Schoolyard Changes and the Band Beckons
It had been so long since he'd gone to school that dredging up memories of high school girls felt like a stretch, but Myeongjeon tried anyway. Back then, those girls were... hmm. 'Not much help there.' He swept his hair back and glanced at the teacher who had just entered. A man with a frail, timid impression. He'd thought the world had changed a lot, but he hadn't expected to feel it so starkly. In his school days, teachers were gods and kings. If a teacher slapped you, you just took it, and if you went home complaining, you'd hear, "You must've deserved it," or get beaten again by your dad for whining. But now those same teachers were reduced to this? Watching kids in the front row subtly messing with the teacher, Myeongjeon let out a deep sigh. What had the world come to? Unless you lined them up single file and gave them a good whack with a bat, it didn't seem like society could function properly.
"Hey, now that you're out of the hospital, wanna hit up Kono after school?"
A girl slid slyly into the seat next to him. The one who'd aggressively scrolled through his KakaoTalk earlier. Her name was... Park Dain, he thought.
"Dain."
"Yeah?"
"Study."
"Whoa, are you nuts? Ha Suyeon telling me to study? Did you really not get shot in the head or something?"
"Guess that head crack finally knocked some sense into her."
Someone replied dryly to Park Dain's dramatic outburst.
"Looks like it did. I checked her KakaoTalk—no replies to any guys."
"For real?"
When do these kids plan to study? Myeongjeon peered into his textbook. Old material he already knew mixed with new stuff that hadn't existed back then, making his head spin. While the front-row kids focused intently, the ones around him whispered nonstop and passed notes, turning class into social hour. No way to concentrate. Myeongjeon sighed so heavily it seemed the ground might cave in.
After second period ended, surrounded by chattering kids, Myeongjeon propped his chin on his hand, pondering, How can I make money? Part-time job? Too slow. Session work? Gear aside, no reputation. Instagram? Gross. YouTube? Maybe a slim chance...
"Suyeon. Bathroom."
"Go ahead."
"Come on, together~ What kinda talk is that?"
With that, Myeongjeon was half-dragged up. Hauled like luggage to the girls' bathroom. As he and the trio entered, the girls inside scattered like startled birds.
"Why're they running?"
"Dunno~ Guess they're scared. Did her head injury really wipe her memory?"
"Whoa... so can I take her Unsrunkle then?"
The girls glanced at Suyeon while saying that, but she showed no reaction before tossing out a question.
"What's Unsrunkle?"
"Suyeon, you're not trolling... You lost your memory but still came to school? Not 'cause your mom made you?"
"Eh, memory's fuzzy, but no real reason not to come. So I did."
I remember everything, actually, Myeongjeon thought. But the girls' faces grew serious.
"Saw her today in that total model student outfit and thought, 'Damn, hardcore concept.' But it's real? Creepy."
"How do we still remember?"
"I remember we were tight, but not much else."
Digging through 'Ha Suyeon's' memories, they didn't seem that close. Hung out together sometimes, but partied and drank at night with others. He'd overheard plenty of their gossip too.
What a tiring life...
'Ha Suyeon' was 'Ha Suyeon,' and Myeongjeon was Myeongjeon. He had no intention of repeating her mistakes. Not with these three either—whatever they thought, he didn't want deep ties.
Girls like 'Ha Suyeon' and her friends didn't drink or smoke for the booze or nicotine. They craved the thrill of forbidden rebellion. But to Seo Myeongjeon, who'd been busted for weed and done time, it was just selling your future for a fleeting high. He hadn't been a great student, but he'd practiced guitar amid the fun and made enough to eat. What are these kids thinking? Tsk tsk.
"Enough makeup. Let's go."
"Ah!! Yeon-su, you're pretty without it, but we need it!!"
"Snap out of it and study. Memory's spotty, but cracking my head open showed me—this partying's all bullshit."
Even after homeroom ended, Myeongjeon was stuck answering questions from the trio, other classmates, seniors—everyone. All the same: "Gonna study now?" "Really lost your memory?" Too annoying to answer one by one, he just stood up and left midway.
Gonna be hell till winter break. Maybe longer.
Unlike chopping off a finger to escape the mafia, you couldn't just sever old ties cleanly. Relationships were mutual. Even if you said, "Let's end it," they might cling. Fine in society where paths diverged, but in the tight cage of school? Tough, Myeongjeon figured.
The walk home was already dim. He'd play guitar, mull money-making plans.
"Ha Suyeon!"
A familiar voice—not one he'd heard sickeningly all day, but more recent.
"Heading home?"
"Yeah."
Choi Iseo, who'd run into Suyeon on the way to practice, felt relieved. Maybe she just bought that amp on impulse. Better grab one first anyway! Effects pedals too—probably just liked the look. Their skills might match? They could teach each other, level up, form a band... Iseo, buzzing with fantasy, asked,
"I'm heading to the practice room. Wanna come?"
