Chapter 2: Discharge

Ha Su-yeon’s parents were quite decent people. To be precise, her mother was a decent person, and her father was absent. In Ha Su-yeon’s memories, her father had been gone for a long time.

Was that why she went astray?

Even so, Myeong-jeon thought, getting drunk and riding an e-scooter to her death wasn’t a valid excuse.

“Su-yeon, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

On their way out of the hospital, seeing Myeong-jeon walk unaided, her mother, Lee Hye-in, asked the question. Myeong-jeon gave a short reply and continued walking towards the hospital parking lot, then suddenly turned his head.

He saw Lee Hye-in, slightly apprehensive, mouthing the word, “Why?”

‘What kind of mother-daughter relationship did they have…?’

Myeong-jeon scratched the back of his neck. Until now, three days after waking up… this ‘mother’ had visited him every day, trying to engage in conversation.

It might seem natural for a mother to visit her daughter daily after she recovered from a coma, but for her to continue going to work as usual and only briefly visiting during visiting hours… it felt strange to Myeong-jeon.

And even during the visits…

At first, she sobbed uncontrollably, then wore a complex expression upon hearing that he didn’t remember anything, and later, she kept looking at him cautiously.

Her conversations were the same. Are you feeling alright? Is anything bothering you? Such trivial things. Even when he replied, “I don’t remember,” or remained silent, or simply listened, she seemed slightly relieved.

Just what exactly happened? Myeong-jeon continued to search through Ha Su-yeon’s memories… but couldn’t find anything useful.

There was only one clue. Ha Su-yeon didn’t seem to like her mother very much, and her mother tried to constantly protect her.

Other than that… Ha Su-yeon’s mother, in her memories, was a rather quiet person. Silently supportive, providing everything Su-yeon asked for, trying to understand her, and even trusting her after she caused trouble. (Of course, Ha Su-yeon didn’t seem to think so, but at least from Myeong-jeon’s perspective, that’s how it appeared).

‘Oh dear…’

Glancing sideways at Lee Hye-in, who was still looking at him cautiously, Myeong-jeon sighed inwardly. What kind of farce was this?

To Ha Su-yeon, Lee Hye-in was her mother and an adult, but from Myeong-jeon’s perspective, she was barely older than a young person herself. And for such a young woman to maintain her composure after losing her husband and having a wayward child was certainly commendable.

Well, the person who would appreciate her efforts was already dead.

“I’m a little tired.”

Thinking this, Myeong-jeon spoke.

“…Huh? Oh, oh, okay! Mom will help you!”

After a moment of looking at him as if she’d misheard, the ‘mother’ brightened up and supported Myeong-jeon.

‘Did I really have to go this far…?’

Anticipating the long road ahead, Myeong-jeon sighed inwardly once more.

The apartment was decent. Around 800 square feet, with two bedrooms, a living room, a dressing room, a kitchen, and a balcony.

No, compared to his old two-room apartment, it was quite nice. A refrigerator, washing machine, dryer… unknown appliances, a water purifier, and other miscellaneous items. It had everything.

His two-room place had been crammed with his instruments, amps, and equipment, leaving barely any space to walk. Even using the bedroom as storage, the equipment overflowed into the living room.

‘I wonder what happened to all that equipment…?’

To an outsider, it would have looked like junk, but if everything in that apartment had been sold at its proper value, it would have been worth tens of thousands of dollars. His Dumble amp alone (Reference 1) was worth over forty thousand dollars.

But well, it had most likely ended up in a scrap yard.

His acquaintances had never offered to take his belongings, and they probably didn’t even know where he lived… and the landlady wouldn’t have known anything about such things.

‘I wonder if any of the guitars are left.’

Thinking that he should visit his old place sometime, he opened the door to the room marked [Keep Out].

“…This is a bit…”

“Huh? Su-yeon, what’s wrong?”

Behind Myeong-jeon, who stood aghast at the doorway without entering, Lee Hye-in peeked into the room.

The room was a complete mess.

Crumbs were scattered across the floor, the closet was overflowing and dysfunctional, the desk was cluttered with cosmetics, combs, and other items, and the bed was covered with unidentifiable objects, leaving only a small space to sleep.

“Su-yeon…”

Seeing the state of the room, the ‘mother’ stared intently at Myeong-jeon.

‘Even if you stare at me like that, it wasn’t me who made this mess. What do you want me to do?’

He’d heard many stories about women having messy rooms. But the women he’d been with… even though their rooms might have been tidied up in anticipation of… intimate activities, they weren’t this bad.

“Did I… do this?”

“…Yes, it seems so.”

Sighing deeply at her reply, Myeong-jeon rummaged through the kitchen, looking for trash bags. Let’s start by throwing everything away. With the blinds drawn and the room in complete chaos, it’s no wonder someone would lose their mind.

