Chapter 21
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: An Impromptu Street Performance
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"There it is!"
Thankfully—or maybe not—the chicken joint had some empty seats. Park Tae-hoo let out a sigh, looking disappointed.
Kim Ha-woon practically skipped inside with a huge grin, and the owner approached them right away.
"Welcome! How many in your party?"
"Four of us!"
They were shown to a table by the window and sat down. Soon, water and menus arrived. Kim Ha-woon flipped open the menu excitedly and scanned the chicken options.
"We should get the basic one first, then yangnyeom, onion, and soy sauce... right?"
Hold on, hold on.
"Four chickens?"
"Of course! One chicken per person!"
Even so, that was a bit much...
Sure enough, Lee Jae-ha's sharp voice cut in.
"Two per chicken. You wanna get caught at weigh-in?"
"Yeah, Jae-ha's got a point. But pick two kinds you wanna eat."
How are we supposed to debut if we stuff ourselves silly?
At our words, Kim Ha-woon looked utterly dejected, like he'd lost his country. He slumped over and picked out chickens with Park Tae-hoo.
But that didn't last long. Once the chicken aroma filled the shop, his spirits lifted, and he beamed with anticipation.
"Hehe, hope it comes out quick."
As they sipped water waiting for the food, a crowd started gathering busily in front of the glass-walled shop.
"What's that?"
"Looks like some busking."
Lee Jae-ha elaborated on my question. It seemed like a small band—several people setting up instruments and amps.
The street was already busy on the weekend, and with all that gear, it was blocking the sidewalk completely.
"Your chicken order is up!"
"Ooooh!"
Kim Ha-woon grabbed forks excitedly, grinning wide as he divvied up all four drumsticks, one to each plate. He was so thrilled, but still thoughtful like that—it showed he was a good kid.
I handed my plump drumstick to Kim Ha-woon.
"You eat this, Ha-woon. I'm not big on drumsticks."
"Huh?"
Ha-woon alternated stares between the two drumsticks now on his plate and me, eyes round with genuine shock.
"You don't eat drumsticks? Why not?"
"Just don't like 'em."
"Drumsticks are the best part! That's why they both say 'digyeot'!"
...What kind of logic is that? What about the head then?
Kim Ha-woon picked it up with his fork, trying to hand it back.
"If it's 'cause you said four earlier, it's fine! We're a team! Gotta share the good stuff!"
"No, really, I don't like them."
Chicken breast or whole chicken—it's all the same bird. Eating too much feels like it'd choke me.
And, well, there was another reason too.
"For real?"
"Yeah."
"For real? Real real?"
"For real."
Only after repeating it a few times did he believe me, breaking into a "hehe" grin.
"Then I'll dig in. Thanks, hyung."
Good—eat up those drumsticks and hurry up and acknowledge me as leader. 80 coins are waiting for me.
We'd each taken a bite when—
Ziiiiiing!
The amp's screech assaulted our ears mercilessly. It felt like it was right next to us.
Those people from earlier must've started busking. But...
"Isn't it crazy loud?"
I thought I'd said it, but it matched my thoughts exactly.
Sure enough, the others grimaced and peered outside. Passersby scowled too, while only the buskers seemed lost in their own performance.
'Who does heavy metal street singing on a weekend evening?'
Heavy metal busking in a busy district? First I'd heard of it.
They were shredding their throats, bellowing at the top of their lungs. Instead of drawing a crowd, people were detouring around them.
'Is this even allowed?'
Busking might be free, but this felt like a public nuisance in the middle of a pedestrian street.
They tried acting like it was fine, but it was futile. Every time the speakers crackled and distorted over the noise, my head throbbed.
"Ugh... it's way too loud."
The problem was it showed no signs of stopping.
The immature singing and shredding speakers made a perfect cacophony—even eating chicken was a struggle.
"Argh! These punks again!"
As the song hit its climax, the owner burst out from the kitchen, startled. The performance paused briefly.
Through the glass, we saw the buskers arguing with the owner.
They were yelling so loud, their voices carried through the open door later on.
"I told you not to perform here! You're killing my business!"
"We got permission from city hall!"
"Then keep it quiet! How can you blast it so the shop shakes? You're ruining everyone!"
Kim Ha-woon, who'd been staring intently while munching chicken, muttered offhandedly.
"Not their first time, huh? They're really going at it."
Crunch! Park Tae-hoo nodded, chomping three pickled radishes at once.
...This guy eats more radish than chicken.
"It is loud."
Lee Jae-ha, who'd eaten just one drumstick and set down his fork, checked his phone.
"Let's eat fast and bounce while it's chaotic. Gotta sort out rooms back at the dorm too."
"Yeah, yeah. Eat quick but don't choke."
Manager Kim Han-soo said he'd come tomorrow morning, but things change—he might show up anytime. Being out was making me uneasy.
We sped up clearing the chicken when a shout exploded from way closer than before.
"Ugh! We'll buy the damn chicken then!"
Two male buskers stormed into the shop.
"Not many customers anyway! Gimme five chickens!"
The part-timer serving them stammered in confusion.
"Wh-which chicken would you like?"
"Chicken! Chicken. You don't know chicken?"
"We have several kinds..."
"Duh! Basic, obviously! No wonder business sucks."
The owner, who'd rushed in after them, finally snapped, face red with rage.
"Hey, you bastards! I'm not selling to you—get out of my shop!"
"Road's blocked, mister? We'll be two hours—five chickens covers it. Be grateful for our generosity."
After that, it was pure chaos. The owner was furious, and the buskers wouldn't back down an inch.
It was such a ruckus, even I felt like I'd choke on my chicken watching.
