A Mermaid’s Descendant (1)
“I’ve never seen a company that would take bribes just to save a trainee with no presence and no individuality from getting cut from the debut lineup.”
“…….”
“If there’s such a company, introduce me to them.”
At Myeong I-dam’s sneering remark, the two contestants who had been chattering away until a moment ago clamped their mouths shut as if nothing had happened.
“Plagiarism? WildWeed made it for you?”
“N-no, that’s not….”
“If you’d met WildWeed for even a minute, you wouldn’t be saying that. He never taught me a single thing, and yet he cursed ninety-nine out of the hundred songs I wrote as disgusting, pathetic trash that didn’t even deserve to be sorted for recycling—songs so foul and hideous they never should have seen the light of day.”
Myeong I-dam’s voice was icy, but beneath it lay a fury pressed deep into his chest, heavy and long-suppressed.
“And the one and only song he said was worth listening to was the one you heard today.”
“…….”
“If it were you, what would you do? This is still a competition. You can’t exactly show up with some ‘uniquely styled’ piece of garbage that even recycling won’t take. Even if it has no individuality, you need something people can at least listen to.”
“…….”
“And even after all that, you still think I have no shame?”
“N-no….”
“We’re sorry for talking out of turn when we didn’t know.”
With their tails tucked between their legs, the two contestants shoved open the bathroom door and scrambled out.
A moment later, the sound of running water came from the sink, then cut off abruptly. Sighing, Myeong I-dam opened the door and came out—only to run straight into Neoul.
“...You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Myeong I-dam seemed not to care much and tried to brush past him. Neoul, who also had to head back, started walking too. Myeong I-dam looked thoroughly out of sorts, so Neoul kept five or so paces behind him for a while before speaking.
“That man called WildWeed does not seem worth paying attention to.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It is not pity, but fact. Doing work you do not wish to do is hard on anyone. And yet you made Song Six in such a convincing way, so the other ninety-nine songs must be even better.”
“…….”
Myeong I-dam, who had been walking quickly, came to an abrupt stop. Frowning, he turned to look at Neoul.
“Just now… I don’t think I said I hated composing, or that I hated making Song Six.”
“Music contains emotion, does it not?”
The first thought Neoul had when he listened to Song Six was this: It had been forced into being.
Though the song was lively and bright overall, the more he listened, the more clearly he could tell that its cheer had been dragged upward by force.
You must have struggled to do something you hated. It must have taken a long time to finish. A work forged through many sighs and headaches.
He did not know why it had been so hated, nor why the song still had to be made. But still.
“The feelings of the one who made it, the one who played it, and the one who sang it are all buried in it, so the listener can’t help but feel them as well.”
Neoul passed by Myeong I-dam.
“Hey, you.”
Then Myeong I-dam called him back.
“Are you really a mermaid?”
“……?”
For a moment, Neoul nearly missed a step. He had no idea what kind of context could possibly have produced such a question.
Did I just say something that sounded less than human? Or behave suspiciously? Neoul hurriedly reviewed his words and actions.
“What is that question all of a sudden?”
“You said you were a mermaid prince. In the interview too. And to Ha On-ha.”
“I believe I already said that was merely a joke….”
No matter how he retraced his steps, he had not made any major mistake. Neoul’s talk about Dragon Palace had already been taken as a gag by humans.
No one had ever believed his words were true. They only thought of him as some oddball who was faithful to his concept and laughed it off.
But Myeong I-dam was not willing to nod along and move on like everyone else.
“You don’t need to hide it from me.”
...What? What was that supposed to mean?
Neoul was thrown off by the reaction, which was unlike anything he had seen from humans so far. He had never been in a situation like this before and had no idea how to respond.
Should he deny it to the end? Neoul chose denial for the moment. There was no other option.
“Where in the world are mermaids? I see you must enjoy silly fairy tales and the like.”
“Tell me the truth. I won’t tell anyone.”
Good grief. He had denied it so stubbornly he was practically disowning his own existence, and the other man still refused to listen. Neoul covered his face with one hand, wondering if perhaps his expression had betrayed him terribly.
This was bad. Had he actually been found out?
For a moment, he regretted all the boasting he had done in the past with the carefree reasoning that no one would believe him anyway.
Then Myeong I-dam said something utterly absurd.
“The truth is, I’m a descendant of mermaids.”
“...Pardon?”
“Maybe it’s only a tiny amount, but mermaid blood flows in my body.”
No, it does not? To anyone’s eyes, you look exactly like a perfectly ordinary human.
Unable to hide his disbelief, Neoul looked down at Myeong I-dam. After a brief pause, he asked, “What is the basis for that belief?”
“Right. Because I’m….”
“…….”
“A member of the Myeong clan.”
“…….”
“I said I’m a Myeong.”
“Ah, yes….”
And? I’m a Gal. So what.
Neoul looked at Myeong I-dam with a sour expression. So he was a Myeong—what, then, was he supposed to be, a Baek? Or a Yeo?
What did being a Myeong have to do with believing oneself to be a mermaid’s descendant? He was a strange human indeed.
“Do you not know the old tale of Mister Myeong?”
