A Salaryman's Captivation
He was an ordinary office worker on YouTube. The only special thing about him was living near Hongdae. Today, like always, his boss had crushed his spirit, and he just wanted to get home, get drunk on beer, and crash. This time of night in Hongdae was a familiar sight to him. Crowds gathered around buskers desperately trying to catch just one glance from passersby. What drove them to such desperation? Was it really that thrilling to have someone watch? He couldn't fathom it.
Lost in thoughtless steps, he paused at a spot where people clustered annoyingly thick. Why the huge crowd? Was it a magician? A famous dance crew? No endless chatter explaining tricks, so probably not. Curiosity tugged him toward the group watching the busking. Parting the unusually hushed crowd, he spotted a high school girl playing guitar. No tie, sleeves rolled up on her shirt, pants hiked a bit high. Long hair gently cascaded over her forehead. Her blank expression screamed total focus on the performance.
He didn't recognize the song. An unfamiliar rhythm and lyrics he'd never heard. The short guitar solo carried a faintly melancholic vibe. Never heard country before, but was this it? And at her age? As a third solo hooked him with its addictive tone, the song wrapped up. Not mind-blowingly special—no earth-shattering revelation. It was a genre alien to him anyway. But oddly, he suddenly wanted to search it up and listen again at home. Shame he hadn't recorded from the start.
"That was All Your Love by John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers. Thank you."
As applause faded, the girl quietly named the track. He missed the artist, but got the title: All Your Love. He opened KakaoTalk to memo it, but the next song began. And he forgot all about noting it down.
A dreamy synth sound from the speaker. Like an echo faintly resounding from peaks beyond distant mountains. Or maybe the sound of something sunk in an emerald sea eons ago. But it didn't linger. Cymbals and synth swelled together, building tension. Then the guitar. Clean tone, not flashy—just ringing out. Sometimes piercing refreshingly through his ears, other times thudding earthbound. Never flat. It rose and fell, shook and returned. The flow never broke, winding like a river.
He closed his eyes. Just sitting on the street, sound leaking from a 12-inch cabinet speaker. But in that moment, it felt like a massive concert hall. The guitar's tone exuded vastness. Alone center stage, skin absorbing echoing waves. A private concert just for her. The sound grew fiercer toward the end. Drums kicked in, melody diversifying, intensifying. He wondered about the guitarist's face. What expression? Admiring her own talent? Lost in the music? But the girl played on, face emotionless, guitar her sole focus. Like it was mere labor to her. A carpenter hammering nails—resolute, steadfast.
Finally, the close. The guitar, having poured everything out, lingered on its final note. Sparse applause. Not perfunctory—the raw intensity had left no room for more.
"Thank you."
Myeongjeon checked her guitar. Aggressive tremolo arm use often knocked tuning off-kilter. Sure enough, a slight drift; she tweaked it. Twenty minutes left in the slot, but no reason to drag it out. She bowed to the crowd. Applause rippled again. Some left saying it was fun; others approached for autographs.
"Is our Suyeon a genius? Hasn't it only been a little while since you started guitar?"
Amid it, a voice—her 'mom's.' She answered with a faint smile instead. No good reply to such a question; better to brush it off.
"Guess I have some talent."
"Even I can see it. What now? If Suyeon becomes a rock star, should Mom quit her job and support you full-time?"
No such future awaited. Becoming a rock star in Korea wasn't easy. But Myeongjeon had the tact not to crush those dreams. Voicing it would make her what—declaring she'd leech off her parents? Sure, different from those who boast about it while doing so. But still.
"Mind helping pack up?"
"Yeah, sure. Let's do it together."
After shooing the crowd, Myeongjeon packed with Lee Hyein. Camera for YouTube recording, cabinet speaker, amp, power bank, effects, laptop, guitar—two cartloads of gear.
This is the kind of load you can't move without help.
In her past life, she'd haul busking gear solo to the car. Now? No license, no bike. Taxi? Too much bulk. Rental amps were an option—no help needed. She'd tried that second busking. Audience didn't notice the difference, but to her, output to tone was utterly unsatisfying. So she had to ask 'Mom.'
'Mom' cheerfully hauled it with lines like, "My daughter's show? Awesome~" But it grated on Myeongjeon.
Getting old and begging for help... from a kid half my age. Great job, Myeongjeon.
Never mind she'd recently conned millions from that 'kid'—whether as Seo Myeongjeon or Kim Myeongjeon. Anyway, that's how she felt.
If asked what tormented Myeongjeon most right now—war, climate change, declining teacher authority, school violence, economic slump? She cared about society (reading daily news) and engaged actively (fighting in comments). Self-proclaimed intellectual.
But the real torment? Regrettably un-intellectual: something trivial, personal.
Why the hell is this happening?
The first video of her had blown past 2 million views. Buzz about a new rock star emerging. Not a massive internet storm, but views were sky-high.
The second fared the same. Filmed unbeknownst to her. Already over 400k views, flagged as popular.
But...
Why is my channel like this? Myeongjeon couldn't comprehend it. Sure, those channels had tons of subs, hers had squat. But wasn't hers the original?
Plus, she'd put real effort into editing. Tags for discoverability. Big text overlays. Song names everywhere. Pretty rainbow colors.
And still, crickets. Sure, low views didn't devastate her. Busking goals: YouTube content fodder, session PR. If others' channels spread it wide, goal two was met anyway. She saw her clips floating on Mule or Cuonet—real-time recognition rising.
Still soured her mood.
Shouldn't people watch the original?
She considered complaint emails but dropped it. No way they'd take it down. It promoted 'Ha Suyeon' regardless. Once her channel grew, she'd force removals. For now, back to her stagnant channel.
Suddenly, school kids' advice echoed. Her thumbnails: clear text with song, venue, time. If that flopped...
Opposite tack: Dain's idea. Suyeon's face mid-riff, clickbait title. Bait with her feminine looks, sell the content.
Don't wanna go that far...
Myeongjeon scratched her head.
Use Suyeon's looks? Views would soar. But born a man... well, not now, but still. No desire. Low views? Live with it. Not that big a deal.