Chapter 31: 2nd Performance

 Ha Su-yeon handed over a pamphlet.

Iseo took it and skimmed through the contents before passing it directly to Jeong Hyun-ah.

“There’s not much written here, so… can anyone in a band participate?”

“It kind of seems that way.”

The two were struggling to grasp the details, but Seoha seemed to know something.

“Oh, this.

I heard about it last year because a band my older brother knew participated.

They said they got eliminated quickly. Apparently, it’s pretty tough.”

“Really? How skilled were they?”

“They were fairly serious about their band, though their skill was just so-so.”

“If they’re ‘so-so’ by your standards, they’re probably really good by regular standards.”

“Calling that ‘good’ might be a bit much…”

Watching the three exchange words, Ha Su-yeon recalled the past.

There had been some band kids a few years ago who approached him for advice related to this sort of thing.

‘But now that I’m in this state, there’s no connection left, and I can’t even ask about it.’

Regretting not listening to them more back then, Ha Su-yeon snapped his fingers to draw the group’s attention.

The chatter stopped abruptly.

“The application requirements are twofold. First, debuting after 2019. That’s not an issue…”

He pointed to the eligibility section of the pamphlet and continued.

“Second, having at least two original songs. Last year, it was three. Anyway, this part is the problem.”

“Two original songs…? We don’t have any.”

“With submissions due in March, we only have two months.

Is creating two original songs even possible?”

Jeong Hyun-ah  and Iseo voiced their concerns, but Ha Su-yeon didn’t think the two-month timeline was particularly challenging.

“Writing songs itself isn’t that big of a deal.

For example, Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ was supposedly created in just five minutes.

Realistically, it probably took a day or two more.

Of course, I’m no Slash, and we don’t have a lyricist like Axl Rose, so creating a masterpiece in a day is almost impossible for us.

But the point is, composing doesn’t have to take that long.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“If we start composing and practicing those songs, it’ll be virtually impossible to practice our cover songs.

We’d need to focus on the originals.”

Seoha articulated the concern on behalf of Ha Su-yeon.

Hearing this, Iseo fell into thought.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean we’d never do covers.

We’re not suddenly turning into a professional band.

I still have tons of songs I want to cover, and even pros perform covers during concerts.

What I’m saying is, if we participate in this program, we’ll have to approach the band differently.

We’d get funding and release albums, so it would consume much more time than now.”

Ha Su-yeon finished speaking and looked at the group. Each seemed lost in their own thoughts.

Suddenly bringing this up might feel abrupt, but Ha Su-yeon felt it was necessary to address now.

Having played guitar for decades, with the skill to make a living from it and a stable family background that freed him from worries about the future, Ha Su yeon (Myeong-jeon’s real name) had little personal concern.

But the others weren’t in the same boat.

Seoha’s ambition to go pro was evident.

Jeong Hyun-ah , though treating the band as a hobby, was set to pursue a piano major and clearly had a music-related career in mind.

Iseo, on the other hand, seemed to have no connection to music in her life beyond casually learning bass and participating in the band as a pastime.

Even among them, there were significant differences in direction.

Seoha was aiming for a band career, while Jeong Hyun-ah’s future lay in classical music—a completely opposite path.

And Iseo’s situation didn’t even warrant comparison.

Ha Su-yeon couldn’t help but wonder if this band could grow to the point of seriously discussing its future.

What if their original songs didn’t come together?
What if they failed to pass this program or an audition? Wouldn’t it all be meaningless?

Still, as an adult, Ha Su-yeon felt compelled to guide them.

“Life is long.

Even in your twenties or thirties, you’ll have opportunities to change your path.”

But would such words resonate with teenagers?

Would telling them that studying isn’t the only way, that music isn’t the only way, or that there are countless ways to live a successful life, make an impact?

Probably not.

That’s why it was important to encourage careful decision-making now.

Otherwise, they might make impulsive choices they’d later regret, blaming their circumstances and potentially making even worse decisions.

“Separate from that, there’s also the matter of mistakes I’ve made in the past.

As you all know, I’ve bullied others before.”

Ha Su-yeon revealed his plan to apologize sincerely to those he had wronged and figure out how to address other incidents.

“I hope you all take these things into account and make a decision.

If we participate in this program and later in auditions…

This band will no longer be just a casual hobby.

Even if not daily, we’d need to dedicate four or five evenings a week to practice.

For Iseo and Seoha, this might affect their studies. For Jeong Hyun-ah, it could impact her college entrance prep.”

“Of course, it might not be that intense.

We could try it out and decide it’s not for us, then return to treating it as a hobby.

But given the possibilities, I feel the need to talk about this.

Do you have the resolve to lead this band for more than a year, even while balancing school or college prep? Is it worth it? Are you ready for it? What about your parents? Family circumstances? Everything else?”

He downed his now-cold coffee.

“Think it through carefully. Reflect on what this band means to you.

More importantly, think about what music means to you.

Will this band remain just a light hobby?

Do you want to take it a bit more seriously?

Or do you want to dedicate your life to it?”

Was this question too harsh for kids in this era?

“But I made my decision at their age,” Ha Su-yeon thought.

By that measure, it wasn’t an unreasonable question.

At this age, they could decide their future—or at least discuss it with their parents.

“I’ll give you a week. In the meantime, I’ll work on composing… Iseo, there’s something you need to do.”

“Me?”

“Yes.

Whatever we decide, we’ll need performance experience.

Could you arrange for us to perform at that otaku party or whatever band gig you mentioned earlier? Coordinate the schedule for us.

Everyone okay with that?”

The others nodded.

Ha Su-yeon glanced outside the window at the already-set sun. Evening had arrived.

“Shall we grab dinner? We can talk more over food.”

“Why not order in? It’s cold outside.”

“Uh… my mom might show up soon.”

“So?”

Iseo looked puzzled, as if it didn’t matter. But Ha Su-yeon felt oddly self-conscious.

Wasn’t it awkward to introduce friends to his parents? It just felt weird.

“It’s just… kind of awkward.”

“What’s so awkward about it?”

As they bickered, the door lock beeped.

Hyein Lee walked in, startled to see unfamiliar kids but quickly smiling warmly at Ha Su-yeon .

“Ha Su yeon’s friends?”

“Come by anytime. If you let me know, you can join us on busking days.”

“Do you really need to say all that…?”

“Oh, thank you! We had fun today. We’ll head out now.”

The three bowed and left the apartment.

At the doorway, Ha Su yeon’s mother hugged her shy son and waved.

“She seems like a nice person.”

“Yeah. The house looks fancy too… How much do places like this cost?”

“I’d guess twenty or thirty billion won.”

“That much?”

“This is right in the heart of Seoul. Super convenient location.”

“Are they really rich? So… how did you meet Ha Su yeon?”