30 Minutes Until Dawn Is Blue
With only thirty minutes left before Dawn Is Blue took the stage, Suhyun stood backstage under the outdoor tent, guitar in hand, on the absolute verge of losing his mind.
“Aaaah…”
Onstage, the dance club’s performance was in full swing. Every time an idol track hit its hook, the crowd exploded into fervent chants. The sheer size of the audience had already overwhelmed him, but these roaring cheers pressed in even harder. The weight of going on next tightened around his throat like a noose.
Band songs… there was no way they’d get a reaction like that.
Suhyun knew all too well how high the wall between genres could be. No matter how hot a band track was, it stood no chance against active idols dancing.
Meanwhile, Hana—still reeling from Seoeun’s half-advice—kept muttering beside him about military service, her words tumbling out in a frantic stream.
“So, Lee Suhyun, are you enlisting in January? Or February?”
“I don’t know yet… I’ll go when the notice comes.”
“Nooo… Can’t you just give me a straight answer!”
Hana couldn’t calm down. She had finally fallen for a boy, and that boy was disappearing into the military in less than six months. Even if they started dating tomorrow, they wouldn’t have a full year together.
Nothing was official between her and Suhyun yet, but the anxiety still crushed her. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.
“Hey. So you’re skipping the first semester of third year and enlisting, right? That’s what you’re saying?”
“…Hana.”
Juyeon, who had been watching, finally stepped in, unable to stand it any longer.
“Suhyun’s already tense and struggling right now…”
Juyeon’s hand gently lifted Hana’s from Suhyun’s shoulder. The gesture looked to Hana like an attempt to pull them apart, and her eyes went cold.
“I get that he’s nervous, but he can still answer a question.”
“If it’s about that, it can wait until after the performance.”
“What are you, his spokesperson now?”
Hana narrowed her eyes, openly displeased with how Juyeon kept hovering around Suhyun.
“Haa…”
Seoeun, who had been speaking with a student council officer managing the stage, let out a long sigh.
“Kids.”
One word from the president was enough to seize everyone’s attention.
“You can fool around later. Right now, focus on the stage. Understood?”
Seoeun wasn’t smiling. The members knew exactly what that meant.
Hana sat back down, fists clenched, sinking deep into a swamp of worry. Military service. She knew it lasted a year and six months… roughly five hundred days or more. If she waited for him, the days spent waiting would vastly outnumber the days they could actually be together.
Just thinking about it made her feel like a drooping, defeated puppy.
Ah. Why am I like this…
“…Hana.”
Suhyun quietly called her name. He mistakenly thought she was sulking because Seoeun had scolded her on his account. Forcing a smile, he wanted to tell her to cheer up.
“…What.”
“Don’t worry about it. Seoeun’s probably just a little on edge.”
“…That’s not it.”
Hana had hoped he would notice what was really bothering her, but that was unrealistic. Especially right before a performance—she couldn’t keep dwelling on it.
“…So it’s not that?”
“Yeah. It’s not.”
Hearing her answer, Suhyun grew just as gloomy. He had thought he’d been pretty perceptive the other day, but maybe that hadn’t been growth at all. Maybe it had just been lucky timing.
“Hey. Lee Suhyun.”
Hana swept her hair back from her face.
“Yeah?”
“Like I told you earlier today, there’s no need to be nervous. Just do what you always do.”
Hana’s head had cooled after Seoeun’s words, and now Juyeon’s advice echoed in her mind. When she really thought about it, Juyeon hadn’t said a single wrong thing.
“You’re more than good enough. Jaejun oppa said so too.”
Suhyun smiled at her encouragement.
“Spirit, please prepare to take the stage!”
At the signal, the members gathered their gear. Hana carried the heaviest load—both her guitar and the effects pedals.
“Yes! You may proceed from here!”
They climbed the half-flight of stairs, and the stage slowly came into view. People packed shoulder-to-shoulder right up against the edge, and further back, students sitting on picnic mats spread across the grass. The outdoor stage had truly become everyone’s playground.
“Juyeon! Can you handle the MC?”
Setting up the instruments would take a few minutes. Filling that brief gap fell to the vocalist, who only needed a microphone.
Juyeon gripped the mic and stared straight ahead.
It wasn’t an especially energetic tone, but the Spirit members could tell how fiercely Juyeon was squeezing out every ounce of courage. Her shoulders were trembling. Still, she held her ground and carried out her role.
“Yeah!”
“Whoo!”
Outside of an idol fan meeting, it was unrealistic to expect much response to those kinds of lines. Only a few kind-hearted students cheered. Juyeon smiled brightly in their direction and continued.
It might have sounded overly sincere and model-student for a band, but it was the best Juyeon could manage.
She was asking the band. When they nodded one by one, Juyeon felt relief wash over her—the hardest part, the solo MC segment, was finally over.
—Clap, clap, clap, clap.
Kang’s drumbeat crashed in, and the first song began. Even though they had practiced it dozens—maybe over a hundred—times, Suhyun felt like he was playing it for the very first time. At least a hundred pairs of eyes were locked on him alone. Every movement of his hands proved it was filling this massive space. The loudest sound this painfully timid loner had ever produced in his life. The magic he created shone through the conductor’s baton of six strings.
The front row sang along. Hands waved side to side, merging into one huge wave. Suhyun finally realized the moment he had imagined for so long had arrived. The rock-star scene he had dreamed of since childhood was unfolding in reality right now.
The experience a stage gives an artist is an ecstasy nothing else can replace.
The stage is the space that turns a living, breathing human being into a star.
That’s why people get addicted. Once you’re hooked, you can never escape.
It’s a miracle money can’t buy—something that can only happen there.
Those were the words of his favorite guitarist, Nick Brandon, from an interview in a British music magazine.
The crowd before him hadn’t gathered just to see Spirit. He wasn’t performing in front of thousands like Nick Brandon. Yet Suhyun understood every word his idol had said.
He raised his arm high and brought it crashing down. The raw, rugged stroke carried the unfiltered sound. When he glanced sideways off the stage, he saw Juyeon urging the audience to watch them and Kang smiling through his sweat. Beyond them was Hana racing through the climax of her solo. As she twisted her body, Suhyun met her eyes. Her gaze curved as if asking, Not bad, right? In answer, he threw himself into the rhythm so fiercely his hair whipped wildly.
The entire stage—above and below—was a crucible of pure excitement.
Juyeon caught her breath, finished the song, and offered her thanks.
A few regretful boos rose from the crowd.
Hana, who had been drowning in worry, no longer felt anxious. Because Suhyun—the one playing this song—had said it was the best. So it had to be a good song.
—Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Kang stomped on the beat. Hana’s sharp, ear-piercing riff followed, striking like a slap to the eardrums. Juyeon, who had practiced her lines in front of the mirror specifically for this song, shouted before the interlude even ended.
It was the moment their first original song stepped into the world.