Encore Overmistake and Faded Memories
The Overmistake they'd just played a moment ago in their Japan trip felt a bit lacking. The audience seemed to sense it too, reacting with mere appreciation. But what about now? He thought that as he called out to Suyeon. Then he reconsidered. It's really her, right? ...Yeah, it has to be. Even after she'd shouted it earlier, he stared at her again, unable to fully believe it. No matter how he looked, it matched. Average height, sharp features. Long hair grown out and swept to one side. But he couldn't help doubting. Sure, weird things happened in the world, but something like 'hearing Korean music on the TOP100 charts, discovering Korean rock, thinking it was pretty good so maybe cover it next gig—and then the original creators show up at the live house where you're performing and hear it'? That didn't happen every day.
"What the hell's this guy saying?"
"Group Sound... he says you're the vocalist, right?"
"Yeah. OK. I am."
...Apparently, that kind of thing happened more often than you'd think. At the high school girl's words who approached with her, Suyeon calmly confirmed it was her, gazing at him. And his thoughts ground to a halt. If it was her, then what next? Should he step aside and let these kids play instead? That didn't feel right. Meanwhile, the live house atmosphere was cooling off bit by bit. The audience couldn't grasp what was happening.
"Everyone, the song we just played... Overmistake. The original band's right here now!"
He instinctively yelled that to rally the crowd's reaction. The audience responded—some clapping and cheering, others murmuring.
"That last song was good. Made in Korea?"
"It was in Korean."
"Those girls look young. They wrote that?"
Seizing the moment, he gestured for Suyeon—who was standing below stage with a dumbfounded look—to come up. To salvage the totally derailed vibe.
Myeongjeon tilted his head slightly. Against the backdrop of random waiting music that sounded haphazardly looped, the live house mood had sunk. The band members' hushed discussion seemed over; the guitarist handed his Strat over to Myeongjeon with a stunned expression.
"Woooah!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd. Myeongjeon wondered how genuine it really was. Probably not that much. The moment he stepped onstage, he heard indecipherable Japanese. Hyeona came up to translate: "The vocalist... wants you to stand in."
He wanted to brush it off as ridiculous, but as a bandman, he couldn't let the mood die further. Myeongjeon accepted—on the condition he handled guitar.
What the hell am I doing...
The handed-over guitar was a Yamaha Pacifica. Retail around a million won imported—not pricey. But true to "Yamaha value," it punched above its weight... plenty good to show his chops.
"Strat? Waito?"
"Go, go."
In the chaotic air, he answered the vocalist's question and scanned the crowd below. Weak anticipation mixed with confusion, worry, dismay.
"Alright, let's run the song again. Vocals and guitar by the original band's vocalist and guitarist from Group Sound, Ha Suyeon! Here we go—Overmistake!"
Applause followed the intro. Drum sticks slammed down as signal, heavy reverb piano kicked in. Myeongjeon thought, listening: Might as well go all in now.
What the hell's going on?
He looked up at the live stage. Backlit from the far wall, the girl's face onstage was faintly shadowed in darkness. Her expression seemed absurdly bewildered—or maybe brimming with confidence.
Their third set. He hadn't caught their name, but they'd impressed enough to commit to memory. Even announcing unknown Korean rock was fine—Korea had it too, naturally. And the song itself was solid. Jangly modern rock sound. Good experience, like so this is Korean rock.
But what followed was baffling. Original creators suddenly appear? Calling up an unknown high school girl? Huddling with the live house staff, the band, the Koreans? Then wrapping up with her taking vocals and guitar? Total chaos.
Can she pull it off? Honestly, not holding my breath.
He wasn't the type to hype "Japan rules!" but he knew Japanese bands outclassed Korean ones. Especially some high school girl who looked miles from band life. Could she satisfy these listeners' ears?
But that doubt shattered with the guitar's first pick.
"Uwooo—!"
Just the opening phrase, yet the cheers exploded like the song had ended. Fair enough, he thought. It was definitely different from before.
Indescribably more rhythmic, clearer, better. Like comparing a rookie pro guitarist to a master in their prime.
Same melody as before, though.
