A Small Band, a Big Stir
After setting down the pick, Cha Seoha flexed his fingers and kneaded the stiffness out of them.
He didn’t have a single callus yet, so it hurt a little, but the playing itself hadn’t been bad. He had improvised his way through the parts he couldn’t remember, and somehow they’d come out fitting together better than expected.
Thank goodness the intro had followed the original chord progression.
Really, what Junseong had said about proving himself had dragged up old memories. Ever since the day he’d become an idol trainee in his late teens, he’d heard that word drilled into him until it had practically lodged in his ears.
From a narrow angle, it meant the members of his idol group and the people at the company. From a wider angle, it meant the public.
But the people he truly wanted to prove himself to were the members of the band he had betrayed.
He’d abandoned you all, so let me at least live well like this. My music is still good. I wanted to show them that.
He knew it was self-satisfaction, but so what? It was still what he wanted.
In any case, it had been a pretty decent practice. And since it gave him a chance to show Junseong how to express himself at the same time, it had been doubly worthwhile.
“It was a little disappointing, but still better than you, right?”
“Disappointing? That was insane, okay?!”
“You were rushing. You dragged the beat a few times too. In a band, the worst thing a member can do is lose the tempo.”
At Seoha’s words, all the excitement that had been bubbling in Junseong’s face vanished in an instant.
“Then what am I supposed to be? Why did you even tell me to play guitar? You’re way better than I am.”
“Because I’m better at singing.”
“You’re better at singing...?”
“I’m not going to play guitar in the band if I can help it. You can do this much, too.”
Junseong’s eyes wavered at Seoha’s words. He stood frozen as if someone had pinned him in place with a nail, muttering under his breath.
“I can do it?”
“Yeah. Better than me, even.”
The flat, matter-of-fact tone carried unmistakable sincerity.
For some reason, Junseong looked as though he’d just been told something that might really come true.
“Really?”
Cha Seoha stared at Junseong’s dazed expression and thought, Idiot. You’re the one who first taught me guitar.
He had learned it properly only after debuting as an idol, but the fundamentals and the instinctive feel he had for playing had all come from Junseong.
Was fate real?
Lee Doyeong was the sort of person who believed it was, but he also thought he’d never experienced it himself.
Fated meetings. Attraction. That kind of thing.
He’d never felt it before.
But when he stopped by Nakwon Music Mall after class and spotted two familiar figures, he couldn’t make himself keep walking.
Heo Junseong and Cha Seoha.
Then Junseong started to play.
How good was he?
It looked like he might be really good, but also like he might be terribly bad.
Doyeong didn’t even know what he was thinking, but he listened to Junseong’s playing and found himself genuinely impressed.
He’s better than I expected.
He seemed to be well beyond the level of an ordinary high school student.
But that was only the appetizer.
What followed was so astonishing that Doyeong couldn’t close his mouth.
What am I hearing right now?
Junseong had been good, but Seoha’s playing was on a completely different level.
It had depth and reflexes that were unmistakably unusual, but that wasn’t even the important part.
He played as if he were talking to a friend, finding the right words in each moment, the right sound at each moment, responding instinctively as the music unfolded.
It felt like he was speaking through his instrument.
He was only covering an existing song, so how was he creating that kind of feeling?
What on earth was this sensation?
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
Without realizing it, his heart had begun to race, and even after the performance ended, it still refused to settle.
It had been a very long time since his chest had pounded like this.
He had felt this same shock before.
From him...
From a real genius.
Looking down at his trembling hands, Doyeong thought, Could I fit in there?
The urge to play alongside Cha Seoha and Junseong surged through him, but fear came with it, just as strongly. If they heard him play, they would be disappointed. He wasn’t a genius.
He had been right to turn them down after all.
Just as Doyeong was about to turn away with heavy steps, a voice called out to him.
“Lee Doyeong!”
The familiar voice rang out with uncanny precision. There were so many people around—how had he recognized him instantly? When Doyeong turned, he saw Junseong running toward him.
“...Hey.”
He stopped short and gave a stiff little wave, his face awkward.
“You came to change your strings too?”
His chest pinched. The interested expression on Junseong’s face overlapped with the one he remembered.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
A moment later, trying hard to make his voice sound normal, he spoke.
“No, I was just going to look around... You played really well.”
Junseong scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by the praise. He didn’t seem like the type, but he was strangely weak to compliments.
“You heard Seoha play too, so that’s kind of awkward.”
“No, really. You were great too.”
“Thanks. Still, come on, Doyeong—let’s start a band together.”
Why did it feel this heavy? It was a proposal he should have expected, and yet it landed in his chest like a stone.
He had definitely meant to refuse.
And yet the words wouldn’t come out easily.
Then Seoha, who had come up behind them at some point, looked Doyeong straight in the eyes and said,
“Why?”
The calmness in his usual gaze carried an unshakable conviction, a quiet belief that Doyeong could do it.
“I’m not that good. You’d definitely be disappointed... You’d probably think I’m just a nuisance.”
“Is that your reason?”
“Huh?”
“If that’s the reason you’re saying no, then I’m disappointed.”
“......”
“Maybe you’re not great today, but you can get a little better tomorrow. Keep doing that for a few years, and you’ll be the best in Korea.”
It was absurd, but it felt as though a dream he had buried deep in his heart long ago had just woken up again.
