Chapter 183
TL: KSD
The daily life of Benivis’s Min Hyo-min, a top idol (although not truly number one, she constantly bounces within the top three every time she makes a comeback, but is labeled ‘top’ by industry standards as a matter of course), is more boring than one might think.
It’s a story hard to accept for those who believe the life of a top idol must be glamorous.
However, what they overlook is the fact that ‘glamour’ is not the opposite of ‘boredom’.
That’s right.
Min Hyo-min’s daily life is glamorous and at the same time…
Boring.
“Hyo-min, did you send out all the texts?”
“Oh, right. I’ll send them now…”
Urged by her manager, Min Hyo-min hurriedly pulled out her phone. And inside the shaking vehicle, she began uncomfortably sending out messages.
There are countless fans who pay a monthly subscription fee just to receive texts from her.
So Min Hyo-min has the tedious obligation of sending out a certain number of texts every day.
Min Hyo-min receives spotlights from reporters and fans holding large cameras even on her daily commute to work.
Thus, on her way to work, Min Hyo-min must be in full makeup, promote the key dance points of her new song to fans, and even prepare for SNS challenges.
And since quite some time has passed for this kind of daily life to feel unfamiliar or hard, Min Hyo-min now feels “bored”.
Therefore, the opposite of boredom is neither ‘glamour’ nor ‘busyness’.
Interest? That’s correct by dictionary definition, but we must go a step further.
It’s ‘specialness’.
Humans feel enjoyment, motivation, and curiosity from what they regard as special.
And so, in Min Hyo-min’s daily life, there is no ‘specialness’.
Others might find specialness in her daily life, but Min Hyo-min could not find any in her own.
Dancing, singing, friendship, popularity.
They’ve all turned into business.
-This is business!
-Hey, guys! Get a grip! This is work! Let’s be professional!
-Hyo-min, you’re getting paid for this. Think about how hard it is for the staff too. Even if it’s tough, let’s hold out a bit…
-You’re going to keep acting like this at the dorm just because your feelings got hurt? Hey! There’s a live broadcast soon. If you’re going to keep sulking like this in front of the camera, then quit!
At some point, Min Hyo-min stopped being an artist and became someone doing business. The CEO, the unnies, the manager, the fans, they all demanded it.
If Min Hyo-min pondered like an artist, created, composed, and worried, the whips would fly mercilessly.
But if she worked thoroughly like it was business, obeyed orders, did as she was told, and acted like a pro, praise would come.
Thus, Benivis’s beloved youngest member…
And turbulent, stormy teenage youth, Min Hyo-min…
“Hehehe…”
Had undergone dark evolution into <Min Hyo-min who views everything cynically while secretly intoxicated by her own coolness!>
EP 11 – Evening Bell
The thoughts that corrupted power warrior Min Hyo-min often has these days are ‘Business? If that’s what you want, I’ll do it’ and ‘We were fucking done ages ago, we’re only doing this for money.’
But even Min Hyo-min, who thinks there’s no such thing as ‘specialness’ in this world, had exactly one exception she thought was special…
And that was Moon In.
“Hmm…”
Min Hyo-min had already given up on the romance of the idol entertainment industry after watching fellow trainees get eliminated like flies, but lately, that ‘giving up’ had expanded to the entire artistic world.
It’s not that she has any particular psychological trauma, around the fourth year after debut is the perfect time to start thinking “the entertainment industry is utter crap.” Kim Byul went through it too. (Although in Kim Byul’s case, the symptoms seem to be lingering longer.)
Therefore, Min Hyo-min had been devaluing the entire industry, thinking there’s no ‘specialness’ in this field, that idols are just repetitive workers doing whatever they’re told, that both the artistic and entertainment worlds are the same…
Surprisingly.
Even so, Moon In seemed special to Min Hyo-min.
“Um, about Moon In…”
Moon In was the most ‘special’ person Min Hyo-min knew.
Not special in terms of personal relationship. To Min Hyo-min, Moon In was just a friend of her best friend. And her best friend is, of course, Gu Yu-na!
What Min Hyo-min felt was special about Moon In was, naturally, his artistic uniqueness.
