T/N: So many new names…!
Episode 6. Wife
While Im Do‑yu’s song thundered through the hall, she drifted back to a past she had almost forgotten.
199X.
At the time she was already one of the most popular dance singers in the country. Yet she had always dreamed of fronting a band of her own.
Whenever an album cycle ended and she slipped into downtime, she made a beeline for Hongdae—and on one such visit she listened to a demo tape.
I have to hear them live, just once…
That very night, the co‑CEO of her agency happened to drop by the club; not wanting to run into him, she turned on her heel and left.
That show turned out to be the band’s last.
Now, after so many years, the songs from that cassette whirled around her mind in disarray.
By this point Im Do‑yu’s rousing vocals were no longer reaching her ears.
“Blockhead!”
In the corridor leading to the green‑room, Hwang Ji-seon barked sharply.
“Hey! You should’ve cut it off at the right moment.”
“Ah—sorry.”
“A grown man acting like a fool, dredging up ancient history?”
“You were nodding along, too.”
“Whatever! When I give you the signal, you wrap it—”
Im Do‑yu thrust his phone under her nose.
A KakaoTalk window:
I’m Finally Free Now: Oppa, HB are starting activities again. The genius is back.
Ji‑seon knew only too well about the tragic accident back then.
Her agency’s co‑CEO, Yoon Seok‑jun, had spent three full years trying to return Jo Jin‑hyeok to his former self—an unprecedented effort for a producer hailed as the best in Korea.
He had failed, of course, and as usual the world’s memory of the prodigy had gradually faded…
That such a genius might have returned was hard to believe.
“Is this information solid?”
The KakaoTalk profile photo belonged to Im Do‑yu’s ex‑wife, a famous music critic. So they really did stay friends after divorcing…
“It came from Mrs. ‘Angane Chicken,’” he said.
At that, the name of Heart Breakers’ keyboardist Ahn Sang‑jeong flashed through her mind. Back when Ji‑seon stepped away from her dance career to chase the music she truly wanted, that girl had been dating the band’s keyboardist, so Ji‑seon had seen her a few times.
“Well? Aren’t you excited?”
“Come on—they’re over forty.”
“You’re forty‑seven.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m forty‑eight myself.”
“We’ve been performing all this time; they’d be debuting now.”
At that, Im Do‑yu grinned ear‑to‑ear.
“Let’s make a bet.”
“Huh?”
“If their album is better than anything we imagined, you lie down and split your belly if you have to, but you get them on this show.”
“Wh—”
“Who knows if they’ll even have time for a program like this by then…”
With a confident tilt of his chin he strode off toward the dressing room.
Hwang Ji‑seon bit her lower lip.
It had been twenty‑five years.
They had set music aside for all that time. Could they even find their touch again in something as delicate as music?
And age—age was merciless. Even she, performing steadily, now found live shows exhausting.
No matter how brilliant a prodigy…
She shook her head. Just what was their live show like back then…?
The demo tape was insanely good, but not enough for her to boast the way others did. Yet everyone who had seen them live spoke as though they had witnessed gods.
For all the negative realities, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.
Heart Breakers… Will I finally see them live?
She felt the corners of her mouth lift on their own.
Just past midnight on Friday.
A short video someone posted to social media was spreading through the night like wildfire.
Two people at a shabby piano—their duet didn’t just reach ears; it shook hearts.
It was only a highlight clip with the beginning missing, shot from afar with atrocious audio, yet the atmosphere hinted at something far beyond what the footage could capture.
Once viewers realized one of the performers was the renowned pianist Shin Yu‑jeong, her YouTube channel was flooded all night with pleas for the full video.
Amid those comments, posts from people who had actually been there caught the eye:
- “It felt like something clogged inside me burst out in anger and then, in a blink, everything was healed. Music that literally touches your emotions.”
- “I was there too—tears just started flowing. That was the real deal.”
- “You can’t feel this through a screen. Everyone, pressure Yu‑jeong to book a concert right now.”
Those almost urban-legend comments kept the Internet ablaze until dawn.
Of course, there were plenty of skeptical takes as well:
- “What is this, some plan for a Shin Yu‑jeong concert? Looks like paid shills.”
