We Don't Negotiate with Terrorists
Monday mornings always bring a fresh feeling. Time grabs hold of me, then shoves me off without a second thought, leaving me forever dancing like a puppet on the strings of the years. The Earth is round, after all. And Seonggwang's life forms its own circular ring.
The tense Saturday and the hectic Sunday had flown by in a flash. Now it was time to head back to school. Normally, I'd grumble about hating it, but not today. I'd made a promise with someone last night, so to avoid getting chewed out, I had to show up properly.
"Ah, I don't wanna go to school."
Of course, that didn't mean I wouldn't whine. A promise is a promise, but hating school is hating school.
I shuffle in, dragging my feet, and step into the classroom. A few glances flick my way, but they quickly shift away from the insignificant classmate. Exactly the right amount of attention. They're not the ones I'm close to anyway, so I can shrug off the world's scorn with ease.
I sit through class like a mouse, and before I know it, lunchtime rolls around. With nothing else to do, I head to my usual spot, only to find someone already there.
"Ehehe... ehehehe."
Her ponytail sways as she lets out a sleazy chuckle to herself. Curious what could make her grin so creepily alone, I sneak up. She's scrolling through community sites and NewTube, watching videos from that day's stage. More precisely, hunting for comments praising herself.
'Great stage presence.' 'It didn't come through on video, but the energy was insane.'
Stuff like that. She keeps looping through the praise, giggling to herself.
"Heh! Heheheheng!"
What a ridiculous sight. I shake my head and whisper right in her ear.
"You're loving this, huh."
"Uwak!"
She jumps at my voice, nearly toppling over, but catches herself with killer reflexes. I applaud her athleticism, and she glares daggers.
"What the hell? It was you? Say something when you come! Don't whisper in my ear!"
"Aw, but then I couldn't scare you, Lara-ya."
Lately, school life's only bearable thanks to Lara's reactions. Cut me some slack for the fun.
"Anyway, I told you not to look that stuff up. Nothing good comes from it. Why hunt down every little comment? There probably aren't that many."
"...More than you'd think?"
"Sure, but the hate's gotta outnumber them by a mile."
Lara shuts her mouth, unable to argue. I sigh, feeling sorry for her. She did win over the crowd that day, sure—but only because of the live vibe. The venue and atmosphere masked her skills and voice a bit, and no one expected much from her. Upbeat songs helped, and the previous acts had hyped the mood. Without that context, a video alone? No way it'd land well.
"Proof: every compliment comes from live audience members shielding you."
"Ugh..."
"Whether you care or not, it's just gonna mess with your head, so I told you not to look. Jeez."
"But what about curiosity?!"
Lara bristles. She's not wrong, but she's rebelling out of pride. Who made that stage possible? Ungrateful brat. Still, knowing her low self-esteem paired with sky-high validation cravings, I let it slide this time.
But wrong is wrong. I scold the fool still arguing.
"Tsk! Gal! Egoserching is a demonic art! I'll let it slide for now as sport, but don't you know it'll slowly erode your body?!"
"What're you even... You've totally done it too! Searched your name or whatever online..."
"Never have."
"Liar!"
No, really. I've never once searched my reactions or name on purpose. Only stumbled on stuff accidentally or when acquaintances shoved hate or reactions my way.
I said musicians are all attention whores, but I'm the exception. Sure, we live off public interest, but Seonggwang doesn't waver. I'm the legend and myth of the classical world, the heavenly genius rewriting history after a fall. Born under the stars to enlighten the ignorant masses in darkness—I'm a top-tier genius in Korean, no, human history. The music world's Prometheus.
"That's me, Seong to the Kwang. Nowhere in this world doesn't worship me, so searching it all? Endless...!"
"Or everywhere that doesn't hate you?"
"Hey, no badmouthing. You coward, hitting me with facts..."
Like the Titan punished by the gods, mocked by a passing eagle's rude fart on my nose. Lara shoots me a glare, finally sets her phone down, and our eyes meet. I clear my throat for something important.
"Lara-ya, now that we've built real trust. Before we go full throttle, lemme lay out the direction."
"Direction? Like dropping tracks like before? Just switch to rock genre?"
"That was the plan, but yesterday's stage changed my mind."
To me, Lara's singing hooks the audience. Yeah, the live audience. But most random listeners on a track? Not so much. Who'd seek out that godawful song? People just remember it as bad, no expectations. It's raw, imperfect, virtuous in its mess—but polished delivery won't charm. Needs grit.
"And you? You've got a knack for live."
Lara perks up at the praise. No bullshit—it's true.
"Your trash song gets by on your flailing performance and vibe..."
"Wanna get hit?"
She raises a fist; I throw up my hands like a shield. Once her anger cools, I continue.
"Ahem, anyway—focus on live from now on."
"Got it... but tracks?"
"We'll do 'em. Just not often. They don't land well, and I can't churn out songs nonstop."
Forget easy—I’m a classicist. Dipped into pop, soaked up its vulgarity, but my soul rejects rock. Plus, I don't even like it much. I know it, but knowing and dissecting, internalizing? Different. That's why I'm light-years ahead of Moon Juhee in understanding, yet can't touch her in rock. Her life's rock 'n' roll.
"So, live-heavy. Tracks too, but stages way more."
Simple math—even Moon Juhee gets it. Tracks tank image; live recovers. Aim positive, fill gaps, build fans—run your ass off.
Looks like an old-school indie band now. Hustling on foot, burning youth for music. Old-school ain't bad if it works. That's why classics endure, clichés persist.
"Gotta hustle, face crowds, build fans... but big problem."
