Chapter 33 : Prime

Dojun, struggling to eat his Gukbap with chopsticks, finally gave up, his face a mask of frustration. I chuckled and handed him a spoon, which he accepted with a look of profound gratitude.

The instructor, after speaking with someone from the festival organizers, sighed.

“They want us to postpone cleaning up because of the crowds. Why couldn’t they have told us earlier?”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“About two hours. Go kill some time.”

We decided to wander around Hyehwa. I initially considered sticking with the first-years, but the awkward tension between Junseok and Chaerin made us split into two groups.

The four of us, united by our shared membership in the Class 1-1 drama club, began our aimless stroll. Junseok, walking in front, spoke up.

“So, what are we doing? Is there anything to see around here?”
“The busking was pretty good last time.”
“Busking? Where do we go for that?”

Junseok grinned at Dojun’s question.

“What? You two have been here before?”

I glared at him.

“Yeah, we came here together that day you were ‘too busy’ to join us.”

It was meant to be a jab at Junseok, but I had inadvertently caused collateral damage.

“S… Sorry…”

Hyelin looked down at her feet, apologizing. I had forgotten she had overslept and missed our first trip to Hyehwa. Junseok, seizing the opportunity, continued,

“So, you did hang out, just the two of you.”
“Stop twisting things. I’m trying to be considerate and not bring up Chaerin.”
“D… Don’t talk about that in… in front of everyone!”

Junseok clamped his hand over my mouth. Dojun, however, seemed unfazed.

“I already know.”

I pushed Junseok’s hand away, grimacing at the taste of sweat on his palm.

“If even he knows, it’s game over.”

Junseok’s face fell.

“So, when are you two going to make up?”

The tension between Junseok and Chaerin was making things awkward for everyone. It would be best if they resolved their issues quickly.

“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you need a good opportunity to talk things out.”

Hyelin, who had been listening quietly, suddenly spoke up.

“Y… Yeseul mentioned renting a… house for a drama club… retreat this summer. Maybe you can… talk then?”
“When in the summer? I have other plans at the beginning of the break.”

Hyelin tilted her head, then, realizing I was referring to the film shoot, nodded.

“I… I’ll talk to Yeseul!”

“What about the house? Do you have a chaperone? Most places won’t rent to minors without an adult.”
“Um…”

She hadn’t thought about the details. I smiled.

“I think I can figure out the chaperone situation. Just let me know when you book the house.”
“O… Okay.”

Hyelin breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Junseok and Dojun.

“You… you’re both coming, right? I’ll… I’ll create a group chat later.”

They both nodded. They seemed to have pretty lenient parents, agreeing without hesitation. It made sense; drama club activities already kept us at school late, so the members probably all had relatively flexible schedules.

I pointed in a direction.

“Let’s go this way.”
“Why?”
“I hear… a guitar.”

We followed the sound to a small crowd gathered around a man playing an acoustic guitar and singing.

“He’s… pretty good… for an old guy,” Hyelin commented.

“He’s famous. He’s been busking here longer than we’ve been alive,” I explained.

This busker was a local legend, his steady presence a fixture in the park. I had been slightly disappointed when I hadn’t seen him during my previous visit. I smiled.

He had no fancy equipment, no youthful energy, no cheap amplifier.
But his guitar and his voice were enough to capture the hearts of the young crowd, stopping them in their tracks. This man was a constant, a familiar presence in this ever-changing world. The plaza, now filled with people, throbbed with youthful energy, fueled by the music.

“Hey, students! Come up here!”

The busker stopped playing and called us over.
Junseok grabbed Hyelin and Dojun and pulled them towards the makeshift stage, gesturing for me to join them.

I shook my head and stayed back. Junseok frowned at me, but I remained where I was.

The three of them stood before the busker, who smiled and said,

“Hey Children, you know the song ‘I Met You By Chance,’ by Songolmae? Let’s sing it together!”
(TL Note: Songolmae is a famous Korean rock band)

“I… I don’t know that song…” Hyelin said nervously.
“Then just clap along!”

