9
## Chapter 9 — How About Seriously Becoming a Singer?
When I was young, I was a prodigy in painting and piano.
But after being wounded by both painting and piano, the thing I buried myself in while hiding away in my room wasn’t
either of them.
It was singing.
That was what I fell into.
Every single day, I listened to songs over and over again.
From Korean K-pop to foreign pop songs.
I was fascinated by the fact that the human voice alone—without any instrument—could create something so beautiful.
For fifteen years.
Every single day.
So immersed in music that I couldn’t even tell whether it was day or night anymore.
But this was my first time ever singing in front of people.
That was why I had no idea how good my singing actually was.
Maybe my voice sounded terrible to others.
Maybe people found it unpleasant.
And so, feeling strangely embarrassed, I let out a small smile before finally opening my mouth in tune with the melody.
---
*It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.*
(It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night.)
*The regular crowd shuffles in*
(The regular customers drag their tired bodies into the bar one by one.)
---
The legendary American singer-songwriter, Billy Joel.
Back when he was still unknown, Billy Joel had actually worked as a piano man in a bar located in Koreatown, Los
Angeles.
In other words, this song was based on Billy Joel’s own experiences.
The lyrics told the stories of people who came to bars for all kinds of reasons.
Some came to celebrate their own success—or someone else’s.
Some came to forget their sadness.
Some came to relive memories they could never return to.
They drank harsh liquor together.
Laughed together.
Cried together.
And eventually became one.
And for people like them, there was the Piano Man, singing songs through the night.
---
*Sing us a song, you're the piano man*
(Sing us a song, Piano Man.)
*Sing us a song tonight*
(Sing us a song tonight.)
---
This Live Pub was no different.
We drank together.
Laughed together.
Played instruments together.
But no one truly knew what was hidden inside each other’s hearts.
Someone might’ve been smiling brightly because they were genuinely happy.
Someone else might’ve been suppressing tears simply because they were an adult.
And perhaps—
just like me—
someone here was desperately holding together a heart rotten with trauma and regret from the past.
I wanted to sing this song for all of them.
Among the people who burned through the night with me—
I wanted to heal those who might’ve been forcing themselves to smile despite carrying wounded hearts.
♪♬ ♬
The sorrowful sound of the harmonica and the beautiful piano melody stirred everyone’s emotions.
And after finishing the first verse of Billy Joel’s *Piano Man,* I slowly removed my hands from the keys.
The first reason I stopped after only the first verse was—
‘What if I sounded awful? This is embarrassing.’
Because the alcohol finally wore off, and embarrassment hit me all at once.
And the second reason—
was because everyone needed to go home soon.
If they left now, they could at least get a little sleep before work tomorrow.
‘Everyone needs to head home… It’d be rude if I kept them here.’
But when I turned back toward the customers—
I froze.
“……”
“……”
“……”
Every single person in the Live Pub was staring at me blankly.
They were all intoxicated by something.
Drunk on alcohol?
…No.
Each person was intoxicated by their own emotions and memories.
Some smiled while recalling happy memories.
Others cried while reliving painful ones.
And once again, silence descended over the Live Pub.
Then—
instead of shouting for an encore, someone called out:
“Sing us a song, you’re the piano man.”
At his shout, other customers slowly joined in one by one, singing along with the melody.
“Sing us a song tonight!”
Some shouted drunkenly at the top of their lungs.
Others closed their eyes and quietly hummed along.
And as all those voices gathered together—
“Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody! And you’ve got us feelin’ alright!”
—it became a full singalong that filled the entire Live Pub.
Only then did I smile and place my hands back on the piano.
♪♬ ♬
“WAAAAAAAAH—!”
The moment the piano and harmonica resumed, the crowd erupted into cheers.
And so—
together—
we sang the second verse of *Piano Man.*
We weren’t simply singing a song.
Each of us was singing out our own emotions and memories.
---
*La la la, di da da~*
*La la, di da da da dum~*
---
After spending a night of madness together through classical music and jazz—
in the end, we stayed together until the very end.
We sang together until dawn arrived.
