A Bitter Pill of Praise
The provocative track: Why Did It Turn Out Like This.
It wasn't because Lee Hyun-chul had written the song himself that he evaluated it so highly. Why Did It Turn Out Like This was, both objectively and in Hyun-chul's own eyes, a remarkably difficult song. This was because it was a song into which he had poured every ounce of his ability during his prime as a guitarist. He had mobilized every technique he knew at the time, even throwing in some of his own signature tricks. At the same time, he had composed it so that one had to capture the "feeling" in their own way for the song to truly come alive. In other words, it was a piece where merely "playing well" would only yield a clumsy imitation.
Could a kid like her actually play this?
Hyun-chul still played the guitar, but... his heart was no longer in rock. It had been a long time since his identity as "President Lee," a self-employed business owner trying to make a living, had eclipsed "Lee Hyun-chul," the romantic guitarist. Thus, although he surprisingly knew a lot about rock, he never for a second believed a young girl like her could play his song properly. A deep-rooted prejudice had taken hold of him.
“Whoa...”
But the young lady before his eyes was completely shattering all of Hyun-chul's assumptions and prejudices. The sound flowing from the worn black Stratocaster was so clean that he wondered if even his past self, back in his absolute prime, could have played it that way. The rhythm and tempo made him think, Why didn't I try playing it like that? Her touch, her feeling... in every single aspect, she far surpassed the brilliant Lee Hyun-chul of those glorious days.
Seeing this, Hyun-chul briefly reminisced about the past. Decades ago, when both he and the girl's master were in the flower of their youth.
"Hey, I told you, you can't play the guitar like that."
"But I'm playing it fine. Why are you nagging me?"
"You call that fine?"
He had left home, determined to make a living through music. But with no idea how to start his career, he had been anxiously drifting until he landed a gig playing guitar at a certain club. Suh Myung-jun, who had come as a session player for a singer, had taught him how to play without even being asked. He corrected the bad habits Hyun-chul had picked up from being self-taught, built his foundation from the ground up, helped him find other jobs, and even let him sleep over when he had nowhere else to go. He was certainly a man worthy of being called a master.
Hyun-chul, though he never said it aloud, had lived his life considering him his master.
Though it was pretty absurd that he stiffed me on my pay a few years after that...
Whether back then or when they briefly crossed paths before his death, Myung-jun had always been a god-tier guitarist. Now that he had quit the guitar—and even back when he was still playing—Hyun-chul had never believed, though he kept it to himself, that he could ever surpass Myung-jun, no matter how hard he tried.
What sent shivers down his spine was that the girl standing before him was far surpassing that very same Suh Myung-jun—a man who had looked as though he were born solely to play the guitar. And not just by a hair, but by a landslide.
“She really... she really plays well.”
Hyun-chul, who had been frozen in place, stammered out the words. He wanted to praise her, but he simply didn't know what to say.
PD Im Jong-hun, sitting beside him, chuckled and spoke up. “Everyone has that exact reaction.”
“Everyone?”
“During the previous shoots, they all started with a 'let's see how good she really is' attitude. But once the performance ended, they'd all look a bit dazed and say she's amazing, or that they didn't even know what to say.”
As Im Jong-hun bantered, Ha Suyun casually packed up her guitar as if it were no big deal.
Hyun-chul fell silent for a moment, choosing his words, before speaking in a calm, measured tone. “When they first contacted me, they said I'd be filming with the greatest guitarist of the current generation in Korea. I thought the broadcast people were just exaggerating, but it wasn't an exaggeration at all.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate to keep comparing guitar skills, but even if Senior Suh came back to life, I don't think he could play like this.”
“Is she really that good?”
Hyun-chul nodded at the PD's question. But at those words, Suyun's expression stiffened slightly.
Hyun-chul wondered why, then suddenly remembered a certain fact.
Come to think of it, being told she's much better than her master might not be very pleasant... She seems to respect Senior Suh quite a bit.
But Hyun-chul believed he had to tell her the truth. After all, a master's teachings are only truly complete when the disciple surpasses them. Only by accepting that the towering master was actually just a humble old man can one take the next step forward.
“I hate to keep bringing up the deceased, but honestly, Senior Suh's playing was only technically superior. Other than that, it wasn't anything special.”
Therefore, Hyun-chul decided to administer some shock therapy. He wouldn't see this kid again anyway. Even if it left a bad impression, if it helped a junior grow, wasn't that the right thing to do?
“Senior Suh was a good guitarist, but he wasn't a great guitarist. A great guitarist must have the ability to create 'their own unique sound.' But Senior Suh lacked that. He was good at playing, but...”
Technically, he was a guitarist for the history books. Yet, there was a reason his name only ever circulated among fellow musicians.
“Being good at the guitar has a complex meaning. There's simply playing well, and then there's creating your own identity. In that sense, Senior Suh was only half a guitarist.”
“Then, does that mean Miss Suyun is not just a half...”
The PD asked excitedly, as if it were his own achievement.