The music started. I took a step back, wanting a clear view of my friends.

My eyes, a one-person film camera, recorded the scene, adding another memory to my personal collection. Ninety thousand kilometers of film, dedicated to capturing mundane moments, ordinary days, creating a low-budget movie of unremarkable events. 

(TL Note : 90,000 kilometres of a film ~ enough to capture 3 years of footage considering a standard 35 mm film)

A warm breeze rustled the leaves. It lacked the refreshing coolness of a spring breeze, a sign that summer was approaching.

We never appreciated spring until summer arrived, until the humidity and the mosquitoes made us long for the gentle warmth of spring. And this applied to more than just seasons.

We never appreciated our youth until we became adults, until the world, having given us youth only to let us squander it, made us realize its value.

Dojun and Junseok sang along with the busker, their voices surprisingly strong, thanks to their vocal training in the drama club.

–I met you by chance, and my heart was stolen.

The song was well-known, and people in the crowd started singing along. Hyelin clapped, and others followed her lead. The plaza was filled with music, and we were the stars of the show.

Except for the cameraman, standing one step back, recording it all. I smiled, watching them.

I knew, with both joy and sorrow, that spring was ending, that summer was coming. I knew this moment wouldn’t last, so I savored it, preparing myself for the inevitable farewell.

Some would build families, filling the void with new connections. Others would create new relationships, discarding old ones as they moved on. And some would reach the end of their journey sooner than others.

Having already lived a full life, I couldn’t help but think of what lay ahead, of the inevitable changes. That’s why I kept recording these mundane moments, these insignificant stories, hoping they would remember me, even after they had forgotten.

I listened to the melody of the classic song, a song that had transcended generations.

–I want to talk to you, but I’m too shy. My heart is pounding.

Watching my friends, their faces flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement, I wondered if I should have joined them.

–Fool, fool, I must be a fool.

There was a reason some songs endured. A tingling sensation spread through me, and I smiled.

I guess I was a fool.

I went to see Saeron over the weekend and found an unfamiliar man in his apartment. I greeted him awkwardly and went to my usual spot.

A high school girl sitting on a bed with two grown men… I felt like I should be introducing myself to a camera. I smirked.

“This is… unexpected.”
“Didn’t the writer tell you?”
“No.”
“I apologize. I assumed he had mentioned it.”

He scratched his head, looking flustered. Saeron, his face impassive, said,

“He wanted me to introduce you.”
“Introduce me? Who is he?”
“The director of the film you’re going to be in.”

At Saeron’s words, the man extended his hand. He shook mine.

“I’m Kim Dohyung, the director. I saw your play. You were excellent.”
“I’m Lee Haram. You saw my… play?”
“Yes. I went to the Theater Festival with this…gentleman. Your performance was remarkable.”
“Thank you.”

I grinned at Saeron.

“You should have told me you were coming. You were just too shy to admit you wanted to see me perform, weren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”

I nudged him with my elbow, grinning.

“You wanted to see my performance, but you were too embarrassed to say it.”
“Stop poking me. Do you want to catch some hands?”
“You’d hit a lady?”
“No. You’re right. Talking to you is making me lose braincells.”

Kim Dohyung looked at me, surprised.

“I’ve never seen anyone push Saeron’s buttons like that.”
“She’s the weird one.”
“You’re both eccentric. Birds of a feather, I suppose.”

He rubbed his nose and turned to me.

“So, Haram…”
“You can drop the formalities.”
“I prefer being polite. Do you mind if I… offer you some advice?”
“Go ahead.”
“Please don’t misunderstand.”

He paused, and I felt a flicker of nervousness. What was he going to say?

“What is it?”

After a long, dramatic pause, he finally spoke.

“Have you ever considered…quitting theater?”