---
1 PM.
“Kid~”
“Mmm…”
“Hey, Piano Man! Wake up!”
Someone shook my body awake, startling me upright.
“……!”
When I came to my senses, I realized I had fallen asleep on the sofa inside the Live Pub.
The clock read 1 PM.
“Ah… yesterday I… ugh…”
At the same time, a massive hangover crashed over me.
As I clutched my splitting headache, the Live Pub owner burst into laughter.
“Hurry up and get moving. Let’s go cure that hangover.”
“Cure… my hangover?”
The place the owner brought me to was a bean sprout soup restaurant.
“Ahhh… this hits the spot.”
The moment I swallowed a spoonful of the hot, refreshing broth, my stomach instantly relaxed.
It felt as though all the alcohol I drank like water yesterday was washing away.
“Haha, good right? For hangovers, nothing beats bean sprout soup.”
“Yes… it’s incredibly good.”
As I inhaled the soup, the alcohol gradually cleared from my system.
And only then did the memories of everything I’d done yesterday return vividly.
“…Ah.”
Playing piano was one thing—
but I had even sung in front of complete strangers.
Without even knowing whether I could sing well or not.
The moment I stiffened in embarrassment, the owner tilted his head while placing kkakdugi onto his soup.
“Why’d you suddenly stop eating? You feel like throwing up?”
“No, it’s just… I think I caused people trouble yesterday.”
“Trouble?”
“I sang… even though I’m not actually good at it.”
If I forced people who were trying to go home to sit there listening to my bad singing, that *was* being a nuisance.
Feeling ashamed, I lowered my head.
But the owner stared at me like I’d said something ridiculous.
“What? Trouble? And you’re saying you *can’t* sing? Are you joking right now?”
“…Excuse me?”
“Hah. Judging by your face, you’re serious. Damn, this is insane.”
The owner let out a dumbfounded laugh before speaking seriously.
“Yesterday’s performance was the best live singing I’ve heard in my entire life.”
“……!”
“Your voice has power. The power to touch people’s emotions and memories. The power to make people laugh, cry, and jump
around with excitement.”
The owner, who usually smiled brightly and acted carefree, now wore the most serious expression I had ever seen from
him.
“The customers didn’t stay until dawn because they felt forced to. They stayed because they fell in love with your
performance. You have any idea how shocked I was when everyone kept asking who you really were after they left?”
“……”
“But honestly, I’m curious too. Who exactly are you? You play piano amazingly, and you sing amazingly too. What kind of
life were you living before this?”
“……”
By now, I knew the owner was a good person.
But even so, talking about my past still felt difficult.
As I hesitated awkwardly, the owner nodded in understanding.
“Well… if there’s a reason, you don’t have to tell me. Seeing you perform with mascot costumes and masks on, I figured
there had to be some kind of story.”
“…Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? But if there’s one thing I want to tell you…”
Suddenly, the owner’s eyes sparkled.
“Your piano’s amazing and all, but… how about seriously trying to become a singer?”
“…What?”
“Damn… I still can’t forget your performance at dawn. Your voice deserves to be heard not just by the regulars at my
pub, but by the entire world!”
“Haha… you don’t have to flatter me like that, owner…”
Naturally, I assumed he was only saying that so I wouldn’t feel hurt.
But instead, the owner beat his chest in frustration.
“No, I’m not flattering you! Seriously! Your singing’s incredible, so why don’t *you* know that?! Ah! Forget this—how
about entering a small music competition?”
“…A music competition?”
When I tilted my head in confusion, the owner grinned mischievously and whispered:
“Truth is, there’s a really good opportunity right now. A friend of mine happens to be looking for a substitute
vocalist…”
Listening to the owner passionately explain everything, I fell into deep thought.
“But I’m not comfortable showing my face in front of people…”
“Then become a faceless singer! What’s there to worry about?”
I had already decided to become a faceless painter.
Then a faceless pianist.
And now—
a faceless singer too…
“……”
I was conflicted.
But at the same time—
my heart was pounding.
Thump.
A new dream was beginning to bloom inside me.