The Girl Behind the Screen

The chat fell silent in unison.

Akasha bit her lower lip, staring intently at Park Jihun. Jihun did not break eye contact.

At that moment, a scene buried deep within Akasha's memories flashed before her eyes like a phantom.

A cramped room. An entrance exam schedule for the applied music department taped to the wall. A piano keyboard hand-drawn on a sheet of A4 paper. Tuition and lesson fees scribbled beneath an academy flyer. A mother's hand freezing over a calculator. A young girl standing beside her, unable to utter a single word.

What she had folded back then wasn't an application envelope—it was her dream.

Jihun spoke.

"You wanted to go to the applied music department. But you couldn't."

At those brief words, Akasha asked, her face pale with shock, "......How do you know that?"

The chat erupted.

Jihun replied simply, "Because I can see it."

Letting out a soft sigh, Akasha said, "Everyone has their own circumstances."

Jihun nodded. "That's true."

A brief silence fell before Jihun continued in an unwavering voice, "But you still long for those days."

Akasha's expression wavered visibly. At that moment, Jihun's vision blurred once more.

An unsent draft in a message window. A piano gathering dust. The members of the virtual band ZXCV smiling radiantly on stage. Akasha's face, watching them silently as her eyes welled with tears.

Jihun spoke.

"Accept that offer. If you miss it, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Akasha couldn't say a word. The chat went wild once again.

Jihun didn't say anything more. After quietly observing Akasha for a moment, he parted his lips.

"That's it for today's stream."

Even after returning home, Akasha couldn't calm her racing mind. Today's shamanic reading stream kept replaying in her head.

Normally, she would have quickly washed up the moment she got home and mindlessly scrolled through short-form videos on her phone to kill time, but today she wasn't in the mood.

She paced in front of her streaming room door for a while before stepping inside with hesitant steps.

The tripod, the studio lights, the microphone, the computer, the monitors... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and then, her gaze lingered on the upright piano tucked away in the corner of the room.

Akasha shook her head vigorously, furrowing her brow.

"......He doesn't even know me."

She muttered it under her breath, but her voice lacked conviction. Even to herself, she couldn't confidently claim his words were entirely wrong.

Sighing, she sat down at her desk. She turned on her computer out of habit, and before she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knew it, her fingers guided her to click on the VOD of the Shamanic Special.

"I'm losing it."

The view count was already nearing one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠million, a testament to the explosive public interest. Akasha hesitated for a second before hitting play. Everything that had transpired today still felt like a blur.

"Huh?"

As soon as the video started playing, things she hadn't noticed live began to catch her eye.

Chaerin was pretending to smile, but at crucial moments, the corners of her mouth stiffened first.

Croco tried his best to maintain his relaxed composure, but his complexion visibly paled as Jihun continued to speak.

Doyun was even worse. He had started with a sly, smug grin, but at some point, his eyes lost focus before he ultimately stormed out of the room.

Akasha paused the video and stared blankly at the monitor.

"......What in the world?"

Sitting side-by-side with them during the stream, she hadn't realized. But watching the recording made it painfully obvious. All three of them were exactly the same. The moment Jihun hit the nail on the head, their expressions shifted as if they had just seen a ghost.

"......He really got every single one right."

Even after muttering to herself, she couldn't bring herself to resume the video immediately. Her finger hovered over the spacebar. Strangely, watching her own segment felt far more daunting than analyzing the reactions of the other three.

Only after taking a shallow breath did she finally press the spacebar. It was her turn now.

Applied music department. Couldn't go.

And finally, his parting words.

"Accept that offer. If you miss it, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Akasha's face stiffened.

No way.

During the live broadcast, she had wondered what he could possibly know to make such a claim. But watching the VOD, she realized she was wrong. He had seen right through her.

Her gaze drifted back to the corner of the room. The upright piano sat silently in the exact same spot.

"......"

She played it occasionally, but it had always been nothing more than a hobby. Yet now, the instrument looked different. In fact, it seemed to command the entire room.

She stared at it for a long moment before looking back down at her screen. Her fingertips trembled slightly on the mouse. In her hesitation, she unconsciously scrolled down.

To the very bottom. The list of old, hidden videos. The broadcasts from the days when she was a piano streamer, not a cam model, quietly revealed themselves.

After a long hesitation, Akasha clicked on the oldest video. The video quality was worlds apart from her current setup. The lighting, the camera—everything was cheap. Even the title was hopelessly outdated.

Akasha stared blankly at that number. By her current standards, it was a laughably small audience.

The chat scrolled by at a snail's pace. There were no Water Droplets bursting across the screen, nor was there any chaotic spam.

Yet, the version of herself on screen was entirely different from who she was now. She wasn't forcing a smile for the camera, nor was she exaggerating her reactions. She simply sat before the piano, gently pressing the keys.

And every time a song ended, the face reading the chat looked infinitely more at peace.

The girl in the video smiled softly.

"Thank you for listening."

Her face was far more natural back then. Her makeup was light, her clothes ordinary. The room was cramped, and the video quality was grainy. Yet, strangely, the girl from back then looked so much happier than she did now.

"......"

Akasha bit her lip. Back then, she had almost nothing. Her family struggled financially, her viewer count was abysmal, donations were virtually nonexistent, and streaming for hours yielded next to nothing.

And yet, the girl on the screen was smiling. It wasn't a manufactured grin. It was a face of genuine joy, born from pure passion.

"......What is this?"

Her whispered voice trembled. Akasha couldn't tear her eyes away from her past self.

The current Akasha knew exactly what choices she had made after that. She knew how her stream's direction had shifted, what brought in money faster, and what attracted crowds more easily.

Yet, even knowing all of that, the face on the screen tugged relentlessly at her heart.

A stream with only eight viewers. A broadcast without a single donation alert. And yet, the girl back then was far more alive than she was today.

Akasha took a slow, deep breath. This time, she couldn't deny it.

After staring at the screen for a long while, Akasha slowly stood up. Her gaze naturally drifted toward the corner of the room.

The upright piano.

She walked over to it. Placing her fingertips on the black cover, she hesitated before slowly lifting it. The keys revealed themselves.

"......Just once."

A moment later, she slowly raised her hands and placed them on the keys.

Plink.

A single, brief note resonated through the room.

Akasha's eyelids fluttered. Another note. And then another. She pressed a few keys, letting her fingertips guide her aimlessly.

Yet, those brief sounds were more than enough. The emotions buried beneath the keys surged back to life with effortless ease.

She had loved it. She had truly loved it. It had been exhausting, it hadn't made any money, and reality had always been overwhelming. But whenever she sat before the keys, she was undeniably happy. That was a truth she could no longer deny.

Akasha took a deep breath. Then, she picked up her phone resting beside the piano.

Once again, her fingertips paused. The fear hadn't vanished. Taking a leap of faith didn't guarantee success.

The cursor blinked in the empty text box. Akasha let out a soft sigh, typing a few characters only to delete them. She didn't want to drag out her words. She knew that what she needed right now wasn't an excuse or a grand declaration.

But this time, she didn't want to run away. Summoning her courage, she tapped the keyboard.

The moment she pressed send, her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt more nervous—and more excited—than ever before.

A reply arrived almost instantly.

Akasha stared down at the message for a long time.

Hayeon.

Seeing that name made her throat tighten with emotion.

No one called her by that name these days. Everyone called her Akasha. That was the name she used to stream, smile, and make a living.

But that wasn't all of who she was. Her deferred dream had never truly disappeared.

Akasha closed her eyes slowly, then opened them. Her gaze rested on the piano.

She was Akasha, but she was also Jeong Hayeon.