Even though I knew the meeting time was approaching, my hands kept drifting back to the keyboard.
At first, it was just a sound check.
But before I realized it, I had launched my DAW and was building track layers like stacking blocks.
I laid down a 909 kick drum, added house-style percussion samples, and combined sine and square waves from a synthesizer to create a unique lead.
The blend of analog tones resulted in a captivating synth.
Over the base chord pattern, my fingers began to play a melody naturally.
Boom— boom—boom-boom—
"Oh, this is good! What if I add a filter for a drop here?"
Booooom— boboboboom— booooom—
Thud— thud— thud— thud!
The sound evolved, picking up some dubstep vibes, and before long, I had something resembling the future bass genre that became popular around 2018 in my past life.
I had no idea if people in this time would like this sound from the future—but I was thrilled.
The heavy kick thumped through the speakers, hitting me in the chest, and the main synth's melody lifted my energy.
Before I knew it, I was bouncing in my chair, nodding to the rhythm.
My studio had turned into a mini club.
TW contacted Pierre Lemoine to say they had found a potential track for the winter album.
"How many times has this been now?"
Pierre opened the email without much expectation.
The title was "Snowman."
Coincidentally, he was working on a track with the same name.
He played the file without thinking much, but then sat upright on the couch.
"This… This is the song I've been waiting for."
The melody, hummed by the composer, perfectly matched Pierre's vocal range.
Even though the voice was clearly someone else's, it felt like he was singing it himself.
Though the song ended, Pierre couldn't move.
A chill ran down his spine and held him still.
He had been seriously considering scrapping the winter album.
He'd received over ten demos, but none felt right.
Pierre had a unique voice.
Though it could be mistaken for high-pitched, he actually had rich mid-lows.
Ordinary ballads didn't suit him, and he disliked singing them.
This led to a "difficult to work with" reputation and misunderstandings piled up.
"It's better not to sing at all than to sing something that doesn't suit me."
That choice almost killed the album project, which was already short on time.
Pierre had even spent four months trying to compose himself.
But he'd almost given up.
Only the chorus was decent—the rest was uninspired.
Until this song appeared.
"How is this possible?"
It felt divine.
The key, tone, and emotion of the song fit him like a custom suit.
"If I'd met a composer like this earlier, maybe my reputation would be different."
"Could they be… someone like me?"
Music, no matter how well composed or performed, is always subjective.
If this composer didn't share Pierre's taste, such a song wouldn't exist.
He listened to it over and over—at least ten times—and couldn't hide his excitement.
Lyrics started forming in his mind. He wanted to start writing immediately.
But lyrics required the composer's approval.
He asked the company the same day, but the answer was vague.
"It's an external composer. There are contract issues. We'll get back to you."
Julien Moreau.
That was the composer's name.
Pierre grew more and more curious.
But no matter how hard he searched online, nothing came up.
"Maybe he's been working abroad?"
Just like the staff at TW, Pierre never considered that Julien might be a complete newcomer.
The next day, the company contacted him again.
Jacques Chevalier, the president, had personally contracted the song and signed Julien as an exclusive in-house composer.
"As expected from Jacques."
Pierre turned to his manager.
"Hey, can you find out more about this Julien Moreau guy?"
Not even a full day later, his manager came back with the info.
Pierre was stunned.
"Early twenties...? Seriously?"
He was in his early 30s—Julien was much younger and not even debuted.
Yet the song felt more mature and polished than anything he'd written himself.
Pierre was briefly shocked but quickly pulled himself together.
"Age doesn't matter. Don't let bias cloud you."
In music, age is irrelevant. What matters is honesty and emotional impact.
He reminded himself of that.
He'd meet Julien tomorrow.
The thought made Pierre's heart race with anticipation.
The next day, he arrived at the office full of expectation.
After greeting Émile Laurent, he followed him to Julien's private studio.
As they approached, a strange nervousness crept up Pierre's back.
"What kind of person is he?"
Walking down the hallway, his mind was filled with thoughts—
Could Julien be a weirdo? A genius so deep into music he couldn't do anything else?
They arrived at the studio door.
Through the soundproof glass, a silhouette—likely Julien—was visible.