The memory of the first time he’d held a bass with trembling hands flashed through him like a beam of light.
It was strange to feel this way because of a boy his own age, and not some genius musician already recognized by the world.
Was it because Seoha’s talent was simply that extraordinary?
And yet what he felt was different from the awe he’d have toward any outstanding player.
It felt as if he were staring at something specific.
He didn’t know what it was, but he had a feeling something incredible would come of it.
He found himself thinking that if he were with Cha Seoha, he might be able to make music that was genuinely fun.
At last, Doyeong made up his mind and opened his tightly pressed lips.
“Don’t make me regret this later.”
The three of them looked at one another and laughed.
Longing, youth, challenge, dreams, excitement...
It was a smile made of emotions none of them could quite name, and to anyone else watching, they looked exactly like “friends.”
What had begun as a duo visiting Nakwon Music Mall had suddenly become a trio.
Since it was a milestone, Junseong insisted they should do something to celebrate, and they’d decided to eat together. But then—
“But I came here to get my bass strings changed.”
At Doyeong’s words, the three of them returned to Hyeon-ui Ullim.
There, Jang Deokcheol was waiting for them, and his expression had changed completely.
In truth, Deokcheol had been seriously stunned after hearing Seoha play.
Junseong’s performance had already been at a level a high school student couldn’t easily produce, but Seoha’s playing was on a level not even many Hongdae guitarists could casually pull off.
If it had been merely technical flash, he wouldn’t have been this surprised. What had truly struck him was the expression.
For a high school student to have that kind of expressive range was nearly impossible.
Had he somehow picked up a guitar at a first-birthday party?
Or had he undergone some monstrous kind of hard training?
“Are you boys trainees at some agency?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what are you?”
“Just a band. We’re only just getting started.”
“What’s the band name?”
“We haven’t decided yet. We haven’t even gathered all the members.”
After hearing Seoha’s answer, Deokcheol felt a strange lift in his chest.
Maybe he was watching the first page of a huge band’s story unfold.
He knew that was a leap, but Seoha’s playing carried a kind of magic that made him want to believe it.
“Come by the shop often from now on. I’ll give you a really good price. No, better yet—if you need anything, just come ask me. If it’s something I can help with, I’ll help.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because you’re too good. I’m just making friends early, before you get big.”
That half-joking, half-serious answer drew a smile from them all.
“Then could you maybe recommend a recording studio?”
“A recording studio? Of course. What are your names? I’ll call ahead and let them know.”
“I’m Cha Seoha, and these are Heo Junseong and Lee Doyeong.”
“I’m Jang Deokcheol. But why do you need a studio? Didn’t you say you haven’t gathered all your members yet?”
He asked because bands usually used recording studios when they were making demos or mix tapes.
“We’re planning to write some songs.”
“Write songs? You compose too?”
“Of course. I’m probably better at composing than at playing.”
“And vocals?”
“I’m a little better at vocals than at composing.”
At the exchange between Seoha and Junseong, Deokcheol made a peculiar face.
Seoha’s guitar skill was real, no question—but could he really compose that well too?
A good player and a good composer were about as far apart as a good guitarist and a good bassist. Not completely separate, but not close either.
The world was supposed to be fair, and that made it hard to believe too easily.
Still, he is a high school student.
“Leave a phone number here. I’ll have the studio call you.”
“I could do it myself...”
“I can get you a much better rate if I do it.”
At Deokcheol’s words, Seoha dipped his head sharply.
He didn’t have much money on him right now.
By then, Doyeong’s bass string replacement had been finished, and just as they were about to leave the mall, Deokcheol stopped Seoha.
“When you’ve gathered all your members, what are you going to do?”
He was asking about the plan.
Deokcheol had plenty of connections to the small venues and showcases held throughout the indie band scene. If that student named Cha Seoha mentioned things like “performances,” “busking,” or “practice,” he could naturally help connect the dots.
But Seoha’s answer, given with a slight grin, was not what he expected.
“We’re going to cause some trouble.”
What lingered in that smile was not the scent of ambition or hunger, but youth itself.
The next day, they headed to ST Studio, which had been booked with the help of President Jang Deokcheol.
The place looked old from the outside, but the interior was surprisingly well maintained and clean.
“Hello. I’m Cha Seoha, and we’ve got a reservation today.”
The staff checked the booking and guided them to the studio.
The equipment was even better than he’d expected.
Not that it was plastered with luxury gear just for show; it felt more like a place that prioritized the right tools over the most expensive ones.
Some guitars sounded better with certain amps than with others.
Among the guitarists of legendary rock bands, there had even been one who bought every amp in the world in search of his own unique tone.
That was why some combinations had gone down in history as “good pairings,” and he could feel that the owner was serious about music.
“Hmm. What should I start with?”
The easiest way to succeed again was simply to use the songs that had already succeeded before.
Even while promoting as an idol, he had never stopped composing, and he had made and successfully released countless songs.
Having new music climb the charts in neat little rows was something he was already used to.
But he wasn’t trying to repeat his old life.
He could sell the songs he’d written to others, but he didn’t want to force Seoha’s own sensibility onto the band.
He wanted to make music that every member of the band could enjoy and feel satisfied playing.
So then, of course...
The first song should be this one.
Rendezvous.