Messiah on the Airwaves
“Alright! We'll take a quick break for ads. In part two, we've got a surprise guest who's going to blow your minds! Stick around, listeners. And yeah, questions are already pouring in about who it is. I won't spoil it now—let's save the fun for later. Some of you have already guessed right! Okay, ads!”
The first half of the broadcast wrapped up without a hitch. As Choi Sookyeong stepped out the door, she spotted Myeongjeon and spoke up.
“This next track's a bit long, so you can head in and set up.”
“Got it.”
With her guitar slung over her shoulder, she entered the booth. An engineer and a staffer came in to help with setup. This goes here, that to there... The pedalboard and guitar connected seamlessly. Myeongjeon gave the strings a light pluck. Not perfect, but satisfying enough.
“Now it's time to introduce today's guest. Do you all know that 2024 is the year of rock's origin? Haha, just kidding. Nothing huge happened in 2024. But it's definitely the year Korean rock gets a massive shake-up...”
Choi Sookyeong read the grandiose intro script with flair. Myeongjeon stared at her, suppressing her disbelief. It felt like just yesterday this girl was bawling her eyes out after one radio gig, whining, “Everyone in showbiz is full of empty flattery!” And now she could spout lines like that with a straight face.
“The band that's got countless rock listeners buzzing! The hot topic, Group Sound! ...Their guitarist, vocalist, and leader... Ha Suyeon on guitar!”
“Nice to meet you. I'm guitarist Ha Suyeon.”
“Oh, nice to meet you too! I'm singer Choi Sookyeong! Have you heard any of my songs?”
“Yes, a few. Like ‘Regarding What's Left.’”
“Whoa! You're the first student I've met who's heard my stuff. That's wild.”
Sookyeong bantered through the segment. Myeongjeon followed the script, responding naturally. The broadcast flowed smoothly.
“Speaking of which, Suyeon and I... how should I put it? Fellow disciples? Like in those wuxia novels. Did you know that?”
“No, I had no idea.”
“It's true, 3514! And 2456, no way it's 50 years! What do you take me for? It's not that much. The guitarist Seo Myeongjeon, who taught me, also taught Ha Suyeon here. That's why we're fellow disciples.”
Sookyeong joked around, reminiscing about her lessons from “Seo Myeongjeon.” Some parts didn't add up, others did—like how tough her early days were, what a grump the old man was, and so on.
That kid who’d cry behind my back if I said anything, then show up drunk and smoking as a minor, yelling, “Why you always gotta nag, old man?!”...
Myeongjeon could only mutter, “My master never treated me that way,” cursing her own fate. What could she do? She couldn't just claim “Seo Myeongjeon” possessed her and yell, “You lying brat Sookyeong! I'll sew that mouth shut!!”
“Finally... we can't let you leave without a live performance. One song? Or two. Three? Hmm... four? We've got a bit of time. Can you do it?”
“Yes, no problem.”
Myeongjeon glanced at the PD, who gave the okay from outside the booth. She plucked the guitar—clean sound, no issues.
“What'll be the first one?”
“If it were the whole band, we'd do a Group Sound track... but no members here, and we don't have many released originals yet. So...”
What to play? She scanned her mental playlist. After all the guitar talk earlier, something to show off skill—but not just mindless shredding.
The Messiah Will Come Again?
Without warning, she began. Not really singing—just mumbling the intro. Ignoring the baffled staff and wide-eyed Sookyeong, she let the guitar hum softly, speaking through the notes bit by bit.
After the mumbling, the guitar swelled. Notes heavy with indescribable emotion filled the studio, plunging its cheerful vibe into solemn silence. An atmosphere that made even a single stray sound feel profane.
A river looks calm on the surface, but infinite motion churns beneath. The studio echoed the same. Like a whale slumbering thousands of meters deep— the spray from its leap mere residue. Straight tones that writhed endlessly on closer listen, stirring the listener's soul.
This is...
Sookyeong recognized it: her master's occasional piece. Mumbled lyrics, guitar that gutted the heart. The “greatest white unknown blues guitarist,” Roy Buchanan's The Messiah Will Come Again.
From the neck's midpoint to the end—legato sweeping it all, a hand-killer. Yet she nailed every note, every nuance, utterly plain-faced. As if nothing happened. Like everyday street scenery after a breeze. Just like her master.
“Great first song. Whoa, listeners are flooding in. 4233, ‘Really good.’ Thanks! 2526, ‘Is that a pre-recording? Hard to believe it's live.’ Nope, right in front of me. Tons more texts—mind introducing the track?”
