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Zymon catches it.
Of course he fucking does.
“It’s her.”
My smile disappears.
“No.”
Then his expression changes.
He looks toward the track list.
“Wait.”
“What?”
He points at the screen.
“Track six.”
I glance at the unfinished file.
“Yeah?”
“That’s not Korean rap.”
I lean back.
“No.”
He narrows his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I look at the waveform.
The beat is different from everything I’ve released before.
The percussion hits harder.
The bass sits lower.
There’s a rhythm underneath the Korean verses that doesn’t belong to traditional K-hip-hop.
It belongs somewhere warmer.
Louder.
More rhythmic.
More fucking alive.
“Reggaeton.”
Zymon stares at me.
I shrug.
