Chapter 200 : Not with a Diploma, but with Music
Chapter 200: Not with a Diploma, but with Music
Someday, I had to return to school.
That vague thought had always left me feeling uneasy.
There wasn't any particular reason.
If you want to make a living in Korea, you absolutely have to graduate from university.
You need a bachelor's degree to become a proper member of society.
A prestigious diploma is important if you want to get a job.
You can't ignore alumni connections.
Those were words I'd heard until my ears practically bled ever since I was little.
I had given up the music I loved and chosen university myself, so I figured I ought to graduate.
It also seemed like too much of a waste not to.
But today, my thoughts changed a little.
"Isn't it amazing? They invited a DJ instead of an idol."
"It really is."
"What? Why are you making that face? Don't tell me you're not excited about a university festival."
"No. It's just..."
No matter how close you were to someone, there were times when opening up about what was on your mind felt awkward.
Today was one of those times.
"What is it? Why are you suddenly so serious?"
"...That's my university."
"Whaaaaaaat?"
Good grief.
That scared me.
Our CEO really did have a loud voice.
"Why are you so surprised?"
"You went to Han Yun University? Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"...Did I really need to tell you that?"
"Wow. Seo Taeyoon, you're even more of a cheat character than I thought. Seriously. You were a Han Yun University student? A DJ from a prestigious university!"
"I'm not a graduate yet. I haven't graduated."
"Anyway!"
Was that really so surprising?
I'm pretty sure it was on my résumé.
"...Wasn't it written on my résumé? Why are you acting like this is the first time you've heard it?"
"Was it? I don't read the education section on résumés."
...That's so like CEO Kim Minsoo.
Since the topic had already come up, I puffed out my chest and proudly asked,
"By the way, what do you think? What do you think of Seo Taeyoon, the Han Yun University student you've known all this time? Pretty smart, right?"
"Not really. I just thought you were a guy who was only good at music and clumsy at everything else. Finding out you're good at studying too is what surprised me."
...Coming from someone who'd attended the New York University School of Music despite being just as clumsy, wasn't that a little embarrassing?
As that thought crossed my mind,
I suddenly called out to him seriously.
"CEO."
"Hm?"
Ever since I'd heard he'd dropped out of New York University, there was something I'd always wanted to ask if I ever got the chance.
Whether he regretted it.
Adults always said,
"There's a right time to study."
Of course, I couldn't bluntly ask,
"You're rich enough already, so why did you give up New York University?"
So I asked as politely as possible.
"Why didn't you graduate?"
"Hmmmm. That's a good question."
Kim Minsoo folded his arms and spent quite a while choosing his words.
His expression had become surprisingly serious.
Sometimes, when I looked at him, he became incredibly sharp.
Those were also the times he gave the best advice.
Because of that, I waited for his answer with great anticipation.
"New York University was just too small to contain me."
...And then he said something like that.
"You're joking, right?"
"Half joking."
Kim Minsoo chuckled and folded his arms again.
Strangely enough, it didn't sound entirely like a joke.
"You've heard people say that without a diploma, you can't become a proper member of society, right?"
"Yes."
Whether I agreed or not, those words had always weighed on my mind.
But the CEO had walked the exact opposite path.
Just as I'd expected, he started talking about it.
"After living life for a while, I realized that isn't everything."
His eyes grew deeper.
His usual playful expression had vanished.
Instead, I caught a glimpse of the sharp insight he possessed as both a businessman and a fellow musician.
"You know what people say. A diploma is just a piece of paper. What's important isn't how much of your life you burn away for that piece of paper. What's important is what you learn from it and what you're able to create with it. Have you ever thought about that?"
What could I create in the Department of Economics?
I couldn't answer with certainty.
I'd gotten arrogant in high school because I'd been good at economics in social studies.
But the moment I opened my Microeconomics textbook during my first semester...
it felt like someone had smacked me in the back of the head.
Why was I drawing quadratic graphs when this wasn't even the Mathematics Department?
Everything was made up of numbers and symbols.
To someone from the humanities, it was enough to make my head explode.
To be honest,
I found neither joy nor inspiration there.
I wanted to express emotions through music.
The Department of Economics wanted to predict human behavior through numbers.
It felt like some alien language that endlessly demanded answers I couldn't understand.
In the end, all I could do was shake my head.
