconds before singing as a warm-up, but it fit so well it became part of the song.

And more practically, the song was only two minutes forty seconds long. They needed to fill the space for broadcast.

Of course, the audience didn’t know that, finding it mysterious.

“Looks like they’re starting the song now.”

Ri-hyuk finished humming and opened his eyes.

He gave Woo-joo a ready smile.

Woo-joo nodded and began to play.

“Oh...”

The intro to “Night Sea” began in earnest.

A warm, beautiful melody fitting its title.

Meanwhile, outside the booth:

As the staff at Mok-dong HBS watched in admiration, the broadcast of “Night Sea” carried far and wide.

Closest by, into an MP3 player of a student doing practice problems in a nearby apartment.

Then into the old radio at a supermarket across the Anyangcheon.

Then into a Line 2 subway car arriving at Gangnam Station.

And even further, out past the Seoul Ring Expressway into an old truck driving along.

The gentle melody of “Night Sea” spread in all directions.

And one of its destinations was a home where someone, radio on, waited anxiously for their grandson to appear.