First Day Back at School
“How much is it?”
“Two million won.”
Myeongjeon nodded, thinking, Yeah, about what I expected. Iseo, on the other hand, gaped in horror.
“What kind of effector costs two million won??”
“You must not know 'cause you're a bassist, miss. Classic pedals like this all run about this much. And this one's got no reissue model, so it's even pricier.”
Even so... Leaving Iseo to bicker with the store manager, Myeongjeon mulled it over.
My pedalboard... and all my gear. If it's all scattered to hell now, it'll take at least 100 million won to rebuild it.
Not even counting his priciest piece—the Dumble Overdrive Special he'd kept as a collector's item, which could easily fetch over 100 million won these days. Just the pedalboard he lugged around was worth well north of 10 million. Right there in front of him, the Sovtek Big Muff alone, plus stuff like the Pete Cornish SS-2 and Chandler Tube Driver—any of those would set you back over a million used.
And that wasn't all. Add in the Binson Echorec and Hiwatt amp he kept at home for recording, or the Klon Centaur Overdrive he collected and busted out occasionally... Pure gear costs alone? You'd need that kind of cash.
Of course, money talks on Reverb—you could snag alternatives easy enough. No more scouring Nakwon Arcade or Ochanomizu in person, dialing up listings from the phone book like back in the day. Or swap for similar-function stuff: a standard Big Muff instead of Sovtek, a newer Tube Driver. Might even sound better.
But the gear he'd dialed in himself, tweaking circuits and boards by hand? He wanted those exact ones if possible.
But...
“I think I'll take this one.”
“Oh! Pretty and got an eye for quality, huh? Card? Cash'll knock off about 100,000 won.”
“Problem is, I don't have the money right now.”
No dough, huh? The manager sidled closer, all buddy-buddy like he might front it. But he backed off quick, face hardening.
“No credit here.”
“Not asking for credit. Just hold it for me.”
“That much I can do. Leave your number—if someone else wants it, I'll call. No quick yes, and it's sold.”
Myeongjeon just nodded instead of answering.
“You really gonna buy that pedal? Looked like total junk.”
“Got my reasons.”
Myeongjeon clammed up after that. Two million... could probably haggle to 1.5. But where the hell to get that?
The two million from “Mom” was down to 600,000 already. She seemed loaded—could probably squeeze another 1.5 million out of her once. But the next pieces? Beg for cash every time he hunted pedalboard parts? No way.
“Anyway, never pegged you for a musician... didn't seem the type. How long you been at it? Looks like ages.”
Maybe venting her earlier embarrassment? Iseo bombarded her with questions, then froze mid-stream. Whoops. Let it slide before, but she looks pissed now. Hope she doesn't smack me in the street. If she heads off-camera, better hit first and run...
“Long time.”
The sudden silence made Iseo flinch when Suyeon reached out—but it was just to rub her chin thoughtfully.
“Gotta make money somehow.”
Just days ago, she'd talked about playing music for fun... now this grind already. But no helping it. Tone was feel, pure and simple.
Take the Boonar multi-head drum echo, built to replace the Binson Echorec. Even David Gilmour swapped to it—should be fine. But head says yes, gut says something's missing. That nagging shortfall you can't put words to.
So how to make bank?
Myeongjeon sank into thought. Back in the day, he'd just hit every session gig that called. Top-tier session guy like him pulled 500,000 won per (three, three-and-a-half hours). Rare, but hustling hard? Monthly ten mil easy.
Not anymore. No gear for sessions. You had to bend over backward for clients. “Hate Fender tone, bring PRS.” Inside, What the actual fuck? But you brought the PRS.
And plenty booked by tone alone. Without his old setup, no signature sound. His rep partly came from that gear's magic. Gone now...
“Money?”
Iseo eyed Suyeon trudging along, lost in serious thought. What's she need cash for? Family's loaded... Oh, that pedal maybe.
“Gotta get a part-time gig or something.”
“Part-time...”
He mulled reviving the spray-painting skills from his music-hating phase. Taught kids breathing exercises for eight years, picked up technician cert on the side. Worth anything?
...Nah, same old life crap. Impossible.
