Love is Magic
Magic always exists in live performances. A guitar that leaked sound because it couldn't even tune properly meets good speakers and effects, tearing through eardrums. Drums that couldn't keep proper rhythm pound not the skins, but hearts. Bass that barely made its presence felt races swiftly over the notes, carving deep footprints. A vocal voice cracked from booze and smokes captivates, pulling out faint cheers and screams. At least, the utterly messy, amateur band thinks they've become veterans on stage. That's why it's magic. Or more precisely, closer to a curse. Only the players themselves get hyped up hearing it that way, while the audience grimaces at the trainwreck song.
"……."
Yoon Taesung, a company man in his thirties, was once a magician. Calluses etched his hands, and he'd strut Hongdae streets in ragged clothes with a beggar hat, calling it cool. It was too much money and time poured in to brush off as "youthful days." Now past his twenties, a boy turned stained adult. Only after losing his illusions and becoming immune to magic could he finally let go of his dreams. The burning passion cooled, leaving only stubborn regrets to occupy his heart, landing him occasionally at band contests like this.
He doesn't listen because the songs are good. Watching performances, some young bands show overwhelming skill despite their age, but most are disastrously on par with his old crew. Just self-satisfaction, maybe. Seeing folks laugh and chatter about making memories amid noise pollution close to public nuisance makes his face flush—was I like that too?
He expects nothing from bands. Not an industry insider anymore, he won't grovel over discovering some raw talent now. That's why. That's why he had no expectations for this stage either. Not even a shred for that tiny girl trembling with tension and pressure. No, he even pitied her a bit. He'd begged her not to break down crying midway, with a hint of exasperation.
"… Why is that?"
Listening to her song, Yoon Taesung suddenly muttered to himself. The girl's singing was awful, full of shortcomings. Technically, the worst vocal he'd heard all night. Yet here he was, listening. Ears couldn't block it, but his eyes were glued to her every gesture. When she paced the stage, so did his gaze. Her raised hand screaming a shout made him flinch and follow. From that frail frame burst thick rock vocals, scraping and shattering her vocal cords to contain the song. Despite the flaws, the immaturity, he couldn't ignore the song beyond it, staring blankly. This wasn't a concert hall, and he wasn't some fanboy. No jumping to addictive tunes, no screaming cheers. Below stage was quiet; that soaring heat belonged only to the stars up there.
But somehow, even he starts deluding himself. Magic always exists in live shows. Exploding speakers, shrieking virgin highs. Spotlights piercing the dark stage, floating heat and humidity. Magic meant only for those on stage—unharmed, pushing forward. Some glitch in that magic must've hit him too, hallucinating from the girl's song and presence. Drawn in, that immature song somehow the best he'd heard. That shaky girl looked cool. Delusions.
"… Cowardly."
Cowardly. Truly. Pathetically so. Hanging self-satisfaction magic, now casting it on the audience too. Drunk on the vibe and dreams wafting off, shunning cold reality as nightmare, convincing himself this is the girl's song. Immaturity, dreams, youth, incompleteness—all synonyms. When he gazed at her intoxicated by that, he'd already fallen for the song. What made it good? Objectively unpleasant, yet his heart pulled. Truly cowardly. Cheating level. Not great skill, not catchy tune, but forced to love the vocalist herself. No logical reason for falling for that song, that voice—only emotion and impulse. Well, no complaints. Phenomena ignoring theory and logic? That's magic, right?
Hiding the smile tugging his lips, he watched the stage as the song ended.
"Haa… huu…"
The vocalist, throat raw from belting, panted on stage. White shirt stained from jumping around, blonde hair clumped like yarn balls on cheeks and neck. Head drooping from exhaustion, she snapped it up with a beaming grin.
"Thank you so much!!"
Proud, self-satisfied, she bowed with that scrunched smile. Yoon Taesung sent modest applause instead of cheers. Respect for the witch who bewitched with meager skill. The guy next to him scowled without clapping, but looking wider, he wasn't the only one under the spell.
In those short ten minutes, the girl who'd given everything vanished backstage. He basked in the afterglow, slyly smiling. Love is the strongest curse. In that brief time, thoroughly bound victim to that song and vocalist. Band and girl with odd names. Yoon Taesung, once a dreamer, vowed to remember those quirky names a bit longer, sending his silent praise.