People need sunlight. They need to be outside, playing ball, hiking, taking walks, away from computers and phones, bathed in bright light. That’s how to become a proper human being…

Myeong-jeon couldn’t understand how kids these days behaved. They just messed around on their phones indoors, neglecting reading, constantly scrolling through Instagram, TikTok, or whatever those SNS things were, destroying their lives. They didn’t read proper books, only those Japanese picture books and cartoons, or those strange things called fantasy novels and web novels.

That’s why the world was in this state, and this girl died riding an e-scooter.

Truly, the end of times.

After showering, looking at the steamed-up mirror… Myeong-jeon thought,

‘Is this my new body?’

He’d seen himself in the hospital bathroom mirrors, but this was the first time he properly observed his entire body.

Shoulder-length hair, forehead exposed. Proportional shoulders and chest, well-maintained physique and wide hips. Flawless skin. A model-like figure, so to speak. A balanced, feminine body without a single flaw.

Myeong-jeon made a fist and rotated it. Fingers of moderate length curled in, forming a fist much smaller than his previous one.

He didn’t like that.

‘My hands are too small, and my fingers are too thick.’

There were no specific physical requirements to become a guitarist. Of course, you needed hands, but somewhere in the world, there might be someone playing guitar with their feet, so even hands weren’t absolutely essential.

But there were advantageous traits. Slender fingers and large hands were beneficial. Jimi Hendrix, Paul Gilbert, Steve Vai… the bigger the hands, the wider the range of motion, so it was definitely advantageous to have large hands in many ways.

But well, not all great guitarists had large hands. Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, B.B. King, Stevie Ray Vaughan, David Gilmour… most had average-sized hands.

In that sense, the real problem was the smooth, slender forearms. Many people said it wasn’t important, but grip strength was a significant factor in playing guitar. The stronger the grip, the finer the control.

But these arms didn’t seem to have much grip strength at all. His previous self could easily crush an apple with one or two hands.

‘Now, can I even open a plastic bottle properly…?’

He roughly tied back his shoulder-length hair, sat at the desk in a white t-shirt and microfiber pants, and picked up a notebook.

A blank notebook.

This girl had decent grades. How did she even study? Shaking off the distracting thought, Myeong-jeon scribbled with a pen.

[Current Situation Assessment]

The most important task, in his opinion. And something he couldn’t do during the three days in the hospital, either due to medication or sorting through incomplete memories.

‘I have a rough idea of the kind of life this girl lived, but it’s not enough.’

Human memory is flawed, mostly self-serving and distorted in a favorable direction.

Therefore, he needed witnesses and evidence. Her ‘mother,’ ‘friends,’ KakaoTalk messages, social media, etc. He needed to collect as much information as possible to clearly understand who Ha Su-yeon was.

[Future Course of Action]

And based on that information, he needed to determine his future course of action.

He had already decided how he wanted to live.

He wouldn’t repeat his previous life.

But how could he avoid repeating it?

Seo Myeong-jeon had already failed, so should he live Ha Su-yeon’s life? Based on the memories and other information within this body, should he collect the things she did, said, and wanted to do, and recreate Ha Su-yeon?

If not, what kind of life should he live?

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way

In this stifling situation, a song flowed from Myeong-jeon’s lips. Well, what should he do?

He suddenly felt a drum fill coming in. He was in a silent room, but it felt like music was being directly injected into his ears…

A feeling he’d never experienced before.

Following that feeling, he wanted to play guitar along to the rhythm in his head.

Something he would never have done before.

His previous self only knew ‘practice’ or ‘performance.’

He jumped up from his seat, slinging an imaginary guitar over his shoulder. His left hand formed a chord, his right hand gripped a pick. The body would be here, and the neck would extend to about here.

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today

Myeong-jeon closed his eyes, strumming the imaginary strings with his imaginary pick. Back when he was young, when he believed he was the best guitarist in the world, a time when he enjoyed music purely, without jealousy, inferiority, self-reproach, or regret.

The live house from back then.

A leaky ceiling dripping from the steady rain. A couple of blue basins underneath, and the rest of the floor soaked from overturned drinks by drunken customers.

Some clapped and sang along to his music, some dozed off, and others watched with arms crossed as if critiquing his performance.

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

Following those memories, Myeong-jeon played the guitar and sang as he did back then. Reaching the climax and finishing cleanly, he added a flourish, raising the final note by an octave.

And now, the guitar solo.

As he imagined a bluesy tone and wildly strummed his air guitar—

“Su-yeon, dinner’s… uh…?”

He made eye contact with Lee Hye-in, who had opened the door.

And then, the door closed.

…Shouldn’t she at least give him a chance to explain?