Moon In was the most special artist Min Hyo-min knew.
The artistic talent of historical greats feels distant, but Moon In’s artistry could be vividly observed.
This strange boy of the same age captivated renowned writers with nothing but his writing talent, became a superstar known nationwide, and eventually reached the career high of winning the ‘Hugo Award’.
Without any company lessons or training, he achieved such feats through his own abilities alone.
When watching things like that, the situation of hundreds of people busting their asses for months just to release a single album feels ridiculous.
But right after achieving such a feat, he disappeared for several months.
No one knows why.
Despite the entire nation being thrilled,
Every broadcast station sending love calls,
And a tsunami of popularity crashing in, something even girl groups planned for years with billions by major entertainment companies couldn’t achieve…
He just disappeared.
Seriously, what the hell is that guy doing?
“Could you maybe tell me what he was like when he was little?”
So, when Moon Ji-seop, Moon In’s peer from New Light Spring Orphanage, appeared, it wasn’t strange for Min Hyo-min to secretly ask such a question.
And once the high school freshman boy realized that this modest-looking girl was actually Benivis’s Min Hyo-min, he had no choice but to stake his life on answering that question.
“Ah, ahh…! That?!”
At this point, 99% of Moon Ji-seop’s brain output was being utilized to construct a virtual reality family simulation with Min Hyo-min.
However, as the greatest mind to ever come out of New Light Spring Orphanage, even the remaining 1% of his output was enough to answer the question.
“In-seop… he really loved books from a young age. He didn’t talk much, he wasn’t very social, didn’t play sports, he just always loved books.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. He liked reading, he liked writing, and if you ever looked in the corner of a room, you’d always find In-seop hunched up like a little bug reading a book.”
“Ooh…”
Min Hyo-min tried to picture a mini-sized Moon In-seop curled up in a corner reading a book. (He’s still mini-sized now, anyway.)
But she couldn’t quite imagine it.
It wasn’t because her academic ranking was about five levels lower than Moon Ji-seop’s. It was because the Moon In she knew was a “cranky and charismatic genius.”
“What was he like back then? Did he talk all mature like now?”
“No? He was pretty similar to the other kids.”
“What about his writing talent? Like, did he write poems that moved teachers to tears…”
“Not particularly…”
“Was there anything a little more special…”
Through the repeated Q&A, Min Hyo-min was able to form a clearer picture of Moon In’s childhood.
It was the image of a boy who always seemed timid, kept to himself, and clung only to books.
There was none of the specialness or genius she had expected.
Disappointing.
“Ugh… nothing much. Just your average bookworm.”
Min Hyo-min let out her disappointment bluntly, and Moon Ji-seop flinched upon hearing it.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t out of a boastful desire to give a better answer to a pretty girl,
But driven by righteous indignation at seeing his friend’s childhood belittled.
Moon Ji-seop vigorously defended Moon In’s childhood.
“In-seop wasn’t just some friendless, book-buried bookworm!”
“W-What…!”
“Take that back right now!”
“D-Did I say it that harshly…?”
Moon Ji-seop, boiling with rage, began to glorify Moon In’s childhood.
It was partly because Moon In was his role model, but more than that, Moon Ji-seop’s blood was made of the cola Moon In bought him, and his flesh was made of the pizza Moon In fed him.
In the Bible, Moses is called a great prophet for leading the people of Israel to a land flowing with milk and honey. Then what should one call the miracle-maker who turned New Light Spring Orphanage into a land flowing with cola and pizza?
At this point, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that when that person was born from an egg between Zeus and a unicorn, a five-colored cloud burst into bloom and a phoenix soared into the sky.
His only regret was that he couldn’t say so because Moon In’s birth history was already too well known.
“In-seop was… famous for being kind from a young age! He was the top model student at the orphanage, and at school, he was the insider of all insiders!”
“Then what about the stories of him being bullied at school…”
“He did get picked on for being an orphan! But he fought back two to three and won easily! In-seop had two on his side!”
“O-Oh, I see…”
“He went to church faithfully, always slept and woke up on time, and, um, oh, right, he donated a lot to the orphanage even after becoming successful! Anyway, he was like that!”