"Problem? What?"
"No money."
"..."
Lara eyes me like I'm pathetic, but it's serious. Most music issues? 80-90% money. Reverse: cash fixes most. But neither of us is loaded.
"Live costs a ton. Yesterday: transit, food... Later, gear rental."
"Yeah... true."
"Can't just jump on stages. We gotta chase 'em!"
Some far off, some paying losses to play.
"This expensive, and we gloss over it?"
Lara wilts under my bark. Chasing dreams means losses, but dreams ride on reality. Fix real shit first, or it's delusion. Hers too.
"So what? Get jobs?"
I tsk and shake my head at her weak suggestion.
"No need to worry, Lara-ya. We don't have to."
"What? Then why bring it up?"
"Just emphasizing. Life lesson—keep that middle finger down."
Middle? Pinky up instead. Girls flipping the bird? Slutty. Fuck—not like we don't know what it means. Bad teacher? She's numb to lewd shit. Horny high schooler.
"Ahem, back on track. No need to worry—it's solved."
"You win lotto?"
"Nah. Would I be here?"
Minors can't buy tickets anyway. If I did, it'd shrink my distance from Lee Junwoo on the suspect scale. No windfall stocks either.
So why no money worries?
"School covers costs!"
I declare proudly; Lara looks shocked.
"Heh~ School pays for that?"
"Duh. What'd your principal say to lure me?"
"H-how should I know! That's private..."
"Poor wording. Meant she recruited me hard."
"...Uh, ah... ha."
"Kkotomi... Wait, Twitter now? What're you watching?"
"I'm suing for real."
Bad move. She blushes but doesn't deny. I quirk a brow, return to topic.
"See? She promised full music support to get me here."
"...What'd she say?"
"No skimping on music aid."
Dorm and meals promised too—solved differently. Not important now. Kinda is, but not Lara's beef.
"Full backing on music costs~!"
"Yup! So?"
"No worries on music expenses, Lara-ya!"
I clap cheerfully; she beams and joins in. Yeah—no money stress. Music school! Built on taxes for music lifers. They cover music costs!
"Like hell they will. You idiots?"
"Eh?"
That hope shatters on Moon Juhee's jab. In the principal's office for budget talk, Lara betrayal-glares at me; I mirror back.
"But she said school supports music..."
"Gear, producing—yes. They take 70% track profits. No duty for off-school live/stages."
"As a teacher, duty to support dreams? Or Moon Juhee personally?"
"Fuck off. School ain't dream Eden. Why build it? Brass profits. No pocket money from school or me."
Her crass words crush our dreams. I fell for sly talk and charms; must stand for heartbroken Lara. She's shrugging it off, but my cred's trashed. Own it, Juhee.
"Wait'll I—hey! Too harsh!"
"Deal with it. Truth. Student yapping at principal..."
"Eh? Truth my ass. Mock people like this? Unforgivable!"
Humanist Seonggwang can't forgive such depravity. Enraged, I condemn her; brace for legal war, Juhee. Where's my lawyer? Oh, cut with Jonghun hyung. Self-defense then. Fine—won't back down.
"Won't tolerate—what'll you do?"
I steel myself and declare.
"I'll drop out."
"What?"
"With Lara."
"Huh?"
My bold salvo stuns them: Juhee first, Lara second.
"Wait—why drag me? I ain't dropping out!"
Lara panics at sudden dropout talk; I grab her shoulders to enlighten.
"Lara-ya, your talent's wasted rotting here! Leave with me, fight the system!"
"No, listen—!"
"Lara agrees. Juhee! Our resolve stands till you yield!"
"No, seriously fuck—mmph?"
"Shh! Don't talk about my little cat Lara Shin. I know your will! No need words—silence now."
"Bull—mmph! Mmph!"
Her fierce reaction? Clearly fury in solidarity. Hot camaraderie—manly Seonggwang sheds no tears. Eyes misty? Dust.
"So? Choose, Juhee!"
"Haaa..."
She sighs deep—irritation, hassle, exhaustion. Lingering grudge shows on her face as she tosses out:
"Do it."
"...Pardon?"
"Drop out. Your call."
She coolly calls my bluff, grabs dropout forms. Lara goes berserk, chomping my finger. Not the reaction I wanted. Expected more begging. Unions always pushback, right? Terrorists are basically brats. Preach ideals, but really just "look at me" tantrums. As one, I came whining for cash.
"..."
Hostage drama needs viable hostages. Cops beg if real; shoot head, negotiation over—ten new holes.
"...Principal Juhee?"
I plead her title desperately; she smirks.
"Dropping out? No need 'principal.' Won't treat you as student."
"But..."
"Not student—no title. 'Tenant Seonggwang'?"
I freeze; her cold gaze warms to a smile unfit for her—one I'd never seen.
"Tenant-nim, when's this month's rent?"
"..."
Surrender swift. I nod; eye Lara gnawing my thumb. Her canines sharp—hurts more than thought.
"Lara-ya, thought it over?"
"..."
"Shouldn't we graduate anyway?"
Short words. My sly smile meets her straight glare curving into rage lines. Reactions instant—body before brain. Experience says her move's predictable.
She dips waist, steps back for space. Leg extends; shin curves perfectly to my thigh back. Weight swings half-circle arc. I saw the low kick coming, read the path.
Brain reacted. Body lagged.
"Ah."
Low kick slams thigh; shock buckles legs. I flop flat; Shin Lara coldly looks down.
Moon Juhee dubs it the 'Laraunta' incident, saving it on her phone forever.
Leaving her grinning fondly, real negotiations with Juhee resume after school, in club time.