Chapter 39 : Youtube

“Could it be… a disciple? The last disciple Master Ha Su-yeon took in? Someone he recognized for their talent and decided to teach?”

As Junhong thought along those lines, he paused to organize his thoughts.

It made the most sense to assume that this person was Master Ha Su-yeon ‘s disciple.

However, when he considered that assumption alongside what had happened earlier…

“If they were a disciple, wouldn’t it have been enough to simply say so when I asked about the origin of the guitar?”

Even so, Junhong couldn’t come up with a hypothesis more convincing than this.

It was only natural.

Apart from being good at playing the guitar, Junhong was an ordinary citizen—a proud 21st-century South Korean who believed in scientific reasoning and dismissed anything as absurd as supernatural phenomena.

Instead of pressing for answers about what hadn’t been revealed, Junhong decided to focus on why it had been kept a secret.

“Could it be that they were told not to say anything?”

Junhong thought that sounded like a plausible reason. After all, while Master Ha Su-yeon had been strict, he was also a somewhat peculiar person.

Junhong wasn’t the only one who had learned guitar from Master Ha Su-yeon.

During that time, there were several other session guitarists who stayed at Ha Su-yeon ’s house and learned from him.

And Ha Su-yeon never once allowed anyone to refer to him as “master” or “teacher” or to say that he had taught them guitar.

“If you learned, you learned. What’s with all this master and teacher nonsense? Got nothing better to do? Go home!”

That was all he would say before driving people away.

Because of this, while there were quite a few guitarists in the scene who respected Ha Su-yeon , they never formed a group or gathered together.

The reason was simple: they didn’t know one another.

“Did he say the same thing to that kid too?”

If that were the case, then it made sense why they couldn’t admit to being a disciple.

If the master had explicitly forbidden it, how could the disciple go around saying, “I learned from her”? It was only natural.

Seeing Junhong nod to himself in agreement as he convinced himself of this explanation, Ha Su-yeon inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

“Good thing I said that back then, huh…?”

Ha Su-yeon felt grateful to his past self.

The reason he had told others never to say that he taught them was because of her own feelings of inadequacy and jealousy.

What was the point of playing the guitar well? When it came to the truly important aspect—music—he was far behind.

Back then Ha Su-yeon thought it was shameful to go around boasting, “I taught that person.

That’s my disciple.”

But now, Ha Su Yeon was dead, and only  Ha Su-yeon remained.

No one would ever know the reason for the rest of their lives.

And I can change the world

I will be the sunlight in your universe

You would think my love was really something good

Baby, if I could change the world

“Wow… I’m genuinely touched.”
“Whoa.”
“That’s insane.”
“The future of Korea is bright.”
“Clapton’s an old man with a scandalous past, so why do people still love him? –”
“That feeling is no joke. ^^ Great performance!”

“Thank you for listening. Everyone, how did you feel? Amazing, right? I was absolutely stunned and moved. To think there’s a guitarist of this level in Korea—so young, and so talented, not to mention so beautiful…”

Junhong continued to chatter as he hosted the broadcast.

He went on about how this was the best guitar piece he’d heard recently, how unbelievable the skill was for someone in their teens, and so on.

“So, White Room… have you ever considered applying to a music conservatory or a university for the arts?”

“No, I don’t have any plans to pursue that path.”

“Oh~ Just judging by your guitar skills, it seems like you could just break down the door and walk right in.”

Junhong genuinely believed that.

If you could get in, why not? As a graduate of a music university himself, he knew its value.

“Why bother going to a place like that? There’s nothing for me to learn there.”

“Wow, confident.”

Ha Su-yeon , however, responded nonchalantly.

Having learned and mastered everything on the field, he couldn’t relate to the idea of needing to go to a school or academy to learn something.

“Have you thought about places like Berklee? Even if not in Korea, overseas, there are plenty of opportunities…”

“Not really…”

Of course, Berklee, with its roster of phenomenal guitarists like Tomo Fujita, might have something to offer.

After all, even John Mayer was a Berklee alumnus.

But Ha Su-yeon was a guitarist who had already perfected his own style.

Considering that even John Mayer had dropped out of Berklee, why would someone like Ha Su-yeon with decades of experience, bother?

“Well, my thoughts could change, but for now, it’s not something I’m considering.”

“Ah, I see.”

Junhong glanced at the chat.

Comments like, “[Are they dissing music schools?],” and “[They’re good, but there’s something lacking; just saying;;]” were popping up.

As he moderated and banned such comments, Junhong thought to himself:

“Confidence is good, but there’s definitely a touch of arrogance.”

Still, it was a level of skill that warranted such confidence.

If Junhong had been this talented at that age, he would’ve acted like the world was at his feet.

The talent justified it.

But arrogance aside, it was a way of speaking that could spark controversy.

On internet forums, this could easily become summarized as: “[High school girl declares: Music school students = talentless idiots.jpg].”