"Still, I learned something. I realized just how huge the world is... and how insignificant my music still was. Once I realized that, I felt suffocated."
"Suppocated..."
"What you're doing right now is something no university in the world can teach."
Kim Minsoo lightly patted my back as he continued.
"Sometimes... timing is everything. And..."
His voice quietly trailed off.
I raised my head and looked at him.
For some reason, his eyes looked familiar.
Where had I seen them before?
Right...
When he'd first come to Sierra after discovering that I was Blackhole.
They looked almost exactly the same as they had back then.
As I simply blinked at him,
Kim Minsoo winked before adding,
"I'll support every decision you make. Whether it's returning to school or standing on stage, choose your own path. In the end, that's always the right one."
For some reason,
my heart felt lighter.
It was the moment I became certain that my name wasn't a diploma.
It was the stage name Blackhole— and the music of Stay.
"Please accept the Han Yun University event."
"Huh? Seriously?"
Returning to school didn't necessarily mean returning as a student.
Being invited to my university festival while I was still on a leave of absence— wasn't that something truly amazing?
For a brief moment, I even thought it might be an even more dramatic return.
"And I think I'll look through all these requests too."
"You sure you'll be okay?"
"I think it'd be nice to occasionally let people hear the kind of music they want."
"You little punk..."
A little later, as I left the CEO's office, I found myself thinking.
Proving myself not with a diploma— but with music.
If that path was more like me, then I wanted to work even harder.
Director Oh Seungju made up his mind.
A film with the same title as Stay's song, <Footprints That Became a Star>.
He would complete this movie no matter what.
The story was simple.
A man left behind.
And a dog that had become a star.
A quiet yet deeply moving portrayal of parting with someone precious.
There would be no artistic mise-en-scène.
No famous actors.
Only a brief note written in the proposal.
That was all.
[ A farewell and a comfort offered to everyone who has lost someone precious. ]
[ The music explains everything. ]
"Hoo......"
Oh Seungju reopened the pages and let out a heavy sigh.
The phrase "someone precious who has departed"
could mean family.
A beloved pet.
Or perhaps an old lover whose farewell still ached deeply.
But that wasn't what mattered.
He simply wanted to speak sincerely.
For everyone who had never truly been able to say goodbye.
Memories weren't anything extraordinary.
They were simply the moments that suddenly came to mind during ordinary days.
Even when they hurt.
Even when they were painful.
You didn't have to force yourself to erase them.
You simply let those memories quietly settle into your heart.
Like sunlight streaming through a small window every day.
Allowing them to linger for just a while.
And helping them become comfort rather than wounds.
That was the message Director Oh Seungju wanted to convey through this film.
'Just as I did.'
A lonely food bowl left on one side of the dining table.
An old leash by the front door.
A red collar with no owner.
He didn't want to make people cry.
He simply wanted to convey that feeling.
Anyone who had ever lost something precious would surely have at least one memory they could take out and revisit.
Before he realized it, the assistant director had walked over and asked,
"Director, do you think it'll actually get released?"
Without taking his eyes off the screen,
Oh Seungju answered,
"I don't know about that. But I'm certain there are people who need this story."
The assistant director tilted his head.
Oh Seungju.
In the film industry, he was practically a forgotten name.
If you wanted to put it kindly, he was a stubborn artist.
If you wanted to put it harshly, he was a stubborn third-rate director.
He'd always been far removed from mainstream popularity.
He was more famous for his music than his directing.
Smashing things.
Tearing things apart.
Using provocative subjects and noisy marketing to attract attention, yet barely managing—or failing—to reach the break-even point with his films.
And now, that same man was suddenly talking about a quiet farewell.
It was completely different from the reputation he'd built until now.
No dialogue.
No special effects.
Only a quiet story carried entirely by music.
The assistant director swallowed nervously.
He already knew that film directors were strange people— stubborn to the core and obsessed with art.
But Oh Seungju had one more thing.
A lonely cynicism that had reached the point where he no longer believed even in himself.
A director who could capture neither popularity nor artistic philosophy, making nothing more than films that felt like a confused stew.
There was no way to argue against such miserable descriptions.
Because every one of them was true.
"Director, are you really fixing the screenplay as this version? The investors are waiting desperately..."
The assistant director's voice was filled with concern.
It was understandable.
"At this rate we're all going under. We should be searching for actors who perfectly fit the screenplay, and instead we're talking about... a dog? An unknown dog at that?"
