Jo Sejin, perched in front of his computer and clicking his mouse in a frenzy, was a middle-aged widower who had taken early retirement only a short while ago.
A professional interpreter by trade, he had picked up video editing as a hobby and now ran a YouTube channel where he subtitled Korean stage clips and music videos, then compiled foreigners’ reactions to them.
Click, click.
Ever since he had seen the teaser for <Blue Spring>, the title track of rookie composer Choi Jihyun’s first solo album, he had been counting the days until the official release.
Partly because he had always liked the musician Kim Gwang-jin, but even more because of the music video footage itself. He felt sure the MV would be the next big thing. That means he would have to grab it faster than anyone and get a reaction video uploaded.
“Ah!”
But the ‘server crashed’ message on his screen made him throw his mouse.
All of a sudden.
What on earth? Just a temporary error?
Click, click.
He hammered refresh on both phone and PC.
Click, click.
After dozens of attempts, he finally got through.
At last, just as he let out a cheer at finally being able to watch the video he’d been waiting for…
“…Oh.”
Old film raced backward faster than the eye could follow, and he found himself utterly absorbed.
—I feel as though I used to laugh once.
A baby beamed and drooled, toddling toward the camera; the strip jumped to two toddlers wiggling their backsides with their faces turned away.
—I think there was a time when falling down wasn’t scary at all.
One child, the little sister perhaps, suddenly lost her footing and flopped to the ground.
Sejin laughed. He could see his own daughter at that age superimposed over the screen.
“Pfft.”
The image flick-cut to a schoolgirl running; her back fragmented and scattered.
—I guess even tiny things once felt like mountains ready to crush me.
The fragments reformed into a young man and woman walking side by side along a road by a wide blue sea.
—Ah, but I did spend more days smiling than not.
Joyful yet fragile, they ran along a pier, then the scene skipped to an old wedding photo of the same couple.
—I did truly love, that I can say now.
Dated snapshots cascaded past.
The faces were blurred, but it looked like an ordinary, happy family.
—If I could go back to those days,
The next cut showed young men with guitars sprinting into an endless wilderness without a hint of hesitation.
—it would probably be the same.
Under the blazing sun, skin burning, they sat wherever they liked in sleeveless shirts and jeans and played to their hearts’ content.
—We would laugh, cry, and sometimes get angry.
While Sejin was losing himself in the unique imagery,
—In the end we would still face what had to be faced.
The shaky footage showed a man in a dark room of a flat smashing his guitar, covering his ears, howling.
No sound, yet he clearly wept.
Then, in contrast, brilliant blue light and a freshly filmed scene appeared.
—You could lose the happiness you have now.
On a balmy spring day, a little girl in a fluttering dress, bubbling with excitement, dashed forward and fell flat.
Just like the toddler at the start who had fallen while wiggling her hips.
—For me, I feel lucky to live as who I am today.
Perhaps the cameraperson burst out laughing, the frame shook lightly. The view snapped, Polaroids fluttered like petals in the wind.
—Because there are feelings I’d never have known otherwise.
The glare made them hard to see, but they were everyday moments from some family’s life.
—I do miss it sometimes, those days when I laughed without thinking.
The MV neared its close.
—A certain warm spring day.
The Polaroids broke into pieces, crackled in flame,
—But now my warm spring days live inside my heart.
The sparks gathered into a radiant cherry tree.
Beneath it, two little kids dozed with their heads together; the screen faded to black.
“Hah…”
Sejin had a reaction video to film right away, but he couldn’t move.
Just a minute…
He needed to sit and travel backward through his own life. There had been a season called “youth” for him too, wild and beautiful.
—If I could go back to those days.
Head bowed before the replaying video,
Knock, knock, knock.
His daughter’s mature voice came through the door.
“Father…”
There was a time when, asked to say “Daddy,” the baby gurgled “Ba-ba!” and laughed. Now she was grown, married, and spoke in formal language.
“Come in.”
It stung a little, but he let her be. It was touching, too.
—You could lose the happiness you have now.
The MV kept looping while she, without sparing it a glance, delivered her message.
“I brought some side dishes. Don’t skip meals just because Mom’s gone.”
“Alright.”
“I have to pick up Ha-yoon from kindergarten, so I’ll be off.”
