From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 299: Blake

Dayo and Min-Jae’s assistant walked out of the office together.

The corridor walk was not long as they quivkly reached their destination. The three selected artists followed behind Dayo and Min-Jae, their steps quieter than usual, their minds loud with thoughts they didn’t dare voice yet.

None of them joked.

None of them whispered.

They knew what this was.

Opportunities came often in the industry, but this—this was rare. A moment that didn’t come with auditions, favoritism, or noise. A moment that came with precision. With intent.

When they reached the studio wing, Min-Jae’s assistant stopped and gave a deep bow.

"This is where I leave you," she said calmly then turned to the artists. "Director Dayo will take it from here."

The words hit harder than expected.

The three artists bowed immediately, deeply.

They knew what this meant the word of the female assistance was the word of Min-Jae.

The assistant nodded once, then turned gave a bow to Dayo and walked away, leaving Dayo alone with them.

Silence followed.

Dayo studied them for a moment—not as a producer, not as an artist, but as someone weighing responsibility.

"Studio B," he said. "Let’s hear what you’ve prepared."

No extra words.

They entered the studio.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

This wasn’t a showcase.

This wasn’t practice.

This was evaluation.

One by one, they stepped into the booth.

The first artist sang.

Clear tone. Controlled breathing. Emotional restraint where needed, release where required. Not perfect—but disciplined. The kind of performance that showed work, not just talent.

The second followed.

Stronger emotional pull. Slight timing issues on the hook, but nothing unfixable. Confidence was present, not forced.

Then the third.

This one surprised even Dayo slightly.

The phrasing was sharp. The transitions smooth. The artist didn’t just sing the part—they understood it. Felt it. Lived inside it.

When it ended, the room stayed quiet for a moment.

Dayo leaned back in his chair.

Above ninety.

All of them.

Perfect Match confirmed what he already knew.

"These are good," he said finally. "Very good."

Relief flashed briefly across their faces—then vanished as his tone shifted.

"But not finished."

They straightened instinctively.

He stood, walked toward the console, and tapped the screen.

"You," he said to the first artist, "you’re holding back on the pre-chorus. Not because you can’t push—but because you’re afraid of overpowering the lead. Stop that. This isn’t background singing. You’re meant to support, not disappear."

The artist swallowed and nodded quickly.

"You," he continued, turning to the second, "your emotion is right, but your timing isn’t. You rush when you feel too much. Control it. Emotion doesn’t mean losing discipline."

Then the third.

"You’re the closest," Dayo said. "But you’re leaning too much into your strengths. That comfort will kill growth if you don’t watch it."

They exchanged glances.

This wasn’t criticism.

This was refinement.

And then—without warning—Dayo stepped into the booth.

He adjusted the mic himself.

The artists watched, stunned.

They could understand that he spoke Korea fluent with the accent but singing in Korean that is not a native language is crazy.

And Dayo didn’t just sing he sang stop and showed them were they made mistakes and how to correct it.

This went on for about three hours and after that Dayo stepped out of the booth.

"I think you’ve figured it out by now," he said calmly. "I’m the one you’re featuring with."

Silence.

Shock hit first.

Then disbelief.

Then awe.

Hearing him sing in recordings was one thing.

Hearing him live, in Korean, with flawless intonation and emotional control—it shattered expectations.

Dark skin.

Foreign background.

Perfect delivery.

He sang their sections—not to show off, but to demonstrate.

Where to breathe.

Where to pull back.

Where to let the note break just slightly.

When he finished, none of them spoke.

Starting tomorrow," Dayo continued, stepping out of the booth, "we go into marathon mode. Full schedule. Corrections written. Mistakes fixed on the spot."

He picked up a notepad and began writing.

"No excuses and i don’t like delays. This album moves fast. If you can’t keep up, you drop out. Simple."

They nodded immediately.

Not out of fear.

Out of understanding.

This wasn’t punishment.

This was opportunity.

Later that evening, Dayo’s phone rang.

Blake.

He answered as he stepped into the hallway.

"Where are you?" Dayo asked asked.

"Korea," Blake replied.

A pause.

"...You’re serious."

"I always am."

Blake laughed softly. "I just landed. Don’t send a car. I’ll come to you."

"No," Dayo said. "Stay with me. It’s easier."

Another pause.

Then, "You really don’t change."

They ended the call.

By the time Blake arrived, the studio lights were still on.

They hugged briefly—no dramatics.

"How are you holding up?" Blake asked as they sat down.

"I’m fine," Dayo said honestly. "Busy helps."

Blake nodded. He understood that language.

They talked music. Strategy. Sound direction.

Blake asked the question eventually.

"Why did you sing I Korea and not in U.S?"

Dayo leaned back.

"There are things people don’t need to know," he said. "And things they wouldn’t understand even if you told them."

Dayo was talkinh about Michael and others behind him so it was not things that he could say outside like that even if he trusted Blake.

Blake studied him, then smiled. "Hmm Fair enough."

"So how us U.S ?."Dayo asked.

"U.S is good but I am sure it misses you." Blake said.

"Hmm probably yeah so hope all is good back at the label ?." Dayo asked looking at Blake directly.

Blake chuckled. Don’t worry everything is okay boss."

Dayo nodded and they talked for a wwhile about how things were going before night fall.

***

Another week passed.

Work moved like a well oiled machine.

Three songs with Yura—clean, controlled, emotionally precise. Their chemistry peaked naturally, no force required. She trusted him. He guided without suffocating.

Blake recorded his parts, delivered exactly what he promised, then left for the U.S. for scheduled shows.

On the final night, they stood outside the studio.

"Next time i see you would be in U.S ," Blake said with a smile

Dayo smiled faintly. "Yeah sure we would see about that."

They shook hands.

And as Blake disappeared into the night, Dayo turned back toward the studio—toward the work waiting for him.

The album was more than half done and it was coming close to the end.