Chapter 45 : Obvious Madness

Chapter 45: Obvious Madness

Madness.

It was obvious madness.

At least, that’s how Moon Jungbae saw it.

‘You’re more interesting than I thought, huh?’

That’s why Moon Jungbae liked Taeyoon.

He hadn’t met him many times, but every time he did, Taeyoon felt new.

He showed a different side of himself each time.

Today was no exception.

“…How did you know?”

A few days ago—

The cocky guy waving his mask around and talking about Bear Moon and Seo Rabbit was nowhere to be seen.

Now, he was just darting his eyes around like a puppy caught stealing food.

Did he really think it wouldn’t be obvious?

“It was all written in the song.”

“Pardon?”

Yes—if you’re a musician.

No, even before that—if you’re a man, there are times when you have to throw yourself in without thinking, completely absorbed in something!

Moon Jungbae judged that for Taeyoon, that “something” was the bass.

At this level… this wasn’t just “liking” it.

Truth be told, he thought Taeyoon possessed a rare kind of perfection. And that worried him a little.

When a person’s too perfect, they become stiff.

Fortunately, Taeyoon still had cracks you could slip into.

That meant there was still some room to breathe.

“You like your song, don’t you?”

“I think any composer would feel that way.”

“It’s not just that you like it—it’s a lot. You can feel it right away. How much fun you had writing it. Writing a song so that feeling comes through—that’s really something. And then…”

“W-wait a second! Let me prepare myself mentally.”

Taeyoon pretended to take a deep breath.

That was clearly a cushion.

A big, thick cushion.

And what does that mean? That whatever’s coming next is going to hurt.

Moon Jungbae hid his smile and asked,

“What’s the title?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“How about I name it for you?”

“…What?”

Taeyoon tilted his head in puzzlement.

The title usually comes from the lyrics.

How could he give it a title without lyrics?

If it was something that came to mind just from hearing the melody, maybe that meant his strategy had worked…

But Moon Jungbae wasn’t that easy.

He burst out laughing and gave his answer.

“A love song to the bass.”

“Ah…”

Only now did Taeyoon start to grasp the meaning behind that strange dissonance.

“Shall we listen again?”

“…Yes.”

The song started again.

A modern rock sound.

Its unique, blended energy was definitely a strength.

Except the bass…

“Pffft.”

…was far too assertive.

Like emotions that had been bottled up exploding all at once, the bass erupted.

During verses that should have stayed calm, slap bass burst out.

In the hook, where the vocals should have stood out, it started soloing like a jazz musician.

To put it nicely, it was distinctive; to be honest, it felt excessive.

The bassline darted around the whole song, trying to take the lead.

It left no room for a single moment of rest.

It was like… a coming-of-age manga suddenly introducing an alien. But—an alien that’s actually charming?

When the song ended—

Moon Jungbae clasped his hands on the table and called out to Taeyoon.

“Writer Seo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did you start playing bass?”

“Uh…”

Taeyoon looked down at his fingertips.

The calluses etched into them—though faint now—were like medals.

Once upon a time, he had played bass day and night.

Taeyoon was like that.

Once he got hooked on something, it was all he could think about.

He hadn’t realized it when arranging in MIDI—

But the moment he thought about using a real instrument, he couldn’t control his emotions.

The bassist quietly sleeping inside him burst out.

It was closer to a bass solo recital than a band sound.

“You played the bass yourself, right?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Impressive. You’re good. But… how about we take a step back?”

Taeyoon straightened his posture.

The words “take a step back” snapped him to attention.

Now that he thought about it—he’d been far too absorbed.

So much so, he couldn’t even remember how the recording ended.

That’s how fun, how joyful it had been.

It had been a private solo concert no one heard, but in his imagination, he was the best bassist in the world, tearing up the stage.

Taeyoon spoke calmly.

“So that’s why everyone said it felt out of place.”

“It’s not so much out of place. It’s just… the bass is so intense that the other instruments fade a little. That doesn’t usually happen.”

In mainstream band music, the bass’s main role is to support as part of the rhythm section.

If the bass gets too technical, it can create a sense of genre dissonance.

In other words, there had never been an arrangement quite like this.

