After the Nakwon Gig: New Sparks and Familiar Faces
After wrapping up the Nakwon performance, Myeongjeon grabbed just two of her effects pedals. The rest of the gear was theirs now. Should I help them pack it up? The thought crossed her mind, but she decided against it. She'd already let them play something way beyond their level—that was payment enough.
That aside, what is this feeling... Something vague kept bubbling up in her head, leaving a strange sensation in its wake. A feeling she'd never experienced in her previous life. A fuzzy, unfamiliar tickle, like something was bound to happen. It had been the same before. Even when she'd sung alone in Ha Suyeon's apartment—though it hadn't ended well—she'd felt something subtly different from her days as Seo Myeongjeon.
Has something changed? Since the body's different, maybe the talent is too? As a musician, Myeongjeon's biggest weakness had always been creativity and adaptability. The ability to produce true originality. To take the existing and twist it into something new. She wasn't incapable of creating something fresh, but it took a world of effort compared to those with natural talent—and even then, it wasn't all that efficient.
A prime example: she'd mastered almost everything about the guitar, or so she believed... but improvisation? Not her forte. For a decent solo, she'd spend ages planning beforehand, memorize it, and play it out. Otherwise, she was stuck remixing licks from references—nothing more.
But now... This nagging sense of ideas floating in my head...
Her train of thought shattered as people approached. They started off with cocky attitudes, but softened up quick once they spotted a few industry folks among the crowd.
This girl's a must-sign. That was the shared thought among everyone there. Snag her, and this year's bonus was locked in. Tall and slender, with a cool edge. Pretty enough as is—makeup would turn her into a knockout. A bit arrogant? No problem. That was star quality. And the skills that overshadowed even her looks. These people only knew rock and guitar on a casual, industry-worker level. Yet she drew awe from them anyway.
"Please keep us in mind. With skills like yours, debut's a breeze. Give us a call sometime."
"Just drop my name, and you're on the VIP list...!"
"You know our company, right? Famous for producing hits. Join us, no regrets."
The bizarre sight of them swarming with business cards drew every eye. Myeongjeon took them all, then shoved them roughly into her pocket—no words needed.
Sign with a label, and you're just their puppet. What then? She'd end up as another easy-to-deploy session player. Sure, the title might differ... but what real change was that from her past?
"Hey, could we get an autograph?"
Lost in those thoughts, Myeongjeon paused—only for those two audience members from earlier to approach. They thrust out some notebook or whatever. Autographs were routine since her twenties, so it barely registered.
But...
"No signature from me."
"Then just your name!"
Should I write it? Myeongjeon pondered. Even for high school, skipping out for a Hongdae gig felt risky. Leaving proof like her name? Sketchy. But expulsion over this? Nah. She scribbled it down: [Ha Suyeon, stay healthy]. A little paddling would sort it... Wait, schools didn't hit kids anymore, right? World had gone soft. Kids needed a smack or two to toughen up—that was her take. If this Ha Suyeon had gotten some early on, would she have turned into a booze-and-smokes delinquent?
World's gotten too nice... With that, Myeongjeon breezed through autographs for the growing crowd. Near the end, the two guys she'd jammed with piped up: "Hey, kid, thinking of playing again sometime...?" She just smiled and bounced.
Meanwhile, someone muttered, "This footage is gonna blow up." Sensing the views exploding, they hustled to pack their gear. This was a surefire hit. Might even crack a million after ages...!
'Mom' had already headed to work. Myeongjeon dragged herself from bed, shuffled to the shower. The body felt familiar now, even if the hair length didn't. She'd wanted to buzz it all off, but 'Mom' talked her down.
"Suyeon, a bob's harder to manage..."
She'd figured short meant easy, but learned the irony: long hair was simpler for women. So she kept it.
Phone stayed untouched since discharge day. No plan yet for dealing with Ha Suyeon's friends.
She sat, picked up the guitar. In her old life, Myeongjeon practiced daily—rain or shine—unless something dire. Short sessions: four hours. Long: ten. Chromatics, scales, chords, rhythms, picking, tapping, harmonics. Decades of it, routine now... but this body made it tough.
Hands twisting into knots from the start. Haven't felt this in decades.
Myeongjeon worked her fingers diligently, lost in thought. Three takeaways from yesterday's busking.
First: Reclaiming old skill meant brutal practice. She could play decently, but stamina and precision lagged. Consistent grind needed.
Second: Becoming Ha Suyeon unlocked new talent. Undeniable. A sensation absent across decades of guitar. When the groove hit, ideas flowed like melodies tagging along.
Develop this, and it's that 'originality' everyone's on about.
