Janis and the band, exhausted, arrived at the studio.
There had been interference from TV reporters, but Janis swung his guitar and smashed two cameras, and they were able to secure a breather first.
Chuck, who arrived late after coordinating a press conference schedule and paying for the broken cameras, stared blankly at Janis.
“How is it?”
When Janis bared his white teeth, every pair of eyes turned to him.
“They’ll be stunned when they see the footage, right?”
He didn’t have to say who.
There was only one person Janis wanted to shock.
“I did it better.”
He should have been wildly elated, yet his face dimmed.
Then it twisted more and more, until—
“Damn it! How the hell did he make that? A song like that?”
In the end, it was a miracle wrought by his original.
The genius he’d thought the best in the world had to acknowledge that paper bag.
He was like a god.
Having busked it himself, he was all the more certain.
Did the man know exactly what he was capable of?
From where Janis stood, it didn’t seem so.
He replayed the feelings he’d had while performing just now.
That unfinished, rough-hewn music was truly a tremendous song.
They had no choice but to arrange it to fit themselves, yet the piece had power on its own.
However, one thing was certain: he had never, ever experienced time stopping.
Janis knew that feeling precisely, which is why it was so clear to him.
The man merely understood the other, and from that understanding, guessed at the feeling.
And with just that guess, he wrote music that healed them.
Janis himself had once been a clock missing a gear.
For that reason, though it was the same song, he could gift more gears.
Purely because he knew that feeling more exactly.
They had performed it far more times, and above all, they had mastered the song; that must be why it was possible.
On top of that, when those who had tasted the miracle cried out in unison, the wave swelled even stronger.
He supposed that the stacking of emotions amplified the power the song carried.
It was, as if it were the language of a god.
Today’s performance had truly been like a miracle.
And yet Janis couldn’t smooth out his crumpled face.
Because the owner of this song was plainly that paper bag.
No matter how good the outcome, Janis hadn’t beaten him.
“How about it? Think we can release our album?”
He looked around at his mates.
Each one a person who prided himself on being the best in the world.
“With someone out there who writes songs like that, can we really shout that we’re the best?”
Blank-faced, the self-proclaimed world’s best shook their heads, drained.
Thump, thump.
In a space full of despair, a very low resonance of strings began to cautiously spread.
It was so careful that no one noticed it at once.
Like sitting in a flower garden and the scent quietly soaking in.
No one felt the sound was alien, and, as if it had been resonating there all along, it slowly filled the room.
Thump, thump.
The bass rising from the floor seeped into anxious hearts in the thick silence.
Rokyeong glared at the framed credentials on his wall.
What good was it to be a globally recognized specialist if he was this powerless as a human being.
Knock, knock.
Morning clinic hours should have been over, yet there was a knock.
“Ah, doctor, you’re still in? We’re here from Hawon Medical. We heard you had no patients right now. We’d like to do the ultrasound system check…”
Oh, right. Today was the regular maintenance.
Rokyeong, though it should be impossible, watched the back of the diligent medical-equipment rep with a threadbare hope.
“There’s no issue, and we replaced this cable here, and the gel is the new relea…”
When that hope collapsed, the rep’s words grew muffled.
“If anything comes up, please give us a call.”
The rep, who had been explaining something so earnestly, stepped out.
Hoo.
He needed to go out as well, but he dreaded the waiting room that would surely have gone dark.
He faced this countless times, yet he could never get used to it.
Hope and despair, emotions driven to extremes—he had to weather them.
This was a job where, having just faced the despair of death, you still had to smile for the next hope.
Carefully, he opened the exam-room door and turned his head toward the waiting room a short distance away.
“Uh…”
The same couple, faces blotched with tears, were standing right there.
How should he offer comfort again?
“D-doctor.”
He simply could not meet those eyes.
Yet, their expressions were a bit…
“The baby… the baby is kicking!”
“Pardon?”
It couldn’t be.
A heart that had slowed that far couldn’t just start beating again.
It had to be the mother’s misperception.
To have to trample on that hope again.