Everything else was fine.
But he simply couldn't shake the realistic fear.
Who would actually watch this?
"To someone, that nameless dog might've been their entire world. And..."
Oh Seungju stared at the <Footprints That Became a Star> music video playing on his monitor for a long time before continuing.
"Yunhyuk."
"Yes?"
Hearing his own name suddenly called, the assistant director stiffened.
Calling someone by name usually meant speaking from the heart.
Oh Seungju slowly turned his head toward the movie poster hanging on the wall.
Among countless movie posters, only one remained hanging there.
No dazzling colors.
No famous actors.
Only a monochrome film image.
And a small title.
Oh Seungju's debut work.
The only film he believed had truly connected with audiences.
Neither commercial.
Nor independent.
More accurately, it was simply a film he had made by following his heart.
<Today Without Tomorrow>
As the assistant director blankly stared at the poster along with him,
Oh Seungju quietly confessed,
"I've come this far... Isn't it okay if I make one film that I've truly wanted to make? Is that really too much to ask?"
Faced with those earnest eyes, the assistant director found himself speechless, fidgeting only with the paper cup in his hands.
Thinking,
'There goes the movie guy getting carried away again.'
Yet Oh Seungju looked utterly determined.
He even looked resolute.
"Just once. Just this once... I want to make something without trapping it inside labels like commercial or independent."
It was his final resolve.
He was even prepared to leave the film industry without regret or lingering attachment.
Even if he couldn't convince investors,
it didn't matter.
'I have to try as far as I possibly can.'
After all, he still had his apartment's jeonse deposit.
A composer bears responsibility for every song they create.
Not simply throwing together a nice melody and a decent beat, but explaining why they created that song in the first place.
That's why I occasionally looked through proposal requests like these.
By reading them, I could clearly understand what both the public and the industry expected from STaY.
Hyung had once told me.
A professional composer couldn't only do what they wanted.
Nor should they.
Otherwise, you'd become trapped inside your own formula and your perspective would gradually narrow.
Back then,
I'd simply thought,
'What nonsense,'
and brushed it aside.
But lately, I was slowly beginning to understand what he had meant.
Music that sells.
And music I wanted to make.
Finding the point where those two overlapped— that was probably what mattered.
"This is hard. Really hard."
As I sat at the dining table eating a sandwich while reading through the proposals, hyung came home from work and clicked his tongue before walking over.
"You should at least eat a proper meal for dinner. You eat bread every day. How are you supposed to have any strength?"
Sometimes, I couldn't tell whether he was my older brother or my mom.
He seemed to think I'd die if I skipped even one meal.
Without taking my eyes off the proposals,
I answered,
"I'll eat rice again later."
Hyung sat across from me, chewing on the remaining sandwich as he asked,
"What happened? You didn't go to Backstage today."
"Yeah. I had something to look through."
"Reading proposal requests?"
I hadn't explained anything, yet he immediately knew exactly what I was doing.
At this point, wasn't he basically psychic?
"They're really pouring in. Both Stay and Blackhole. Are you really going to read every single one? That won't be easy."
"The company already sorted them before bringing them to me."
"Any proposals catch your eye?"
"Thankfully, quite a few. A lot of them seem interesting."
After hyung joined KIM Entertainment,
it became much easier to talk through my musical concerns.
No one understood my style better than he did, so he never made unreasonable demands.
His eyes settled on the pile of proposals I'd separated out.
"Thinking of appearing?"
"Later. Ah, this one. Tell me what you think."
"What is it?"
Hyung casually picked up the papers.
"Hm? This is..."
The title <Footprints That Became a Star> was written clearly across the cover.
Hyung slowly set down the sandwich in his other hand before speaking seriously.
"If you want to do it, then I think you should. Judging by the title, they seem pretty desperate..."
"Why? Is it bad?"
"There are no bad movies. The same goes for the OSTs that go into them. Songs aren't only made for movies that are guaranteed to succeed. Sometimes, a song can make the movie succeed. But..."
"But?"
With a worried expression, hyung answered,
"...Will this movie even make it to theaters?"
"So the movie itself is okay?"
"Whether I think it's good or not isn't what's important. If it's a project you want to work on, then you should do it. It's just... I'm worried the film might get canceled."
Oh.
That's a relief.
If that's all, then there shouldn't be any real problem.