Just call the cops and be done with it.
As I thought that, Kim Ha-woon—cheeks puffed with food—mumbled while chewing.
"Honestly, they were loud though."
...Why say that out loud? Keep it inside.
But Kim Ha-woon continued innocently, without a care.
"Can't even sing."
Whoosh!
Before I could stop him, the buskers' eyes locked on our table.
Did they hear? It wasn't that loud. Hoping it was coincidence—but no, one stomped over.
"Hey, what'd you just say?"
Damn, they hear insults like ghosts. Wasn't even yelling.
"You trash-talked us?"
Already hyped from the owner fight, his face was beet red, veins bulging.
I was about to step in and smooth it over, but Kim Ha-woon beat me.
"Huh? Didn't trash-talk."
"You said we can't sing."
...That's not trash-talk, that's fact.
Couldn't say that, so I held back. But the busker, already exploded from the owner spat, wasn't holding anything.
He ranted without asking or caring:
"This is why TV-brained idiots suck. Don't even know real singing! No room for artists in this country. Greedy owners and clueless posers ruining it!"
Ah, yeah, sure...
The endless tirade startled the owner more than before. He rushed over, taking our side.
"You psycho, what're you doing to customers? Wanna go to the station?"
"Cops? Call 'em! Didn't you hear these punks start it? Buncha cowards who only yap!"
This wasn't ending well. Escalation hurts us more—better bail now.
"Owner, can you pack the leftovers?"
Avoid rabid dogs.
But once one bites, it doesn't let go easy.
"Where you running? Start shit and dip?"
"Sorry. My little bro misspoke."
"Sorry? Kill someone and 'sorry' fixes it?"
Never killed anyone.
I was speechless at the absurdity, but he took it as victory, smirking confidently.
"Let's hear you then. Sing. Lend you gear. Do it."
This could turn into a real fight. I signaled Lee Jae-ha. Quick on the uptake, he nodded, cuing the others to stand.
Even amid it, Kim Ha-woon looked deflated, blaming himself for escalating.
'Ugh, we came for chicken too.'
We didn't finish, so maybe he won't acknowledge me as leader? Gotta come back later?
Anyway, escape first.
"Sorry about this."
Thud.
But the busker blocked us, refusing to let go. No booze smell—why pick on us?
Probably have to call cops now.
'Can't do that.'
Then it'd leak we snuck out for chicken. Need a quiet way out.
"What? Scared to actually do it?"
The busker sneered, poking my shoulder.
Don't touch people. Pissed me off—I snapped.
"Sing and we're good?"
Think we can't? But exposing face here...
He scoffed, incredulous.
"Ha! Go on! Show us."
"Lend me your hat."
I held out to Lee Jae-ha—the only one wearing one. He hesitated.
"Hyung, really singing?"
"Said they'd let us go. One song, whatever."
"Still..."
"Can't call cops."
Reluctantly, Lee Jae-ha handed it over.
Pull.
I yanked the hat low and headed out. Eyes were on us from the commotion.
I ignored it, weaving through to their spot. My confidence flustered the buskers.
"What MR tracks you got?"
"Huh?"
"MR."
They just exchanged glances, no answer.
Then I spotted a well-tuned guitar. Fine, improv with that. Who needs MR.
"Never mind. Borrowing the guitar."
I grabbed it without waiting. Never imagined singing here.
Ting-a-ling.
It was decently tuned.
No need for "Ho, Not Bad" here. Just one song.
"Starting."
When Do-jun picked up the guitar, the buskers panicked at first. He plays? Some singer boy?
His cocky vibe annoyed them. One sneaked over and killed the amp power.
Hoping the punk who mocked busking would crash and burn.
Live unplugged in noisy streets where voices fade quick? No one'd hear.
They snickered inwardly. Better no audience than humiliation.
Oblivious, Do-jun got set.
Someone started recording for his looks alone—skills secondary.
Then the song began.
That's when buskers realized they'd misjudged everything.
At first, no amp meant straining to hear.
"Tell me the lie that you've forgotten everything..."
But as it went on, Do-jun's voice grew clearer.
"You're still alive in my memories."
Precisely, it wasn't his voice amplifying—the ambient noise was fading.
In the bustling downtown where chatter overwhelmed steps away, only around Do-jun felt like another world.
How?
Buskers, owner, even fight gawkers—all sucked into Do-jun's song instantly.
No time for awe; they were entranced, dazed.
More passersby got drawn in, expanding Do-jun's voice's reach amid the din.
The street felt like a mini concert hall. Everyone lost in his world.
Minutes passed like seconds. The song ended.
But people couldn't snap out. Do-jun set down the guitar, gauging silent stares.
"Thank you."
"Ah...!"
Brief silence, then thunderous cheers erupted.
Clap clap clap!
"Woooah!"
"Encore! Encore!"
Do-jun, surrounded by the crowd, grinned dazedly.
The hush felt like a prank cam, but cheers poured only for him.
His chest swelled. Radio texts were nice, but live connection hit different. He wanted to sing more.
Got why people busk, why singers love stages. Why he craved debut.
Hiding regret, Do-jun bowed and left the spot.
"Aaaah!"
Sighs rose, but he pushed firmly back to the chicken shop. Lingering would amplify the ache.
Debut soon—save it for official stages.
Wanting to savor this high back home, he told the still-dazed buskers:
"That good? We're out."
No reply expected, he turned to the members.
"Guys, let's go. Chicken packed?"
"Ah!"
The owner and part-timer answered. Chicken still sat on the table.
Seeing it, Kim Ha-woon muttered.
"Hyung, chicken's all cold now."
...Is that what matters right now?