Heaven was merciless.
“Ma’am, as a physician, I—”
“Look! It kicked again!”
Rokyeong stared blankly at the mother’s belly.
Was he imagining things himself?
The hoodie was loose, but the belly section clung, its curve distinct.
“Uh…”
“You saw it, right?”
Without even asking their permission, he brought his face close to the little life.
A squirming pressed against his cheek.
“I’m alive.”
The baby said hello.
“Please, come in. Quickly!”
Since becoming a specialist, there had been many times he’d clawed at his hair in self-reproach, and even when his heart had collapsed into a wreck, he had never let his tears show.
His predictions had never been wrong, and a prepared farewell had to be kept calm.
If even he showed himself falling apart, those parents wouldn’t be able to let their emotions out.
Dried up, or so he’d thought as tears began to well in his eyes.
“Not yet.”
He needed to check the baby’s condition at once.
He didn’t know when the mother had lain down, or when the ultrasound had been readied, but before he knew it the black screen was filled with white life.
His vision kept blurring so he couldn’t see the image, but the clear sound of a heart, he could hear perfectly well.
Thump, thump.
Only then, the tears he’d been holding back burst out and wouldn’t stop.
By the time every heart gathered in the waiting room felt something, they had already grown used to that rhythm.
Those who carried two hearts could tell distinctly.
“I’m doing fine. Don’t worry.”
The quiet babies knocked.
In that way, the child reassured the mother.
Hearts gone wild with worry gradually calmed, and as hope seeped back in, they realized who the low sound now filling the room was for.
Every mother turned her gaze toward the despair they’d been trying so hard to ignore.
They had knownit was there in the same space, but could not bear to face the deep, deep despair.
“Baby, hang in there.”
Between the low-spreading tone, a humming flowed out.
A song that soothed the mind and a cheer.
One mother, before she knew it, began to follow that note, and the mother beside her hummed along.
Though they faced despair, the mothers’ faces brimmed with an unbreakable hope.
“You can do it. Be strong.”
An anthem of hope filled the waiting room.
Before long, the low bed of strings was buried beneath the swell of hope’s tide.
When it had grown so strong that no one could resist it, and no one remained who wasn’t joining in, the despair that had been crouching lifted its head.
Eyes that could grow no wider.
On the face stained with despair, hope began to seep.
“H-honey. It’s moving.”
In front of that once-dark exam room, a bright light poured down.
The mothers smiled brightly through tears, and through the milky blur, that light was visible.
In those dimmed eyes, it was surely a vision.
And yet it was too vivid to be a mere vision.
Truly, a radiance was descending there.
One mother looked at the mother beside her, and when she saw the dazed look in her eyes, she knew this miraculous vision was not hers alone.
Without realizing it, she bowed her head to the light.
Jinhyeok, so as not to startle the mothers, plucked the string just a little.
It was a bit slack, but the sound came, and he was relieved.
A very low bass.
Just the instrument for this moment.
First, let’s sweep away this darkness.
Only then could they cheer together.
So as not to alarm them, very naturally…
He calmed the mothers first and asked the little ones.
Small lives are so pure that even a very small request drew quick nods.
Seeing the mothers stroking their bellies, he found them so admirable.
Now, let’s cheer for that friend.
Let’s tell them their parents are waiting in the bright world.
This one big instrument wasn’t enough.
He needed a bigger resonance.
A little higher than the bass, too gentle for a fight song, a hummed tune began.
Jinhyeok himself had never carried an extra heart.
So he only tried to feel what his wife had felt when she carried their daughter.
Much less had he ever clutched a fading heart and fallen into despair.
He merely guessed at that despair.
So, was that why this resonance struggled to reach?
If he knew that feeling well, he could send a more fitting cheer.
Jinhyeok clenched his teeth.
For it to reach that fading heart, his intuition was bound to be lacking.
As he’d done until now, this wasn’t merely about moving emotions.
It was saving a life that was going out.
Not something you could dare handle with guesswork.
