Reclaiming the Stratocaster
"Guitar... Have your memories... come back a bit?"
"No."
At Myeongjeon's words, Lee Hyein started to open her mouth slightly, then closed it again. The silence hanging between them felt unbearably awkward to Myeongjeon—like being dragged to some obligatory family event, bullshitting through small talk, only for the conversation to grind to a sudden halt.
"W-well... If anything does come to mind, I'd appreciate it if you told me."
"...Sure."
Thankfully, Lee Hyein broke the silence. As she fiddled with her fingers, seemingly groping for the right words, she continued.
"And... you want to do music?"
"...Huh?"
"That thing you were playing earlier—I thought it was pretty good..."
No, no way, Myeongjeon thought inwardly. Objectively speaking, it was just her daughter belting out some song she'd never heard before—probably from an era when Lee Hyein hadn't even been born yet. For her to say that and think, Does my girl have talent?... just how rose-tinted were her glasses when it came to her daughter?
"If Suyeon wants to do music, Mom can help. My company..."
"No, that's not it."
Mistaking the silence for agreement, the conversation was steamrolling ahead. Myeongjeon cut it off firmly.
"No need for that. I can handle it myself."
"Still, maybe lessons or something..."
"No, I really don't need it."
Lee Hyein's face fell a bit at that. Watching her expression, Myeongjeon let out a massive internal sigh.
She's like a kid... Back in the old days, people her age seemed way more mature. Had the world gone weird? Well, these days folks were marrying and having kids past forty, and thirty-somethings were prancing around on TV like clowns.
"Still, it's nice that you've picked up a new hobby...!"
"Huh?"
Sure, it was a hobby, but... Myeongjeon stared at her like she'd said something bizarre, and Lee Hyein's face started to crumple again. Feeling like communication was impossible, he heaved another earth-shattering internal sigh.
And here I am, speaking formally to this kid... Myeongjeon just thought he needed to sort out their relationship properly someday.
The doctor had said to wait just one more week to avoid any bad effects. Thanks to that, Myeongjeon managed to push back her school start by a week. It also gave her time to check on her house and gear.
"Going to buy a guitar?"
After getting caught messing around at home, Myeongjeon had told "Mom" she wanted to buy a guitar. No point hiding the music thing—it'd come out eventually anyway. If her place had nothing—and it probably didn't—she'd need to buy instruments, so she'd gotten the cash from Lee Hyein after that talk.
Worried she'd lowball her, she'd even said, "I looked it up, and decent gear costs over a million won..." Somehow, she'd ended up with over two million.
This should cover some solid budget gear at least.
She couldn't replace everything. Money aside, rarity was an issue. She had gear so rare there were only a handful worldwide—not just in Korea. Matching her old setup exactly would take blood, sweat, and tears.
Adapt. Gotta adapt... Even as a hobby, gear mattered. Start with cost-effective stuff, then do session gigs to build up gradually. That way, she'd end up with a decent rig.
Lost in those thoughts, she'd arrived in her old neighborhood. It felt strangely unfamiliar after just a few days away. Nothing had changed, really. What had? Her eye level, maybe. She was nearly a foot shorter now.
Other things had changed too, but it wasn't the miniskirt era anymore—girls walking around outside wouldn't cause a scandal.
She navigated the alleys to her old place: a corridor-style villa common in old neighborhoods, first floor half-basement style. Her unit was on the fourth floor.
The stairs, tougher now than before, led her panting to room 403. And there was the landlady grandma.
"...Here to look at the place?"
Myeongjeon froze. Already renting it out? She'd hoped for a peek inside.
"Oh... no. I..."
"Huh?"
"The... guy who lived here, that old dude—I knew him, and I lost touch, so I came to check."
"Ah... really? But he's dead."
"What???"
The old lady spat it out like it was someone else's business. Myeongjeon feigned shock and asked how he'd died.
"Eh, he had some chronic illness. Collapsed on the street coming back from a trip or something. No proper funeral. House full of trash. Lost money cleaning it up, ugh."
You crazy hag... You probably pocketed my deposit—cleaning costs too much? Swallowing the urge to snap, Myeongjeon spoke up.
"Um... any of his stuff left? I was supposed to buy a guitar from him."
"Guitar... Oh, this shape?"
"Yes, that's it."
She nodded at the grandma's sketchy hand gesture. The old lady peered around, then beckoned her to follow.
"Only thing left of his stuff, far as I remember. Cops said he was holding it when he died—gave it to me."
