Presto
At this moment, in another space. The room of Jeong Dain, leader of the idol group Happy Day.
“Unnie... just how many times are you going to watch that?”
Jeong Dami shook her head at her older sister's obsession.
“Dami... who on earth is this guy?”
When her sister returned home from busking with a flushed face, Dami thought things had gone well.
But lo and behold!
It wasn't Dain who was getting all the attention, but someone else.
And a man, at that! Not just any ordinary man, but an insanely handsome one.
The video of her sister and that guy had completely blown up, racking up a whopping three million views.
And in just four days, no less.
‘Didn't the music video that Unnie's group poured an astronomical amount of money into only get a hundred thousand views...?’
It was tragic, but understandable. The man in the video was far more captivating than her sister's entire group.
While ordinary women would have swooned over his looks, Dami, a bass major, was more impressed by his other videos.
“If it's hard to tell who's better between him and Manager-ssam, he's definitely at a professional level...”
“Huh? Dami, what did you say?”
“Sigh... just write a comment. Don't make any typos.”
“Look at this comment. What does it say?”
Even now, the view count was steadily climbing, and the comment section was a festival of various languages.
‘Is this place Sodom and Gomorrah...?’
Watching the chaotic scene of people transitioning from worship to arguing over his nationality gave her a headache.
“You're not his spokesperson, Unnie. Just let them fight among themselves.”
“But what if he sees this? He'd be so disappointed!”
“I doubt he'd care...”
“Hurry! Refute this person for me.”
“...Sigh, fine. What does it say?”
“What a crazy bastard.”
“It is a pretty rude comment. It makes me mad!”
“Yeah. He's spouting nonsense like he's actually somebody. I can smell the ugly jealousy dripping from this comment. He's pretending to be a refined Brit, but my gut tells me he's just some Korean guy using a VPN.”
“A Korean guy?”
“Yeah, a hundred percent! What kind of woman could look at that guy's face and write hate like that? It's obvious he's just some loser typing from his bedroom. If anything, he's the one who doesn't know Oasis. Since when did they ever care about being treated with respect? They're natural attention seekers who can't go a second without saying 'fuck'.”
“I-is that so?”
“Even British people know that. Their fans would actually love hearing their songs played anywhere. And in the UK, the land of busking? This kind of attitude is impossible.”
Jeong Dain was convinced by her sister's logic. She naturally handed over the keyboard.
“Isn't that a bit too harsh?”
“Please, this is nothing. Just wait, there's going to be a reaction.”
Dain broke into a cold sweat watching her sister's wicked grin.
Sure enough, it didn't take long for the comment in question to be flooded with backlash. Actual British users had arrived.
Some even declared they would deliver justice to the racist who was bringing international shame upon them.
Sunk in an instant, the troll hurriedly deleted the comment and vanished.
“See? He should've just left a mindless hate comment. Pretending to know stuff when he doesn't know shit.”
“Dami... watch your language.”
“Now, let's see if there's anyone else to tear apart.”
[ At the same time, on a certain online community ]
Me, 3rd year part-timer at a clothing store.
I've survived this extreme job of dealing with absolute losers and Karens for three whole years.
My main duty is basically lying.
"Oh my! It looks so good on you, unnie!" "It's a perfect fit!"
To the unnies reading this, I trust you know this is all bullshit. Please, stop lying about your size!
Anyway, even in this extreme environment, salvation existed.
Along with the familiar sound of the bell (the boss hung a bell so I wouldn't slack off, so unfair), a man walked in.
The moment I saw him, I froze like stone. In my 25 years of life, I had never seen such a crazy handsome guy.
He toughly shouted, "XL! Hurry!"
Since I'm a total virgin who's never dated, all I could stammer was, "Y-yes?"
Maybe he felt bad that I was moving so slowly, because he actually chose the clothes himself.
If it ended there, I wouldn't be writing this testimony.
Right then and there, he took off his shirt! Those broad shoulders and clear six-pack, oh my god...
By the time I snapped out of it, all that was left in my hand was a 50,000 won bill.
He paid ten times the price for a 5,000 won shirt. He must be an angel sent down to save a poor soul.
The man who appeared like a comet, took off his shirt, changed, and left!
The white short-sleeved tee he left behind is now a family heirloom.
Sigh... my nosebleed still won't stop.
