Once More, from the Top

A luxurious space filled with the gentle strains of soft music.

Outside the massive windows, the deep darkness of late night had settled.

From within the room, a fit of laughter grew louder and louder.

One man was laughing hysterically as if nothing in the world could be funnier, while a woman watched him with an expression of sheer exasperation.

Realizing that even his laughter was starting to sound charming and that her gaze was softening, the woman quickly pinched her own thigh to snap out of it and yelled at him.

"Ed! How long are you going to keep your eyes glued to that tablet?!"

Despite her resentful shout, Ed looked like he was about to roll on the floor at any second.

"It's two in the morning!"

"Christine! Does that even matter right now? You have to look at this! Hahaha!"

Ed finally did roll onto the floor, thrusting the tablet toward her. Christine wiped her face with both hands.

When did this even start?

Ever since he fell head over heels for some popular Korean web novel, he had been rolling around the floor almost daily, practically sweeping it with his body.

Did his fans have any idea that this man was actually the most beloved superstar in the world?

It was a miracle she had managed to stop him from recommending web novels on Twitter or Instagram.

His fans might still adore him even if he took a dump in public, but Christine, his general manager, had absolutely no intention of letting things devolve to that point.

She was starting to think she might have to silence his childhood friend permanently—the one who kept bypassing her defenses to recommend these web novels to him in the first place.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what the story was actually about. Christine took the tablet, but her face quickly contorted in confusion.

"Are you kidding me right now?!"

No matter how brilliant she was as a Harvard graduate, she wasn't fluent enough to read Korean script. Of course, speaking six languages herself, it wasn't something she needed to feel embarrassed about.

Except, of course, when compared to the man still rolling around on the floor.

After all, his other moniker was the Language Master.

At this point, even Christine, his manager, lost track of how many languages he spoke.

The reason was simple: he possessed a freakish talent for picking up languages almost instantly whenever he traveled the globe.

It was a sad reality that she couldn't even bring herself to bless him for having every talent in the world concentrated in his single body.

He vanished so often that there was even a time she had to pull strings with the US government just to track him down.

It would have been fine if that location hadn't turned out to be a conflict zone in Africa.

Since that day, Christine had tried to plant GPS trackers on him, only to get caught multiple times.

Because his eccentricities were a daily occurrence, he had yet another nickname.

The Shadow Master!

His best friend often called him "Gildong."

Whenever she asked what that meant, the two weirdos would just exchange sly, knowing grins. They were definitely cut from the same cloth.

When she finally dug up the truth, she discovered it was the protagonist of an old Korean classic who flashed from east to west in the blink of an eye.

Remembering the day she had found herself nodding along to that explanation made a vein throb on Christine's forehead.

If only that were the end of it, but unfortunately, it wasn't.

There was even a time when a UN ambassador paid them a visit, claiming Ed was the hero destined to bring about the grand unification of religious conflicts.

Something about how his insane sociability and music would put an end to wars even in active combat zones.

The UN ambassador was just another one of his disciples.

Seeing the ambassador devoutly cross himself the moment he laid eyes on Ed made her realize there wasn't a single soul in this world she could trust.

Oh, God.

Edward Moon Livingstone.

As his full name suggested, it turned out he would have been a genuine aristocrat had he been born in a different era. Titles like "Lord" or "Your Highness" were practically cute compared to what came next.

To his increasingly fanatical followers, he was a cult leader, an emperor.

A theocracy in the modern age?

The world was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going mad.

Amid these exhausting days, Christine had developed an obsessive need to keep her own sanity intact. She began to plead.

"Ed. I'm having such a hard time lately. Look at this. I've got wrinkles all over my face! And that's not even the half of it! My hands are shaking, and my head is spinning!"

Did her acting—befitting a former aspiring actress—actually work?

His rolling on the floor came to a sudden halt.

Did... did I do it?

He popped his head up like a meerkat, his eyes wide and round. He looked incredibly cute.

She barely managed to suppress a smile. Just as she was desperately trying to conjure up sad thoughts to squeeze out a single tear—

He sprang up, grabbed both of her arms, and leaned his face close to hers.

No, Christine, hold it together!

The moment this visual genius drew near, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Her heart began to race like a Porsche with the pedal floored.

Should... should I close my eyes?

