Past Spring Days
"An OST?"
Kim Se-jun stared at Lee Hae-jin, startled by the proposal that had come out of nowhere. His first album wasn't even wrapped yet — so what was this about a soundtrack?
"I'm not saying you have to do it right this second. It's a BBS drama slated to air this summer. Their side has been pushing pretty hard for you. By summer you should have the time, more or less, and we already told them we were open to it."
"Hmm..."
An OST. The offer had a real pull to it. It was the kind of work he had wanted to try at least once. A well-made soundtrack could double a drama's pleasure and its ache; sometimes it packed a bigger punch than even a famous actor's appearance. The thought of his own song woven into a drama stirred a quiet anticipation in him.
"What kind of drama is it?"
"Historical, for starters. And the title was... ah, right. Taejo Yi Seong-gye."
"...Taejo Yi Seong-gye?"
Se-jun's eyes went wide. He had not expected a production of that scale to come out of Lee Hae-jin's mouth.
Taejo Yi Seong-gye was already airing around this time?
Taejo Yi Seong-gye. Twenty years from now, historical-drama devotees would call it the last true masterpiece of the genre — a rare, first-rate period piece that had delighted countless viewers. After it, Korean historical dramas all but withered away under the weight of product-placement deals and a host of other problems, which was precisely why this one earned the title of the final great work. It was the crowning flourish on the nation's historical-drama tradition, a title that would never stop circulating among the genre's most devoted fans in the distant future.
"That sounds wonderful. Please tell them I'll do it."
Se-jun seized the offer without a second's hesitation. This was a chance to put his name on a masterpiece soundtrack that people would still be talking about decades from now. Walking away from it would have left too deep a regret.
"You're surprisingly enthusiastic. All right. I'll talk it over with them."
Lee Hae-jin's eyes widened at the heat in Se-jun's voice. The young man had never been timid about music, but today he was even more forward than usual.
Taejo Yi Seong-gye. I binge-watched that one more times than I can count.
Those historical-drama devotees mentioned above — Kim Se-jun had been one of them. The mere thought of working on the OST of a drama he loved set his heart racing.
This could be a lot of fun.
Perhaps it was all those repeat viewings, but ideas and shapes for the Taejo Yi Seong-gye soundtrack bloomed in his mind in an instant.
Still — set the OST aside for now...
He forced the excitement down and stepped out of Lee Hae-jin's office. Right now the album came first. The rest of the day, as planned, belonged to the practice room.
He was heading for the elevator when an unexpected figure caught his eye.
Huh?
Jang Jun — the first singer Se-jun had ever seen inside the Ares Music building. A rush of gladness rose in him, then faltered. The atmosphere around the man was unmistakably dark. Waiting for the elevator with a deathly look on his face, he was so far from that first impression — cool and refreshing as a midsummer breeze — that the contrast itself felt jarring.
"Hello."
"Ah... hello."
Se-jun approached slowly and offered a careful greeting. Jang Jun answered with a lifeless smile. Up close, his face was even darker. He looked ready to break into tears at any moment.
For a second Se-jun wondered why — and then the reason surfaced at once.
Of course he's struggling...
Jang Jun's new record, released last winter. The digital single he had put out with such ambition had crashed and burned. After the first album failed, the second had failed too. Sinking into that kind of loss was only human.
Se-jun looked at him with a pang of sympathy, but it did not last. He knew the future, and so he was not truly worried. However much Jang Jun suffered now, the road ahead of him was solid gold. All Se-jun offered was a quiet word of comfort.
"Hang in there, Jang Jun."
"Ah... thanks."
Had the kindness caught him off guard? Jang Jun answered with a faint smile.
This is humiliating...
The comfort only made him feel smaller. Failing twice had left him looking so shabby in his own eyes. And when he remembered their first meeting, the shame cut even deeper. He had gotten carried away and asked whether Se-jun was a fan — just because the man had recognized him. Looking back, it was the kind of memory that made you kick the covers in the middle of the night. Especially now, with the gap between them as wide as heaven and earth.
I didn't even recognize someone who was going to be a superstar. I just asked if he was my fan.
Embarrassing as it was, the fact that Kim Se-jun had known who he was back then had been a greater comfort than Jang Jun could ever say — all the more so because, after that day, not a single other person ever recognized him. Se-jun had been the first person to make him feel that fans were a real thing. Telling this man the truth felt like a kind of courtesy he owed, and Jang Jun opened his mouth.
"Se-jun. Thank you for back then. For saying you were my fan. And since you're my only one, I should tell you —"
"...What?"
What kind of nonsense was this supposed to be? Knowing the brilliant future waiting for the man, Se-jun could not take the words at face value. He figured it was just a passing doubt, the kind that comes when the present has you by the throat. But the gravity in Jang Jun's face made Se-jun's own expression harden.