- “You can tell it’s staged. The crowd are all actors.”
- “Over‑emoting, obvious acting.”
The next morning.
The man at the center of the buzz, Jin‑hyeok, left home at dawn.
Slipping out so as not to wake his daughter, he headed for Korea Hospital.
Lost in the emotions stirred by his child, his thoughts naturally turned to someone else—his wife.
Once she entered his mind, sleep was impossible. He wept through the night; the tightness in his chest would not ease.
At last he found himself outside the ICU, almost without realizing he had come.
An hour remained before visiting time.
All the grief and sorrow the forty‑three‑year‑old Jin‑hyeok had carried shook the heart of the nineteen‑year‑old within him.
If his daughter was infinite love, his wife was a love that hurt terribly.
She alone had surrendered everything to comfort him when he was mentally shattered—
and he had poured all his rage and filth onto her.
Some said she might have collapsed because of the strain he caused. That thought wounded him even more.
Just yesterday he had asked the doctor about any chance of recovery.
Jin‑hyeok clenched his teeth.
“Visiting hours have begun.”
Eyes red, he looked at the nurse. Now he had to face her directly.
He donned a sterile gown and disposable gloves. His trembling fingers kept dropping the gloves; even that took time.
With the other visitors he walked the narrow corridor into the ICU. The weekly routine guided him almost on autopilot.
Intensive care.
He saw her.
“Lately her vitals are fairly steady, and her nutrition isn’t bad. The bedsore from last time has improved a lot,” the nurse said.
“Thank you.”
She moved on to another patient, but he heard the doctor’s words from the day before:
“Her condition is progressively worse. I don’t think we can expect anything meaningful anymore.”
He slipped into the room and stood at her side.
The seventeen‑year‑old girl who used to sit in the very front row, smiling up at the stage, now lay facing the ceiling.
Those eyelids, once framing such beautiful eyes, were shut tight.
He clasped her cold hand.
I believe you’ll sing again any time, oppa. I’m reserving the very front seat. Let’s get married.
Words she’d whispered while he was hospitalized after that suicide attempt.
His lips quivered.
Guilt. Despair. Sorrow. Gratitude. Apology.
A faint melody like a draft of wind slipped from him.
He paused to steady his breathing, glanced at the heart monitor.
It hasn’t stopped yet.
The darkness on his face brightened.
You can get back up. I’ve only just woken up myself.
Hope.
All the tangled feelings inside him he reduced to that single emotion.
A soft nasal hum spread through the ICU.
So quiet even the next room wouldn’t hear, yet somehow it filled the entire ward, setting the stagnant air trembling with hope.
Jin‑hyeok was sure her ears were still open. Behind those eyelids, her eyes must still shine.
Maybe—
Maybe he had awakened for this very purpose.
This was what forty‑three‑year‑old Jin‑hyeok had prayed for. He could not lose another precious person while doing nothing.
Smiling broadly, he kissed her cheek.
I’ll make the world so amazing you’ll want to leap out of bed.
She was forty‑one.
Still beautiful.
He cupped her face, kissed her across the ventilator.
Rising slowly, he opened the door.
“Wow, you look cheerful today! That’s right—when family shows strength, patients feel it too!” the nurse said, flashing a clenched‑fist cheer.
In this place where all the world’s despair gathered, that angel in white shone with the brightest hope; he bowed deeply.
Never again would nineteen‑year‑old Jin‑hyeok be stubborn.
He would accept—and honor—the forty‑three‑year‑old completely.
Every feeling, every experience that man had lived was truly great.
The rebellion, madness, joy, resistance, struggle, freedom of youth—
and all the things one can learn only with age added on top.
His footsteps now carried weight.
She would rise.
I will make it happen.
His eyes began to gleam.
After Jin‑hyeok left, a nurse tidying the ICU wiped the patient’s eyes.
“So many tears today. Did you like the visit? Your husband looked so bright—keep fighting!”
The caretaker who always wore despair had, just this once, looked hopeful enough to inspire even the staff.
The nurse raised a fist toward the unmoving eyelids.
“I’ll be back later.”