Min Hyo-min began to slowly step back as she watched Moon Ji-seop suddenly stomp on the gas.
Seeing this, Moon Ji-seop inwardly shed tears of blood, but still felt proud that he had upheld his friendship.
This was five minutes before the <Club Expulsion Notice>.
***
“You, get out of our club.”
“…!!!”
Moon Ji-seop, who heard the expulsion notice the day after joining the club, wore an expression as if he’d lost his country.
I averted my eyes from that empty and sorrowful gaze, filled with the grief of a fallen nation.
It’s not like I wanted to do this either.
But…
“<Love, That Is Love>… isn’t right…?”
“What’s wrong with thaaaat-!”
The founding principle of the Popular Culture and Arts Research Club is <Let’s not do bothersome stuff during club time and just enjoy the breeze>.
But as long as one has a shred of conscience, some form of “art” must be done.
Genre doesn’t matter. Writers, actors, and idols have gathered to write web novels before, so why fuss over genre?
However, Moon Ji-seop was, like me, an aspiring novelist, and crucially, a Creative Writing major.
A test of literary aptitude was a must.
-Just write a poem. Any format is fine, and the topic too… actually, that makes it harder. Then how about a poem about love? Don’t be too nervous. You won’t get kicked out of the club just for writing a bad poem…
I meant it literally. You don’t get kicked out of the club just for writing a bad poem. If you don’t know something, you learn it, simple as that, right?
Therefore, I wasn’t expelling Moon Ji-seop from the club because he was bad at poetry.
It’s just that the poem he wrote deserved expulsion.
This is like the difference between making a joke about someone’s appearance versus dissing an already insulted face.
The biggest difference being, it wasn’t my fault, it was that bastard’s.
“You, just leave the club. Leave Baekhak Arts High School too. That’s what’s right.”
“Isn’t that too harsh-!”
“What’s harsh is your poem.”
The masterpiece of lyricism from love-obsessed Moon Ji-seop, <Love, That Is Love>.
The moment it was read, Kim Byul, who always wore a kind smile, turned completely deadpan, and Gu Yu-na, whose face rarely changed, furrowed her brows like a wrathful demon.
Min Hyo-chan is still rolling on the floor in fits of laughter, close to losing breath, while Min Hyo-min fled, unable to endure the empathic cringe.
I tried to recall <Love, That Is Love> again, but my brain had purged the memory to protect itself from psychic contamination, and I couldn’t remember the poem.
The only thing I clearly remember is that, upon seeing the writing on paper, I wanted to gouge out my eyes.
If bad writing were a crime, Moon Ji-seop would be one of the most heinous villains in history.
And in the Creative Writing Department, it is a crime.
But this egregious felon didn’t even understand what he did wrong and was questioning me like this?
“T-Then why don’t you write one, In-seop?! Show us an example of a good poem!”
I gave a crisp reply to the testimony of this traitorous scoundrel.
“Why should I?”
“???”
“I’m a prose major.”
The Creative Writing Department at Baekhak Arts Middle School is divided into prose majors and verse majors. In simpler terms, fiction and poetry.
And Moon Ji-seop was a poetry major. There was a clear reason I asked him to write a poem.
“Why did you even apply for the poetry major…?”
“…Because it looked easier than writing fiction.”
Thinking poetry is easier than fiction is a common misconception. Novels are long, poems are short.
But the reason poems are short is because they compress lengthy content into a few sentences.
So drawing a distinction in difficulty between prose and verse is meaningless.
That kind of idea only comes from total outsiders who try to cram for the entrance exam and bluff their way through with something that sounds “artsy”.
The moment I heard that, I realized Moon Ji-seop was one of those outsiders.
“…How did you even get accepted?”
“Me. Grade 1 GPA. Applied. Accepted.”
“What bullshit…”
To get into Baekhak Arts High School with grades alone despite not being able to write? What a terrifying and atrocious thought.
It was something that only traitorous impostors on the path of heresy would ever attempt.
But I couldn’t truly kick Moon Ji-seop out of the club, because it was far too obvious why he had come to Baekhak Arts High School.
It’s a bit embarrassing to say…
But clearly, it was “because of me”, wasn’t it?
