A Stranger in the Mirror
Hospital
"Ha Suyeon, are you with us?"
Myeongjeon turned his head to look at the doctor. An ordinary middle-aged man's face. A face he'd never seen before.
"Can't speak? Can't hear? Something like that?"
Unable to grasp the situation, Myeongjeon chose silence. But the medical staff seemed to interpret his silence differently.
"The tests didn't show anything major, right? No issues with language, hearing, or vision?"
"No, everything checked out fine."
"Then why..."
The doctor, who had stepped away briefly to confer with the nurse, returned and examined his body from various angles.
"No problems... Ha Suyeon, can you hear me?"
"...Who the hell is Ha Suyeon?"
The doctor, who had been leaning in close to do something, pulled back at those words and stared at Myeongjeon with puzzled eyes.
"Who is Ha Suyeon...? You, that's who. You're Ha Suyeon... Don't you remember?"
"Ha Suyeon... That's my name?"
Myeongjeon echoed the words. Ha Suyeon, Ha Suyeon. The name didn't ring any bells in his memory. Not family, not friends, not acquaintances. He hadn't even used that name on music community sites like Mule—he'd always gone by a nickname.
And yet, they were saying Ha Suyeon was his name. What the hell were they talking about?
Myeongjeon and the doctor eyed each other with mutual bewilderment. Then, as if suddenly snapping to attention, Myeongjeon glanced down at his hands, his chest, and began frantically patting his upper body in panic.
"M-mirror!"
"Pardon?"
"Mirror! Gimme a mirror!"
His expression shifted with each insistent demand, until suddenly he was begging for a mirror. The nurse handed him one, and he peered into it.
The face staring back was nothing like the one Myeongjeon expected. Pale skin, slightly upturned eyes. Sunken from her long hospital stay, but it gave off a decadent allure rather than frailty... the face of a girl. The kind you'd spot on the street and think, That kid's gonna be an idol someday.
The problem was, that face had no business appearing in this situation—when Myeongjeon looked into the mirror expecting his reflection.
"No memories at all?"
"Yeah. Nothing comes to mind."
This was a lie. Myeongjeon remembered not only his life as Seo Myeongjeon, but also the life of this student, Ha Suyeon. Or rather, the memories had surfaced.
Ha Suyeon. Currently 16 years old, first-year high schooler. Tall for a girl, pretty face. Outgoing personality, lots of friends. Hobbies: scrolling Twitter, Instagram, TikTok; hunting for fashion info.
Digging deeper into the memories, at school... she was one of the popular ones. A so-called delinquent. Decent grades, no outright rebellion against teachers, but she hung with a crew, picking fights with other kids or bullying the easy targets. Smoked and drank a bit too. And the reason she was lying here in the hospital...
As Myeongjeon sifted through the memories, he felt utterly absurd. Three friends splitting three bottles of soju late at night, then racing down the road on shared kickboards—until one hit a curb and went flying. Her two friends got broken limbs; Ha Suyeon ended up a vegetable.
...People reap what they sow, sure. But was this worth dying over?
Myeongjeon wasn't big on the internet, but he knew what young folks called incidents like this: natural causes.
Mourning the ridiculous accident, Myeongjeon reflected. Someone like me, who's lived a full life already, possessing this body... It would've been better if she'd lived.
Myeongjeon had no purpose in life anymore. Or rather, he'd lost it. He knew all too well how agonizing unfulfilled dreams could be.
Of course, Ha Suyeon hadn't had much purpose either... but she'd gone beyond that, racking up delinquencies (though Myeongjeon himself could've given lessons in debauchery) until she crashed and died alone.
If they were both purposeless, shouldn't the younger one get more time?
But handing the body back wasn't an option. Hell, the fact that this straight-out-of-a-movie-or-novel scenario had happened to him was unbelievable to begin with.
As Myeongjeon sank into thought, the doctor—who'd been jotting something on the chart—whispered to the nurse and slipped out of the room alone.
"Hey, nurse lady..."
"...Yes?"
Noticing her, Myeongjeon blurted out the old-man term without thinking. The nurse shot him a baffled look, like What did she just say??
"...I mean, Nurse."
"Yes?"
"Uh, what day is it today?"
She checked her phone. "October 14th."
October 14th. He'd gone in for that CCM session recording on September 15th... so about a month had passed. His funeral would've been done by now, and that stubborn landlady would've cleared out his place.
Abandoned by family, friends, siblings—dying alone with just his guitar. What a hollow, pointless life.
As he stared blankly ahead, the nurse said, "When your guardian arrives, I'll bring them in. Until then, if you need anything, press this button," before leaving.
Guardian. That'd be the girl's parents. What should he say to them?
Myeongjeon's own parents had passed long ago, so no reference points there. Hell, before parents—what kind of life should he live now?
He had no clue. Would this even last? Maybe a dream. Or even if real, the owner might wake up and take over. Was that even possible? The whole situation defied logic anyway.
But his gut said Ha Suyeon was gone, and he'd have to live on as her. So, how?
Like before, obsessed with guitar? Chasing that one unfulfilled dream of recognition through his music, despite all he'd achieved, never satisfied.
If he'd been some young rockstar who died in his twenties with untapped golden talent... maybe. Jimmy Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain—those guys who burned out before blooming, like a moon trapped before rising... he might've thought that.
But he was too old for such notions. He'd lived it all: the prodigy who masters teaching in a flash; the arrogant genius who nails any new song on sight; the ascetic endlessly training, never content; the prodigal chasing hedonism after dropping it all; even the repentant life of picking up the guitar in regret after it all.
He'd tried everything. Hit his unbreakable limits. Lamented them. Learned no tears or screams could pierce them. Finally, painfully severed his attachments to it all.
That feeble man was Seo Myeongjeon.
And at the end of that life, this happens...
He already knew effort was futile. Would this body be different? This life? Another lifetime of the same grind—would it change anything?
No. He knew it wouldn't.
So, quit that life. No more chasing success. Just live ordinarily. A woman's life instead of a man's? Fine by him. Better than repeating the old one.
Myeongjeon tried to shelve thoughts of the future.
But one nagging thought poked through: Can I separate guitar from my life?
He hadn't touched guitar just for success. Sure, there were times chasing recognition. But go further back—to school, jamming for peers, earning the title "best guitarist in the world" and strutting.
Further: begging parents for his first guitar. Plucking strings at home for the sheer fun. Listening to his brother's blues and rock, wondering what's that sound?
From then on, guitar had been with him. More than family, friends... even sleep. Far longer than anything.
Could he detach it now? Live without guitar's chains? Without music's grip?
...So, make music. Not for greatness, praise, acclaim.
Go back further. To when he just loved it. Childhood, when guitar was pure joy. No weight on his shoulders, no pressure.
Just that time.
Yeah. That sounds good.