Invasion from Seoul

Maybe she should be grateful that Ha Suyeon's ears, worn out from building up a wall against music only to suddenly drown in it, hadn't deteriorated that badly. But Myeongjeon had zero interest in feeling thankful. She would have preferred to have misheard it.

A swimsuit? What the hell?

Even Myeongjeon, who had indulged in pleasures that would make your average self-proclaimed worldly 21st-century type look like a total newbie, had never once worn a women's swimsuit on a man's body. Of course not. She had been a man back then.

Now it was a woman's body wearing a women's swimsuit, so it was different—or at least that's how others saw it. Myeongjeon saw it differently.

I toughed out skirts and miniskirts somehow, but a swimsuit... that's pushing it.

Sure, the loose feeling was awkward, but she could just think of it as short shorts and call it a day. Surprisingly, she adapted quickly, and she never had to flash her underwear in front of people. But a swimsuit was basically underwear. It was like wearing waterproof panties and a bra, then strutting around in front of everyone yelling, "This isn't underwear~!"

In broad daylight? What kind of nonsense was that? Flaunting your underwear without a shred of shame?

Sure, back in her male days abroad, she'd hit up nude beaches and bared not just her underwear but everything below plenty of times. But as everyone knows, you forget those old memories with age.

I'm not even a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠girl.

Myeongjeon muttered inwardly. Swimsuits were for "young ladies" or "girls"—not for her.

Of course, she wasn't one to talk, having gone from chugging mix coffee and scarfing down cheap noodle soup while throwing on whatever was in the closet in the early days, to now sipping sweet lattes, devouring mala tang and tteokbokki like a pro, and letting the girls drag her along with "Hey, this is trendy~" only for them to sneakily ask her to AirDrop the pics afterward.

But self-perception is key for anyone. No matter what others think, how you see yourself has a huge impact. Even a kid faking sick to skip school can't pull it off if they're just thinking I wanna go home while play-acting. You've gotta believe My head's splitting open for real! and scream like Guan Yu playing go in a girly wail to make it work.

Myeongjeon's mindset wasn't quite at girly-scream levels. But she was at least at the Guan Yu stage of yelling "Snake eyes! Invalid roll!" and begging to go home.

Escaping was pointless, though. Myeongjeon was a killer guitarist, not some powerhouse. If she tried to bolt and Iseo yanked her back, she'd just get dragged along like a ragdoll. What could she do? After a few failed attempts, she gave up.

First stop: the otaku shop.

"This is what's trending these days..."

Jeong Hyeona introduced a bunch of illustrations of handsome guys in various poses—printed on acrylic stands, cushions, stickers, or even chibi-style deformed versions.

"Trending how?"

"It's, like, virtual YouTubers."

Myeongjeon vaguely recalled hearing the term before... or maybe not. Listening to Hyeona's explanation made her head spin in all directions. There was this fictional character who's a vampire by setting, but kinda dumb in a cute way that appeals to viewers... blah blah blah.

"So, basically, they turned a made-up character into a celebrity? Not from some comic or movie. And people—you—like this fictional character so much you buy this stuff."

"No, Kutsun is actually cute, okay? And she's a real person."

"Sounds legit."

Tuning out the increasingly baffling ramble, Myeongjeon picked up an acrylic stand. A long-haired character in a blue school uniform holding mahjong tiles.

"You like that one? That's the student council president character..."

"Her name's Student Council President? They named her with zero effort."

"No, that's her position..."

The character loved mahjong for real, and so on. As Hyeona's explanation dragged on, Myeongjeon glanced out the window.

I wanna go home.

Second stop: clothing store.

"This is cute."

"Yeah."

"Aren't they all kinda similar?"

"What're you talking about..."

With Myeongjeon slumped exhausted in a chair, the girls giggled over the clothes. Fashion-savvy Iseo, surprisingly knowledgeable Seoha, and seemingly indifferent Hyeona.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

But Hyeona's on another level. I can spot that much difference myself.

Being better at women's clothes than Hyeona, who was born female, should've felt off by now, but Myeongjeon just thought it anyway. Modern virtue: self-brainwashing.

"Wanna try it on?"

"Pass."

"Come on, just try."

"Not my style."

Iseo figured as much. Suyeon only wore skirts on "important stages"—her real vibe was black, white, formal goth.

"How about this?"

"Hm... yeah, kinda nice."

Myeongjeon took the outfit without hesitation, tried it on in the fitting room, and stepped out. The girls went "Ooo~."