This kid, enchanted by my genius, had followed me all the way to this arts school, I wasn’t cold-hearted enough to cast him out again.
However, the truth is, that so-called genius was just a trick of time, and the reason Moon Ji-seop admired me was only because I fulfilled a small wish of his: “If only someone had told me to study when I was younger…”
That’s right.
The truth is, I’m a nobody.
This experience made me realize it more than ever. I’m not some genius novelist that makes the whole nation fret, just a literary student who’s lived a bit of a bitter, unfortunate life.
Therefore, I’m not Moon Ji-seop’s peer. I’m his senior.
Which means I have the duty to make this guy into a real person.
Or, before it’s too late, I might have to steer him away from literature and onto another path.
‘This guy’s hopeless. If I don’t do something fast…’
It was with such a harsh mindset that I looked upon this ticking time bomb named Moon Ji-seop.
Just then, the sliding door of the clubroom burst open, not with a gentle “creak”, but with a bang.
Everyone flinched and turned toward the entrance.
And standing there was…
“There you are?! Moon In!”
Eyes bloodshot and bulging wide.
A madman with a Taoist’s beard and traditional hanbok attire.
Park Chang-woon was panting raggedly, grinning like a lunatic.
***
The person who suffered the most from Moon In’s several months of seclusion wasn’t Lim Yang-wook, nor Gu Hak-jun, it was Park Chang-woon. Or so he claimed.
Here’s why.
The very moment Moon In’s Hugo Award win was announced, Park Chang-woon nearly flipped the dinner table, leaping up and roaring,
“Ah, splendid! My boy!”
Had it not been for the presence of his son, daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren at the table, that comment wouldn’t have been such a problem. Unfortunately, they were indeed present.
With his family, especially his grandchildren, giving him ice-cold stares, Park Chang-woon froze mid-uppercut into the air.
“……”
“……”
“…My boy?”
Thus, having hammered nails into the hearts of several people, Park Chang-woon became a traitor and had to endure the feeble fists of his small grandchildren as they rained down upon him.
It’s more pitiful to be a beaten old man than a battered husband. Park Chang-woon wore a sullen expression as he took the pitter-patter of his grandchildren’s punches.
But a high schooler winning the Hugo Award?
It wouldn’t be Park Chang-woon if he could endure this.
Cool as ever, Park Chang-woon tossed his resignation letter right in the chairman’s face.
“Hey! Baek Yi-hyun! I’m quitting!”
“Whaaat?!”
The sudden resignation letter slammed into Chairman Baek Yi-hyun!
***
Now, the reason why Chairman Baek Yi-hyun (who is a chaebol), was clinging desperately to madman Park Chang-woon, who barged into his home (a staff retreat) early in the morning to throw a resignation letter in his face, wasn’t just because Park had been his professor back in college.
Surprisingly, Park Chang-woon, the head of the Creative Writing Department, is quite an important figure at Baekhak Arts Middle School.
The most important role that Park Chang-woon plays?
That is…
‘Existence’ itself.
“Professor, I don’t know what happened, but could you please reconsider just once more…”
“Hey! It’s done! How could you hold onto someone whose heart’s already left? You should just pray things go well for me from now on!”
‘That’s what I should be saying, you crazy old man…’
Baek Yi-hyun’s thought was entirely correct. Park Chang-woon is insane. How insane? He once lost a department budget fight and brought in a presidential candidate just to demand “increase our budget.”
Truly, he’s a walking nuclear bomb.
And nuclear bombs are strategic weapons.
A man capable of summoning presidential candidates when pissed off is already useful to have on staff simply as a deterrent against political and administrative meddling.
Especially since Park Chang-woon once served as Minister of Culture.
The fact that he was removed in a profanity scandal after just one week doesn’t matter.
It really doesn’t. Whether it’s a week or a second, he’s still a former official who, for the rest of his life, will be addressed by civil servants as “Minister.”
And just as “confinement” naturally follows “kidnapping”, “respect” follows “former official”.
It’s as natural as rivers flowing or waterfalls crashing down, a basic fact of life.
