The Weight of a Choice
Doyun had ultimately refused to receive a Shamanic Reading and left his seat, claiming he had urgent business to attend to. Chaerin, too, had left the studio with a grimace on her face.
The eyes of the chat naturally turned toward Croco. Croco twisted his lips into a smirk.
“Wow, the atmosphere is really something else, isn't it?”
It was a lighthearted remark, but the tension didn't break. Park Jihun spoke up, sounding completely unbothered.
“Next, Croco.”
At that short command, the chat heated up once more.
Croco, scanning the chat, let out a dry laugh. “I don’t have anything to hide. Isn't it just a reading? What’s the big deal?”
He deliberately shrugged his shoulders. “Why is everyone so scared? If you’re innocent, you just get the reading. Like me.”
While Chaerin had crumbled and Doyun had given up, Croco seemed to find the situation amusing. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his face toward the camera.
“How about me? Do you see anything for me?”
The chat reacted immediately.
Park Jihun watched Croco in silence. As time passed, the viewers began to feel the atmosphere shifting in a strange direction.
Just as Croco was about to speak again, Park Jihun spoke first.
“You like meeting people.”
Croco smirked. “Well, I’m popular, so people are always asking to meet up.” He continued, acting as if it were nothing. “Older brothers, younger brothers, seniors, CEOs, getting introduced to one person after another. You grow by meeting people.”
Park Jihun’s voice was calm. It was the voice of someone speaking exactly what they saw. “Even so, you should be more selective about who you meet.”
Croco’s lips stiffened, just a fraction. “Why go that far? You meet all sorts of people when you’re out there.”
At that moment, a strange man’s voice flowed from Park Jihun’s lips.
“Croco—no, Juntae, it’s nothing, really. You said this was going to be a hit, right? Why not put some in while you’re at it? Huh? What’s wrong with saying something good is good? Don’t you agree?”
A brief silence. Croco blinked his eyes wide.
“……How did you…?”
“The scale is going to get big soon. If you add a little more, we’ll all eat big together. Trust your brother, yeah?”
“W-what on earth are you talking about? Are you possessed or something!”
As Croco recoiled in horror, Park Jihun said, “That was the conversation you had yesterday, right? Listen closely.”
Park Jihun’s gaze pierced straight through Croco. “Those people, they’re going to put you at the front.”
Croco burst into a laugh, as if it were absurd. “Ha! Is that all? Anyone can say things like that. I don’t know where you heard it, but…”
“Yeah. That’s how you get played.”
Croco’s eyes wavered for the briefest moment. Park Jihun didn't stop.
“You still think it’ll be fine as long as you don’t touch it yourself.”
Croco reflexively retorted, “I’m not the one leading it!”
“That’s the stupidest thought of all.” Park Jihun’s voice remained low and firm. “There’s someone setting the stage, someone handling the money, and someone else who’s going to run away.”
“……”
“But the one who gets all the hate is the face of the operation.”
Croco’s expression hardened. “They’ll make you use your name, your face, and even drag in your fans’ money. When it blows up, they’ll turn it all on you.”
The chat exploded instantly.
Croco ran his tongue along the inside of his lip. The ease he’d shown earlier was gone. Still, he forced a laugh and said, “You should know when to stop with the trolling. You’re exaggerating too much. That won’t happen. This is perfectly safe.”
Park Jihun replied briefly, “It’s safe for now.” And then he asked, “How long do you think it will stay safe?”
Croco’s expression stiffened again. Hesitating, he suddenly shouted, “What do you know? Those brothers, they aren't the weird guys you think they are. Do you know how well they take care of me?”
The chat moved rapidly.
The moment those words ended, a short vision flashed before Park Jihun’s eyes. A screen with an unfamiliar logo. A nameplate in front of Croco that read Director So-and-so. Promotional images featuring Croco’s face. Sentences scrolling rapidly through the chat.
I bought it trusting that guy and I’m ruined.
Wasn't this something you were pushing?
Apologize and compensate us.
The rapidly departing subscriber count. Croco, lips dry, looking utterly devastated. As the vision faded, Park Jihun spoke slowly.
“Nice brothers?”
Croco forced a laugh. “Yeah, so…”
“No. From the very beginning, they only intended to put you at the front and slip away behind your back.”
The chat seethed.
Croco’s lips parted, but no words came out. “You think you have no responsibility because investment is an individual’s choice.”
The firm statement landed. “But the public doesn’t see it that way.”
Croco’s eyes fluttered. Park Jihun drove the final nail in. “When the bubble bursts, they’ll slip away, and your fans will turn their backs on you.”