I'm not even a girl, had been recent thinking, but buying women's clothes already? Not her fault. People change.

Even without extreme soul-swap scenarios like a booze-and-scooter-crash high school girl getting possessed by a dead geezer who keeled over mid-street, it happens. The kid you kicked soccer balls with in elementary turns into a spitting, smoking punk in high school. Or vice versa—the slacker you figured would die flipping burgers becomes a solid young man sweating at the factory.

Myeongjeon had changed a lot too. Hard to keep treating herself like someone born in a war-torn era closer than the 21st century when others don't see her that way. Not weak-willed—humans adapt. And since she was human, she adapted. Accepting others' gaze as her own was proof.

"I can't wear that."

Still, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she absolutely drew the line at that kind of swimsuit.

"It'd look good on you, though. Suyeon's skin is so pale. A black bikini would be perfect..."

"You wear it! I can't."

"Should I? Lemme try."

Third stop: swimsuit store.

Despite Myeongjeon's snappy retort, Iseo grinned and ducked into the fitting room. While waiting, a salesgirl sidled up: "You college girls?"

No, they weren't. "Oh, she's just so tall... sorry!" And she vanished.

"Does it suit me?"

Iseo emerged saying that, and Myeongjeon was momentarily speechless. Swimsuit over underwear looked a bit off-balance, but... Am I even allowed to see this?

A wave of self-loathing hit her. Was it okay to be here with these kids? Well, why not?

"Your turn now."

"Why me???"

Myeongjeon's shriek was at least trying to sound girly. She bolted like ancestors fleeing Japanese invaders, but lacking Jeonju Lee clan speed, Iseo nabbed her instantly.

"I wanna die."

Penalty: rashguard. Crop top showing a sliver of navel, high-waist normal-cut bottoms. As the girls snapped pics and freaked about posting to Insta, Myeongjeon muttered that.

She missed Lee Hyein.

"That was fun."

"Yeah..."

Seeing Hyeona grin for once, Myeongjeon muttered back. Honestly exhausted, clueless why they needed to shop now. Clothes could wait for free time, right?

"That's why you dress so drab."

"What's wrong with this?"

Iseo—whose weird badges and pointless MGM luxury bags rivaled Myeongjeon's drabness (or so Myeongjeon thought)—lectured her.

"Fashion expresses who you are. Bands do it too, right? Appeal through style... I dunno much, but the Beatles started some fashion boom. Shouldn't we get matching outfits?"

The Beatles weren't mod fashion inventors but popularized it big-time. Iseo had hit it accidentally, but Myeongjeon dove deeper.

True enough.

Past Myeongjeon—no, "Ha Suyeon"—had used outfits strategically. Attention-grabbing skirts for street lives or recordings. Just to draw eyes: Pretty = more views, right?

Similar conclusion, different process.

What if Robert Plant wasn't a shirtless blond frontman? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sid Vicious not that psycho? Axl Rose a suit-wearing beefcake? Kurt Cobain a clean-cut guy instead of grunge blond slacker?

Their music wouldn't suck, but same popularity? Fashion sways band fame. Not make-or-break, but can't ignore—especially for mass appeal. And Myeongjeon needed that for certain reasons.

Alright, let's try it.

Try everything possible. That was her guideline for winning this audition.

Not bikinis, though.

Even with expert-coordinated outfits, clothes don't leap off the stage and perform. Sideshow stuff.

What mattered: practice. Tons of it.

So Myeongjeon drove the girls like rats that day, as if recouping tenfold the department store torment.

"What're you doing lugging that pricey Warwick bass around!"

Maybe Iseo hadn't adapted yet—her problem, not Myeongjeon's.

"Love the fills for live feel, but screwing the next beat ruins it. Rhythm, pitch, emphasis first. Showboating without that? Useless."

"Drums too—resting 'cause EP dropped? Acting major now? Beat's off. Why? Wanna run it with a metronome from the top? One-two-three-four?"

"You followed my tempo before, but not anymore. Stop eyeing me—bass and drums lock the groove first, then guitar flies. I slip a beat and you both crash. What now?"

First practice: Myeongjeon ripped into them boldly. They looked pitifully deflated, but strike while the iron's hot. Crush that "I did it, I'm pro now" vibe quick. Auditions were real competition. Not "good enough"—better than them.

Keyboard's solid, at least...

As she paused, the practice room desk buzzed wildly. Phone.

Park Hwisek PD.

Session gig maybe?

Myeongjeon wondered if she'd misheard. Live? For real? An audition show?