The next day.
From early morning, a thunderous knocking sound was heard.
Thud, thud.
Who could it be at this hour? It wasn’t Director Kim’s knock.
Creeeak—
When Hyunseung, puzzled, opened the door, a truly unexpected figure was standing there.
“Why’d you take so long to open up?”
Executive Director Park glanced around and slipped into the studio as though hiding.
“What is it?”
Hyunseung swept Park up and down with wary eyes. It was suspicious enough that he barged in at dawn… and the heart-patterned box in his hand made it even shadier.
Could it possibly be a bomb?
“When a guest shows up, isn’t it manners to at least give him a glass of water before asking why he’s here?”
Loosening his tie, Executive Director Park sprawled on the sofa. With a reluctant face, Hyunseung handed him a glass.
“Wasn’t invited, but here’s your water.”
“Honestly, no manners.”
Like a man back from the desert, Park drained it in one go, then added with a smirk,
“Spit out everything on your mind like that and you’ll get hated and stoned.”
For a moment, Hyunseung’s body twitched.
“I know.”
He answered curtly.
“A-hem.”
Park cleared his throat, awkward that the boy accepted so easily. Normally, he would’ve snapped back.
“Hey, this.”
To change the subject, Park held out the box of fan letters.
And, for no reason, tagged on a teasing joke.
“Don’t worry. Good-looking punks like you do whatever you want and never get stones, only letters.”
Even at the joke, Hyunseung silently hugged the box.
Though not large, it felt weighty. Inside were so many colorful envelopes it looked ready to spill.
“What on earth is all this?”
“Yesterday in front of HQ they asked me to deliver your fan mail. Never in my life… sheesh.”
Shaking his head as if he’d been waiting, Park continued.
“They didn’t even know who they were talking to. Asking a Executive Director to hand letters to a composer… so I took them. I was dumbfounded.”
“You don’t have ‘Executive Director’ written on your face. But why give them today, not yesterday?”
“There were too many people around here last night.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Why does it matter?”
Thud.
When Hyunseung really seemed clueless, Park slapped the table in frustration.
“I have my dignity. If rumors spread that I’m your mail boy, how could I hold my head up?”
“You could’ve told someone else.”
At a loss for words, Park pressed his lips tight for a beat.
“Well…”
He swept the studio once, acting lofty, then replied,
“Figured I’d drop by anyway to check what you’re working on.”
“So your business is done now?”
“No?”
Hyunseung waited calmly for him to speak. An awkward silence fell.
“Thought about when to release the next album?”
“Hmm, year-end?”
“What’s the rush? Read these letters slowly and take this year off.”
“Inspector who came to see if I work tells me to rest?”
“No, your fans might be sad.”
“I’ll handle it.”
With a dissatisfied face, Park rose from his seat.
“Rude brat—hog it all yourself.”
“Thanks. See you.”
“Never lose an argument, do you.”
And just as quickly as he’d come, he left the studio.
He walked a good distance away, then stopped and sent a text somewhere.
Tap, tap.
Recipient: Director Oh.
“[Hold all releases planned for year-end.]”
Right.
The reason Executive Director Park had swallowed his pride to act as a fan-letter courier was simply to protect his own people’s rice bowls.
“So humiliating the more I think about it.”
Hyunseung buried himself in preparing the next project.
One hour, three hours, six hours…
In the end, a whole day passed, and only when foggy dawn settled did he collapse onto the sofa.
Ah.
Just then the box on the floor caught his eye— a box packed with letters from his fans.
Somehow he’d been afraid to open it and had left it.
“Mm.”
After a deep sigh, as though struggling,
Click.
He lifted the firmly closed lid. It opened lightly, against his feelings.
At once he picked up a large envelope lying on top.
Hm?
It had some weight to it. Peeking in, he saw one book and a neatly folded letter.
Rustle.
Taking the letter first, he stared at it without unfolding. He was unsure what it might say, nerves crawled over him.
True, he’d often received threats, letters, gifts…
but with the fandom growing these days, old memories crept up and made him uneasy.
Just one letter, and yet it felt like the past life might repeat.
Gulp.
After a brief ritual of staring, he resolved himself and opened it wide.
“Hello, Composer.”
Neat handwriting greeted him.
“I don’t know if this letter will reach you, but I had words I must convey, so I took up my pen.”
It looked like a man’s hand. Did I gain a male fan never seen in the previous life?
“I was an unknown writer. Though head of a family, I held a dream. I pretended not to see my wife and child struggling in our one-room flat.”
Calm, weighty sentences… He read on.
“The day I discovered you, I’d downed a can of beer and decided to quit my dream. No one read the works of a writer named Kim Ju-seong.”