She waited, but her delusions were not destined to become reality. Feeling the sudden absence of his grip on her arms, she opened her eyes.

"Hmm... Christine. I'm sorry."

An apology?

Sweeping aside her lingering disappointment at his unexpected reaction, she smiled warmly like a priest who had successfully reformed a sinner.

"Right. I'll adjust tomorrow's schedule, so..."

"You're getting up there in age, and I've been acting so immature, haven't I?"

"W-what?"

"Look at all those wrinkles around your eyes... Ack!"

"Just die! Die!"

Ed was hopelessly dense. Having paid dearly for letting her guard down once again, Christine finally burst into tears.

"You jerk! Is this all I get for dedicating my youth to you? Fine! I have wrinkles around my eyes! I hope you're thrilled!"

"I'm getting older too. How many years has it been for us now? Don't be so hurt."

His casual attitude made Christine clench her fists tightly once again.

Lord. I'm going to send this bastard to you today, and then I'll follow him right after!

Sensing a sudden spike in murderous intent, Ed frantically waved his hands and started babbling.

He truly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was like a cult leader.

"First, calm down and breathe! Hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hoo!"

"Are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you giving birth?"

"Come on, don't be shy! I teach this to my fans sometimes, you know."

"Oh, look at you, playing the saint."

He nodded proudly and puffed out his chest.

Whether he noticed her eyes drifting to his unnecessarily toned upper body or not, his babbling showed no signs of stopping.

"You know how it is. Whenever I hold a concert, fans faint left and right, don't they? I saved them all. Even the paramedics thanked me."

"Sure... I'm sure they were very grateful."

Even she had to admit it. There were countless fans who fainted just from him looking at them.

What really got to her was that this didn't just apply to female fans; there were quite a few male fans who did the same.

"Sigh... whatever! So, what are you going to do?"

Ignoring her question, he picked up the tablet again and kept talking about his own interests.

"Christine, this is seriously a masterpiece! It covers the entire history of modern music. The author is definitely an industry insider."

Knowing full well that he would never listen to anyone else once he set his mind to something, she decided to nod along with the patience of a monk.

So? Ah, I see. Uh-huh.

Encouraged by her holy trinity of reactions, he excitedly spat out words that sounded like a rap.

Unnecessarily talented bastard.

Unaware of her thoughts, a hypnotic quality began to seep into his charming, low baritone voice.

Before she knew it, Christine found herself drawn into his explanation.

"A gender-reversed world. It's so brilliant! Freddie Mercury! Brian May! They literally become the 'Queen'! Oh, don't get me wrong. They were perfect just the way they were. I just mean the literal definition of a queen."

"I get it. Honestly, their music would have been amazing even if they were women. They would have been masterpieces regardless."

It was an absurd premise—a story about music in a gender-reversed world—but she could relate to the core of it.

Even in the real world, female rockers were rare, and she understood better than anyone why he was so excited. A twisted sense of lack was practically his identity.

The moment she first met him at Harvard was something Christine would never forget as long as she lived.

Drawn by a voice echoing from an empty lecture hall late at night, she had walked toward it without realizing. The man she saw that day was simply dazzling.

The acoustic guitar was merely an accessory.

Watching him hum, she had wondered: if a person like this didn't do music, who on earth would?

The closer she got to him, the deeper her passion grew, and she gradually dissolved into his life.

She threw away her guaranteed future and volunteered to be his manager.

Everyone had their own story.

But she knew that claiming to understand the depths of someone else's soul without being them was the height of arrogance.

So, all she did was listen to him talk, just like tonight.

He was a born star, a complete genius, but it had taken a long time for him to bloom.

How shocking it had been when he told her he only started music after entering college.

Born to an American father from a prestigious family and a Korean mother, his life had been anything but smooth.

His late mother's dying wish was simply for her son to never be looked down upon by anyone. There was surely no malice in it.

She remembered that fresh, youthful day when she had nodded frantically as he said, "Now that I've kept my promise, shouldn't I do at least one thing I actually want to do?"

His start had been much later than others, beginning only after his college graduation.

He could not escape the truth that where there is light, there is also shadow.

Despite his outstanding achievements, it took a long time for the Korean-American mixed-race artist to enter the Grammys. Even after achieving musical success and becoming a star coveted by the entire world, his relationship with his family was worse than that of next-door neighbors.

