The Sin of Being the Leader (2)
Clear sky-blue hair. Crimson eyes that strangely drew people in. And neat facial features tying it all together. Even by Shin Young-hoon's standards—who was clumsy with emotions toward the opposite sex and relatively indifferent—she was plenty attractive. Entertainers wouldn't be popular without charm in the first place, but this was a feeling he'd rarely experienced. 'First time since Hana.'
Back when he was a green rookie short on experience, Shin Young-hoon had made a painful mistake. He'd gotten chewed out by both a client and his boss, even insulted on a personal level, leaving him depressed. That's when Yu Hana had comforted him. That was the first time he'd ever thought another woman was beautiful. Of course, his fantasy shattered quickly when a thoroughly drunk Yu Hana puked all over his suit.
Even rotten mackerel has its shine. 'Real-life celebrities really are different.' The woman before him didn't seem like the type whose illusion would break easily. Especially that unique aura suppressing others' anger—it meant she wasn't your average person, even if she looked that way. 'Uncomfortable.'
Shin Young-hoon straightened his tie. It had been ages since he'd felt this uneasy, even more than a tense meeting with a client he'd once blown a deal with. An unfamiliar prickling sensation poked at his skin. Tension, maybe? His throat kept parching, so he gulped down cold water.
"…."
"…."
The uncomfortable silence stretched into a standoff. Deep fatigue weighing down his eyelids made Shin Young-hoon forget himself and press hard at his brow. 'She's tough.' By now, you'd expect some reaction. No matter what gesture he made, Izumi remained unmoved. Her hands neatly folded on her lap, her gaze fixed on him laced with guilt.
"Really? That's so cute just hearing about it!"
"Right?"
"Hmm."
"What's cute about that? It's gross."
"Oh? Isn't Basara-kun cute?"
"Don't call him Basara-kun!"
"Ohoho!"
A wave of embarrassment crashed over him just as he tried to keep a serious face, forcing Shin Young-hoon to quietly run a hand down his features. Maintaining a blank expression was proving too hard.
"Seonghun's best with a blank face."
"Why?"
"The dark circles? Gives off this subtle 'looking down on people' vibe? Like a gaze full of that ruined-beauty melancholy that just squeezes your heart!"
"Are you in your right mind?"
"Ahahaha!"
He'd laughed it off back then, but he agreed his blank expression came off as intimidating to others. Especially useful in situations like this. 'Calm down….'
As Shin Young-hoon reined in his composure, rattled by Yu Hana's boisterous laughter, the mood at their table was the polar opposite—heavy and tense—while the other table buzzed with excitement.
'Great vibe!' Yahiro screamed internally but kept up his bright smile on the surface. Common sense dictated: when your kid gets hurt, who do you dread facing most? Hands down, it's Mom. Even though Shin Young-hoon was handling Izumi right now, Yahiro pegged Yu Hana as the real key player.
'Screw this up, and we're fucked…!'
Yahiro desperately unpacked his arsenal of stories to divert Yu Hana's attention. 'Leave this to me, Izumi!' To avert the nightmare in his head—Izumi getting dragged off by the hair—he sold out every connection he'd built up.
Shin Young-hoon glanced at Yu Hana, who was clapping like an excited auntie, then rolled his shoulders and let out a sigh. "Hoo."
Staying like this would get them nowhere, so he pried open his heavy lips. "I heard."
Izumi tensed at the voice—similar to Tae-il's over the phone, yet different.
"My son got hurt because of you?"
"Y-Yes…."
Izumi bowed her head like a criminal. The already heavy air crushed down on her shoulders.
"Hmm."
Her guilt-ridden look, stirring a man's protective instincts, made it hard to scold her harshly. If it were all an act, Shin Young-hoon would've responded with cold indifference. But… 'It feels genuine….'
Word was, she wasn't some acclaimed actress but a rock band singer. 'Rock band….'
Shin Young-hoon's eyebrow twitched faintly. Of all things, a rock band….
As he mulled over his discomfort, Izumi hurriedly recapped the incident.
"It was clearly an accident, but entirely due to my carelessness, so I'll definitely take responsibility…."
Izumi had slipped on stage. Tae-il had caught her as she fell, using his body. A heroic act for a man saving a woman, but Tae-il ended up with a concussion and passed out. His head wound had split open, bleeding profusely.
Shin Young-hoon hadn't known. He'd rarely ever acted like a proper father to his unlovable son. So he was a bit surprised. Hearing his son got hurt helping someone inexplicably pissed him off.
In this individualistic, cutthroat modern world, what glory was his idiot son chasing by jumping in to save someone? 'And….'
This woman before him, much younger than him, was offering to take responsibility for hurting his son. Taking accountability wasn't all that strange. Concussion. If luck was bad, his son could've died, ended up vegetative, or turned into an idiot.
'Yeah. She should.' Adults who screw up have to pay the price. That's how Shin Young-hoon was raised. So when his son showed interest in music, he'd reacted with strong disapproval.
Adults, unlike protected minors, must bear their own responsibilities. But could someone pursuing music really do that? 'No way.'
Shin Young-hoon didn't trust dreamers. Hearing his reliable nephew in Korea had half-ruined himself chasing music failures only reinforced it. Call it prejudice. Reality was harsh.
Economic suicide. That's what music was to him. Letting Tae-il enjoy it was leniency because they were in Japan. Enjoy it now. Back in Korea, with its barren music soil, he wouldn't be able to even if he wanted.
Shin Young-hoon's indifferent gaze landed on Izumi. Separate from her attractive looks, she seemed like someone filling his son's head with foolish dreams—not to his liking.