That’s why neither Seo Taeyoon nor Jang Siwon could pinpoint how to describe it.

Only now did Taeyoon nod in understanding.

He’d fallen in love with the bass’s heavy, almost invisible presence that supported the whole song.

But before he knew it, he found himself slyly trying to change the balance.

“I’ll have to… redo it.”

It was refreshing but also disappointing.

And fascinating, too.

How had Moon Jungbae figured out the problem so quickly?

Moon Jungbae spoke firmly.

“Of course, that part could be your unique style. Putting the bass front and center? That’s a new attempt no one else is making.”

But the key to band music was harmony.

After a short pause, Taeyoon asked,

“But how did you notice it right away, sir?”

Moon Jungbae smirked.

“You think we didn’t go through the same thing?”

Every instrumentalist goes through it at least once. That’s how you learn and grow.

For someone as gifted as Taeyoon, it had just come earlier—and stronger.

Taeyoon’s head snapped up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You think we were perfect from the start?”

Cheongseong.

A band that had appeared like a comet.

They’d been a finished product from their debut, so it was natural to think they’d been perfect from the start.

But to think Cheongseong had gone through that same process—

Taeyoon’s eyes widened, his ears perked.

He’s just like a rabbit. Seo Rabbit really suits him.

Thinking that, Moon Jungbae answered,

“Of course. You’d think putting a bunch of talented guys together would mean no problems, right? Nope. Everyone just wanted to stand out, and it got over the top.”

“Ah…”

“On our first day of practice, the bassist and drummer grabbed each other by the collar and fought.”

“What? Why?”

“The bassist said the drums were too loud. The drummer said, ‘Nobody forced you to play bass, so if you don’t like it, go play guitar.’”

Moon Jungbae’s mind wandered back to the past.

He saw Cheongseong’s early days overlapping with Taeyoon.

Vocal, keyboard, bass, drums, guitar.

A classic five-member band.

Each one exceptional in their own right.

Everyone was basically having their own solo recital.

Especially at the start.

The real frontmen—the vocalist and guitarist—just stayed still.

Meanwhile, the keyboard, bass, and drums were tangled up in a mess of conflict.

In the end, Cheongseong grew through that.

The instruments that had once insisted on their own way slowly bent, and the discord that had been flying around like dust gradually became one.

That’s how the band learned the meaning of we instead of me.

And Taeyoon surely would too.

“You really like bass that much?”

The mention of bass instantly changed Taeyoon’s sulky expression.

He began pouring out his words in excitement.

“Bass is the cornerstone. Without bass? The drums just go thump alone, the guitar twangs on its own, the vocals float aimlessly. But when the bass comes in, everything’s organized right away.”

Moon Jungbae listened quietly, his face glowing with satisfaction.

“The drums that had been creaking start beating like a heart, the melody blooms brightly, and the guitar colors the atmosphere. And the bass? It supports all of it while staying quiet. It’s like… a shadow. Even if it’s barely there, without it, the emptiness is unbearable.”

Kid… how’d he even hold that in until now?

“As you can see, sir, I’m not good at talking. I don’t like being in the spotlight.”

“…This is?”

“When I first heard bass, I just knew. Ah, this is it. I’m going to live like a bass. Quiet but with undeniable presence. Not flashy, but someone indispensable to someone. But then… I lost myself and forgot all that. When I actually play, I can’t seem to keep that in check.”

Taeyoon suddenly realized he’d said too much.

But what could he do? The words were already out. All he could do was smile sheepishly.

Even if it was long-winded, it couldn’t be helped. He could talk about why he loved bass for days.

“Writer Seo. The more I see you, the more I like you.”

“…Sir?”

“It’s not easy to admit it right away. Musicians are like that—they know, but they dig their heels in until they break.”

“But bass is still my favorite.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The more Moon Jungbae saw him, the more endearing he seemed.

“This is how you adjust.”

“I’ll go back and tweak it slowly. I’ve learned something from you today, Master.”

“Master?”

“Yes. Master sounds cooler than Teacher, doesn’t it?”

“Heh.”

This song was for Taeyoon, and for Moon Jungbae as well.

It would become a turning point that would never come again.

