Music Genius in Virtual Reality Episode 57
There’s a saying that all sound is vibration.
When you pluck the strings of an instrument, the strings vibrate. Those vibrations move through the air in waves. And when those waves reach our eardrums, we perceive them as “sound.”
To put it simply: when the air vibrates, your eardrum vibrates too—and that’s how we “hear.”
So, hearing is basically just our body physically feeling vibration, processed through the ears into sound.
“Wait... did he just put his hand on the subwoofer?”
“What’s he doing that for?”
That’s exactly why Yoo Hyun placed his hand on the subwoofer.
To feel the vibrations.
Because even without hearing, you can still understand music through vibration.
Vibration plays a huge role in music, more than most people realize.
Take the drums, for example. Especially the bass drum.
Bass drums have always been used to imitate the beat of a heart.
Played at 60, 100, 120, or even 200 bpm, they give off that deep thump, the same rhythm as our own bodies.
Funny enough, people naturally like rhythms that mimic heartbeats.
It’s instinctual—it connects to something primal, something alive.
“You can play the track now.”
Yoo Hyun wasn’t asking out of politeness.
He wanted to feel the track.
He needed to know if it hit that heartbeat—the pulse that makes music come alive.
He couldn’t hear it, no.
But he could still be moved by it.
And if a song could make even him—him-the one who can’t hear—feel something?
Then that music had truly done something special.
♬
Music started filling the room.
All three arranged versions of Anthem—
Yuna’s remixes, one after the other.
Yoo Hyun closed his eyes.
And with one hand on the subwoofer, he listened—not with his ears, but with his skin.
He felt it all.
Every thump, every quake, every ripple.
He absorbed it calmly, quietly, like he was meditating.
When the final note faded—
“…I’ve heard enough.”
His voice was clear and certain.
“The first version fits my intention the best.”
Boom. Just like that.
A pause fell over the room.
Nobody said anything.
Not because they disagreed.
But because… they didn’t get it.
Why that version?
“Would you mind… telling us why you chose that one?”
Yuna was the first to speak up.
She needed to know. After all, she had arranged the tracks.
What was it? What made that version stand out to him?
She wasn't alone—everyone was wondering the same thing.
“I felt the vibration.”
Yoo Hyun’s voice was quiet, but firm.
He slowly opened and closed his hand, as if remembering how it had felt.
“The bass and drums… it felt like they were pounding against my chest.”
He didn’t know much about dubstep.
But the rush of it—the energy—it was undeniable.
That intense, chest-rattling vibration.
It gave him a sense of thrill and tension.
“While feeling that, I imagined the sound in my head—your drums layered onto my original melody.”
He couldn’t actually hear what it sounded like.
But he imagined it.
Using the rhythm in his hand, the memory in his head, and his own creativity,
He pieced together the music in his mind.
The aggressive dubstep.
The sweeping orchestra.
Merging together.
Creating a version of Anthem that pulsed with urgency, with tension—
Everything he’d originally wanted, but had felt was missing before.
“When I wrote this song, what I struggled with was that exact sense of drive, of intensity. And this version… it gave me that.”
Yoo Hyun knew his explanation sounded flimsy.
“I know this probably sounds silly to all of you.”
“And I get it—it’s all just in my head. Just imagined sound. That’s not how a composer is supposed to judge things.”
He took a breath.
Then finished:
“But still, I felt it. I felt the echo I was searching for. And that’s why I chose it.”
Silence.
By any standard, that answer should’ve sounded vague, even unprofessional.
But no one in that room could dismiss it.
Because—
“Didn’t he create Anthem that way, too?”
Everyone was thinking it.
If they doubted what he “heard” in his head now…
They’d be doubting the very way Anthem came to exist.
And that wasn’t something anyone could deny.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. Completely.”
His voice held so much certainty, it sounded like he’d actually heard the music.
Not imagine it. Heard it.
Who could argue with that?
No one.
The girls didn’t even try. They just sat there, quietly thinking it over.
Then Arin spoke up.
“I felt the same.”
Her voice was soft, careful.
“All three were good, really. But the first one… that one got me the most hyped.”
“The beat was so strong, so fast—it got my heart racing.”
When Arin opened the floor, Kanna quickly followed:
“Me too! That was the one that made me wanna dance the most!”
She even made a tiny dance gesture with her hand.
“And it’s dubstep, right? We’re planning our comeback around festival season…”
That was true—nothing official, but if everything stayed on track, their comeback was about three months out.
