-7-
‘His songs are beautiful? What, heartfelt?’
As a colleague who had worked with him for a long time, Hangeul knew. He might bewitch people by putting plausible things in his songs, but he’d bet that bastard had never once experienced something like love.
An empty shell.
Fakes recognize fakes.
‘It’s all pretense.’
There was longing in Jeong Ido’s eyes. That was greed for wealth and power. He had jumped into the market to become a successful businessman, not a musician.
‘If you really look into it, there are few composers who can produce songs as commercial as him.’
He didn’t know who they were, but he felt sorry for the juniors who would work with him. At the same time, he found it ridiculous that he was feeling such emotions.
After all, hadn’t he also given up the music he wanted to do and been successful as an idol all this time?
‘Well… I’m not really in a position to say anything either.’
Though this place happened to be chosen as the venue for singing, Hangeul liked this alley. He had come here alone even before debut.
When he was refining himself late into the night just to become a suitable part for the established system, and came out here briefly to listen to the music of those who busked because they wanted to, to watch their unCalculated dancing,
he would get teary-eyed at that pure passion.
Because these people seemed to have that something he had lost long ago.
“I’m approaching my fourth year since debut now.”
That’s why he had said more than necessary.
“…But I think I’ve lived doing everything I wanted to do so far. And I plan to continue doing so.”
Telling them to live doing everything they wanted, when he himself couldn’t do that.
But the moment he grabbed the microphone was always pure thrill itself. Hangeul looked around.
The familiar gazes surrounding him.
Lumped together, similar forms. Audiences filled with reverence.
“Oppa! You’re handsome!”
“Totally cool!!”
Even while he was singing, the audience wasn’t focusing on his voice but sending praise toward his face.
This wasn’t on a stage, and since it was a street performance, the eye level was clearly the same, yet Hangeul felt like everyone was looking up at him.
Then their eyes met.
“…!!”
A youthful appearance that seemed not yet adult and school uniform attire. And small stature. But an equal gaze.
The heat felt from the clenched fists of the boy who was looking at him more directly than anyone else was that of someone who dreams.
Hangeul smiled slightly.
Right now, at this moment, Hangeul was purely just Hangeul. Actor Oh Hangeul, singer Oh Hangeul, entertainer Oh Hangeul—none of them existed there.
“This is why I love music. It seems like even boring daily life gains meaning in every moment when there’s just a song.”
After the long instrumental section passed, Hangeul’s tightly closed lips parted. At the same time, he let out the overwhelming emotion as it was.
Wind
I should fly away carried by the wind
‘I’m alive.’
Without realizing it, he spread both arms. Preparing to face the fierce gust blowing toward him, like sailing. He was the protagonist of his life, and he was also the one holding the helm.
As long as music was by his side, every moment became a pearl and shone brightly.
Not only the resonating session but also people’s applause, the sound of a dog barking, footsteps moving away, a child’s laughter, bicycle wheels rolling, even the noise of a car honking in the distance.
Everything without exception became music and was absorbed into the song Hangeul was singing.
And Kim Bunhong, who had just been quietly watching his stage, was swept up in an unknown emotion he was feeling for the first time in his life and began softly humming along to Oh Hangeul’s song like the other audience members.
Though Bunhong always felt lonely in crowds, unable to mix into the group, at least during that moment when everyone sang together, he could perfectly blend into the atmosphere soaked with fervor.
In the quiet night air, in this space where only one streetlight sparkled like a star, as if the murmuring audience in front of him and other noises didn’t exist.
No, it was as if even that had been calculated direction from the beginning.
Really, as if everyone watching the performance had been enchanted by the pied piper’s sound, they all began singing along, and everything naturally blended as if it had originally been ‘one music.’
As if time flowing for a moment had slowed down, or perhaps stopped.
‘Really…’
Have you ever felt memories of the past unfold before your eyes with just one song? That feeling of rescuing even carefully hidden painful memories, reaching out raw and vivid?
