The recording studio was a vacuum of sound, a sterile, soundproofed chamber where the air was filtered and the lighting was a dim, clinical blue. There were no cameras, no costumes, and no scenery—only a single, high-fidelity microphone standing on a pedestal, its diaphragm designed to capture the most minute vibration of a human voice. For Min-ho, this was the most frustrating part of the "AI Revolution." There was no glamour here, no adoration from a crowd, and no opportunity to use his physical presence to charm the room. He was simply a source of data.
He stood in the center of the booth, wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, his posture rigid. He had been recording for four hours, repeating the same set of lines in various emotional registers. The process was grueling and repetitive. He would deliver a line with a sense of longing, then repeat it with a hint of anger, then a whisper of desperation.