“This is Roy Buchanan's The Messiah Will Come Again...”
Minutes ago, she'd shredded so technically it rattled ears and tastes. Now, introducing it demurely, like it was nothing. Sookyeong swallowed hard.
Utterly ridiculous...
Acting like it was no big deal. As if saying, “This is nothing.” Or worse, “You're the weird ones for not pulling it off.” From one to ten, pure Seo Myeongjeon.
They say disciple and master grow alike. Is that it?
Sookyeong read listener stories, pondering. She'd met other “disciples”—nothing like him. But in the end, right before death... he forged one just like himself.
“Texts are overwhelming—can't read 'em all. Thanks, everyone. Reactions are wild, but we're not done. One more song, right?”
“Yes.”
Suyeon nodded. Sookyeong peeked at her script, glancing over. Those eyelashes cast long, wistful shadows.
“For the next one... introduce it first?”
“Sorry, but... no title yet.”
“Oh? So...”
“Yeah. We're working on it for our debut full-length.”
A clatter from the studio corner. Sookyeong eyed it curiously but said nothing.
“It'll probably make the album. Not fully done—lyrics just a rough draft. But I'll play the guitar parts I can.”
“Whoa, an exclusive then? First reveal on our radio!”
“Yes.”
“Huge honor. After that last one, expectations are sky-high. Let's hear it.”
Sookyeong pulled the mic away. Silence fell again, broken by Suyeon's rustling as she adjusted amp and guitar. Then the notes unfurled from her fingertips—Sookyeong got chills.
This...
Not just her—the PD monitoring outside, main writer, sub-writers, engineer. All heads turned to Suyeon.
Nothing changed: same guitar, amp, settings, even pick. Posture maybe? But the sound pouring from her hands was different.
How to describe it? More alive. Or...
Infused with emotion.
Today I board that train again
uncaring of the flowing river or the moon's distant ripple
lyrics stressing sound over meaning
Guitar, voice, footfalls—all like the river's flow
In the forest beyond delusion, somewhere
a gray cross erected over you
the silver mist isn't for you
just the voice alone
Sunghee closed her eyes. As sub-writer, she should monitor the broadcast, but who cared? This song mattered. The guitar, vocals, vibe...
It's so different.
Maybe she'd never heard it live before. Or it differed from prior songs. Excuses aplenty. But none explained her feeling.
Emotional appeal.
Sookyeong knew it now, as a mature singer—what she'd missed then. What her master, near-perfect machine, lacked. What she'd advised endlessly, only widening the rift. What kept her from his deathbed.
But his final disciple unleashed it freely. Imperfect, room to grow... but enough to grip listeners.
Is this talent?
Sookyeong shut her eyes, just listening. Rare chance to witness a butterfly's first flap—soon a storm across oceans.
Weekend. Myeongjeon and the girls gathered on the first floor of the remodeled new label building. To monitor radio buzz, and because Hyein said, “Got something about Group Sound's label to tell the kids.”
“What's up? Suyeon, that radio...”
“What?”
“It blew up.”
“That much?”
“Yeah. I'll show you soon.”
Chatting as they entered. The girls marveled, “Whoa, it's amazing now.” Myeongjeon spotted two women approaching: Suyeon's mom, Lee Hyein, and a stranger.
“You're here.”
“Yes.”
Myeongjeon and the girls bowed. Hyein returned the greeting, then raised the woman bowing 90 degrees.
“From today, our label's—especially your—marketing lead, Manager Jeong Yu-young.”
“Hi~! Jeong Yu-young here! Wow, you're all so pretty! My eyes are feasting. Even at my old agency, girls like this were rare!! President, is our band's criteria looks-based?”
“Absolutely not. Anyway, Manager Jeong came from an idol agency's marketing team.”
“Nice to work with you! Oh, maybe rude, but what's your MBTI? I'm obsessed~”
The hyper marketer unleashed words the second Hyein finished. As the others floundered in her pace, Myeongjeon stared, repulsed, from a step back. Seconds after intros, she sucked the life right out.
“Suyeon~! What's your MBTI? I'm ESFP!”
Yu-young latched on. Myeongjeon dodged: “Never done it.”
“No test? Perfect time! Marketing needs it—fans are all MBTI nuts now! Kids start small talk with it: I'm I, I'm E... Gotta adapt!”
Someone save me. Why do I suffer this?
Myeongjeon's plea went unheard. In the distance, the other three sighed relief—“I survived”—the cowardly traitors. She'd get revenge once free...