Long-Term Goals
The long-term goals took shape as color bloomed on the once emotionless drums. The difference wasn't huge. To anyone else, it might just sound a touch different. But like the flutter of a butterfly's wings summoning a typhoon, that small change sparked even greater ones.
The result was dramatic. The deathly silence, as if they were at a classical concert, was gone. The drums now rang richer. The rhythm surged like waves. The atmosphere was worlds apart from practice sessions. Every drumbeat carried sorrow and loneliness, despair and rage, cheers and joy. Complex, varied emotions filled it all—though the occasional erratic burst betrayed her inexperience, it was more than enough.
The bandmates, puzzled by the transformed sound, began to infuse their own feelings bit by bit. The outcome was undeniable. It wasn't your typical CCM vibe, but it was plenty to get people on their feet. No one told them to—spontaneously, folks stood and sang along. Suyeon played just enough to highlight the drums, scanning the crowd in the hallway.
She gets it now. Myeongjeon murmured to herself inwardly. Seoha had the talent; she'd expected as much. She hadn't anticipated the personal grief sparking the realization, but getting emotions into her playing was a win regardless. In his past life, he hadn't been able to do it. Only after becoming "Ha Suyeon" did he learn. The old "Seo Myeongjeon" had never truly played from the heart. Instead, he'd relied on ruthless calculation: If I quiver the guitar like this at that timing a few times, people will hear it this way... Fake emotion forged from flawless technique.
Only in this body had Myeongjeon discovered how to pour in real feeling. But teaching it? Impossible. And he had no desire to. It'd rob them of their growth opportunity. No walls, no growth. But walls too sturdy can't be breached. To Myeongjeon, this one was just right for Seoha—perfectly timed, even motivational. Sure, the CCM theme chafed as a nonbeliever, but whatever. Mastering playing that moved hearts was victory enough. Seoha would keep evolving.
"Honey."
Pastor Yoon turned at his wife's voice. Her face held an indescribable subtlety, ill-suited to her usual resolute demeanor.
"What."
"You saw Seoha's playing, right?"
He nodded. It had been years since he'd seen his daughter on drums, and she was unrecognizable. No more the girl fiddling with sticks, smirking as she tapped the snare. That Seoha was gone. Now she poured out every emotion, pounding the drums, making people rise and sway at will. Stunned by this new daughter, Pastor Yoon and his wife had been speechless.
"Yeah."
"...Did we get it wrong?"
Her voice trembled oddly. What did she mean? He stared at the ceiling. Nothing special there—just the usual ceiling.
"Dunno."
Unable to say more, Pastor Yoon left it at that. Another day slipped away.
After Hyeona's entrance exams ended, Iseo got a message from Suyeon: Important stuff to discuss—get to the practice room tonight, no excuses. How crucial was it that skipping wasn't allowed? And no need for instruments? Not practice, then. What could it be...?
"You made it?"
Seoha was already there when Iseo arrived, perched on the drum stool in some flashy fleece she'd scrounged up, fussing with her hair. She greeted Iseo casually.
"Yeah. What's up, unnie? You seem happy."
Bright tone, cheerful voice—Iseo blurted it out. Seoha replied, "Nah, nothing special." But she sure looked it.
She seems in a good mood...
"Wanna practice? Bass with you?"
"Suyeon said no need to bring it."
"Too bad." Seoha muttered, then started drumming. Iseo knew the tune instantly—overplayed in jams, burned into her brain.
The sound's... different? Iseo thought. Seoha always played razor-sharp, proud of it. She'd even said, "Hit it a hundred times, it should sound identical every time." But this was fuller, livelier... She couldn't pinpoint why, but the feel was distinctly changed.
Some kind of epiphany? Iseo recalled her new obsession: webnovels. In those male-oriented ones, protagonists swung a sword a few times yelling "Argh, I get it!" then powered up, slaughtering foes. Had Seoha hit her own "awakening"?
Iseo shook her head. Too many webnovels. Thoughts like some old geezer possessing Suyeon to play guitar? Ridiculous nonsense that'd never help in life. Best not to entertain it.
"H-hello..."
