Chapter 48
Brrr—went the vibrating phone. Myeongjeon pulled it out without a second thought. Phones might not be collected at school, but Dain was aghast at his composure as he boldly took it out during class… Myeongjeon checked the email he had received.
[Notice of Confirmed Participation in Band Pioneer and Schedule Delay]
The contents were more or less what one could guess from the title. Thank you for participating in the Band Pioneer project. Your participation has been confirmed. However, due to some sort of issue with the project, the schedule has been delayed. It will probably begin in one or two months, so please be understanding. If you don’t like it, quit. The end.
‘Things like this never happen on time.’
Myeongjeon smiled bitterly and put the phone in his bag. When he looked up, the teacher was glaring at him with an extremely irritated expression. He pretended to bury his head in his book, and the teacher let it go.
“Are you acting up again just because you’re a sophomore?”
“I have to check my emails on time. It can’t be helped. I have business to attend to…”
At Suyeon’s answer, Dain snickered. The band seemed to be doing well, and Suyeon’s rounds of apologizing also seemed to be nearing their end. In many ways, it was a relief.
‘I just hope Senior Juhui’s situation gets wrapped up smoothly, but that probably won’t be easy…’
Dain wasn’t close with Seong Juhee either, so she didn’t know how things were going. But according to Kwon Jihye, Juhee was still sharpening her blade. Judging by that, it seemed impossible for the matter to pass peacefully, no matter how it was handled.
‘Well, she said she had a plan, so it’ll work out somehow…’
Dain yawned. It was the kind of day when the warm sunlight made sleep come rushing in.
* * *
“Looks like it turned out well. Good work.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
Myeongjeon walked out of the recording booth and took a sip of the coffee Junhong handed him. It was a recording being made as payment for lending Junhong a Tom Anderson during a session.
‘Come to think of it, I didn’t even use the guitar then. Was there really any need to record this for him…?’
But the recording was already finished, so Myeongjeon decided not to be petty about it. In the end, tangible and intangible assets like this were useful when accumulated.
“I watched your performance the other day.”
“Ah… huh? Were you there that day?”
“No. Paradox streams its live performances on YouTube. Since I heard you were appearing, I watched it. Your interpretation of ‘Hysteria’ was excellent. The synth arrangement was great, too, and the bass in particular was really good.”
Myeongjeon couldn’t help feeling a little proud at those words. The girl who had been a complete beginner had finally shed her beginner’s awkwardness and become good enough to receive praise from someone else—even a professional session player.
“I didn’t do it. She did. The bassist.”
“Oh… She must be quite talented.”
“She is, I suppose. Not to an extraordinary degree or anything… but she seems good enough to play bass in front of other people.”
For a moment, Junhong felt as though he were dealing with an elderly man. Well, he supposed it made sense. The girl had been taught by Teacher Myeongjeon, after all. As his student, perhaps she had inherited that side of him.
Come to think of it… Junhong remembered two pieces of news he needed to pass on to Suyeon.
“Um, first of all, I have a friend who’s a reporter.”
“Yes.”
“Would you be interested in doing an interview? It’s for a series called ‘This Is Indie.’”
At those words, Myeongjeon recalled an old memory. ‘This Is Indie,’ was it? It was an article series famous for introducing indie rock groups regardless of genre. Myeongjeon had read several of the articles himself.
‘But hadn’t people said it had gone downhill?’
At some point, people had started saying the quality of the articles was poor. Or perhaps that had merely been the jealousy of bands that hadn’t been featured.
“Hmm…”
“I don’t think it would be a bad idea. Even a single additional press mention would help with promotion.”
“That’s true, but, uh… I’ll ask the band members, but I don’t see why we’d go out of our way to do it.”
Junhong looked puzzled, as though he were thinking, ‘Why would you pass up an opportunity like that…?’ But Myeongjeon had his own reasons for bringing it up.
‘There’s no point in me appearing in an article right now.’
The purpose of the interview would be to promote the band to the general public. But in Myeongjeon’s opinion, Group Sound didn’t need publicity—at least not at this point.
‘We can’t perform yet.’
They were all minors and students, so they couldn’t go out and perform. So what good would promotion do? It would only waste the period when people’s interest was at its peak. It would be better to maintain their air of mystery. They weren’t short on money, either.
Besides, there was the second issue: Ha Suyeon’s past. If she continued with the band, they would inevitably have to reveal information about Ha Suyeon herself. Even if articles and the media belonged to an older generation, they still had undeniable influence. And then what? If an article about school violence went boom before they had prepared for it, all of Myeongjeon’s plans would go up in smoke.
“Well, anyway, I have my reasons.”
“If that’s how you feel… I’ll tell my friend that you won’t be doing the interview for now. But it’s a good opportunity…”
“That’s true, but… well…”
Watching Suyeon vaguely evade the question, Junhong wondered if she simply didn’t want too much attention. But the second piece of news would inevitably bring her a fair amount of attention.