Music could be heard faintly inside.
"It sounds like he's in the middle of something. One moment," said Émile as he pressed the doorbell.
No response.
Even after 30 minutes, still nothing.
Finally, Émile opened the door.
Click—
The heavy door swung open—and thumping club music blasted out.
There, with his back turned, was Julien Moreau, bouncing hard to the beat, totally immersed in the track.
"…Huh?"
Pierre froze at the sight.
He looked at Émile, unsure what to do, but Émile stood frozen too.
Julien didn't even realize they had entered.
Like a DJ, he played with modulation wheels and knobs, deeply focused.
"…Um, Mr. Moreau?"
Émile called out repeatedly, but the music drowned out his voice.
After several attempts, Émile looked ready to walk up to him.
But Pierre stopped him.
Though club music wasn't usually his style, he oddly wanted to keep listening.
"He's full of surprises."
Pierre had assumed Julien's taste was like his own—based on the song "Snowman."
But clearly, that was a false assumption.
"Ballads… and now dance music too?"
This wasn't the trendy EDM sound either—it was more intense, more raw.
But strangely captivating.
Soon, Pierre found himself nodding to the rhythm with Julien.
Julien, completely immersed in his track, had no idea someone entered.
Satisfied, he stopped the music and stretched in his chair.
As he turned around, he nearly fainted.
"AAH! You scared me!"
There were strangers in his studio!
Trying to calm his heart, Julien blinked in confusion.
It was Pierre Lemoine and Émile Laurent—the very people he was supposed to meet today.
Julien hesitated, not knowing what to say.
Pierre broke the silence.
"That was a really exciting track, Mr. Moreau."
"Uh… well, that was…"
Julien started to explain but trailed off awkwardly.
Three seconds of silence followed.
"Ahem… I was testing the new equipment."
Pierre tilted his head and replied,
"That was one hell of a sound test. I don't usually listen to club music, but it sounded like a genre I've never heard before."
Julien, trying to stay cool, responded,
"Oh, that's… Future Bass. It's trending in the U.S. right now."
In truth, he wasn't sure if it was trending yet. But it sounded convincing.
Pierre nodded.
"I see. I'll have to look it up. Feels like something worth studying."
As Pierre nodded, he finally looked Julien in the eye.
Julien wasn't quite what he had imagined—but this first meeting was memorable.
They were about the same height, and Julien had distinct features, including strong brows and glowing eyes.
Pierre smiled and held out his hand.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Pierre Lemoine—the singer performing your song."
Julien returned the smile and shook his hand firmly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Julien Moreau."
The two exchanged a genuine smile.
A little later, Émile left after confirming the rough recording schedule, leaving Julien and Pierre at the desk.
Once work began, their expressions grew serious.
Pierre spoke first.
"To be honest, I was shocked. I've been trying to write something myself because nothing felt right. The song I was working on was also called 'Snowman.'
So when I heard your track, it felt like fate."
Julien nodded.
The truth was—his "Snowman" had been inspired by Pierre's "Snowman" from his past life.
But they had very different vibes.
Pierre's version was like plain coffee, while Julien's was a premium brew.
Feigning surprise, Julien replied:
"Oh really? That's quite a coincidence. Would you mind letting me hear your version?"
Julien had already planned the album structure in his mind.
Though the label had only approved one single for winter, Julien thought that was too little.
Pierre's "Snowman" was too good to waste, so he intended to rearrange it and release it under a different title—creating a collaboration between past and future.
But only Julien knew that plan.
Pierre hesitated and said,
"It's on my phone… it's not that great, though. Want to hear it?"
Julien connected the phone to his audio interface.
The music played through the studio's premium monitors.
Though the mix was rough, Pierre's vocals proved why he was a top-tier artist.
His delicate tone compensated for the lack of arrangement and conveyed genuine emotion.
Julien closed his eyes and listened.
A smile gradually spread across his face.
When the song ended, Pierre awkwardly grabbed his phone.
"It's just a rough track. Compared to yours…"
But before he could finish, the soft sound of a piano began to play.
Julien had taken his seat at the keyboard—and started to arrange.