The law may shout to stop excessive reverence for former officials, but such reverence comes not from law but from morality.
Koreans, whose DNA is imprinted with etiquette and literary culture, cannot refuse such categorical imperatives.
How could we treat matters solely by strict legal principles without regard for senior-junior bonds? That’s a barbaric custom of Western savages devoted to mechanical legal engineering.
Therefore, any merchant doing business in Joseon ought to honor the hierarchy of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants, and respectfully wrap up former officials as outside directors or advisors, complete with business cards.
That’s the only way to dodge the six-sided club of stern government offices.
Especially in this private educational foundation that’s practically Baekhak Group’s official money-laundering center, the presence of a former official like Park Chang-woon is all the more essential.
That was why Baek Yi-hyun clung so pathetically to his pant leg.
“P-Professor, did someone perhaps offend you…”
“Do I look like some kid throwing a tantrum and quitting over hurt feelings?!”
Baek Yi-hyun couldn’t bring himself to say “Yes.” Not because he respected his teacher like the sky itself, but because a single misstep during a tax investigation could send him straight to the grave.
Baek Yi-hyun simply held back his tears in quiet misery.
Perhaps moved by his pitiful disciple’s appearance, Park Chang-woon smiled kindly and tried to comfort Baek Yi-hyun.
“I told you, Yi-hyun. Just wish me well for what lies ahead.”
“Yes…”
“Will you do that for me?”
Since Park Chang-woon put it that way, Baek Yi-hyun softened, thinking there must be some understandable reason behind all this.
“Yes, Professor. It’s unfortunate, but wherever you go, I wish you nothing but peace. You’re not retiring completely, are you?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s a relief. Then, if there’s ever anything I can help you with, please feel free to con-”
“Then help me get a job.”
“?”
Baek Yi-hyun hadn’t expected the contact to come so soon, and his brain briefly froze.
To the stunned Baek Yi-hyun, job-seeker Park Chang-woon offered a sheepish grin as he made his request.
“Can you get me in as a teacher at Baekhak Arts High?”
“……”
That day, Chairman Baek Yi-hyun felt a deep and sincere dread at the thought that he would have to keep working with this man.
***
“So this is the new workplace…!”
Park Chang-woon’s “job change” went smoothly. Since Baekhak Arts Middle School and Baekhak Arts High School were separated only by a wall, it was practically like moving next door.
However, unlike being the king of the Creative Writing Department at Baekhak Arts Middle School, at Baekhak Arts High School, Park Chang-woon was just a newbie teacher.
So he politely bowed 90 degrees to the department head of the high school’s Creative Writing Department.
“Hello, I’m the new teacher, Park Chang-woon.”
“Aeuaarghaaa-Professor-Please-You-Don’t-Have-To-Do-Thiiiiis-Aaaargh-!”
The department head of the high school’s Creative Writing Department bent over nearly to his knees with a groan that sounded more like a scream than a greeting.
Since his bow exceeded 90 degrees, mathematically speaking, Park Chang-woon had already won.
And with that single greeting, Park Chang-woon established the pecking order and seized control of Baekhak Arts High School’s Creative Writing Department.
Then he appointed himself as the homeroom teacher for the first-year class.
“I’ll take the first-years. Isn’t it natural for the youngest to do the toughest work? Heh heh.”
The moment Park Chang-woon slid his butt in, the stone already in place promptly rolled out of the way. Indeed, such was the virtue of filial piety, yielding one’s seat to the elderly.
“Phew…!”
And in that first-year class of Baekhak Arts High School’s Creative Writing Department… was Moon In.
That’s right.
Park Chang-woon had finally succeeded in stalking Moon In.
Even graduation could not free Moon In from Park Chang-woon’s grasp.
And considering that Park Chang-woon was essentially acting under orders from University Professor Gu Hak-jun, one could clearly grasp just how deep Gu Hak-jun’s scheming went.
This was a declaration: once I sink my teeth in, I won’t let go.
He who controls high school controls college admissions. Park Chang-woon would do whatever it took to send Moon In to a “specific university.”
Then Gu Hak-jun would receive the pass, dribble skillfully, and drag Moon In all the way to graduate school, such was their terrifying plan.