Some boldly claimed that his deficiency made him even more beautiful. He had even survived a near-miss terror attack by white supremacists.

Only after he reached the summit did his family extend a one-sided hand of forgiveness. All he chose to do was keep his surname out of respect for his late father.

Unfortunately, to him, family was a shackle.

Late at night, their conversation slowly neared its end.

His eyebrows lowered slightly, and his excited voice began to quiet down.

"Should we stop?"

His suggestion to stop was clearly not about the novel. Realizing this instantly, Christine showed her concern.

"Are you going to be okay? Looking at that bastard's eyes, he seems completely wasted on drugs."

"Well, it's not like we haven't seen guys like that before. I just don't feel like doing it."

"We can easily pay the penalty fee, but..."

"Money isn't the issue. It's a matter of the promise."

Coveting his success, his family had belatedly revealed their greed.

Perhaps they found it difficult to establish something themselves, so they started through his uncle's in-laws. Once or twice was fine.

There were those who rode his coattails to success, and there were definitely those who failed.

Since he wrote songs frequently, there hadn't been any major issues for a while.

His fans were always curious about his whereabouts, so it was bound to come to light eventually.

His fanatics supported whatever he did, while his detractors began to sneer, asking if it was a family business now.

It was all thanks to that bastard who was supposed to receive the last song running his mouth.

He had never been recognized by his family since childhood. They say adults are a mirror for children.

He remembered his cousins, who had always looked at him with the same contemptuous eyes.

After his mother passed away, he fled to Korea. Their only meetings since then had been at another funeral.

He had never imagined that anyone from that family would try to become a singer.

Popular music should have been a disgrace to them. Anyway.

He couldn't reject them based on emotion and prejudice alone. In this day and age, a simple video was enough to test someone.

Naturally, the result was shocking.

There wasn't a shred of talent to be found. Just a kid obsessed with looking cool.

Has this bastard gone mad with self-love?

The contract was always the problem.

Christine had thrown a fit at the time of the contract, and their legal counsel had warned against such a one-sided agreement.

But there was a reason he had no choice but to sign the unfair contract.

His late mother hadn't even been allowed to be buried in the family cemetery.

He vaguely remembered that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his late father had loved his mother.

Their condition was to allow them to be buried together, and that was the sole reason.

He was someone who could write five songs in a single month if he set his mind to it, and he didn't care if the artist did drugs or threw sex parties.

Simply giving them a song wouldn't hurt him.

It was only five songs. And now, only the last one remained.

In a way, he could have just handed it over and been done with it, but for some reason, not a single note would come to mind for this final track.

Maybe my subconscious is rejecting it...

He hadn't told his colleagues about this yet.

Unable to read his mind, Christine voiced her worries.

"That bastard will throw a fit on social media. A lawsuit will probably fly our way, too."

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"He has a disqualifying factor anyway. Should we use that against him?"

"If we did that, wouldn't there be too many junkies to deal with in this world?"

"True."

Although she would never admit it, Christine was clearly his number one disciple, and she began to think that protecting her artist came first.

"Just screw it! We'll just pay the money. Besides, no matter what happens, he's the one who'll get buried."

"I'm just worried it might affect my mother. That's all."

Seeing him unable to even cherish his sole memory in peace made her heart ache.

She shouldn't hesitate over this any longer. It was a decision that should have been made long ago.

It was the fault of the incompetent staff who failed to prevent this issue in the first place.

And the biggest culprit among them was undoubtedly herself.

"Don't worry. Trust me, okay?"

Watching him let out a dry laugh, she simply sent the email rejecting the song request.

Contrary to their worries, time flowed by peacefully.

Humans are creatures of forgetfulness, and one couldn't remain tense forever.

Late one rainy night, in the early hours of the morning.

Having gone to sleep later than usual, she reached out for her constantly ringing phone and barely managed to answer it.

"...Hello?"

A chill ran down her spine at the low male voice, which stood in stark contrast to the background noise muffled by the sound of rain. Trying to shake off the rising sense of dread, she steadied her trembling hand and held the phone with both hands.

"Yes, this is Christine. What is it?"

Despite her efforts to suppress her anxiety, the news was devastating.

Outside the window, lightning flashed as if screaming.

The moon had fallen.