Was this really something he could dismiss so easily? Was there any guarantee that every future would unfold the way he remembered it? Lee Ye-eun's future had already changed because of him. There was no law that said Jang Jun's could not change too.
"What do you mean?"
The elevator chimed its arrival. Se-jun ignored it and pressed him.
"I mean exactly that. My contract with the company is almost up, and two years should be enough, don't you think? I'm starting to feel like this path just isn't for me."
The weight in his voice was not the sound of a man who had been turning this over for a day or two.
"What does the company say?"
"They say they believe in me. They want to renew... but a person has to have some conscience. I'd just be a burden, so I'm going to walk away."
Se-jun gave a small nod.
Of course the company would try to keep him.
Obscurity and incompetence were not the same thing. Jang Jun was unknown — that was all. His ability could stand beside any of the country's finest singers without shame. Se-jun, who had once been his fan, knew that in his bones. And Lee Hae-jin, who had cast him in the first place, would not harbor a shred of doubt about that talent either. In this business, though, you needed luck, and luck simply had not found Jang Jun yet.
"If you quit singing, what will you do?"
Jang Jun flinched, then spoke carefully.
"Well... my father runs a small business... I figured I'd take over the family trade."
He scratched his head as he said it. Se-jun answered with what he actually thought.
"Jang Jun. I genuinely believe you're a talented, skilled singer. So I want to say this carefully — isn't it a little early to give up?"
Jang Jun's face brightened for a moment, then he gave a slight shake of his head.
"I appreciate you saying that. Sorry for dumping this on you out of nowhere and wasting your time. I'll get going."
It was a polite way of saying he wanted to be alone. Se-jun watched him and fell into thought. If Jang Jun walked away from a singer's life, Se-jun himself would lose nothing. But he had truly loved the man's songs, and the idea of never hearing them again left a deep, stubborn regret.
There has to be something... ah!
Se-jun's eyes lit as he looked at him. If the father ran a business, money was probably not the problem. What Jang Jun needed now was the public's attention. The collapse of self-worth that came from being ignored — that was what had to be fixed.
"Jang Jun. I'll be in touch soon. Let's talk again then. How about you think it over one more time when we do?"
"What?"
Se-jun threw the words after him as Jang Jun stepped into the elevator.
The elevator doors closed, and Kim Se-jun was gone. Jang Jun stood staring at the sealed doors, his expression blank.
By early February, preparations for the album were moving along smoothly. The session recordings were done. All that remained was the vocal. Se-jun headed to the Ares Music recording studio, where Song Dae-jun was waiting to greet him.
"You're here?"
"Yes. Coffee?"
"I'll take one, but I don't think today's going to take long enough to need it."
Se-jun smiled faintly. It was an indirect compliment. Recording usually stretched across several days, but so far Se-jun had never needed a full day to finish.
"You never know with today. It's not my song, after all."
He put on a little justified fuss. Until now every track had been his own. Today was different. This was a song Lee Hae-jin and Song Dae-jun had made for him. For all he knew, it might give him more trouble than recording his own work.
"I don't know. I don't think it'll be all that different."
Song Dae-jun took a sip of coffee and smiled a knowing smile. Past Spring Days — his own composition. From the title to the lyrics, Se-jun had finished it.
There was nothing to fix.
From the title down through every line of the lyric, not a single corner of it sat wrong with him. That was proof enough that Se-jun had understood his intent completely, and Song Dae-jun had no doubt that today, too, the recording would be over in a single breath.
"Shall we get started, then?"
Se-jun flashed a bright smile and stepped into the booth. A moment later, Song Dae-jun rolled the track. A plaintive whistle unfurled through the speakers, and Se-jun caught the emotion in an instant.
This song was almost too easy to feel.
It was a piece about the loneliness of a middle-aged man — a feeling Se-jun had known in his bones. In the life before his regression, he had never built a family. Late at night, loneliness would roll in like a receding tide, and he would force himself to sleep with a drink. He had regretted never marrying. Watching his friends' adorable sons and daughters, he had never quite managed to hide his envy.
Not that getting married means you stop being lonely.
A few of the people he knew who had married were not so different from him. It was simply the emptiness that came with living — and they had been a wretched breed of people who could not endure that emptiness.
Spring has come.
But the spring of my life is already over.
The flowers have bloomed.
But every flower in my heart has withered away.
Se-jun's voice poured through the microphone. It sounded like a man laying his heart bare without reservation, and a smile spread across Song Dae-jun's mouth.
That's it.
A song like a bitter monologue. An old ache you could never speak to anyone. A knot of feeling muttered under the cover of liquor. Se-jun was giving back exactly the emotion Song Dae-jun had imagined — and Song Dae-jun started wondering what to have for dinner. Just as he had expected, today's recording was not going to take very long at all.