Successful musicians. To him, they were poisoned chalices, spreading envy and longing to talentless kids—a deadly toxin. The addicted wandered vast oceans unaware they'd sunk, starving to death.
Thinking his son poisoned by it, his gaze toward her was far from kind.
"I'm sorry…."
"No need for apologies."
"Pardon?"
"You've already upheld your duty."
Izumi had apologized sincerely. She'd covered all medical bills and costs. That was it. No need to press further.
"What a celebrity like you wants is obvious."
The entertainers Shin Young-hoon remembered all hated scandals blowing up. They'd cover up routinely, lie when caught, dodge blame. Even clear guilt got pinned on managers or aides—irresponsible lot. If they took responsibility, it was for one reason.
'Money.'
"You're on tour, right?"
"Y-Yes…."
"We won't tip off the press, so don't worry."
"T-Tip off!?"
"Yeah. We hate noise too."
Japanese reporters were needlessly persistent. Locals too. In a society where social bullying was normalized, once spotted, they hounded endlessly. Shin Young-hoon wanted quiet until his business wrapped.
'Plus….'
A solo concert was a massive project with astronomical investments, like a company venture. If this hit the news, malicious rumors would spread. If he wanted, he could inflict irreparable damage to BARD's brand.
'Profit hit too, probably.'
Japan blew minor faults out of proportion. A scarlet letter. The stigma stuck like a brand, especially for women. He could squeeze money out easily if he tried.
'She's anxious.'
Word was, the company invested heavily in this tour. Beyond personal ties, they'd want to hush and bury it.
Above all, Yu Hana hated scandals too. 'Funny.'
Shin Young-hoon chuckled self-mockingly. The question he was about to ask was more his wife's curiosity than his.
He glanced at Yu Hana. Sensing it, she stopped laughing and met his eyes. She smiled faintly.
"Um…?"
"Not interested in anything else."
Izumi shuddered at his loaded response, looking a bit scared.
Shin Young-hoon closed his eyes. "But…."
He trailed off, pausing dramatically.
"There's one thing I want to ask."
Izumi tensed under his serious gaze and nodded. "If it's something I can answer."
"Hoo." Shin Young-hoon sighed.
"My son…."
Visiting hours had long ended, late into the night. Knock knock.
A knock echoed in the hospital room. "Who is it?"
Tae-il, reviewing practice footage to gauge the members' levels, tilted his head. Not a bandmate. He'd earnestly begged them: don't waste energy here, go home and rest properly. Tomorrow was practice day.
He'd be out, but practice had to go on.
"You sure you're okay, Shin-chan?"
"Yeah. Practice matters more than me right now."
"What if Shin-chan can't even go to the bathroom alone?"
"As if…."
Tae-il, fine as long as he avoided vigorous movement, sighed. His plea: rest up for solid practice later. Iris nodded vigorously in agreement.
"No helping it! Everyone's still seriously rough!"
"Coming from you, that sounds real obnoxious, you know?"
"Should I watch Rena-chan's practice? Hehe!"
"You don't know drums."
"Oh."
"Hey, Iris. Mind checking my guitar for once?"
"Got it, Sakuya!"
"Excluding just Ayane!?"
"Sigh. Just come to my place today…."
Rena declared they'd meet at hers. Ayane voiced extra regret at being left out, but fairness meant no exceptions. As Iris said.
Tae-il had lost all leader dignity long ago, but deep down, everyone acknowledged it. The band's level was disastrously bad—beyond imagination.
Only Tae-il and Iris could handle songs above average. This wouldn't cut it. Hitting any stage like this meant total humiliation.
Whatever it took, they needed more grind. Everyone agreed.
Rena's place luckily had a drum practice room she'd set up, soundproof booth and all—perfect for late nights. So after swinging home for instruments, they dispersed to reconvene at Rena's.
Tae-il had just gotten the practice footage. 'Who could it be?'
If nurse or doctor, they'd have entered by now. Tae-il raised his voice, puzzled. "Come in."
The door slid open smoothly. Sky-blue hair slipped through the dark gap, followed by crimson eyes glinting in the shadows.
"Huh?"
It was Tenma Izumi.
"Izumi-san, visiting hours are over…?"
"Ah, sorryyy."
Her careful, drawn-out voice. Her vocal care was so meticulous—even after solo hard-rock concerts without guests, it still sounded pristine.
"Pfft." Izumi's wary look was so cute, Tae-il couldn't help a chuckle.
"Come in already. You'll get noticed out there."
"O-Okay…."
Her downcast eyes darted around guiltily as she entered.
"How've you been?"
"Thanks to you."
"Sorry. Concert and aftermath kept me…."
"You were here before I woke up, right?"
"Y-Yeah…."
Izumi had wanted to stay, but concert prep forced her away. Tae-il understood completely—she'd contacted him directly. Everyone did, rationally.
But emotionally, they harbored quiet resentment. Since she'd come all this way.
Tae-il patted the caregiver's chair beside him openly. "Sit here. Let's talk."
"Okay."
The moon hung full. Plenty of time till her next concert.
Izumi, eyeing him hesitantly, perched lightly on the chair. Tae-il started.
"How was the concert?"
"Great."
"Haha, mine too. Minus the swing."
"Uwuu…."
Tae-il led the chat. Conveniently, no Yahiro or Iris—no need to mind others.
Slowly. From concert talk, they unpacked bottled-up feelings bit by bit.
The moon shifted west. As if it were their last time, they chatted lips dry with joy.
Even Tae-il's unfunny tales had Izumi giggling, baring teeth in delight. Until the sun peeked over the buildings.
The room's light stayed on, unquenched.