Chapter 9
"Did I really go through that at my age?"
My heart felt hollow.
I wish for a world where hardworking people get recognized and the wicked face consequences. The only solace was that Kim Jinseong had someone who loved, cherished, and comforted him. Jeong Jikhan understood deeply how precious such comfort could be.
"I should’ve succeeded… I should’ve succeeded so we could travel abroad together… eat all those delicious things we talked about…"
Kim Jinseong’s shoulders shook before his tears spilled over.
What could have happened to make him like this?
Jeong Jikhan offered a tissue, but Jinseong buried his face in his hands, refusing it. How much anguish must one carry to weep so desperately?
Jeong Jikhan silently patted his shoulder. Sometimes, a comforting touch outweighed a hundred words.
Time blurred until Jinseong, steadier now, sighed deeply and spoke with eerie calm. His next words struck like thunder from a clear sky:
"At my girlfriend’s funeral… I felt something inside me vanish."
She’d passed from acute leukemia. By the hospital visit, it was too late—gone within five months of diagnosis. Jeong Jikhan couldn’t muster even feeble condolences. Heaven is cruel. Words felt hollow, so he pressed his lips shut in silent tribute.
Jinseong stared into his coffee, adrift. Eventually, he inhaled sharply. "Even after that… I didn’t quit music."
Anyone else would’ve broken, yet he’d persisted. Jeong Jikhan had misjudged him as fragile. Can you ever truly know another’s heart?
"Why keep going?" Jeong Jikhan asked.
Jinseong smiled faintly. "A promise to her. She believed in me until the end—said my music could heal people. That we weren’t wrong to believe."
"And after?"
"Loneliness… but I gave it my all."
"But here I am." Jinseong sipped coffee, bitterness etching his smile.
Jeong Jikhan mirrored the gesture. "The end—what happened?"
"A car crash. They’d announced an OST competition for a tentpole drama’s second half. My last chance."
"OST competition?"
"Right. Headed to the station when—"
"Some things aren’t meant to be," Jeong Jikhan murmured.
Jinseong leaned back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Never worked out." His smile turned wry. "So learn guitar as a hobby. Art devours lives."
The advice echoed yesterday’s words: Keep it a hobby. Now Jeong Jikhan understood. Such kindness, ended by a crash—
A thought struck. "Jinseong-ssi. The drama airs year-end?"
"Ah, yes."
Jeong Jikhan, ever the stock enthusiast, connected threads. "Title’s Street?"
"Y-yes."
"They’re still taking submissions?"
"Yes, but—"
"Where’s your file?"
Jinseong blinked. "You need a live performance too. That’s why I was going—"
"I’ll handle it."
"Why…?"
"Your performance moved me." At Jinseong’s confusion, Jeong Jikhan added, "Made me wonder… when I last heard real music."
Jinseong flinched. He’s suffered too. Yet here Jeong Jikhan smiled, bright as dawn.
"Tearing up again?"
"N-no."
"Musicians feel deeply."
"Don’t mock me."
"Admiration. To keep your heart soft after so much pain… that’s rare."
Jinseong’s lips quivered. "I’m a fool, right?"
"Since when are dreamers fools?"
"Even if I can’t support myself—"
"Foolish to some. To me? It’s poetry."
‘……’
“Mr. Kim Jin-seong is a romantic, more persistent and sincere than anyone else.”
Jeong Jik-han comforted Kim Jin-seong and patted his shoulder.
Listening to someone’s life story could be so heartbreaking.
This is why they say life is a comedy from afar but a tragedy up close.
Jeong Jik-han sincerely wished the world would become just a little warmer.
He prayed for it with all his heart.
Whoosh—
A will-o’-the-wisp flickered above Jeong Jik-han’s head before vanishing.
Ding—!
[You have heard the story of the deceased Kim Jin-seong. 10 Luck (吉)* has been provided.]
[*吉: A Korean symbol of good fortune]
[Deceased’s Story – 1]
A message window floated before his eyes.
He made a mental note to investigate later what would happen as more deceased stories accumulated.