Moon Jungbae was certain of it.

So he made this suggestion to Taeyoon.

“Don’t touch the song.”

“…What?”

“You’ve already decided to work it out with the band, haven’t you?”

“Uh… right?”

“I’m taking it as it is.”

“Wha—!”

Taeyoon quickly snatched up his laptop.

He hugged it tightly and shook his head, as if he would never let it be taken from him.

You said yourself it wasn’t harmonious, and now suddenly? No way. That’s embarrassing.

Moon Jungbae, looking as if he understood everything, snatched the laptop away with a flick.

“It has to be this one.”

“You said it was sloppy!”

“I never said that.”

“Who are you going to play it for?”

“I have someone. Just wait.”

Moon Jungbae got up and came back with something.

It was the bear mask Taeyoon had given him.

Putting it on with practiced ease, he said—

“Bear Moon needs to make a move.”

“…Huh?”

“Since we’re here, give me a name.”

“A name? What kind of name… you don’t mean a band name, do you?”

The truth was, Moon Jungbae had already decided long ago.

He would bring the scattered Cheongseong members back together with this song.

He had tried countless times before, but failed.

Back when all they knew was music, back when they were so naïve they signed an unfavorable contract without thinking—

If it was a song carrying that same emotion from back then, it would surely be different.

“Yeah, got anything in mind?”

“I do, actually. It’s…”

Oh? I just threw it out there, and he’s really answering?

After hearing Taeyoon’s idea, Moon Jungbae smacked his forehead.

…That’s actually good.

A daepo-jip near Hongdae.

The old Cheongseong members had gathered for the first time in a while, drinking together.

“…What?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You’re not serious, right?”

A bombshell had been dropped.

They were going to make music again.

Up to this point, that was nothing new.

Whenever the drinks flowed, they’d all compete to reminisce about how “the old days were better.”

That wasn’t the important part now.

The problem was that the one who brought it up was Moon Jungbae.

“…You think this’ll work?”

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, maybe after all these years it’s natural to think about it again. Especially if you’re the vocalist.”

Even though they now lived lives far removed from music—

They still remembered those days vividly.

The cheers of the crowd. The heat of the stage.

Back then, they thought it would last forever.

But reality was different. The words on that contract they had signed so lightly came back as heavy shackles.

Some resigned. Some grew angry. Some were wounded.

And so, they scattered.

Now they were living far from music.

There had been chances before, but they failed. What could you do if the vocalist said he couldn’t sing?

It had already been over twenty years.

“Shall we… try again?”

When Moon Jungbae said those words—

They all looked at him with the same thought in their eyes.

They thought they had forgotten about music.

But maybe they’d only been resting.

“Music… yeah, that’d be nice.”

At that point, they still thought it was just drunken rambling.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Until Moon Jungbae dragged the members backstage and played them Taeyoon’s song.

“Isn’t this the kind of thing idol kids sing?”

“Sounds like we’re asking to be told we’re too old for this.”

“It’s… way too bright, isn’t it? Can we even pull this off?”

“The song itself is incredible… but I don’t know.”

When the song ended, each Cheongseong member shared their thoughts in their own way.

The conclusion was the same.

Can we even handle this?

A song that embodied the youth of their twenties.

Of course they wanted to. They really wanted to.

But…

“…Don’t forget, we’re in our sixties.”

They had come too far.

An age where the regrets of old age were closer than the freshness of youth.

They weren’t crying out for their youth back.

At this point, they’d just be glad if people didn’t call them ridiculous.

But as if he’d been expecting this reaction, Moon Jungbae clapped his hands together and began to speak.

“I know exactly what you’re worried about. But what if the band singing this song isn’t Cheongseong?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Just because we get back together doesn’t mean it has to be Cheongseong. We could change the band name, change the style.”

“Fine, but… what about this?”

The drummer waved his palm in front of his face.

These guys.

“Worried, are you? Just wait. I knew you’d say that!”

Rustle, rustle—

Moon Jungbae pulled out the item he had prepared.

And it was…

“Tada! How’s this?”

Taeyoon’s secret weapon—the one that had instantly won Moon Jungbae over.

“…Huh?”

It was a set of colorful animal masks.