Then, cutting into the sound of his guessed-at feeling, came the true feeling.
The encouragement of those who understood that despair better than anyone.
That cheer grew and grew, and at some point an enormous swell rose up, making his intuition not even comparable.
“Ah…”
Upon the place the true feeling was aimed, light descended.
It was a cheer he had written, but the people who could sing it best were those very mothers.
“Now I think I get it a little.”
Jinhyeok smiled broadly.
“So you’re saying you want to borrow my room?”
Playing at being an adult, Seojun tapped his forehead with a thoughtful air.
He was probably figuring out how to charge rent.
Watching their little deal with high interest, Sangjeong and Seon-ha smiled.
That uncle’s rich—bleed him dry! You’ve got this, son!
“Mm, I hear Seojun likes cars?”
At Uncle Chung-gi’s words, the finger tapping Seojun’s forehead paused.
He already had more mini-cars than he could count.
He even had a few larger die-casts.
Seojun thought of the Lamborghini RC car he’d found at the mart last week.
It cost over a hundred thousand won.
His parents would never buy it.
He’d been aiming for Christmas.
“I don’t deal in small-time cars.”
He quickly folded his arms and laid the groundwork.
“Mmm… is that so?”
Chung-gi narrowed his eyes.
“I’ve already got lots this big.”
Seojun showed his open palm.
“So bigger than that will do?”
“Uh…”
This bargaining is kind of easy.
“Bigger than this.”
He stacked both palms vertically and shot a meaningful look.
“Hm. Yeah? Got it.”
Chung-gi rummaged in his pocket.
Seojun’s eyes drooped to slits.
Oh yeah! A card!
His heart pounded.
Was he finally getting that RC car?
The half-lidded eyes sparkled.
Chung-gi set the fist he’d pulled from his pocket on the table.
“Here. Lodging fee.”
Sangjeong shook his head and took a step.
“Hey, don’t just hand him your card. He’ll swipe it all over. Go with hi—”
When Chung-gi opened his fist, something clinked down.
“If you start the engine, it’s confiscated immediately. Battery-on only, and until you’ve got a license it’s just a toy.”
A blocky thing with a few buttons and a bold letter R stamped in the center.
Watching the bewildered boy,
Chung-gi’s lip curled.
“I’m only lending it while I’m using your room.”
Sangjeong and Seon-ha’s mouths fell wide open.
Only Seojun, not knowing what the object was, tilted his head.
What is this?
It looked a bit like Dad’s car key, and when he pressed a button the lights of the Rolls-Royce parked out front flashed, and the goddess on the grille rose.
“Wooooow!”
Seojun dashed out.
“Seojun! Don’t just paw it with your hands like that—”
Flustered, Seon-ha tried to rein him in.
“It’s fine. It’s a company lease. He can fiddle with it all he wants.”
“Even so…”
“Honestly, starting today I probably can’t even use my card, and the cash I have is the two hundred thousand won I got yesterday. Like I said, that car’s a company asset—I can’t sell it.”
Chung-gi looked up at the chicken shop sign.
Then, turning to Sangjeong,
“You said you were hiring part-timers?”
“Huh?”
“Could you give me a job here?”
Sangjeong shook his head slowly.
Had this man ever even washed dishes in his life?
“I feel like a newbie just out in the world. Like I can do anything.”
Chung-gi grinned, bright as a boy.
He remembered their first meeting with the nineteen-year-old rich kid who’d wanted into the band.
You can just have me clean. Just let me in.
The pale kid who’d shown up with Jang-ha.
They had actually made him clean for two days, but he went at it such a chaotic, over-eager mess that they had to take the broom away.
With quite a few more wrinkles now, Chung-gi waited with shining eyes and Sangjeong smiled back.
“Can you ride a motorbike?”
“My hobby used to be collecting bikes.”
Sangjeong looked at the scooter parked beside the shop.
“Ten thousand won an hour.”
“Yes, boss.”
Chung-gi answered brightly.
“Dad! I’m sleeping here from today!”
Seojun was the happiest kid in the world.
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