"...Together? Why?"
A blunt question laced with Why should I go with you?
"Uh, don't you practice?"
"I do. At home."
"Isn't that stuffy? Can't crank the volume."
"True."
His old place had a soundproof booth. Late nights, he'd plug into the computer. But now, just one amp—not ideal.
"That's why—come with. Practicing alone at home sucks, right? Together'd be fun."
"Why does practice need to be fun?"
Iseo was speechless. Is it? Suyeon's face was dead serious—no joke.
"Don't seek fun in practice. You just do it. Fun or not isn't the point."
"B-but some fun helps..."
"Don't overthink it. Practice should feel like breathing..."
Suyeon suddenly straightened, preaching her practice philosophy like a changed person. Then she shook her head and backtracked.
"Eh, whatever... Wanna go?"
"...Huh? Oh, yeah! This way..."
Iseo fumbled, flustered by the shift, trying to send a map link—then panicked again. No contact saved. But Suyeon casually punched in her number.
The practice room was standard: guitar and bass amps, computer, even a lazy bed and mini-fridge.
"My lesson teacher's spot. He lends it when he's not using. My day today."
Sensing his gaze, Iseo explained without asking. Ampeg bass amp, Fender guitar amp, Genelec monitors. Solid setup.
Feeling Iseo's stare, Myeongjeon unpacked his case.
"Whoa, real Fender."
She murmured in awe at his black guitar. Yeah, it was special. He'd labored for that natural relic finish.
"What year?"
"Uh... '69...ish."
He plugged into the amp, plucked a few times. Clean tone wasn't full setup level, but solid. Amp 70%, guitar 30%—good guitar covers it.
"Suyeon, play a song? Anything."
Just as he thought to start practicing...
"Why?"
"Honestly? Curious how good you are."
That reason. Myeongjeon scratched his head. Curious about his skill? Decades since anyone asked. No clue how to show off—pros never questioned him.
But Iseo read the silence wrong. Did I piss her off??
Yeah, demanding a performance out of nowhere after dragging her here was rude. Her face looked mad too...
"N-no! Not bad intent! Uh, I'll play first."
"Huh?"
Iseo suddenly plugged in, strumming bass frantically, headbanging, keeping time, sneaking glances. Like she wanted something.
"Whaddya think? Been... er, eight months."
"Eight months? For eight months..."
"Yeah?"
"It's kinda bad."
Myeongjeon blurted without thinking. Iseo's eyes widened.
"B-bad?"
Her voice trembled. He looked at her. Oh, right...
"Hobby, yeah?"
"Y-yeah?"
He recalled pro bassists from his past life. All aces. Harsh comparison? They were pros; she wasn't.
"Average then. Slightly above? For eight months, pro level's tough. More practice might get you there."
Suddenly judged, Iseo felt weird—mostly negative. "Bad," then "average," "pro unlikely"?
"Your turn. I played."
"Isn't showing off in a practice room the point?"
Myeongjeon replied, mildly incredulous. Made sense now... She flushed.
"Wh-what can you play?"
"Most anything with guitar."
"Most?"
"Famous ones you know? I got 'em."
His method: play every guitar song at least once. World too big for all, but high school girl hits? Easy.
"Then Guitar to Kodoku to Aoi Wakusei?"
"...What's that?"
Her face lit up, spitting Japanese. Myeongjeon tilted his head—never heard it.
"An anime... whatever. Japanese song. Uh, Tagai Rock, Kimi ni Asa ga Furu?"
"Asian Kung-Fu Generation? Solid track. Over ten years old—you know it?"
Memorable intro; he played it occasionally. Great song, J-rock aside.
Asking old tracks showed digging chops—proper musician attitude.
"Nah, play what you want."
She blushed. No clue why, but he didn't pry. Instead, his go-to request song. Full clean tone, untouched volume. Fingerpicking flowed into soft, delicate melody haunting the room.
Tears in Heaven.
Originally for Eric Clapton's pal Stevie Ray Vaughan, who died in a helicopter crash Clapton lent him. Months later, Clapton's 4-year-old son fell from a window. Myeongjeon always recalled that singing it. What thoughts while writing? While performing?
Iseo thought, Is she really my age?
Suyeon was 16, like her. No music background. But this: head bowed, strumming and singing. Subtle sway with the melody. Pure seasoned musician.
What to even say...
She didn't know the song—English lyrics fuzzy. But sad, obvious. Restrained voice, forcing calm. Guitar differed. Amid calm notes, cracks like fissures. Howling pain in the melody. Endless sorrow vibrating, shaking it subtly. Proving hidden emotion.
Myeongjeon faded the melody to end. Looking up, Iseo's eyes were red-rimmed.
"Let's form a band."
"Huh?"
"Us—a band!"
...A band?