“Dunno.”
“What about YouTube? Shorts or killer Insta promo—people rake it in. Kim Hyejin from class two banked big that way.”
Kim Hyejin who? Myeongjeon's head spun. YouTube money? Sure, heard of it. Month before dying, a musician buddy begged views for his new channel. Link had like 15 hits.
“You'd crush it, Suyeon. Ten thousand Insta followers already—post some thirst traps, snag sponsorships...”
Then Iseo backpedaled. “N-not saying you're that kinda girl or anything!”
Myeongjeon just stared, clueless.
Gotta check her Insta later.
“Up late last night? You look wiped.”
“Yeah...”
Hyein watched her daughter shamble up and spoon soup, face hollowed out. All-nighter? Sometimes faint guitar drifted evenings—maybe practiced late.
It made her smile. Used to bolt out nights; now home more. Since discharge, everything shifted.
Mornings first: post-accident, she rose for breakfast with Mom's commute. Unthinkable before.
Evenings, waited to eat together. Pre-accident? Already eaten or heading out, even on time home.
Going out? Called or texted. “To Nakwon.” “To Yongsan.” Curt, but considerate.
Accident made her ashamed of old ways?
'I'm dying...'
Myeongjeon was dying inside. Zero sleep last night—thanks to “Ha Suyeon's” Instagram traces.
Cleavage-baring shots. Skirts hiked to thighs, shorts flashing ass cheeks. Trashy makeup, weird faces, pure guy-bait.
He wouldn't deny it existed. Hell, he'd whored around young.
But him in those pics? Whole other nightmare.
How's the world gonna look at me now...?
He clutched his head mid-bite, soup forgotten.
“Head hurt, Suyeon?”
Her frantic “Mom” voice barely registered. Couldn't play amnesia forever—yesterday, he'd fed her bits about memories trickling back.
“Then school's fine now. Thank god—no need for another week's sick leave.”
Watching her smile, he'd thought, Shoulda told her sooner if she worries like this.
If I'd known, better not to look. Pandora after opening the box?
Wanted a week to brace for whore-stares, but today was school day. Just sigh it out.
“Suyeon! Why no KakaoTalk checks?! Thought you were ghosted for real!”
“Ha-Suyeon, you bitch~ Total ghoster~”
“Discharged last week, right? Why no Insta? Your followers are blowing up my DMs~.”
Exhausted to his bones just reaching class—Myeongjeon ignored the trio at the back door, slumped into his seat.
Class went weirdly quiet.
“...What's with this bitch?”
“Suyeon, something up?”
“Who did it? Who tired out our Yeon-su!!”
They hammed it up to break the ice. Watching their antics, Myeongjeon spoke.
“Guys. Post-accident—and I'm dead serious—my memory's mostly shot.”
The three goggled like eyes popping. Murmurs rippled class-wide.
“For real?”
“Yeah. So if I seem off, cut me slack.”
“...Come to think, your speech is weird now... Wasn't like this before?”
“By now, you'd be dropping 'fuck this shit cocksucker' nonstop.”
But ain't that serious? They plopped cross-legged before her desk, diving in.
“So why ignore KakaoTalk?”
“Told you—memory.”
“Bullshit! If you can't check chats, can't talk either! You just ghosted, lazy ass. Bet you read Baekta's crew. Just ditched us girls~”
Ranting, one snatched her phone, unlocked via face ID. Grinned scrolling—then froze stone-faced.
“What?”
“Holy shit, nada. Not even homeroom's. No wonder teacher said no contact, heh heh...”
“Real talk. Yo, check these guys blowing you up. Life of an Insta 10k celeb? Hook me up with a decent one if you find any.”
They chattered over her KakaoTalk, judging guys' profile pics.
Myeongjeon just sighed deep.
Day he landed in this body, figured normal life'd be cake: high school girl, college, office job. Easy street.
Days later? “Normal” was brutal.
Yesterday's Choi Iseo chat alone drained him dry.
Now? Minutes in, and this? Two more years? His mind screamed too old...
But even mentally, he was spry now. Just old, broken Myeongjeon couldn't hack it.