Hyun-chul nodded at the PD and continued. “I believe a guitarist who can't create their own sound can never be great. In that regard, Senior Suh could never be great, but Miss Suyun can. At least, that's how it sounds to me. You might respect Senior Suh, but he's already gone, and honestly, he was far inferior to you. Don't think of him as an insurmountable wall, or that you're still not on his level. You get what I mean, right?”
“...I understand.”
“Yes. Don't take it too hard. How good could an old man really be at the guitar? Just think, 'I'm better than him now!' Take pride in your skills. That is the true attitude of a musician.”
“...Th-thank you...”
Was her slightly strained response due to regret and sorrow for her master? Hyun-chul felt his eyes welling up for some reason.
To think you left behind such a wonderful disciple... Your unfortunate life ended in a blessing after all, Senior Suh. May you rest in peace.
The report card for the first episode of In Search of Korean Rock showed a viewership rating of 6.8%. For a program with no sensational elements, only quiet content, and dealing with the faded culture of rock, it was an incredibly high figure. And due to the broadcast, the remaining internet trolls who claimed the "Ha Suyun bubble" theory finally faced total extinction. There was simply nothing left to say.
In Search of Korean Rock... was certainly not made to praise a specific person. It was merely a program created with the intention of riding the wave of the reviving Korean rock scene, securing some ad revenue, and making a quick buck. However, the final product ended up glorifying the guitarist Ha Suyun in a strange way. It felt as though it traced the history of Korean rock, only to show that its essence now flowed into Ha Suyun... that the future of Korean rock lay with her.
In that manner, the status of Ha Suyun and Group Sound continued to soar. Just as Label Echo Sound had planned. No, even more. Crossing the seas, and even beyond...
“That's it for today.”
“Ughhh...”
The moment Suyun's words fell, Iseor immediately grabbed her hands and forearms, frantically massaging them. As Seoha stretched her wrists, Hyun-ah spoke up.
“We're... finishing early today...?”
“Hey! Don't say that, she'll...”
“She'll what?”
Seoha had frantically cut Hyun-ah off, believing the dismissal would be revoked. Suyun stared at Seoha with an absurd expression. What on earth was her image like that they were reacting this way now?
“The reason we're finishing early isn't because your skills have improved so much that you don't need practice...”
“Really?”
“...is not the ridiculous reason. How could that be? Even the Beatles probably practiced before their concerts. I didn't end it for some nonsense like that.”
Giving Iseor a pathetic look for actually believing that "nonsense reason," Suyun continued. The real reason they finished early was...
“We're ready! Let's go!”
The one who opened the practice room door and walked in was Team Leader Jung Yuyoung.
“Go where?” At Iseor's question, Suyun answered instead of Yuyoung.
“We're going to the gymnastics arena today. For the concert.”
The empty gymnastics arena... KSPO DOME.
While Iseor and Hyun-ah wandered around, saying, “I've never been to a venue this big,” and “Me neither,” Seoha and Suyun watched the people talking near the stage. The concert production company and Label Echo Sound staff.
“It's really huge.”
“It is.”
Suyun had been to much larger venues in her past life—some as an audience member, some as staff. Compared to stadium-type venues that could hold tens of thousands, the space of the KSPO DOME was relatively small. But back then, the size of the venue didn't matter to her. How many people filled the seats was none of her business as a session player, and she had no reason to care.
But now, Suyun had the responsibility of filling this entire space with people. And the weight of that responsibility was enough to narrow her vision.
“Will we be able to sell it out?”
“We will.”
Ko Kyungmin answered firmly to her muttered doubt. Suyun glanced at Kyungmin's face.
“I can't say it's a hundred percent guaranteed, but based on our current data... while it might not be an effortless sellout, there's a very high probability we'll sell out somehow.”
“What's your basis?”
“First, the number of official fan club members—our premium base from the Jangchung Gymnasium concert—has grown significantly. The buzz surrounding our concert has also multiplied several times over.”
“We also have plenty of other data...” Kyungmin continued with confidence. Suyun thought for a moment, then let go of her worries. Worrying wouldn't change anything. And she didn't even need to do the worrying. She had staff members who wanted success just as much as she did, walking alongside her as colleagues. They would do the worrying and put in the effort for her.
“Then all we have to do is prepare for the performance?”
“Exactly.”
Below, Seoha was passionately discussing things with the stage director. They were talking about the set design and stage production.
Suyun watched them, closed her eyes, and imagined. The sold-out 5,000-seat Jangchung Gymnasium concert. That brilliant moment. And now, the sight of every single seat in the KSPO DOME filled with people.
Even though it hadn't happened yet, the imagined scene felt incredibly real. What seemed impossible just moments ago now felt entirely achievable.
“We finished practice earlier, but...”
“...? Yes.”
“For some reason, I feel like we should go back to the office and practice more.”
“...I don't think it's my place to say this, but shouldn't you give the members some freedom?”
Suyun stared at Kyungmin. Good grief, even this man was saying things like this. Had Label Echo Sound grown lax, drunk on success?
Suyun, of course, had absolutely no idea that she was the one becoming increasingly ruthless...