Wind
I should fly away carried by the wind
All the sad days
Are just traces where wind has passed by
That’s temporary
Just very temporary
Getting up again with disheveled hair
My dream that wasn’t in vain, my wish
May my wind reach you who are lonely
Wind
Let’s send it flying carried by the wind
Don’t be sad
All the sad days
Are just traces where wind has passed by
That’s temporary
Just very temporary it will be
If you’ve ever been comforted by art even once, you would know that kind of warm and sparkling comfort.
The frequency of the singer reaches the listener, and it spreads completely into emotion.
‘He looks happy.’
His heart fluttered for no reason. His eyes grew misty. As his eyes reddened, Bunhong sniffled.
He probably wouldn’t forget it. He knew he would remember this scene in the future too. So he captured it with his eyes for a long time. Enough to take it out someday during overwhelming moments.
The magic had ended. But caught by the lingering afterglow, his footsteps couldn’t quite move away. Until the last streetlight went out and complete night came, leaving him alone, Bunhong wandered around that spot for a long time, unable to escape.
Music was a refuge. It always had been.
For Kim Bunhong, who hadn’t been honest in every moment, music was the only existence that understood his heart without him having to explain.
Magic that he could choose according to his mood, and even if it used a foreign language, just humming along would bring comfort and make him feel like he was communicating.
Monitoring colleagues’ stages was basic when being an idol. When he saw outstanding people, he would resolve to become like that.
Was it because of timing? It was the first time he could watch someone’s stage with a pure heart, without any pretense or wariness, letting everything go, and it was an overwhelming experience.
He couldn’t sleep that night. Wiggling his toes and staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes, Bunhong realized that the confused emotions he had been feeling ever since regression had almost disappeared from his heart.
In that place, wanting to fill it with the emotion he felt watching the stage, he closed his eyes and savored it for a long time, and before he knew it, day had broken.
Though he had stayed awake all night with open eyes, it was a strange night where his inside felt rather relieved.
Humming a tune, Bunhong found and pulled out a notebook from his room where he used to record each day like a diary during high school, and scribbled writing on it.
He secretly locked the door just in case Grandmother might suddenly barge in.
When Bunhong before regression had declared he would become an idol, Grandmother had said this:
‘Instead of wasting your life on strange work like your father, how about studying properly?’
Having completely cut ties with her son until Bunhong was born because she opposed his dream of giving up joining a major corporation to become a writer, she probably couldn’t believe that even her grandson would walk an unstable fictional path.
This time too, the moment she discovered that what he was scribbling in his notebook wasn’t math formulas but song lyrics, she would definitely be shocked.
‘Still, just for today…’
How he should proceed from now on—at least for now, wanting to be intoxicated by the remaining afterglow without any worries about the future, Bunhong rested his chin and focused intently on writing in his diary for a while.
* * *
「”Being always honest is my strength,” let’s meet Oh Hangeul, who has the most dangerous charm among OORA, the top idol group. His speech was slow, and his expressions were rich. He had a languid feeling like watching an untamed wild cat.
Q You’ve said being always honest is your strength, so what’s your resolve for today’s interview?
A I haven’t prepared anything special, but should I just answer honestly? Feel free to ask anything you’re curious about.
Q What field are you most interested in these days?
A I’m currently officially recording my self-composed songs. I’m trying hard to create more complete songs, but things aren’t going as well as I thought. (He had a bitter expression.)
Q Speaking of songs, is it a group song or a solo song?
A It’s a solo song. I don’t know if it’ll be included in the album or not. That’s all up to the studio hyungs’ discretion.
I’m bribing them heavily in advance… (playful smile)
The song will probably be sung by me alone, so if it gets included, it might get pushed to the back tracks. I’m satisfied with just that. For now.
Q I didn’t know you were interested in making music.
A Actually, I briefly did a band before becoming an idol singer. I like the genre of rock ballad the most. I’ve always wanted to create with my own hands since then.
Q Could you briefly introduce the song?
A To play with words a little, doesn’t everyone have memories of being hurt? I thought how nice it would be if all that pain became nothing. I put in the wish that everything could just become as if it never happened, blown away carried by the wind.
(Hangeul’s expression while saying this was so gentle that the interviewer got a little excited.)」
After school, Bunhong, who was wandering around the bookstore in front of the school, pulled out a magazine from the display case at the familiar face decorating the cover.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
