18
## Chapter 18 — Past Pain Is Part of Today’s Happiness
Apparently, the [Time-Traveling Haenam National Music Festival] was far more famous than I’d expected.
Even before the festival began, the audience seats had already started filling up…
“Alright! We will now begin the [Time-Traveling Haenam National Music Festival]!!”
“WAAAAAAAHHHHH—!!”
By the time the festival officially started, there weren’t even enough seats left, and people were standing all the way in the back just to watch the performances.
“Next up is <Night Nest Band> with [We Live Together]!”
“WAAAAAAH!”
What shocked me even more, though, was the quality of the participating teams.
“Night Nest Band…? That name sounds familiar…”
“They’re an indie band active in Seoul. They’re popular enough to hold solo concerts, and their songs are amazing. I really like them personally, so I can’t believe I’m seeing them here…”
I’d heard that anyone—from rookies to established artists—could freely participate in this festival.
And apparently, that even included indie bands I occasionally listened to myself.
A fairly famous group was premiering an unreleased new song for the first time at this festival, and the audience absolutely exploded with excitement.
Their uniquely youthful indie-band vocals blended emotionally with the night sea behind the stage, and even I found myself closing my eyes just to enjoy the music.
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
“Wow… that was an incredible performance.”
When the song ended and I opened my eyes again, I applauded with genuine admiration.
Their song had been truly beautiful.
It was the kind of performance that stirred something deep inside your heart.
But the problem was—
“It *was* an amazing stage… but, haha… we’re up immediately after them.”
Our turn was next.
“<The Stretched Band>, please make your way onto the stage.”
While listening backstage to the previous performance, we let out deep sighs at the staff member’s announcement.
“Hey! Don’t tell me you guys are getting nervous now?”
The one who encouraged us was none other than Park Sajang, the leader of <The Stretched Band>.
He personally checked on each member, including me, and tried to lift everyone’s spirits.
“We said we were going to enjoy the stage, remember? Then why do you all look like you’re heading to a funeral?”
“H-Haha! Right! Like hyung said, we’re here to enjoy ourselves! L-Let’s get up there and tear the stage apart!”
“Let’s do a fighting cheer before we go!”
But…
“Huu…”
That didn’t mean all the tension disappeared.
Thunk.
If anything, it got worse the moment we stepped onto the stage and faced the crowd of well over a thousand people.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Just moments ago, my heart had been pounding from excitement because I wanted to sing so badly.
Now it raced for an entirely different reason.
‘That kid’s supposedly a piano prodigy?’
‘I heard he’s the first Asian child to sweep all the major junior competitions.’
‘How good could his piano playing possibly be? Tch.’
This wasn’t actually my first time performing in front of a huge audience.
Back when I was known as a piano prodigy, I’d performed before even larger crowds than this.
But back then, young me had failed under the crushing pressure of people’s expectations—
and eventually ran away from the stage.
‘…Ah.’
This festival stage was on a completely different level from playing piano in front of a curry restaurant or singing in a small live pub.
The unbearable pressure and anxiety pierced straight through my rabbit mask and turned my mind completely blank.
“Alright! Before the performance, let’s have a quick interview with the team!”
The Haenam Festival always held short interviews before each performance to briefly introduce the team and their song.
“First, let’s start with the leader of <The Stretched Band>! Hello! Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Haha! Truly a beautiful night!”
Park Sajang skillfully energized the crowd with a cheerful interview.
“Could we ask why your band is called <The Stretched Band>?”
“Well, when you get older your belly stretches out like this~ so…”
But even then, I still couldn’t recover my composure.
Not even when my own interview turn arrived.
“Now then, let’s ask your adorable guitarist a question too!”
“…M-Me? Ah, y-yes…?”
“Yes! Hahaha! According to the introduction, you’re both the guitarist and vocalist. But why are you wearing a rabbit mask? Ah—and did you perhaps steal that rabbit mask from your niece or nephew’s toy collection?”
“Hahahahaha!”
The audience burst into laughter at the MC’s joke.
But I couldn’t laugh.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The overwhelming tension made me unable to respond properly even to such a small joke.
“I-I’m wearing the rabbit mask because I get scared easily… a-and this rabbit mask isn’t my n-niece’s… it belongs to the bassist hyung’s daughter…”
“…Excuse me?”
The atmosphere instantly went cold after my awkward stammering answer.
The MC clearly looked flustered by how badly I handled such a simple question.
“Ah… haha! He’s as adorable as the rabbit mask itself! Everyone, please welcome this rabbit-mask vocalist with a huge round of applause! <The Stretched Band>’s [A Story I Want to Tell You]!!”
…Clap clap clap.
And just like that, the performance began amid an awkward atmosphere.
‘…What do I do? What do I…’
Countless thoughts flooded my mind.
Guilt from ruining the mood Park Sajang had barely managed to build.
Fear of making mistakes.
‘…Someone like me should never have come back onto a stage in the first place.’
Eventually, even self-hatred consumed me.
During this cross-country journey, I believed I had overcome and healed many of my wounds.
But all that growth collapsed from just this one festival stage.
And once again—
I sank back into the swamp of my old trauma.
But then—
Fwaaash—
the stage lights went dark, and the VCR behind us turned on.
—*This song is dedicated to everyone in this world suffering in pain.*
“…Ah.”
