Wrapping Up the First Night
‘The entire coastal area... Is that for real? Grandpa's loaded?’
I couldn't tell if what I'd just heard was reality or if I'd drunk too much wine and was hallucinating nonsense. The two from ‘Blue Forest’ just kept staring at me with puzzled looks.
“Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing at all.”
I shook myself out of it and opened my mouth. “You've worked so hard all the way till late at night. Thanks to you, I get to camp in this clean, awesome spot. Thank you.”
Grandpa's land might be huge, but I couldn't overlook the fact that these folks had busted their asses maintaining it.
“Aigoo, no need for that. Here's our business card. Next time you come by, just give us a call, and we'll spread the word so there are no mix-ups like this.”
I took the card they handed me, they said their goodbyes, and like when they'd arrived, their flashlight beams vanished back into the darkness.
After all that commotion, I felt exhausted... Time to hit the sack? ...?
Something felt off, like I'd forgotten something. I glanced around and spotted the camera still shining on the table.
Gasp. Oops, accidentally abandoned it again without meaning to.
I hurried back to the camera. To check what folks were saying, I picked up the tablet and looked at the chat.
It seemed better than I'd feared. Though my reputation might've tanked even further.
Good thing the conversation hadn't picked up on stream. Then my pocket buzzed—my smartphone.
It was a call from Kim Manho, the president. Right, he said he'd monitor...
Am I in trouble? Or did I worry him? I braced myself, muted the stream temporarily, and answered.
“Hello? President?”
> [Ah, Areum. Good, you picked up. Any idea what that was about?]
His voice dripped with worry, making me feel guilty. I should've at least explained on stream before stepping away...
“Oh, it was no big deal. The whole area here's Grandpa's land. But there's a citizens' group that usually manages it, and they thought I was some illegal camper, so they came by.”
> Did it get sorted?
“Yeah. They apologized for barging in, and said next time I call ahead, they'll make sure no issues.”
> Whew, glad that's over. We were about to call the cops thinking someone was messing with you.
Gulp. Yeah, that made sense. A lone woman camping in a remote spot, and strangers show up yelling out of nowhere.
“Sorry. I should've explained on stream first before leaving...”
> Haha, live and learn. Got more tips, but calm the stream first.
“Huh? Chat didn't seem that bad...”
> Was fine till you muted for this call. Now it's blowing up.
“...A simple sorry won't cut it, huh?”
> Yep. Fighting!
Click. Huh? President? Shouldn't you give advice or pop into chat to calm things? A deep sense of betrayal welled up. Betrayed by someone I trusted.
Maybe Park PD took over? Makes sense—even a black company wouldn't stick one person on a 12+ hour stream.
First, calm the stream. I cautiously returned to the camera and unmuted.
Me appearing on stream sparked the chat frenzy again.
Sigh, no way they'd let it slide. What now? President... I'm a camping pro, not streaming...
Start with an apology. “Sorry... So what happened was...”
I explained the whole thing—mix-up with ‘Blue Forest’ folks, the hapless encounter, everything.
“That's how it went...”
“Yeah, lesson learned. Even private land has caretakers—should've checked first.”
This was partly my carelessness. Treated it like my own backyard cuz it's Grandpa's...
“Er... a song? Fine by me, but no guitar... A cappella okay?”
A song or two to make up for it! Since this body, my voice improved—kinda wanna sing more. Old me would've chickened out in public, but now? Weird confidence boost.
Stream got quiet tho. “Huh? TTS voice stopped. Broken?”
Perfect timing? Or suspiciously so. TTS made today a rollercoaster—mostly annoying tho.
“Okay, hold off on restarting... What song?”
“Girl group a cappella? Meh. Weeb songs... don't know many. Popsong it is.”
Lotsa popsong options... I only know lyrics to a few besides punk rock. Famous one'll do.
“Alright? A song by the world's most famous band's member, written for another member's son.”
Smart crowd? Didn't wanna name it either. Ahem. Cleared my throat lightly. Wine made it husky—moodier?
Beyond the lens, stars twinkled like eyes watching. Deep breath, then into the silence...
“Hey...”
First note shocked even me. Crystal clear yet husky loneliness blended in. Damn, booze boost...
Eyes closed, surrendered to the sound. Sentimental song dredged up memories: Kid me staring skyward from rusty van. First car, hyped for inaugural car-camping. Lone nights at campsites post-loss, tunes my only company.
Each line revived buried feels.
“Na-na-na...”
Climax faded, eyes opened slow. Camera still there, stars unchanged.
Too emo? Abandoned chat again. But singing—forgiven?
Im Nana, no sleep? Late, and you're on a packed schedule...?
Reactions solid. Nah, killer. Voice cheats harder than face or bod.
Encore flood... Makes the singer happy? Already itching for more—let's go.
“One more? Then... Mike's approved honorary Ma clan singer's ‘Deep Night’.”
Checked chat, dove back in happily. Bliss. No guitar regret looms. Pack one next time?
Hyped, belted fave punk rock too—now drained.
“Ah... beat. Time to pack and crash. Stream ends here...”
Expected. But 14+ hours in—not ‘already’.
“24hr yes, but can't show me sleeping till morning? Tomorrow AM, last 12hrs. No worries.”
“Plans... Was Gimhae-bound, but probably Mokpo.”
“Visiting Grandpa.”
“Pffft... no need. Was gonna swing by post-camp anyway, but got questions for him now. See ya tomorrow!”
Placated viewers, hit end stream decisively.
[Broadcast Ended]
Tablet darkened, real sounds rushed in: waves, wind, dying fire crackles.
Cleared food/gear, doused embers, brushed teeth/washed up in camper, hit the bed.
Sleep wouldn't come tho.
‘Entire coastal area... What’s Grandpa...?’
Knew he lived comfy. Sponsored orphanages big-time since kid days...
‘But why were Dad and I broke living alone?’
HS days, Dad bowed to landlord over rent... No siblings—why no help? Grandpa wouldn't ignore. Or Dad hid it?
“Sigh... What happened?”
Right after Dad died post-adulthood, Grandpa said something... Chaos blurred memory. Post-army, drifted from contact...
Mulling wore me out, eyelids drooped. Phone clock: past midnight.
See him tomorrow anyway—ask direct. Drifted off slow.
Next morning. 10 AM.
... Overslept.