Same song. Same guitar. No visible effect tweaks or tone changes. So why did the rhythm, sound, tone—all of it—feel utterly transformed? Only the player had changed.
One day, if you choose just one path among countless roads,
Could I ever tell you you shouldn't have gone?
The melody faded like a sigh, Korean lyrics spilling into the silence. An unknown language, yet the emotion seeped through. Cheers for the tight, solid follow-up melody. Watching the girl bob her head and foot, singing and shredding... he thought: Totally different from before.
This felt more like an artist with session players than a band. The other instruments mere backing to highlight guitar and vocals—not true band interplay. Far from harmonious.
Yet the crowd preferred this over the original. Why?
The guitar's presence is overwhelming.
Cheers poured for the lead melody guitar. Look at that dominance—sinking every other instrument below the surface. Like a swan's unseen frantic paddling underwater...
Minutes later, silence fell. Final lyrics muttered. Then Suyeon greeted in Korean.
"Thank you."
The roar was beastly, thunderous applause crashing. She waved to each one. One fan mangled her name from earlier: "Suyon! Suyon! Suyon!"
Everyone was thrilled. Hyein watching her daughter ace it abroad. The other kids hearing Group Sound echo in a foreign land. Myeongjeon half-ass shredding like whatever. The crowd, stunned to hear this guitar caliber in a dingy outskirts live house.
No real mistakes—except the original band, suddenly sidelined protagonists, feeling glum.
Booking priority, no norma fee... What nonsense.
The live house owner handed over his card with "Call anytime." Myeongjeon shoved it in his pants pocket, eyeing the wares. Ages unknown but ancient-looking. Iseo and Seoha lounged under AC. Hyeona and Hyein buzzed around excitedly—Hyeona like a true otaku paradise, Hyein spotting old manga merch from her youth.
Nakano Broadway, was it?
Hyeona said it differed from Akihabara—more vintage Japanese manga and games. True enough: origins obscure to him, but packed with old stuff.
"Suyeon, look at this."
"Yeah?"
Idly poking around, Myeongjeon turned at Hyein's call. She held an old manga. Pure 'innocent shojo' art style.
"This is from when I was a kid. Back then, they weren't flashy—lots of white space, inked backgrounds by hand."
Hyein spoke nostalgically. "So fun. I'd pull all-nighters reading these..." Her voice misty, lavender fog.
"Don't read them now?"
"Nah, not anymore."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Lost interest, no time..."
Her face looked lonely. Memories of a gone past, irrecoverable. She knew instinctively.
"Still, grab one as a souvenir? Cheap."
As she went to shelve it, Myeongjeon suggested. Hyein hesitated, then: "Maybe I will." Basketed it. "You look around too, Suyeon. Lots of fun stuff."
"Sure."
Fun stuff for me? Myeongjeon doubted. Hyein was the age for 'nostalgic finds' here—barely, still young. Him? His relics belonged in museums or collectors' vaults. Too era-spanning for a regular shop to spark oh yeah, back in the day vibes... or so he thought.
Until spotting something familiar amid bored browsing.
"Huh?"
Myeongjeon muttered, picking up a doll. Dingy, worn. Back tag: 1,000 yen. Under 10,000 won. But from buried childhood memory... he recalled it faintly.
This... Dad got me one as a kid.
Long ago. Myeongdong or somewhere. Outing planned, but Dad bailed for business overnighter. He'd bawled—not over missing food, but rare time with always-busy Dad, canceled. Rage-crying.
Next day, Dad brought this doll. Treasured till threadbare. Lost in a move—wailing to revisit the neighborhood. That forgotten doll from memory.
"Buy it?"
He murmured unconsciously, grabbing it. 1,000 yen. Dirt cheap for memories. Price irrelevant—just a key to the past.
"You buying that?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't that total denture manga? Wiki said it's artifact-level..."
Iseo blindsided him innocently. Myeongjeon felt his face tense unwittingly.
"...Why?! Why mad? S-sorry. Chill. Yeah? You can like old manga... wait, not old? But it is old... sorry..."
Brushing off her apologies, Myeongjeon headed to the counter. No matter the years, he still wasn't fully adult, he thought.
But dentures? Too far.