Only then did I finally regain my senses.
On the screen appeared childhood photos and memories of the members of <The Stretched Band> and their children, while narration quietly played over the footage.
It was my idea.
An arrangement suggestion I made while helping complete [A Story I Want to Tell You].
The emotional VCR captured the audience’s attention and deepened the sentimental atmosphere—
and during that brief moment, I managed to calm my wildly pounding heart.
‘Pull yourself together.’
Huu. Inhale.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
—♬♪ ♬♪
Maybe because I’d practiced it hundreds of times over the past week—
my hands began playing automatically in perfect rhythm.
As the introduction of [A Story I Want to Tell You] flowed out, the memories of my old trauma gradually faded away.
I focused solely on the emotions of this song.
Emotion.
When singing, emotion was just as important as technique.
What emotions was I carrying while singing this song right now?
‘What do *you* think about when you sing this song?’
Suddenly, I remembered the question Park Sajang once asked me.
---
“What do you think about when you sing this song?”
“…Excuse me?”
It was a question Park Sajang asked me a few days after I first met <The Stretched Band>.
With a genuinely puzzled expression, he continued:
“Sajangnim… what exactly do you mean by that?”
“No, I mean… this song was written while thinking about my son.”
That was his point.
How could someone like me—who didn’t even have children—properly understand the emotions of a song written to comfort an injured child?
“What, do you secretly have a kid hidden somewhere? Hahaha!”
“N-No, not that. Umm…”
I seriously thought about his question before answering with the very first impression I got from hearing [A Story I Want to Tell You].
“You said this song was written for your son after he failed the entrance exam. But I felt something else too.”
This song was indeed made to comfort a hurt child.
But at the same time—
it comforted someone else too.
“…What did you feel?”
“I felt that this song was actually written to comfort your *past self*.”
“……!”
“There’s a saying that children are mirrors of their parents, right?”
Watching his son collapse in despair after failing the exam probably reminded Park Sajang of his own younger self.
The version of himself who had suffered terribly from failures that now seemed insignificant in hindsight.
“You didn’t want your son to repeat the same mistakes you made. So you wrote this song to comfort him.”
“……”
“But this song doesn’t only comfort your son. It also comforts the younger version of yourself… someone painfully similar to your son.”
[A Story I Want to Tell You] was comforting the version of himself who once suffered deeply.
That was exactly how the song felt to me the moment I first heard it.
Because I, too, had once gone through painful times.
And because—
the instant I heard this song, I felt comforted and healed myself.
“If my interpretation was too presumptuous—”
“No, maknae. You’re right. I wrote this song while seeing my younger self in my son.”
And then Park Sajang told me about his past.
When he was young, he dreamed of becoming a singer.
But he failed.
He fell into deep despair and lived like a ruined man for years.
Then, in order to survive, he opened an LP bar.
Eventually, he met his wife, had children, and built a family.
And suddenly, everyday life itself became unbelievably happy.
The same man who once wanted to die every day after failing to become a singer…
couldn’t believe he now lived such a happy life.
“That’s when I realized it. My failures in the past were all part of the process leading me to happiness today.”
“……”
“I wanted to teach my son that. …At the same time, I wanted to comfort my past self too.”
Because he was living happily now—
he wanted to tell his younger self not to suffer so much back then.
To his past self…
and to the son who resembled that younger version of himself.
The moment I first heard the song, I completely understood his feelings.
—♬♪ ♬♪
As the lyrical melody flowed, my consciousness blurred, and suddenly I saw a small child before my eyes.
Painting and piano.
A little boy who lost everything he loved and hid himself away inside a room.
A child too afraid of people’s gazes to do anything but cry alone on his bed every day.
I saw eleven-year-old Baek Hangyeol.
Small.
Weak.
Fragile.
I wanted to tell that little boy—
that the current me had started painting again.
Playing piano again.
Even singing now.
And that more than a thousand people were listening to my voice at this very moment.
So…
don’t be too sad.
Not only to my past self—
but to everyone living painful lives—
I wanted to tell them:
Past pain exists for today’s happiness.
Today’s pain exists for future happiness.
So please—
don’t suffer too much from your current pain.
I wanted to comfort them.
—*I saw you crying on your bed in a dark room*
—*Even if I tell you it’s okay, you probably won’t believe me*
<The Stretched Band>’s original song, [A Story I Want to Tell You].
Its true subtitle was actually:
[A Story I Want to Tell Myself].
And at the same time—
[A Story I Want to Tell Everyone].
And so, I began singing a song of comfort.
A song capable of comforting everyone listening to it.
—*But it really is okay*
—*What you call failure is only part of the process*
—*A process leading toward happiness*
—*A process until you can bloom with smiles once again*
At some point, all my tension and pressure disappeared completely.
When I finally regained my senses, more than a thousand audience members were staring at me blankly as I sang.
And then—
“WOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHH—!!”
“WAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!!”
The moment the first verse ended, thunderous cheers erupted from the crowd.
Seeing them, I smiled and continued singing the rest of the song.
‘This is fun.’
At the time, I didn’t realize it.
I didn’t know that the people comforted by the song I was singing right now would eventually expand far beyond the thousand audience members attending the Haenam Festival—
Bzzzt.
—to tens of thousands…
hundreds of thousands…
even millions beyond the screen.