No Miracles in Three Weeks
Sudden. “Why… why is it too much?”
“What do you mean too much? Are you serious?”
Seoha’s voice was thick with bewilderment. But Myeongjeon fired back instead. Was she serious? Did she really think it could work?
“In the end, what you don’t like about Seoha right now is their ‘technique,’ right? But technical skills don’t improve quickly. The reason our band leveled up so fast from the start was because we all had talent.”
After hearing their performance earlier, Myeongjeon had already concluded it’d be impossible in just three weeks. Not just because of their skill level, but… the band’s vibe itself was different.
“Still…”
“No still about it. If it won’t work, it won’t work.”
Seoha’s voice lingered with reluctance to let go. Myeongjeon let out a deep sigh and opened her mouth.
“You said it yourself. They’ve been playing for years and that’s their level. That’s because they decided ‘this is good enough.’ It’s not that they stopped growing—they just don’t feel the need to. Their style of playing is like that. Not like us, grinding away at ‘let’s polish our technique! Let’s make great music!’—they’re a ‘fun playing’ band.”
The bands in the ‘Hongdae indie scene’ that Seoha had experienced. Even Group Sound itself, without going far… they were the type that agonized fiercely, competed, and strove for slightly better performances and slightly better music.
But the band they’d just heard was different. Their goal wasn’t competition, performance, or music—it was ‘faith.’ They were starting from a completely different line entirely.
“Applying our standards to people like that. Sure, give it a shot. But to even approach our level, they’d need extreme practice, relentless effort, a mindset that breaks limits. Do they even have that? Or before that—”
Myeongjeon propped her chin on her hands and posed the question to Seoha.
“Do they have any reason to?”
No one picks up an instrument thinking from the start, “I’ll be happy just knowing the basics.” Take guitarists, for example—everyone dreams of Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, John Mayer. But out of a hundred like that, only ten stick it out after a year, and just one after ten years. That’s reality.
Not everyone forsakes food and sleep to master the guitar. Everyone has their ‘adequate level,’ and once they reach it, there’s no need to grow further.
But you can’t look down on someone for stopping growth or not growing. Music can’t be strictly ranked like that, after all.
Seoha fell silent at Myeongjeon’s words. Her lips pressed tight, staring down at the table. The café’s yellow light glinted faintly at the corner of her eye.
Myeongjeon watched her quietly. That wavering shimmer faded after a few blinks.
“Their skills are, well, a bit lacking technically. But I think if they just tweak the tech parts a little and keep going like this, they’ll do fine…”
“Doesn’t matter. We do it anyway.”
“Huh?”
Cutting Myeongjeon off, Seoha snapped her head up. An absurd line spilling from her mouth. Myeongjeon listened with her own mouth slightly agape.
“Right? We have to, even if we don’t need to. If you’re getting on stage, performing… giving your all is just obvious. Like you said.”
“…Didn’t I just say? Those people…”
“Push them hard, and they’ll improve. Right? Anyway, I want this concert to go perfectly—no, so amazingly that even our parents are blown away.”
What the hell is she saying? Myeongjeon stared at Seoha, wondering if she truly meant it.
It wasn’t just lip service. Her face looked desperate. The hand on the table trembled faintly. Lips bitten lightly as if she couldn’t back down, eyes shaking yet holding a resolute gaze.
Seeing that expression, Myeongjeon leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.
Thinking about it, it makes sense.
It wasn’t a complete severance between parent and child. They’d see each other again someday. But meeting just a couple times a year—how could anyone call that a normal parent-child relationship?
Of course she wanted to show her parents something. Look how much I’ve grown. Praise me. Acknowledge me. Everyone has that desire.
Myeongjeon had too. She recalled the old days. Even after running away from home to play guitar, she’d poured everything into earning her parents’ recognition.
She didn’t know the details, but Seoha probably felt the same.
“Fine, whatever.”
“No matter what… Huh?”
No helping it. Myeongjeon snorted softly through her nose and said it.
Seoha, who’d been about to say something, cut herself off abruptly.
“Let’s meet them first. Even if we say we’ll do it, if they go ‘no time, pass’—it’s pointless.”
Seoha’s face brightened at those words.
“Let’s talk it over. A bandmate’s asking for the first time ever—refusing wouldn’t be polite, right?”
Myeongjeon wrapped it up like that.
“Seoha?”
A little later. Myeongjeon carved out time to meet Yujin and the band members at a café alone. Bringing Seoha would backfire, so she’d come solo, but the bandmates asked for Seoha the moment they saw her.
“Things seemed tense back then. If you fight again, it won’t go anywhere, so I didn’t bring her.”
“…Yeah. Fair point. Ha… no, it’s not exactly fighting, um… yeah.”
Yujin struggled to get the words out. Myeongjeon waited patiently.
“First off, Seoha’s not a bad kid.”
“Pardon?”
The out-of-left-field comment short-circuited Myeongjeon’s brain for a second. Why tell her this? Wasn’t it just the two of you yelling at each other? So why bring up ‘she’s not bad’ now?
“You said she was your band leader. Must be tough on your side too. How’s it going?”
“No issues on our end.”