“Why are my ears so itchy?”
Saebyeok's flow was interrupted right in the middle of composing.
He had been feeling it lately, but this body of his was quite sensitive.
‘Well, thanks to that, I've become a well-loved man.’
Checking the clock, it was already dinner time. He must have been focused for three straight hours.
Since his flow was already broken, he was about to go wake Seola up, but then he looked back at the rough notes he had scribbled in his composition notebook.
“Hmm... has my composing style changed a bit?”
Everyone has habits, and Saebyeok had a wealth of experience composing as 'Ed.'
Looking closely, there were techniques scattered here and there that he didn't normally use.
He hadn't noticed because he had written almost unconsciously, following the flow.
‘Is this the music that the original Saebyeok learned throughout his life melting into it? If I had to classify it, it's closer to classic rock.’
This was especially true in the classical structure and harmonic elements.
He fell into a brief train of thought.
The history of music was by no means short, and thousands of songs were released worldwide every single day.
Therefore, the general consensus was that musical genres had become somewhat fixed.
On the other hand, many argued that this was a hasty conclusion, given the constant new attempts and crossovers.
“Music is just music. Classifying it is just for convenience. Singers make music, not musicology.”
Whether they were majors or critics.
Of course, if one dreamed of songwriting, composing, or producing, a broad range of knowledge was necessary.
Generally, Saebyeok's stance was that, in the end, deciding what was good should be left to the listeners.
Thinking about that, the girl he had busked with not long ago came to mind.
Good music. Isn't that what it is?
Everyone has had that kind of experience at least once—being moved or tearing up even without knowing the meaning of the lyrics.
Saebyeok wanted to make that kind of music, and he believed he had achieved a part of that in his past life.
“Ugh... Saebyeok, are you working?”
Turning around, he saw Seola rubbing her eyes, wearing an oversized boxy T-shirt.
“Did you sleep well?”
“…I passed out, actually.”
“Ahaha... Are you hungry?”
“No. I feel stuffed already.”
“…Cough, cough.”
She was throwing out dirty jokes without hesitation now. He was slightly worried that her evolution was progressing too quickly.
“Still, we should eat together. I'll go wash up first...”
“Should we shower together?”
“…Just try coming in.”
“Oh! I shall get right to preparing dinner, then. Take your time washing up!”
“Okay...”
Watching her stumble toward the bathroom, his conscience pricked him slightly.
‘Why do I feel even more energetic?’
In his past life at twenty-one, he had been cooped up at Harvard doing nothing but studying, so he had no frame of reference. Pass.
Anyway, what was the point of comparing himself to his past self? If things were good now, that was all that mattered. Worrying was a luxury.
“What should we have for dinner tonight?”
The fridge was packed with meal kits.
The one chosen for tonight was beef bone soup.
“Stamina food! Stamina food!”
While Saebyeok hummed and prepared dinner, Seola surrendered herself to the hot water.
“I should probably say I'm going home today... but I don't want to. Hehe.”
She hadn't known that being loved could be this blissful. Every day felt like a dream.
She felt an internal conflict, wanting to brag about what a blessing it was to be loved so intensely that her body could barely take it, and just how multi-talented(?) he was.
“I should probably tell my sisters, right?”
It was obvious that Saebyeok would become an even greater figure in the future. She resolved that, at the very least, she wouldn't be an embarrassing girlfriend.
“And then, I'll propose to him. Kyaaa! What should I do!”
Just the thought of it made her feel like she would die of happiness.
“How many kids should we have when we get married? I hope they look like Saebyeok...”
She even started planning their future.
“Ah! Come to think of it...”
Counting her ovulation cycle on her fingers, she realized it was getting a bit risky. Why was it that even now, with her legs still trembling, she felt a sense of regret first?
“I love you so, so much, Saebyeok.”
She whispered the words she had been too embarrassed to say out loud.
Even though she knew it would be drowned out by the sound of the shower, her heart felt like it was going to burst.
She hoped she could say it naturally in front of him soon.
And...
that one day, she would hear it from his lips...
“Aza! You can do this, Choi Seola!”
Still unaware of how incredibly sharp Saebyeok's hearing was, Seola was unknowingly building up a history of embarrassing moments.
Saebyeok chuckled at the cute shout of his girlfriend drifting from the bathroom.