Sarah Stewart tossed aside her eye mask and pulled out a mist spray, drenching her face until it was soaked.
Spray, spray, spray!
Her skin had dried out from the long flight. Even in first class, the air was the same.
If she’d known, she would’ve stolen a private jet to get here.
“Hmm…”
Seeing the people outside the plane after landing made it real. She was in Korea.
I never thought I’d be back so soon…
Sarah slid on the sunglasses from her case. Someone might recognize her, especially now that her concert clips had blown up on NewTube and her face was familiar overseas. She’d have to be extra careful.
She planned to slip in quietly this time and leave just as quietly.
Yeah. She’d watch HS’s fan meeting and head back.
If a headline popped up—Sarah Stewart visits Korea to attend a foreign composer’s fan meeting—the ridiculous gossip would write itself.
She was used to the spotlight; it didn’t bother her…
But that eccentric wasn’t.
Sarah left the airport, face tucked under hat and sunglasses. Too embarrassed to tell the company, she hadn’t taken a jet, and she’d come alone—no manager—so everything felt unfamiliar.
Where do I go from here?
She powered on her phone to navigate.
Riiing, riiing, riiing!
It had been off too long; the moment it booted, notifications flooded in.
First up, a text from HS.
[ Aren’t you coming to get the misutgaru? ]
Judging by misutgaru, he meant: are you coming to the fan meeting?
I came, I came.
He really made a big deal out of that measly grain powder. This time she’d find a way to haul a whole lot home.
[ Where did you go after skipping the schedule? ]
[ Did you drink again? ]
[ Sarah, call me as soon as you see this. ]
The rest were from Andrew, her manager-director. All asking where she’d vanished to after blowing off the schedule. Well… that was on her.
On nights of awful nightmares, Sarah would visit her mother’s grave and hum endlessly.
Sometimes she brought manuscript paper and sketched melodies.
Yeah. When the company asked where she’d been, she’d just toss out some line about drinking. To them, she was a troublemaker.
Whatever. First she had to reach HS’s fan meeting.
She ignored calls and was heading toward the gate when—
Beep!
A late text froze her in place, as if someone had grabbed her ankle.
[ Call me when you see this. ]
A man she hadn’t spoken to in over five years.
Why him…?
Her father—the one she’d cut off.
Squeeze.
Sarah gripped her phone until her knuckles whitened. If she weren’t in an airport, she’d have hurled it and screamed.
Her father had always been like this.
Commanding tone. Do this, do that. He’d dismissed her dream of singing, and he’d left her mother to fade away alone, busy as ever.
In the end, Dad killed Mom.
And on the day Mother left, Sarah swore she’d leave him, who tried to stamp out her dreams—if only for Mother’s sake.
Certainly, Mother would want her to live happily, doing what she loved.
So she left, vowing never to return. Some days she sang at the grave; other days she sang in the square they’d visited together. When the song ended, she felt like she could hear Mother’s applause.
For Sarah, raised under tight control, never allowed to express herself, singing was the only outlet.
Then came a scouting offer from Austin David, now the CEO of Unice Music Group.
At first, she hesitated. She wanted to sing simply to be someone who sings, but Austin promised to make her a star. Above all, she feared exposure would let her father find and control her again.
Yes—he had that kind of reach.
But Austin promised she could live for singing, granting what she wanted, so she impulsively signed. True to his word, he minimized broadcast exposure and focused her work on music.
Of course… with her personality, broadcast gigs didn’t fit anyway. After a few, Austin slapped on a restriction order. Like telling her not to use SNS.
She hadn’t been debuted long, but since her father hadn’t reached out or interfered, she figured they were strangers now.
So why contact her now?
This was the same father who, when she left, told her not to call herself his daughter anywhere and to expect no support. In five years, not a single call.
“Fuck…”
Sarah muttered, brow furrowing. It felt unsettling and downright dirty.
Then she quickened her pace and passed through the gate.
Click, click.
She didn’t notice if camera shutters were firing somewhere.
Jin Misu’s heart was pounding from morning.
“What should I wear? Ah, I’m going crazy.”
Today was HS’s second fan meeting, the one she’d been waiting forever for.
“Oppa! Are you ready?”
She flung open her brother’s door and nagged Jin Siwoo to move.
“No, but do I really have to go? You only asked me because you need my disability registration card, right?”
“What kind of thing is that to say?”
“That’s the condition, right? Bring a family member with a hearing disability.”
At that, Jin Misu pressed her lips together. True. Without him, she would’ve needed the second round…
And she probably wouldn’t have gotten in.
“Oppa.”
She stepped in close and called softly.
“Why?”
They held each other’s gaze in silence. Partly guilt—he wasn’t wrong. Partly hurt.
Her brother had loved music, even played in a band. He always carried earphones, listening everywhere.
Then an accident took the hearing in his left ear completely. His right needed a hearing aid.
After that, he threw away every last earbud. He began avoiding music; then he began avoiding people.
He said he was scared when someone sat on his left or passed that side. He said his world felt half alive, half breathing… and he hated it.
Seeing him like that broke Jin Misu’s heart. He’d been so active, loved music so deeply; she’d learned that love from him.
She prayed for the days of musicals and concerts together, gossiping about new songs, to return.
But for total loss, neither hearing aids nor cochlear implants could help.
Still, with his right ear, he could manage daily life and she wished he’d love music again, find healing.
She tried to play him HS songs that had comforted her, but the more she tried, the more he retreated into his cave.
Then she heard HS was holding a “Five Senses Fan Meeting.” The condition—a Deaf person must accompany—made her think: This is it.
Yes. Music isn’t just heard with ears. You can see it, feel it with your heart.
“You still love music, don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“Liar, I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Remember I left the house, realized I forgot my phone, and came back?”
He snapped, uneasy: “So?” His face looked like someone caught doing something he didn’t want seen.
“Ah… nothing.”
Jin Misu backed off, partly because he seemed uncomfortable, partly because recalling it hurt.
That day, she’d turned back for her phone and saw his cave.
─ ♬ ♬ ♬
The music was so loud it shook the door. She eased it open.
“Huh!”
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Oppa…
Her brother, face down, slapping his ears; his hearing aid tossed aside. The song’s melody tangled with his strangled groans.
It was more heartbreaking than anything she’d ever seen.
When she first heard he’d lost his hearing, she’d sobbed; he’d said flatly, “Well, at least I’m not dead, right?”
After that, he stopped making music, stopped going out. He was bright with family…
But really, he felt like he lived only because he couldn’t die.
“Anyway, let’s go. Is it that hard to go on a little date with your sister?”
She forced a smile, clung to him, laid it on thick.
“I’ll buy you something delicious! Let’s go! Huh? Huh?”
Jin Siwoo sighed, clearly annoyed, but then said:
“Fine.” He nudged her away. “I’ll change and head out.”
Only then did Jin Misu leave with a bright smile.
Please, let today’s Five Senses fan meeting give my brother new music.
She walked back to her room, slow and hopeful.
Leave a Reply