Thus, having become one with the Gu Hak-jun gang, Park Chang-woon followed Moon In even to Baekhak Arts High.
And on the day of the entrance ceremony, with a wide grin, he was filled with excitement at the thought of grabbing Moon In and yelling, “Got you, you rascal!”
Had he known he’d be unable to see Moon In for several months, he wouldn’t have been smiling so much.
***
Elderly people with declining hearing naturally start speaking louder, they simply can’t gauge the volume of their own voice.
Fortunately, even in his old age, Park Chang-woon’s hearing remained perfectly fine.
But his personality was so damn rotten that even in his youth, he spoke loudly.
And that personality only grew nastier with time, while the decibel of his voice rose in a steady crescendo.
Thus, the decibel level of Park Chang-woon’s voice is constantly being updated. Today’s Park Chang-woon is stronger than yesterday’s!
So now, Park Chang-woon drew in a mighty breath, filled with all the sorrow and longing of the past few months.
And then unleashed his lion’s roar.
“HEEEEEY-!!!”
“Urrrghhh…!”
With a thunderous boom like the Buddhist temple bell, laced with the wild ferocity of a beast’s roar, Moon In experienced a hallucination where the clubroom shattered into pieces and Park Chang-woon’s Taoist beard flared out like a lion’s mane.
With nothing but his voice, Park Chang-woon subdued Moon In, then strode over like Team Rocket chasing a runaway Pokémon and grabbed him.
“Got you! You rascal!”
He had indeed caught him, but it was as if he’d caught a person, literally.
Moon In, barely recovering from the shock, looked at Park Chang-woon.
“Wh-Why are you here, teacher…?!”
“I followed you.”
Moon In naturally assumed it was a joke, but a creeping sense of unease told him it might not be.
And that unease turned out to be correct.
Like a full-blown stalker who had actually changed jobs to chase a single student, Park Chang-woon spoke like someone who had finally cornered his target after months on the run.
“Where the hell have you been, what have you been doing, and why the hell didn’t I see even a trace of you?”
“I-I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologize, answer me. If you don’t answer properly, you’ll become a corpse.”
The flute Park Chang-woon was holding added terrifying credibility to his threat about ending up a corpse.
But thanks to his earlier lion’s roar, everyone in the clubroom was either unconscious, disoriented, or paralyzed, and no one seemed able to save Moon In.
However, Gu Yu-na, who had the passive trait of status-effect immunity, greeted the fearsome presence of Park Chang-woon with perfect composure.
“Hello.”
“Huh? Ah, our Yu-na’s here too. How’ve you been?”
Gu Yu-na was a first-year and Park Chang-woon was her homeroom teacher. They saw each other every weekday. So asking how she’d been was really asking how her weekend had gone.
And since Gu Yu-na hadn’t had such a great weekend, she shook her head.
“Why? What happened?”
Gu Yu-na pointed at Moon In with her chin.
Park Chang-woon’s face twisted like a wrathful demon. His grip on Moon In’s shoulder tightened with force.
“You’re saying you haven’t been well because of Moon In?”
“Yes.”
“What did Moon In do?”
“He didn’t really do anything. It’s just…”
Sensing danger, Moon In tried to cover Gu Yu-na’s mouth, but he was a second too late.
Gu Yu-na continued calmly.
“Seeing the person who rejected me looking all gloomy… it made me feel kind of down too. I didn’t expect that…”
“Ah.”
Park Chang-woon slowly let go of Moon In.
Then he began to retreat step by step.
“Ah? Aha. Ah… Mm. I see. So that’s how it is, huh. Mm. Mm-hmm. Mm…”
Like a broken radio, Park Chang-woon muttered a few static-filled phrases, and then, unable to accept the chaotic reality, he turned and fled.
“W-Well then, I’ll be off now. Do your best with club activities.”
Gu Yu-na responded calmly.
“Yes.”
Park Chang-woon slid the door open, creeeak, and bolted out.
Having driven away the enemy commander, Gu Yu-na looked around the silence-shrouded clubroom.
“Shall we start our activity?”
Moon In, with a completely beaten expression, gave a silent nod.
*****