She stepped out—
and the patient’s hand twitched.
Shaking fingers slowly curled, attempting a fist, then went limp, returning to rest.
Next door the nurse checked a man’s pupils—an unfortunate father hospitalized after a motorcycle crash. Prognosis had been poor; many had half‑given up.
His pupils responded to light.
“Doctor! Please, get the attending physician!”
She shouted into the hall.
“Hang in there, okay?” she told him, squeezing his hand.
A faint squeeze answered.
Outside, the ward grew noisy.
“Doctor, this patient’s vitals are rising!”
“Hey, this one’s fingers are moving! Call the on‑call team too!”
Cries rang from all corners of the ICU.
A ringtone sounded.
“H‑honey?”
Sang‑jeong showed the phone—Jo Jin‑hyeok’s name—to Seon‑ha.
“Answer it.”
“Uh—okay…”
He tapped the button.
“Yeah? Now? Jang‑ha? I know where he is… Uh… hold on—”
He glanced at his wife.
“Go and come back. I already gave you permission.”
His eyes went round; he nodded.
“Okay. I’ll get ready and call right back.”
He hung up, looked at her.
“Sigh… We still haven’t found a temp—”
“Mom, I can help!” their son chimed in.
“You help by staying out of the way,” she said.
When he hesitated, she pointed to the little side room.
“Change and go—before I change my mind.”
“Y‑yes! Thanks, hon!”
He dashed inside.
As the door slammed, a smile tugged at Seon‑ha’s lips.
He’s thrilled.
“Hey, Jo Eun‑seo! Wrong again. Didn’t you practice?”
“Ah—sorry, oppa!”
“Let’s take a break. She’s totally out of it.”
The members dropped their instruments, flopping onto the sofa.
“Chyo, you still can’t practice at home?”
“Uh… s‑sorry.”
Back in seventh grade she had followed a friend to her first band concert— a charity gig at the neighborhood church. The feelings that stirred that day shook her world.
She had tracked down the high‑school band kids, pestered them, and learned guitar.
She must have had some talent; lately they even let her join rehearsals.
“If you don’t log the hours, you won’t even make the sub lineup for the next show.”
“Yeah…”
“Hey, it’s because of her dad.”
“Then come practice here!”
“Jun‑ho’s really on edge today. You think she’s a dropout like you?”
“I haven’t given up school yet!”
“Oh? Yet you’re third from the bottom?”
“Screw you!”
As the squabble heated, Eun‑seo shrank.
“Enough! We’re the ones who let her in knowing her situation—and she’s only in eighth grade. Any of you play this well back in eighth?”
Leader I‑han kicked grumbling Jun‑ho in the thigh.
“Don’t worry, Eun‑seo. They push you because you’re good.”
She managed a nod.
“Sorry, Chyo!” Jun‑ho clasped his hands, bowing.
“He’s cranky ‘cause he’s breaking up with Yoo‑jin—cut him some slack.”
“We haven’t broken up yet!”
“Sure, let’s call it that.”
“Argh!”
As I‑han and Jun‑ho bickered, Eun‑seo sprang up.
“I’ll work hard!”
“That’s it.”
“Good.”
“Fighting.”
They each ruffled her hair.
“Ajajja, fighting!”
They pressed her head down so hard her face twisted.
“Mrrrn gnn drsh mrrgl…”
Her chilly mutter sent them scattering with giggles.
“Hey! Did you see it?”
“See what?”
“That video Gi‑soo hyung talked about on Discord last night.”
“Editing’s not done yet, right?”
“It’s already on Stargram.”
“Huh?”
“Someone watching must’ve filmed.”
“Oh…”
Jun‑ho pulled out a tablet; everyone swarmed.
This practice room had been passed down from their senior Shin Gi‑soo, the former leader. His cousin—none other than Shin Yu‑jeong—the pianist called the century’s genius who shook up the Korean classical world.
While gaming on Discord last night, Gi‑soo had mentioned a killer video.
He was helping with his cousin’s YouTube channel these days.
“It’s short, but it’s amazing. We need the full version ASAP.”
A thunderous piano erupted from the tablet’s speakers.
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