“If they were just a random YouTuber I invited, I might’ve let it slide no matter what happened… But since they’re likely the disciple of my teacher, I can’t just leave this alone.”

Junhong decided he needed to provide some level of support beyond simply inviting them.

With that thought, he moved on to the next question.

“The live session is coming to an end, but could we hear one of your original compositions as a closing performance?”

“An original composition, huh…”

Ha Su-yeon fell into a brief moment of thought.

During the initial planning, he had agreed to play his second original piece.

At the time, the first band composition wasn’t finished yet.

But as emails were exchanged, the arrangement for the band song had been completed.

He had intended to inform Junhong about the change and send the updated track before the broadcast.

However, caught up in some unimportant guitar-related conversation, he hadn’t managed to do so.

Would it be fine as it was?

In fact, having no backing track might better highlight his skill.

Without other sounds, it might feel a bit plain, but if he covered that gap with his guitar playing, it could even earn him more praise.

“One moment, please…”

Ha Su-yeon made his decision.

Slightly flustered but soon nodding in agreement, Junhong stepped forward.

As Junhong made an announcement to the audience, Ha Su-yeon stepped back to adjust his equipment.

It was time for the performance.

“Now, the next song by White Room is their band’s first original composition!”

With that, Junhong introduced the song and shared some backstory.

The viewers, listening to the explanation, harbored slight complaints.

“Okay, they’re good at guitar, but are they really that good?”

Ordinary listeners often couldn’t grasp just how skilled a guitarist was.

Even subscribers to this channel, devoted enough to tune into a live stream, weren’t always able to fully understand.

Because, in truth, you can’t know until you try for yourself.

This applies to everything.

Someone who has never kicked a ball in their life might criticize which Premier League striker is useless and which one is a genius.

Yet if they were to face these players on the field, they wouldn’t even manage to touch the ball.

Of course, this isn’t some unforgivable sin. People are naturally like that.

And so, people gravitate toward what they can see and reject what they can’t.

They fixate on flashy techniques, even though mastering solid fundamentals is far more difficult.

But when Ha Su-yeon began to play her guitar, the live audience realized something.

True mastery is evident from the fundamentals.

Her performance was anything but flat.

It surged like rolling waves, crashing and retreating, advancing and receding in rhythm.

Even as the beat slightly strayed here and there, the flow of the song felt seamless.

A sorrowful melody, grounded in pentatonic and blues scales, unfolded.

There wasn’t a trace of urgency that comes from playing a piece beyond one’s ability, nor the chaotic impression of someone blindly strumming without grasping the tempo.

None of that.

On screen, every note she played was under complete control, each infused with her intent.

The chat began to grow quieter.

The audience couldn’t afford to miss even a single note while typing away.

And then, came the humming.

It blended perfectly with the music, guiding the listeners of the live performance into a vivid scene.

It felt like a blustery winter day.

That day, as flurries of snow began to fall outside the window, the appointed time approached, but no word came from you.

In a corner of a café, a lonely musician plucked away at a guitar with a bluesy tone.

Looking out the window again, it somehow felt as if time had already passed.

The antique clock hanging in the corner of the café showed it was over 30 minutes past the agreed time.

But you didn’t come.

Getting up, I went to the counter to request a phone call. Dialing your number, I reached your family, who said you had already left.

Throwing some money onto the counter for the coffee, I dashed out into the snow, running all the way to your house.

But you weren’t there.

The snow fell harder, the flurries turning into a storm, but you were nowhere to be found.

I ran back and forth between the café and your house dozens of times, but still, you were not there.

I don’t know why. But…

“I’m still searching for you, the you I couldn’t meet that day…”

With the final line of vocals, the guitar, which had been gently weeping until now, roared.

It screamed like the heart of someone endlessly pacing the streets on that snowy night, their eyes dry from crying.

The unrelenting solo reached its climax.

For the first time, she unveiled her speed-picking technique, accompanied by intentionally distorted notes that twisted mercilessly.

Yet, instead of feeling jarring, the audience felt it as raw emotion.

It was what they had only heard about but never truly experienced—what it meant to feel the emotion in guitar playing.

And then, the storm of sound subsided, the performance concluding with a gentle calm.

“Thank you.”

As soon as Ha Su-yeon finished her bow, Junhong erupted into applause, clapping so hard he only realized the pain when his hands turned red.

“Ah! Ouch, I overdid it. But seriously, that was nothing short of incredible! I can’t believe I just experienced such profound emotions from a teenage guitarist. I never imagined it was possible.”

Junhong meant every word.

Was this why Master Ha Su-yeon had taken this girl as a disciple? It felt as though the late Master Ha Su-yeon had returned through her.

“What’s the name of that piece?”

Watching the chat room, more active than ever and moving five times faster than usual, Junhong asked the question.

“It’s called That Day, You. And…”

“And?”

“The band that will be performing this piece… is Group Sound. That’s our name.”

And with that, Ha Su-yeon declared it to the world.