But this 'talent' was too raw to bank on yet, Myeongjeon figured. Talent refined through training. No room for cockiness.
Third: Pick a musical path. She'd planned a life enjoying music, but not how. Solo? Group? Eric Clapton, John Mayer as singer-songwriter? Pure guitarist like Jeff Beck? Band?
If I'm doing it, band's the way.
Youth doesn't return. Past thirty, adulthood kills that reckless, weaponized naivety of young charges. Myeongjeon was way past it, but her peers? Fringe of youth still counted. Time to try a band, she decided, sorting her thoughts.
It even sparked that beginner's thrill. Felt good. But the mood soured quick.
No gear means no band, no talent matters—practice stalls first.
Long-time player or not, real practice needed actual guitar sound. Which meant gear: amp, speakers. Sure, modern setups worked—PC, audio interface, Guitar Rig software. But no PC here.
Amp or PC setup? Latter cheaper usually, but live gigs favored amps. No choice there.
Nakwon first, then.
Headphone amp options, speaker add-ons, whatever. Variables galore...
Nakwon Arcade hadn't changed a bit in ages. Old timers playing go against passersby. Back in the day, aggressive hawking earned it the 'Nakwon Eight' rep. Less now, which Myeongjeon kinda missed. Felt like the old ways fading.
Flashbacks: Long ago, most shop owners knew her. New clerks never did—hawked her anyway. She'd play dumb, let them push, praise their sales pitch, then shred to troll them. Some clerks, years later as managers, fed newbies to her for 'training.'
Those days? Dust now. Even her traces, shattered days ago.
Turning teen girl making me all sentimental? Or just an old brain. She shook it off.
Unlike old times, the second floor was quiet. Sparse foot traffic on sunset-lit marble. Myeongjeon strolled slowly past Fender, Gibson, PRS, John Suhr, Taylor, Anderson, Jackson, Ibanez, ESP, Music Man, Epiphone, Squier, Yamaha, Colt, Beyond, Dame, Schecter, Hammer, Peerless... Guitars lined like soldiers. Made her smile. Didn't need 'em, but satisfying anyway.
"Miss, check out a guitar?"
"Looking for something specific?"
Hawking she never got as a guy. But girl who looked guitar-illiterate? Drew it out after years. She ignored leisurely, kept walking.
Her go-to shop, tucked in the corner. They'd clock her savvy quick. Internet low-price deals, maybe better with cash in hand.
Strolling the hall, someone from the opposite direction froze.
"...Huh? Ha Suyeon?"
Myeongjeon didn't react—unfamiliar name. Kept eyeing guitars. But,
"Ha Suyeon!"
Second call hit. Shoulder tap, that name. Oh, right—mine. She turned.
Straight long hair. Black vest over white uniform shirt, ample curves below. Tight H-line skirt hiked past mid-thigh. Shoulder-slung bag with Sanrio charms... Bass bag on back, plastered in bunny stickers.
"Ha Suyeon! What're you doing here?"
Mature face from makeup? Red lips, sharp nose, droopy eyes. Puzzled high school girl staring.
Myeongjeon rummaged her brain. Who...? Not surfacing fast meant not super close.
"Uh... Choi Iseo?"
"What? Suyeon, you forgot me? What's with her... Oh. You had that accident, right? That it?"
The girl muttered about her skipping school. Meanwhile, Myeongjeon dug desperately.
Choi Iseo. Different class. Wannabe bad girl. (Ha Suyeon's take.) Clingy, fake-friendly, annoying. Weird character obsessions.
That was it from memories. But that bag... instrument. Musician?
Choi Iseo thought the same. Why's she here?
Glad to see a face, she'd waved—now clueless why. Ha Suyeon. Han Seung High, 1-6. One of the school's three psychos. Smart, not a class clown—teachers liked her. But pranking girls, stalking dates for mockery? Routine. Slapped a senior girl's cheek at a booze-up with upperclassmen. Even fought three girls from another school drunk.
Havoc magnet, popular with some. Iseo had tried befriending once. Busted.
Anyway, she'd woken up, huh.
"You... do music... or...?"
Suyeon stammered, thrown by her. Then Iseo realized: never told her about music.
Kept it secret to seem cool—school kids can't know!
Spotted a familiar face, said hi—self-sabotage. Tomorrow, whole grade knows if this dragged on. Suyeon could make it spread.
"Hey, hey, Suyeon, c'mere—no, come on."
Iseo grabbed her hand—didn't budge. Panicking, she hugged and dragged her to a corner.
High school girls this bold nowadays...?
Clueless, enfolded in soft warmth, Myeongjeon wondered as she got hauled off.