“And there’s one more thing I need to tell you. This could be good news for you as well, Ms. Suyeon.”
Junhong handed a leaflet to Myeongjeon, who stared at him without knowing what he was talking about. It contained information about a certain concert.
After looking at the leaflet, Myeongjeon was literally struck speechless with shock. It slipped from his trembling hands.
“I… Is this real?”
Seeing Suyeon’s shocked expression, Junhong thought, Oh no. He wondered if he had been too insensitive, since she might not have recovered yet.
“Ah… It is a sensitive matter, isn’t it?”
But Junhong thought that they could no longer delay or stop it. The deceased had been something of a spiritual pillar, after all. If they postponed it any longer, he would simply be forgotten from people’s memories.
“Even so… I’d really like you to attend if at all possible. You’re the inheritor of his mantle, after all. Even if it pains you, I’d appreciate it if you could at least pay a visit.”
“Uh…”
Myeongjeon heard what he was saying, but the words didn’t truly reach his ears. He was too overwhelmed by shock to escape it.
Because the words he had seen were…
[Seo Myeongjeon Memorial Concert]
* * *
‘What on earth is going on?’
Myeongjeon sat thinking with the leaflet in front of him. What was he supposed to do with this? Was it even remotely reasonable to hold a memorial concert for himself in the first place?
Of course, it did make sense. Musicians, after all, were the sort of people who loved putting on things like ‘~ Anniversary Concerts!’
This had probably happened for the same reason. They wanted to hold a concert, and felt like they should hold one… Was there anything worth doing? Oh, Seo Myeongjeon had died not long ago. Couldn’t they hold a concert to commemorate him? It seemed like plenty of people would come.
‘But if it’s a memorial concert, they’ll have to play my songs. Is there anything of mine worth playing?’
Myeongjeon had an entirely objective view of his former self, at least. He had been a guitarist with incredible technique but absolutely no talent for composition. He had released several solo albums, ruined all of them, and made a name for himself only in the session world.
There couldn’t possibly be any songs worth commemorating someone like Myeongjeon with, could there? Or were they going to say, ‘Since Mr. Seo Myeongjeon played on this song, let’s perform it!’?
‘Actually, that sounds like something they might do.’
Myeongjeon leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. What on earth was he supposed to do? Should he sit this out or not?
His honest feeling was that he wanted to stay away if at all possible. He was alive, after all—socially dead, of course—but they were holding a memorial concert for him and hoping to invite him there so they could cry, ‘Sob, sob, sob… Teacher Myeongjeon, why did you have to die?’ Wasn’t that what was happening?
The problem was that Ha Suyeon was publicly presenting herself as Seo Myeongjeon’s disciple. If he said, ‘Ah, I’d rather not attend the memorial concert,’ he would look like a complete bastard. He could try saying that he hadn’t been able to overcome his grief, but he was living quite happily. How could he possibly say something like that?
Since the world didn’t know that Seo Myeongjeon was Ha Suyeon, he could simply show up as though nothing were wrong without causing any problems. But what mattered wasn’t the world—it was Myeongjeon’s shame. He didn’t have the patience to endure a situation in which he was mourning himself.
“Suyeon, may I come in for a moment?”
“Yes.”
Myeongjeon answered weakly while slumped in his chair. Ms. Lee Hyein came in. She entered hesitantly, as though she wanted to say something, then saw the leaflet in front of Myeongjeon and opened her mouth.
“A Seo Myeongjeon memorial concert…? Isn’t that the person you said was your guitar teacher?”
“Ah… well… uh… heh… um…”
“They’re even holding a memorial concert. He must have been a truly incredible person.”
While Myeongjeon was unable to answer, Ms. Lee picked up the leaflet and murmured.
“But, uh… do you know what songs this person released? He was your teacher, after all. I think I should listen to at least one.”
“…The Streetlamp at No. 38.”
After racking his brain, Myeongjeon named one song that came to mind. He thought he had composed that one fairly well. Everyone else’s evaluations had been terrible, though.
“Oh, it’s not on YouTube.”
‘It’s not?!’
“B-but, uh… There must be other songs. He also sang a song called ‘Beyond the Blue Night.’”
“I think I’ve heard that one, but, hmm… wasn’t that a song by Ms. Byeon Juhee?”
“He sang that one too… though it was a cover.”
Myeongjeon answered. After his first album, enraged by his complete inability to compose, he had released a cover song in an attempt to become Korea’s Eric Clapton. It had performed fairly well… but more precisely, only that song had been good. Everything else had been filled with comments saying he had merely rehashed the 1960s.
Watching Ms. Lee Hyein listen to his music on YouTube and say, “This song is good~,” Myeongjeon thought:
Why, when there were no songs by Seo Myeongjeon, was Ha Suyeon suffering mental anguish? Why was Ha Suyeon sitting here explaining her teacher’s tragic history? Why should Ha Suyeon have to suffer over Seo Myeongjeon’s shameful history? Myeongjeon suddenly felt like he just wanted to faint…