Croco could no longer smile.
Croco, who had been struggling to speak for a long while, ultimately couldn't open his mouth. The face that had been pretending to be at ease until just a moment ago had changed into a face desperately trying not to crumble.
The chat exploded.
Park Jihun no longer looked at Croco. His gaze slowly shifted to Akasha. Akasha held her breath for a moment before looking up.
“Is it my turn now?” Her voice was calm.
The chat moved rapidly.
Park Jihun’s gaze stopped on Akasha. “You haven't replied yet.”
For a moment, Akasha’s expression wavered subtly. The chat reacted first.
Akasha frowned. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing to reply to.”
“You received a proposal recently.”
Akasha’s expression hardened. “They asked for an answer by next week.”
The chat stirred significantly.
Park Jihun asked, “You still haven't decided, have you?”
Akasha pressed her lips together. Her gaze wavered. Park Jihun didn't look away. “Accept that proposal.”
Akasha frowned and said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so don’t say things like that.”
Park Jihun asked back in a cool voice, “How much should I tell you?”
[TITLE] Chapter 22 (Revised)
The chat held its breath along with them.
Akasha stared at Park Jihun with her lips pressed tight. Park Jihun did not avoid her gaze. At that moment, a scene hidden deep within Akasha’s mind flashed by like a vision. A narrow room. An entrance exam schedule for the Department of Practical Music stuck to the wall. A keyboard drawn on A4 paper. The tuition and lesson fees written under an entrance exam prep academy flyer. Her mother stopping as she tapped on a calculator. A young girl standing next to her, unable to say a word. The envelope she had folded wasn't an application—it was her dream.
Park Jihun opened his mouth. “You wanted to go to the Department of Practical Music. But you couldn't.”
At that short remark, Akasha asked with a flustered face, “……How do you know that?”
The chat was in an uproar.
Park Jihun replied briefly, “Because I can see it.”
Akasha let out a short sigh and said, “Everyone has their own circumstances.”
Park Jihun nodded. “That’s true.”
A brief silence flowed, and Park Jihun continued in an unwavering voice. “You still miss that time, don’t you?”
Akasha’s expression wavered noticeably. At that moment, Park Jihun’s vision blurred for a second. A message window that was never sent. A piano covered in dust. The ZXCV members smiling brightly on stage. Akasha’s face, eyes red, watching them in silence.
Park Jihun opened his mouth. “Accept that proposal. If you miss it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
At that moment, Akasha couldn't say a word. The chat went out of control again.
Park Jihun didn't continue. Watching Akasha quietly, he parted his lips. “That’s all for today’s broadcast.”
Even after returning home, Akasha couldn't settle her mind. The Shamanic Reading broadcast she saw today kept circling in her head. Under normal circumstances, she would have washed up, watched shorts on her phone, and killed time aimlessly, but today she wasn't in the mood.
Akasha paced in front of the broadcast room door for a while before carefully stepping inside. Tripod, lighting, microphone, computer, monitor. Then, her eyes lingered on the upright piano in the corner of the room.
Akasha shook her head vigorously and narrowed her brows. “……You don’t even know me that well.”
She muttered it quietly, but there was less strength in her voice than she’d intended. She couldn't bring herself to say that he was completely wrong, even to herself.
She sighed and sat down in front of her desk. She turned on the computer without thinking, as she usually did. Then, without realizing it, she clicked on the replay of the Shamanic Reading special.
“Crazy.”
The view count was already approaching a million. She could tell how much interest people had taken in it. Akasha hesitated for a moment before playing the video. Everything that happened today felt blurry in her memory.
“Huh?”
As soon as the video played, things she hadn't noticed earlier began to catch her eye. Chaerin had been pretending to smile, but at the decisive moment, her lips stiffened. Croco had tried to hold on, pretending to be at ease until the end, but his complexion changed as Park Jihun’s words continued. Doyun was even worse. He had been smiling slyly at first, but at some point, his eyes lost focus, and he eventually stormed out of his seat.
Akasha stared at the monitor for a long time, having paused the playback. “……What is this?”
She hadn't known when she was sitting next to them. But looking at the replay, she could see it. All three were the same. The moment Park Jihun hit the bullseye, their expressions changed as if they had seen a ghost.
“……He really guessed everything right.”
Even after muttering it to herself, Akasha couldn't move her hands right away. Her fingers, resting on the spacebar, stopped for a moment. Watching her own turn felt, strangely, more burdensome than confirming the expressions of the other three.
She took a short breath before slowly pressing the spacebar. This time, it was her turn.
Department of Practical Music. Couldn't go.