I just sang wildly. Sang mindlessly till the song ended before I knew it. Bowed, then descended to the unlit backstage. No MC chatter or applause registered. Exhausted body, parched tongue, throat that couldn't utter a sound. Left nothing on stage but dragged down my weary shell. Lingering afterglow and emotions barely held my collapsing frame.
Glancing down, you looked way more relaxed than me.
'Of course— you just strummed a riff from the back and did jack.'
Truly just stood there gawking. Staring at your smile—mocking or amused?—I finally pried my mouth open.
"How… was the song?"
Did I live up to your expectations? You nodded a few times, flashing teeth.
"A mess."
"……."
"Screeching without dynamics, mangled pronunciation, what the hell was with those ad-libs?"
Harsh critique. Eyes unmoving from that smile, no urge to rage or sulk.
"Painful to listen, yet you bounced around thrilled… Can't control breath? Then don't jump. Posture crumbling? Stick the mic back in the stand."
"…."
"Singing that with a grin—vocalist's your calling."
Her cool assessment stung. Usually I'd brush it off, but picking every nit? Spot-on, so it pissed me more. About to snap don't expect shit then, but…
"200 points."
Perfect timing. Right as I geared up to argue, you smiled softer.
"Giving today's song 200 points. Twice as cool as I expected."
"…."
Grinning brightly, thumbs up with both hands. I stared blankly, then strode close, head near but not touching your chest, arms wide…
"Kek! Keheuk!"
Choked you outright.
"Praise first, not after the trash talk!"
"No… Objective feedback separate from my subjective take… Guhek!"
"Why! Do! It! Now!"
Just ride the mood with nice words then. Why extra jab to earn this? Praise only, damn it. Sharp guy, why like this? All praise or all roast—easier either way. Watching you wheeze, weak against a girl, cracked me up. Clutching belly, cackling forever, couldn't stop till it hurt. You faked a smile, clueless why. Probably never get it. Maybe even I don't.
Finally catching breath, I eyed your ridiculous sweat-drenched face.
"Hey."
"What?"
"From now on……."
Wanted to say something, but nah—too embarrassing. Not a confession, but still. Caught your ambiguity curse maybe. Figure you'd coo so cute being honest, but we got work ahead, so save it. You said we'd do it together—make you own that.
"Nah, nothing."
Brushed it off, then spilled my simplified feelings.
"Good job. Today."
Said it with a fainter smile.
Heading home post-stage. Wanted to treat Lara to meat, but broke students—grabbed something quick near the station. Throat wrecked, she buzzed for karaoke afterparty, but conked out dozing on the train back. If I'd slept too, missed last train, walking home disaster—but I stayed alert, crisis averted.
At our split station, shook her awake. Wanted more sleep, but send her here or dad's promise meaningless. Dragged her out exit 2.
"… Haa, night's chilly."
Street monochrome. Same dark as the venue, but open night stole lingering heat. No more singing, so cooling beats her all-nighter hype.
"Huaaam… Today… was fun."
"Good to hear."
"Yeah… really."
Lara gazed skyward, sentimental. No stars downtown, but low artificial glow lit her amber eyes. Tilting head at me, shy smile, then goodwill.
"Seonggwang. Thanks for real today…"
"Lara, shh."
"Mmph."
Finger to her lips, cut her off. Eyes cursing what the hell, I quickly explained.
"Save the thanks."
"… Why?"
"Don't like 'em much."
Thanks at parting feel like closure. Thanks for everything~ Graduation vibes. Not hating it, but prefer something else here.
"… Like what?"
"C'mon, you know."
"No, really don't…?"
She's dense here, sigh. Liked her enough, loosen standards, hint.
"Hint: It's Sunday."
"Sunday wha— oh."
Pondered, then grossed-out face. See? Obvious, no need to tell. Instead of words, Lara bolts homeward. Streetlamp yellow matching her hair bathes her from afar. Turns, leans, yells with force to reach.
"See you tomorrow!"
Yeah. Love this line. Not end of this, promise to continue. Farewell to you, curse calling you back tomorrow. Digging it, I cursed back.
"Yeah, see you tomorrow."
You finally head home; I to mine. Simply put—my place.