Right in time for college festivals.
“Dubstep during festival season…”
Just imagine: a crowd of college students, wild energy, loud speakers…
“That’d be insane. Total Waterbomb vibes.”
Students jumping through fountains, dancing through mist, screaming with joy—
With that heavy, fast dubstep beat shaking the ground beneath them?
“How could we not do that?”
Just picturing it made her skin tingle.
“Jay, what about you?”
Park Jung-hoo looked toward the last member.
“Hmm. I mean, I liked the song too.”
“But honestly? There’s something else that’s making me really like it.”
Something else?
Park raised an eyebrow.
“We’re filming all of this, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
Jay smirked like she’d just thought of a goldmine.
“The part where Composer-nim puts his hand on the subwoofer to feel the music?”
“That’s going into the making film. That’s viral content right there.”
She wasn’t even trying to hide it.
Jay was shameless like that—sometimes more interested in the buzz than the work.
But she was also the most business-minded of them all.
“We could blow that up online.”
Behind-the-scenes footage.
A livestream.
Even a “Subwoofer Challenge.”
Especially now, when viral clips could make or break a comeback?
Even a short clip of that moment could be huge.
And if nothing else, she could just talk about it in interviews. Drop it as a story.
Gold.
“Whoa… I didn’t even think of that.”
“Seriously, that’d be insane.”
Arin and Kanna were both nodding like crazy.
Just like Jay, they were already picturing it in their heads—
Yoo Hyun, the composer who lost his hearing, places his hand on the subwoofer to feel the vibrations.
And that scene being captured, shared with fans?
“That’s crazy inspiring. Like—goosebumps-level stuff.”
A deaf composer uses vibrations to finish a song.
And that very song becomes Sugar Girls’ comeback track?
“This is literally the stuff of legends…”
But even as the idea floated in the air, Park Jung-hoo, their team lead, didn’t jump in right away.
“Yeah, it’s cool content, sure. But we can’t cross the line.”
He didn’t want Yoo Hyun to feel like a spectacle.
Some stories are meant to inspire, not to be exploited.
Especially not when disability could be reduced to a gimmick—even unintentionally.
Sure, no one in that room would’ve laughed or belittled what happened…
But still. Gotta be careful.
So he gently brought things back to the core.
“Anyway, music’s what matters most here. Jay, from a musical standpoint, did you like track one best, too?”
Jay paused for a beat, then grinned.
“Let’s ask Yuna.”
“Yuna? Why her?” Park looked puzzled.
Jay shrugged.
“Well, Arin and Kanna both loved it. If Yuna’s in too, then that’s basically the public vote right there.”
“...Fair enough.”
Park nodded slowly.
After all, these girls weren’t just idols—they knew what people liked.
They knew what dances hit hardest, what vibes people clicked with.
So if all three were on the same page?
That was more than enough of a sign.
“Alright then, Yuna? What do you think?”
“Track one’s my favorite, too.”
No hesitation.
“Hmm?”
The truth was, Yuna had already made up her mind the moment Yoo Hyun spoke.
“My arrangement made the original composer feel something…?”
He said it hit him like a heartbeat.
It gave him chills.
As someone who rearranged the song, what better compliment could there be?
But of course, she didn’t say all that out loud.
That’d be way too embarrassing in front of everyone.
So instead, she played it cool:
“You know how trends come back around every 20 years, right?”
“The last time dubstep blew up was around 2010. Feels like we’re due for a revival. Y2K came back recently, too.”
“Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense.”
It did.
If trend cycles really were around 20 years, dubstep could totally make a comeback right about now.
“Yeah… I think that seals it.”
Park Jung-hoo nodded again.
It had been a while since everyone agreed on a direction like this.
No need to overthink it.
“Alright then. We’ll go with track one.”
Just like that, the arrangement for Anthem was officially decided.
A new genre born from dubstep and orchestral music—“Dubkestra.”
“It’s the perfect power move for Sugar Girls to reinvent themselves.”
Whether it’d be a hit or a total flop…
That was something they’d only know after it was out in the world.
But for some reason, Park had a really good feeling about it.
“Can’t even remember the last time all the girls agreed on something.”
These girls, who were more tuned in to trends than anyone else,
Had just picked the same song—unanimously.
That alone made it feel like the right choice.
“Three months from now... I can’t wait.”
His shiny bald head glistened with hopeful anticipation.