No doubt motherhood left her no free time.
—I do miss it sometimes, those days when I laughed without thinking.
Suddenly he wanted to use her childhood name.
“Se-won.”
“Yes?”
“It’s been a while, but… could you call me ‘Dad’ again?”
“O-out of the blue?”
“Just once, please.”
He longed to hear that childish “Daddy!” again.
—A certain warm spring day.
Unaware of his heart, she asked anxiously,
“Dad, is something wrong today?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Thinking of Mom?”
“I do think of her, but I keep her in my heart now.”
Feeling shy, she mumbled,
“D-Dad…?”
The MV ended once more.
—But now my warm spring days live inside my heart.
“Dad, if it gets hard, call me anytime.”
“Alright, Se-won. And if life is heavy for you, come running home to Dad.”
That day Jo Sejin, through a single music video, rediscovered the warm spring hidden inside him.
The day after Choi Jihyun’s album dropped.
“Wow…”
Manager Kim’s joke about the whole world going wild had come true.
“Hyunseung, everyone’s in an uproar.”
“I know.”
“Let me watch with you.”
“Watch it yourself.”
“So stingy…”
Even so, Kim couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.
[I thought <out to sea> was just gloomy noise with no lyrics, but the more I play it the more it’s a masterpiece. Every instrument breathes; it hits deeper than words. Guys, even if it feels off at first, give it several listens.]
⤷ Same. I found it too dark, and now it’s seeped into me.
⤷ Has anyone deciphered the album note? I’m crying here.
⤷ What does it say? Tell me.
⤷ “It simply says, ‘I hope many people listen and grieve as much as they need.’”
⤷ Wow, the composer really went for our tear ducts.
Kim’s words weren’t the only prophecy.
[Blue Spring MV made my whole life flash before my eyes; I cried all day. Anyone else with long-term after-effects?]
⤷ My mom cried watching it too…
⤷ You too? Both my parents bawled…
⤷ Article said the composer planned the MV himself!
⤷ Visuals insane, song insane, Choi Jihyun insane.
⤷ It left such a long aftertaste I couldn’t even hit replay.
Just as Hyunseung predicted, <out to sea> drew the hottest response among the tracks, while <Blue Spring> caused the biggest buzz with its MV.
YouTube overflowed with analysis and foreign reactions, their view counts skyrocketing.
And every track on the album pulled into the charts within a single day—virtually unheard of for a composer’s solo album.
“Seriously, how is this possible?”
No matter the star-studded features and sessions, Choi Jihyun was still a rookie name to the public.
Apparently, against Hyunseung’s music, name value meant nothing.
“Hey, Jihyun.”
“What?”
“You’re Jihyun, right?”
“Choi Jihyun, yes?”
Kim chuckled and nodded.
“Right, for the moment you’re Choi Jihyun.”
Even if the HS tracks lagged a little, so what?
Sooner or later, they would prove their worth as well.
Meanwhile, Austin repeatedly whispered an awkward Korean name.
“Yoon… Je-i? Yoon Jaeyi…”
It belonged to the vocalist in a clip Andrew had shown him. As the video went viral, people who knew her left comments, and with translations he gathered:
- Korean nationality, name Yoon Jaeyi
- Rookie singer under LS Entertainment
- Winner of a TV audition show
Plus, the busking in the clip had been filming for a Korean program called Street Again.
If only he had stopped there.
“Sigh.”
Relentless by nature, Austin tracked down the composer of the song Jaeyi sang. He learned the stage name was HS and then listened to all his other work.
Not stopping there, with help from a Korean employee, he devoured every article about this rival composer Choi Jihyun.
Two tracks shocked him most:
<Dear my Beethoven> by HS, and <out to sea> by Choi Jihyun. Similar moods yet distinctly different, they satisfied his picky ear.
The fact that the New York Philharmonic had played session for a Korean composer left him speechless. What kind of connection had landed that?
“I had no idea Korea had composers this good…”
He cursed the narrowness of his own perspective.
Wait.
Hadn’t Sarah said the young man she’d met was Asian too?
“Hmm…”
An urge to visit Korea kept rising.
That intuition—the one that had made him CEO of Yunis Music Group—was buzzing loudly again.
T/N: Ngl, I cried reading this chapter especially with Sejin’s part. T_T
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