At the stroke of midnight, nine customers entered all at once.
As he hastily brewed coffee, he noticed an odd scent.
‘Burnt.’
The boiler for the second extraction port must have overheated.
Boiler overheatings occurred frequently enough that he didn’t panic.
Thanks to his café experience, he detected the burnt taste before serving.
He cooled the boiler with hot water and resumed working methodically.
By 2:55 a.m., customers began rising to leave.
“Thanks for the coffee today.”
“We’ll be back!”
He bid farewell to each patron, only sitting down after confirming their exit.
“Not bad. I can manage alone at this pace.”
After gulping cool water, he reopened his phone to research Kim Jin-seong.
His thumb paused at an unusual song title under “Featured Tracks”:
“Even the Back of Your Head… Is Beautiful?”
Quirky? Unique? He plugged in earphones and pressed play.
*- Didn’t realize it, did you? Though you hide your shyness…
Your hairless face still feels strange, but you’re beautiful as ever.*
Jeong Jik-han’s breath hitched.
Acute leukemia. Girlfriend.
‘It can’t be…’
He kept listening.
*- When pain brings tears, cry without restraint…
Beautiful even in agony—your nape still shines. Thank you for enduring.
When spring warmth arrives, we’ll stroll with hairpins. I promise—we will.*
A serenade for a lover in a hospital bed.
A final hymn for someone who believed in Kim Jin-seong till the end.
But… no one remained to hear it.
Jeong Jik-han wept silently, engulfed by the void Kim Jin-seong must have felt.
The tragedy of Kim Jin-seong’s unrecognized talent ending at the Café of the Deceased twisted his heart further.
Sniffling, he entered Kim Jin-seong’s provided credentials online.
The files survived.
‘Mailbox → OST contest…’
Found.
The mentioned track.
Jeong Jik-han exhaled sharply, vowing:
‘I’ll make the world hear this song.’
Arriving post-shift at his KarMa Entertainment-provided officetel, a notification flashed:
[Jeong Jik-han’s remaining rent has not been paid.]
[Say “Pay” to settle now.]
“Pay.”
Ding—!
[15 Luck (吉) transferred successfully.]
[Thank you for your patronage.]
The entryway revealed a lifeless, empty living room.
He activated the boiler and beelined to his computer, intent on submitting Kim Jin-seong’s file after sleeping.
“Wait—the contest closed a month ago?”
No matter. Jeong Jik-han never surrendered.
If it won’t work, make it work.
Perseverance was his creed.
He cross-referenced contest contacts and key drama personnel.
Production heads? Investors? Futile.
Only three influenced OST selection:
Lead actor. Director. Screenwriter.
His target?
The director.
The lead was unreachable; the writer, faceless.
Thus, the director’s heart required conquest.
No half-baked schemes—he needed a narrative to move him.
Jeong Jik-han brainstormed and scoured the web until dawn.
“Found anything?”
“Nothing matching your vision, Director.”
“Ugh—nothing fresh?”
Two men sipped coffee in the broadcast lounge.
“Director, S & J Companies sent a rookie idol’s track. Perhaps—”
“Wrong vibe.”
“But delays are piling up. CG needs work, editing’s in chaos—”
“Add CG first! Songs can wait! Why’s every track these days saccharine? This isn’t some sob story!”
The assistant director smoothed his bangs under the director’s glare.
“I know, but upper management keeps pressuring—”
“Pressure? If my scenes don’t exist, is this art?”
“Sir… We can’t postpone the busking scene forever…”
“This is about youth’s fiery passion! Gut-wrenching love!”
“…Sir?”
“What if the heroine’s terminally ill? Huh?”
The assistant fumbled: “Then a melancholic song—”
“Wrong! We’ve built momentum—you’d ruin it with melodrama?!”
“But it’s the safest approach—”
“Sob stories! You think viewers want that?!”
“If our leads fought passionately, we need them conquering together!”
The director’s face flushed crimson as the assistant slumped.
“But… a cheerful song for a dying girlfriend? It doesn’t fit…”