Reading like prose, his heart soon settled. Authors are different indeed.
“In that moment of dropping everything, I happened to hear your ‘Dear My Beethoven.’
Live, live.
Let’s live, us.
The lyrics shouted by Moon Beom-jae sounded to me like words meant for me. Giving up writing was the same as losing the meaning of living.
Then, as if by miracle, I received notice I’d won the New Writers Contest.”
Softly, Hyunseung murmured, “Oh, that’s good.”
“The enclosed book is the winning work, A Flower Garden at the End of the Tunnel. If you have time, please read it.
Just as I gained strength from your music to keep living, may my book help you if ever hardship comes.
I send thanks through this letter to the composer who grabbed the thread of my life and saved me.
Always cheering from afar.”
Grand words, yet pleasant. After all, his song had become someone’s motive to live.
Rustle.
He next chose the flashiest envelope.
“Hello, long time no see!”
Energy burst from the first line. He felt slight resistance but read on.
“Remember outside LS HQ when I begged you to lift your helmet and you raised it a moment?”
Ah, that kid. He nodded, recalling.
“I liked you since debut, and I’m Miso, manager of the official fan café G-HS. I was always curious what you are like, but now I’m trying not to know.
At first the helmet felt like a wall between us, but now I love even that line. Even if your face has burn scars, buck teeth, a very long jaw, or a hooked nose, I’d still like you! Any appearance is fine; I just love the person HS.”
Somehow a bit aggrieved… I don’t have scars or buck teeth…
“Listening to your songs, I feel your love of music and the sincerity within. As a weary rookie worker, I’m exhausted after work, but your songs give me strength for tomorrow.”
Am I really “oppa”? Adding both lives, I guess I’m far older…
“Many feel the same! Our G-HS is a group that loves the music you make and is healed by it.
Though you do nothing but musical activities, so there’s no way to empty my wallet, someday I want to repay it.”
He chuckled. A rookie’s income isn’t much, better save for nice clothes.
“Even if the whole world throws stones, I won’t. Even if you commit some big wrong I can’t grasp, I won’t throw stones with them. I’ll always cheer beside you! I’ll repay the comfort I received that way. Don’t overdo things. Stay with us, making music for a long, long time!”
Finishing the letter, Hyunseung felt an indescribable emotion rise from deep inside.
Rustle.
The first is hard. The next becomes easy.
Though dead tired from an all-nighter, he read every letter.
“I luv Etchis even if have square jaw.”
From a Japanese fan’s crooked Hangul, to someone who moved over from being a “More Moni” fan.
“Hey, I’m not ugly—what’s with everyone?”
He added comments to each as he read.
Unexpectedly… not a single letter asked him to show his face.
Weird…
While reorganizing the letters,
Knock, knock, knock.
Director Kim’s familiar knock.
“Hyunseung, guess who I brought on the way to work?”
He entered with an awkward quick step then, at his cry of “Charge!”, Dohee dashed out from behind him.
“Flame Mask Man!”
Startled, Hyunseung caught her in his arms.
“What… Why did you come?”
“Wanted ta give this myself, so asked Sofi-uncle to bring me!”
“Sofi uncle?” He looked at Director Kim.
“I bought them a sofa. ‘Sofa’ must be hard to say. She keeps saying ‘Sofi.’”
“Housewarming gift is always a sofa? Try something new…”
“Hey, a sofa anchors a living room—”
Turning back to Dohee, he asked, “What’s this?”
“Letter!”
“For me?”
“Yeah!”
She handed him a crumpled note.
“Flame Mask Man! Thank you for making Peekaboo Family! Awesome!”
Holding back a grin, he said, “This is a letter?”
“No! It’s a letter!”
“All the spelling’s wrong.”
“No! All right!”
Watching the two bicker, Director Kim stuck out his lip and claimed the sofa.
“Really. I buy the sofa, escort her, and you two are overjoyed.”
“Sulking?”
“Not!”
“Want to hear something that’ll please you?”
“If it’s cafeteria menu, I checked.”
“Not that.”
Gazing at Dohee’s note in his hand,
“Remember what we talked about before,” he said with resolve.
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“Fan service.”
Director Kim rose slowly, doubting his ears.
“R-really?”
“Fan service?”
Dohee, intrigued by the new word, kept repeating, “Fan-servis, fan-servis…”
Then:
“Wanna eat pancake!”
“Let’s go.”
At that,
“Uh, hey, where are you two going!”
With Dohee in his arms, Hyunseung zipped out toward a pancake shop.
Director Kim hurried after, a bonus companion.
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