And there it was: her guitar. Black everywhere but the neck—a '69 Strat replica. Short tremolo arm, Seymour Duncan pickups. The one.
"Yeah, I was gonna take this."
The grandma's face brightened a tad. No chance she'd just hand it over, Myeongjeon figured.
It was hers originally, but proving that? 'I'm actually Seo Myeongjeon, came back to life in this body to get my guitar.' She'd be labeled crazy. Yelling or accusing tax evasion might force it, but it'd make an enemy—and risk exposing no connection between "Myeongjeon" and "Suyeon." Too unpredictable. Better pay quietly.
"Mm... I don't know guitars, but he treasured this one. Even played it for me sometimes."
Bald-faced lie from the hag.
"I don't have much money..."
Myeongjeon countered.
"Aigoo, you think this old lady's rich? Sell to someone who is."
"I'm a student..."
"Pfft, students have their whole lives ahead."
"He said he'd give it to me cheap..."
Myeongjeon and the grandma traded barbs, neither yielding, probing each other. These days everything had price tags, but back in her youth, haggling got you deals. She was a pro at this.
"So, how much?"
Beating around the bush—it's in good shape, don't really need it—dragged on. Minutes of wrangling, then the grandma struck first.
"I'm a student with no cash. Four hundred thousand okay?"
The hag snorted in disbelief.
"Four hundred's too low. Pawnshop would give more."
"Grandma, it was meant for me anyway. And you weren't close to the owner..."
"Not close? I saw his face all the time."
Another lie. But Myeongjeon could top it—this was her story.
"I came here a lot for lessons... He never mentioned you. If anything, he said the landlady..."
"Aigoo, kids are so suspicious. Five hundred?"
Myeongjeon held firm.
"I only have four hundred cash. More means talking to my parents—they're lawyers..."
"...Fine! Take it and make soup or whatever!"
Instant, effective fib for old folks. The grandma practically shoved the case at her. She counted the four hundred with a flourish, then slammed the door.
Myeongjeon stared at it a moment, picked up the case... and staggered at the weight.
In my old body, this was nothing...
She wanted to check her old place, but the hag had seen her, and with it listed, nothing left anyway. Regretfully, she turned away.
Minutes later, at a plaza near the subway, Myeongjeon sat and unpacked the guitar. Holding what she'd thought lost forever moved her deeply.
She'd bought it fifteen years ago. After that, unless a client specified otherwise, it was her go-to. Not ancient for her age, but attachment was inevitable—signature model of her favorite guitarist.
She slung it over her shoulder. As yesterday, belly-up position or bust for this body size. An acoustic she'd jam on the spot, but electrics needed an amp—no body or soundhole for unplugged tone.
Shame... Wanna play it now that I have it.
Rummaging the case in regret, two pedals tumbled out: Dallas Arbiter Fuzz Face and Vox wah. Not daily drivers, but cool pieces she'd grabbed as a fan.
Why were these here?
She pondered, holding them. Never used even in CCM sessions... Whatever. Free pedals? Score.
With these, decent playing possible. She pulled out her phone, opened her old haunt, the Mule community.
We gathered to play Hongdae today, but our guitarist bailed for an emergency. Can wait ~30 mins.
Perfect timing—a post right up her alley.
Hongdae Busking Zone. Amid the crowds, two guys set up drums and bass.
"You sure he's reliable?"
"Over ten years active. Saw his posts. Haven't heard him play, but should be fine... So what if it's a prank? We wait and go home."
Jaesin answered his whiny acquaintance. Ten-plus years in, unlikely to ghost a busk.
"Ugh, why'd he bail last minute?"
"Injured, he said. What ya gonna do."
Jaesin shrugged it off, but Hyeongtae kept griping. Weekly gig, some fans waiting... Fair to be pissed.
"Time's up..."
Time ticked by. Fender amp set, crowd gathering, expecting a start. No guitarist.
"Scam?"
"Little longer."
Even Jaesin getting antsy when—far off, someone guitar-cased approached.
"Yo, Hyeongtae. That him?"
"Nah... Girl."
"...Yeah. Prank?"
Jaesin checked his bass, then set it down. Crowd dispersing in 'when's it starting?' vibes.
"Saw it on Mule. Busking, right?"
The voice belonged to the guitar girl—college freshman at most, pretty enough every guy glanced back.
"...Yes?"
"You're... Teacher Lee? The commenter?"
Jaesin and Hyeongtae blurted, brains stalled.
"Yeah. Problem?"
The girl raised an eyebrow at their blank stares.