And the final remark.
“Accept that proposal. If you miss it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Akasha’s face stiffened. ‘No way.’
When she was on air, she’d wondered what he could possibly know about her to say something like that. But watching the replay, it wasn't that. He had seen through everything.
Her gaze turned back to the corner of the broadcast room. The upright piano was sitting quietly in the same spot as before.
“……”
She had played it occasionally, but it was nothing more than a hobby. But now, that piano looked a little different. In fact, it stood out more than anything else in the room.
She stared at it for a long time before dropping her gaze back to the screen. The tips of her fingers holding the mouse trembled slightly. In that moment of hesitation, she scrolled the mouse wheel down without realizing it. To the very bottom. The list of old videos she had hidden away. The broadcasts from her days of playing piano, not being a cam streamer, were quietly revealing themselves.
Akasha hesitated for a long time before clicking on one of the oldest videos. The image quality was different from now. The lighting, the camera—everything was cheap. The title was tacky, too.
[Dawn piano broadcast. I’ll only play calm songs today.]
As soon as the video played, the number floating in the corner of the screen caught her eye first.
[Viewer Count: 8]
Akasha stared at that number in silence. By today’s standards, it was a number that wouldn't even make her laugh. There were no donation alerts, and the chat moved slowly.
The chat moved slowly. There were no Water Droplets bursting like now, and no noisy spamming. Instead, the version of herself on screen was different from now. She wasn't forcing a smile in front of the camera, nor was she inflating her reactions for no reason. She was just sitting in front of the piano, quietly pressing the keys. And every time a song ended, the face reading the chat was much more comfortable than it was now.
The version of herself in the video laughed softly. “Thank you for listening.”
Her face was much simpler than it was now. Her makeup wasn't heavy, and her clothes were plain. The room was small, and the screen was tacky. Yet, strangely, the version of herself back then looked much happier than she did now.
“……”
Akasha bit her lip. The version of herself back then didn't have much. Her home wasn't well-off, and her viewer count was low. There were almost no donations, and even after broadcasting for a long time, there was nothing to show for it. Yet, the version of herself on screen was smiling. It wasn't a forced smile. It was a face she made because she was genuinely happy, genuinely enjoying it.
“……What is this?”
The voice that slipped out was trembling. Akasha couldn't take her eyes off her own face in the video. The current Akasha knew. What choices she had made after that. How the direction of her broadcasts had changed. What made money faster, what gathered people more easily. But even knowing all that, the face on the screen kept weighing on her heart.
8 viewers. A broadcast without a single donation alert. Yet, the version of herself back then was more alive than she was now. Akasha took a slow breath. This time, she couldn't deny it.
Akasha, who had been staring at the screen for a long while, slowly rose to her feet. Her gaze naturally turned to the corner of the broadcast room. The upright piano. Akasha walked up to the piano. She rested her fingertips on the black cover, then slowly opened it after a long moment. The keys revealed themselves.
“……Just once.”
A moment later, she slowly raised her hands and placed them on the keys. Plink. A single short note rang out. Akasha’s eyelids fluttered. Another note. And another. She pressed a few keys as her fingertips led her. But those few short sounds were enough. The emotions buried beneath the keys came back to life too easily.
She loved it. She really had loved it. It was hard, it didn't make money, and reality was always overwhelming. But when she was sitting in front of the keys, she was clearly happy. That fact, at least, she couldn't deny anymore.
Akasha took a slow breath. Then she picked up the phone she had left next to the piano.
[Regarding the project, give me an answer within next week.]
It was a message she had read, closed, and opened again for days. Her fingertips stopped again. It wasn't that the fear had disappeared. Because just taking on a challenge didn't mean everything would go well. The cursor blinked over the blank space. Akasha sighed shortly, wrote a few letters, and deleted them again. She didn't want to drag out the sentence with excuses. She knew that what she needed right now wasn't an excuse or a resolution. Still, she didn't want to avoid it this time.
Akasha gathered her courage and pressed the keys. [I’ll do it.]
The moment she pressed the send button, her heart pounded. She was more nervous and more excited than ever before. Not long after, a reply arrived.
[Hayeon-ah, you made a good choice. Let’s do well together. Fighting!]
Akasha stared at the message for a long time. Hayeon-ah. The moment she saw that name, a lump formed in her throat. No one had called her that lately. Everyone called her Akasha. Because she had laughed and made money broadcasting under that name. But that wasn't everything. The dream she had put off hadn't disappeared.
Akasha slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. The piano remained at the edge of her vision. I was Akasha, and I was also Jeong Hayeon.