"Hyeona! Long time no see~"
Hyeona shuffled in. Iseo tackled her in a hug; Hyeona wheezed, "C-can't... breathe..." Playful Iseo yelled, "Muahaha, death by smother~!" and squeezed harder. Then she noticed the door ajar. Suyeon stood outside, eyeing her with 2500% contempt and pity, before slamming it shut.
Silence fell, broken by footsteps descending the stairs thud-thud. After chasing Suyeon down and dragging her back (Suyeon grumbled something about "grown girls shouldn't tease like that"—who was teasing whom?), Suyeon brewed four coffees and slapped dozens of sheets on the table.
"What's this?"
"Important."
Suyeon muttered, flipping open her leather diary. Iseo peeked and gawked. Stark, unadorned—not a doodle or sticker. Just archaic brush-pen script.
A high school girl's diary...? No way.
Suyeon eyed it a moment, then spoke. "First off, great job holding down the fort, Hyeona. Seoha, you don't sweat career stuff much. Iseo, same for you on the future plans. So now we can map out long-term goals and execute."
"Long-term goals?"
"Yeah." Suyeon handed out a sheet from the pile.
[Group Sound Full-Length Album 1 Plan]
"Full album?" Iseo echoed. Then: "W-we're... putting out an album?" "Already?"
Full-length meant at least eight tracks, from what Iseo recalled.
"It's a plan, not dropping it tomorrow. No songs yet—how could we?"
"Don't we have the EP stuff? And whatever came after?"
"Sure, but I don't wanna use 'em."
Suyeon crossed her arms. Iseo was lost. Why not?
"Pink Floyd's peak? Opinions vary, but I say The Dark Side of the Moon. The Wall's a masterpiece too, but too one-note."
Suyeon explained on. The difference? Member involvement. All hands on deck for Dark Side; just Waters and Gilmour for The Wall.
"No method's superior—music has no 'right' way. But for a band's health, everyone's gotta produce."
"You mean..."
"Yep. This album gets your songs too. At least three each. Twelve to fifteen tracks total."
Hyeona spoke; Suyeon confirmed. Way over the eight-track minimum. Why so many?
"And the final goal for this full-length... solo concert."
Suyeon passed another sheet: venue specs, ~2500 seats near Hongdae.
Target Venue: ~2500 Seats (Hongdae Area)
"With this album and promo... we sell it out. That's my long-term goal."
The others stirred uneasily. Myeongjeon gave a wry smile. Fair enough. Excluding Hyeona's jazz collab with Juhyeon, none had composed before. No interest either—just Iseo on lyrics. But Myeongjeon believed bands needed all members composing. Band health aside, it was obvious.
Four heads beat one, mathematically. If he were a Roger Waters, Robert Fripp, Bowie, or McCartney—history-making genius—solo might work. But then why band? Could just be "Ha Suyeon and the Scrubs" or "and Sessions." Plus, those geniuses leaned on bandmates too.
"Uh, well."
Seoha broke the silence, face flustered. Her post-CCM grin had faded at the news.
"Composing? Fine. I can do it—heck, hand it over. Been bored anyway. But..." She tapped the crowd number: 2500 seats. Myeongjeon got it.
"Selling out 2500? Totally different league. How many Korean rock bands do that? Top ten? Especially indie holdouts like us."
Logical pushback. Iseo looked ready to chime in, but Myeongjeon agreed—it had merit. Top indie acts took 3-5 years for 1000+ solos after live-house grinding; 200+ crowds were tough. Group Sound had 100+ shows, but to outsiders, it was sheer luck—miracle alignment. Myeongjeon shook his head. Outsiders' view. He had faith. In selling out 2500.
Because...
"So we'll go aggressive."
"Aggressive how?"
"Our buzz is fans rooting for indie success. Why'd a band pulling <100 live sell 4000 albums?"
Streaming ruled—Melon, Spotify, YouTube Music. Group Sound streamed too. Yet folks bought physical. Meaning? They didn't need to, but did—for support.
"We gotta surpass that. Repay their cheers by breaking out of indie."
"Huh?"
Blank faces. Myeongjeon dropped the hammer. Kids might balk, but.
"Right. Time to adopt commercial tactics."