“Really? Wow, traitor.”
Muttering that, Yujin looked back at Myeongjeon. Her composed gaze hinted at the emotions underneath.
“She’s always been a really sweet kid. Deep faith too… though she doesn’t show up much lately. You heard about Pastor Yoo? Seoha’s parents.”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Ever since Pastor Yoo stepped down, she’s sweet normally but… gets weird about music. Turns aggressive? Something like that.”
Yujin took a sip of coffee and gazed into the distance. Eyes distant, like reminiscing on the past.
“So, what happened to make you fight?”
Seeming to want Myeongjeon to ask, she sighed inwardly and prodded.
Yujin answered as if she’d been waiting.
“A while back, Seoha said Pastor Yoo was coming to Seoul, so let’s nail this concert. We were fine with that—let’s give it our all. But…”
Yujin recalled that time. Seoha pushing them to do it right. But no matter how hard they tried, Seoha demanded more.
They were a band that wanted to sing faith while having fun, but Seoha didn’t want that.
“Didn’t meet her standards, I guess. We’re a CCM band, so we gotta put some faith into it. Approach it with prayer. But Seoha was more like… anyway, she snapped.”
Even comparing us straight-up to your band… it hurt, but Yujin smiled.
Only then did Myeongjeon understand Yujin and the others’ behavior. Circumstances being what they were, no choice.
“Seoha’s really talented at music. She’s gotten even better in your band. We can’t keep up. Led to emotional clashes. I know we shouldn’t, but hearts aren’t that easy to control. That’s how it happened.”
Yujin finished there.
Yujin and the bandmates readily agreed to ramp up practice. Rehearsals jumped from twice a week for four hours to four times for ten hours. They even set more serious goals.
Even Seoha could see their skills improving.
Problems? Just two. First, by her standards, their baseline was so low the gains weren’t obvious. Second, her ideals were sky-high.
“Stop.”
At Suyeon’s word, the band halted. If this were Group Sound, someone would sigh and snap, “If you wanna quit, say it—don’t half-ass the playing.” But.
“You’re doing well. Really well… but there’s something off. Drums aren’t syncing overall. Drums are spot-on rhythm, so follow that. And now, uh…”
Suyeon gave gentle feedback, her usual sharp edge dulled. Seoha hated it.
“Well? What’s well?”
A quiet mutter so others wouldn’t hear. But Suyeon caught it, turning to shoot her a glare.
“Anyway, let’s keep practicing. You’re improving bit by bit. Totally different from the start. You can do great. Break for now…”
Bass and keys bolted up at that. Yujin latched onto Suyeon for chat. Seoha watched a moment, went to drum, then set the sticks down.
No time for this.
Anxiety churning inside, Seoha couldn’t sit still and stood. The church sky outside was pitch-black—you had to squint for stars. Like peering at her future.
A while back, Seoha had called her parents, who were visiting Seoul after ages. She’d asked, “Mom, I’ve got a CCM gig—see you then?” Expecting an obvious yes.
But the reply was negative.
“Still doing music?”
“…Pardon?”
“How long you gonna keep that up? You barely go to church. Fun’s fine, but faith comes first, honey. How’s school?”
Seoha struggled to respond. Finally squeezing out “…Yeah,” her mom said, “Good. Eat well. Praying for you always. Gotta go.”
They’d told her to drum, urged the CCM band. She’d followed, dove into music. Kept appealing: “Thinking music for my career.”
Was it all for nothing?
That’s when she started pushing her friends, forcing the impossible. Group Sound? They wouldn’t listen—so CCM it was. Show ‘proper music,’ move parents, earn recognition.
That’s why she dragged Suyeon in.
But now, time was really short.
Her friends were good people. Seoha knew. But good people don’t make good music.
Her friends kept yelling “Let’s have fun, have fun!”—never thinking of proper playing, just jamming however.
No way that earns recognition.
At least, that’s what Seoha thought. They stuck to bare basics, playing loosely to rhythm or mood. Suyeon, uncharacteristically soft, said vague stuff like “Good playing. Let’s add more feel.” But Seoha couldn’t accept that shallow, luck-based performance lacking technique…
“What’re you doing? Break’s over.”
Suyeon’s voice from behind. Seoha turned. Suyeon holding her usual canned coffee, watching her.
“C’mon, back in. Not much time left.”
“…Can we pull it off?”
“Huh?”
Seoha blurted it impulsively. Suyeon looked confused.
“Do what?”
“The concert. Can we do it well?”
“Of course. Even if we went up now, no problems…”
Suyeon’s answer was shocking. To Seoha, their playing was so lacking, yet Suyeon said that. What did she mean? How was that enough?
“We haven’t improved at all? Rhythm’s still off subtly. Playing’s straight from basic sheet music. Keeps veering mid-way.”
“That’s not veering, more like… hm.”
Suyeon scratched her head, then replied.
“Technique’s obviously hard to boost short-term. Ten hours a week, but with setup, breaks, tweaks—it falls short. Mismatching you’s natural.”
“Then…!”
“But there’s a way.”
Suyeon said it flatly. What way? What method?
“What way?”
“You match them.”