“The only Mister I know is Mr. Won, who watches dramas while fiddling with robot toys.”
“No…!”
Exasperated, Myeong I-dam shouted and then launched into a long explanation.
Long, long ago, on an island called Dochodo, there lived a man with the surname Myeong. He rescued a mermaid who had almost been eaten by people and returned her to the sea.
Several years later, the mermaid appeared again, gave him a newborn baby as thanks, and vanished.
Since Mister Myeong had no children, he adopted the baby as his son and raised him with great care. The child grew up exceptionally and even rose to high office, eventually taking the post of Chancellor.
“So I, as a Myeong, am a descendant of that mermaid.”
“…….”
Neoul thought:
What sort of nonsense about a Chancellor chewing on turtle shells is this?
There were so many parts he simply could not understand that he went through them one by one, patiently pointing out each flaw.
“First, a newborn mermaid cannot breathe on land. We cannot breathe outside water. Gills come first; only after at least eight years do the lungs begin to develop gradually. So what kind of mermaid would be insane enough to abandon her baby on land? And besides, you said it had nearly been eaten by humans. However great the favor, how could one hand over one’s precious child to a human? If it were entrusted to some human other than a Myeong, it might be eaten and killed. So if a mermaid gave a baby to someone named Myeong, it would not have been a mermaid at all, but a human baby to begin with. Perhaps you found a human infant floating in a basket after it had been abandoned to the sea.”
“Oh… really? I see.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is….”
Myeong I-dam lowered his gaze, then lifted it again, and a sharp glint flashed in his eyes.
“That’s awfully specific.”
“…!”
Realizing his mistake, Neoul snapped his mouth shut. He nearly bit his tongue in half.
Humans seemed to know what rabbit droppings looked like, whether whales laid eggs or gave birth to young, and all sorts of other things. Did they not know that newborn mermaids could not breathe with lungs?
Feeling the moisture that had soaked his face already drying away, Neoul flexed and unflexed his hands. Surely there would be information like that on the internet, the sea of knowledge humans spoke of.
While researching rabbits, Neoul had learned that humans were perverts who even observed and recorded the mating seasons and times of every kind of animal.
So perhaps they had kept records of mermaids too. Even if he was alone now, they had said there were many mermaids long ago.
But Neoul had never searched the internet for mermaids. If the information he had cited did not exist there, then it would be a lie waiting to be exposed.
He did know, from what the Sea Witch had told him, that humans regarded mermaids as creatures of legend. In modern times, that made sense; the mermaid line had died out, so no one had discovered any.
In truth, the fact that mermaids were treated like legend could be inferred simply from the humans who had drowned and then drifted into Dragon Palace. They had been astonishingly fascinated by him.
Then were the humans of old not as observant—or as perverted—as modern humans?
Neoul had no way of knowing. His thoughts grew knotted and tangled as he mulled it over.
Before long, he began to wonder if there was even any need to hide his identity this thoroughly. The Sea Witch had told him to keep it secret, yes, but….
Since when have I ever been so obedient?
Neoul swept all the tangled thoughts from his head and made it blank. The moment he decided to lower his guard and be shameless, the other man’s expression came into clearer view.
“I knew it. You really are a mermaid. No, at the very least, you’re not human, are you?”
Myeong I-dam wore the look of a child who had just discovered something fascinating. He also looked a bit like an old man who’d finally found an amusement after growing tired of life.
But he also seemed inexplicably angry. What on earth was he angry about?
Neoul glanced around to make sure no one was there, then said, “Why? If I’m not human, am I not allowed to be an idol?”
“Pffft!”
Myeong I-dam burst out laughing.
“No. Why would you not be?”
Hah-hahahaha!
Neoul had no idea what was so funny, but when he looked down at him with a sullen face, Myeong I-dam, still laughing like a madman, held out his hand.
“Let’s be friends.”
“…….”
Neoul stared at the offered hand.
Myeong I-dam’s soul did not stink, nor did he seem like a dolphin tormenting a blowfish the way Gye Tae-seok did, nor did his face carry that same unpleasant aura. And yet, for some reason, Neoul did not want to get too close to him.
“I don’t particularly want to be friends.”
There was something unsettling about him.
Neoul turned on his heel and headed back toward the filming set. Myeong I-dam laughed again like a lunatic, clutching his stomach, then quickened his pace to catch up.
“Aah~ so I don’t have mermaid blood after all. No wonder I was such a landlubber. I kept trying to learn to swim, but I couldn’t float at all, so I thought maybe I hated sunlight and had just been clinging to the bottom of the deep sea.”
“…….”
“I thought I liked singing because I was a mermaid’s descendant this whole time. Like a siren or something. Saying I’ve got the blood of a human abandoned to the sea doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”
Not cool at all.
Wow, that is really not cool. Me.
“…….”
Neoul, who had been hurrying ahead as if fleeing, came to an abrupt stop at that muttering. He had suddenly realized the nature of this nagging unease.
Melancholy.
Beneath the surging despair and melancholy, cracks had begun to spread through Myeong I-dam’s vessel.
No. Perhaps it had already been full of cracks for a long time. As if it could shatter at any moment and no one would find it strange.
—