WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Potter

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◈ My Fired Uncle Is a Genius Guitarist? ◈

Chapter 17: A Name That Doesn't Exist in This World

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After the lingering resonance faded, no one spoke first. I waited too. I was curious who would say something first.

“I want to do this song.”

Bae Somi broke the silence.

“At the competition. Not the cover song. This one.”

Bae Somi was looking straight at me instead of the floor. Her voice was quiet, but firm.

She had been the first to pull out, saying the Main Round was too close to learn a new song. Yet she was the first one to show ambition.

“Hey, that was what I was going to say.”

Yun Taerin struck the snare rim with her stick.

“I wanted this from the start. We only put it off because Uncle said we'd see if it worked. Bae Somi, weren't you the one saying the Main Round was right around the corner?”

“Th-That was true then...”

“Whatever. As long as you came around, even if it was late. Cha Sion, what about you?”

When I asked, Cha Sion stared hard at the microphone stand as if avoiding my eyes. She could avoid my gaze, but she could not hide the bright red tips of her ears.

“Well... if you want me to sing it, I will. I memorized all the lyrics too.”

“Hey, why are you acting coy? And of course you memorized them. You wrote them.”

“I said I'll sing it if you want me to.”

“Your ears are red.”

“They are not.”

They were. Still, it was polite to pretend I had not noticed. I held back my laughter and kept a straight face.

“We said we'd talk again if it worked out, right?”

All three of them looked at me at once.

“It worked. We're going with this.”

“Yes!”

Yun Taerin struck the cymbal with her stick. Bae Somi let out a soft breath of relief, while Cha Sion still acted indifferent but could not hide the corners of her mouth.

“Then are we throwing out the cover?”

“Not throwing it out. Keep it as a warm-up song. If this is our main song, that one's our insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“Yeah. The best insurance is the kind you never need to use.”

“Oh, that sounded cool.”

“Hmph. That's because the person saying it is cool.”

“...Uncle always has to ruin it at the end.”

“...”

This was a scene that would not have existed in my previous life. Choosing songs and announcing the decision had always been my job. I alone decided what went onstage, and I never asked the singer what they thought.

But now, they were the ones stepping forward to say they wanted to perform the song. All I had done was nod.

It was not bad.

“By the way, Uncle, did you see the Main Round information email?”

“There was an email?”

“It came the day after the announcement. Oh, I guess I never showed you.”

Yun Taerin took out her phone and scrolled through the screen.

“I'll read it. Thirty teams will all perform on the same day in the first round of the Main Round. Every team only gets one song.”

That was roughly the scale I had expected. If each song ran a little over four minutes and they took five minutes to change over for the next team, thirty teams would take five hours. Using a shared backline meant they would not need to replace amps or drums, so it would take even less time. At most, it would be an afternoon-long event.

“What about an audience?”

“Uh... it says the first round will only have judges, no audience. Then the videos will go up on the Plugged channel afterward. They'll pick ten teams from there, and three weeks later, on Saturday, there'll be a live final stage. Regular audiences can come in for that one. They're even selling tickets.”

“So there are two rounds until we win.”

“Yeah. And if it's an original song, we have to submit the title in advance. To get the original-song bonus points.”

I let the part about the videos going up on the channel pass through one ear and out the other. As long as I stayed tucked away in a corner like I had during the Preliminary Round, it would be fine. Besides, the first round had no audience apart from the judges. It would be a far easier environment for controlling variables.

“Good. We have time, so we're doing it again. Bae Somi.”

“Yes?”

“Your sound gets quiet again before the second verse. Watch it.”

“...Yes.”

“Don't kill it. It's okay if you make a mistake, so let it ring to the end.”

“Yes!”

Her answer was spirited. Naturally, her playing did not live up to it. As if by agreement, the bass sound shrank again at the exact same spot.

“Stop.”

Yun Taerin stopped her sticks. Bae Somi's shoulders hunched.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. Do you know where you got quieter just now?”

“...Before the second verse. Where the drums drop out.”

“Why do you get quieter?”

“Because only my sound is left there, and if I make a mistake, everyone will hear it...”

“That's right. Everyone will hear it. That's why I deliberately left that space empty.”

Bae Somi blinked blankly.

“Your sound needs to lay down a solid foundation there so Sion can come in for the second verse. If you drop out, she has to start singing into empty air.”

“...Then if I make a mistake, Sion too...”

“That's why I'm not telling you not to make mistakes. I'm telling you not to get quieter. You can fix a wrong note, but there is no way to fix a sound that is not there.”

Still holding the microphone, Cha Sion only turned her head toward Bae Somi.

“I come in listening to your sound, so if you play quietly, I have to come in quietly too.”

“Huh?”

“So play louder. I don't want to sing quietly.”

Bae Somi opened and closed her mouth with a blank look. Then, as if she had made up her mind, she nodded.

“Again.”

No matter how many times we repeated it, Bae Somi's habit did not disappear completely. But every time she reached the place where her sound tended to fade, she gritted her teeth and tightened her hand around the neck, trying to hold on. Her sound did not suddenly open up like a miracle, but the fact that she had begun to notice the section where her sound got buried meant we were clearly headed in the right direction.

“All right, one last time!”

Yun Taerin's messy offbeats settled back into place as naturally as if they had always belonged there, while Cha Sion repeated her part quietly without needing any correction from me, steadying her breathing.

#

After rehearsal, Yun Taerin waved her phone and asked,

“But if it's an original song, we have to submit the title. What's our song called?”

“We haven't decided.”

“What? You made a song without a title? What did you save the file as?”

“The file name is the date.”

“Ah, Uncle really has no sense of sentiment. Then what should we call it?”

I nodded toward Cha Sion.

“The person who wrote the lyrics should name it.”

“...Me?”

“You wrote the lyrics. It's practically the rule that you come up with the title while writing them. Don't you have one in mind?”

“...No.”

Cha Sion closed her mouth. Yun Taerin did not miss the opening.

“I'll help. We can take it from the lyrics. How about ‘It Was Going to End Anyway’?”

“No.”

“Why? It sounds cool.”

“What if it ends as soon as we enter the competition?”

“Then ‘Before I Was Thrown Away.’”

“That's even worse.”

“Damn it, then you name it! Pick just one that fits the lyrics!”

Bae Somi covered her mouth and laughed. Cha Sion needlessly fiddled with her guitar's volume knob.

After a moment, Cha Sion kept her eyes on the floor and muttered,

“...Footsteps.”

“Huh?”

“Footsteps. Let's call it that.”

It was short for a title. There was nothing flashy about it. Yet it somehow fit the mood of the song perfectly.

“Oh. That's good.”

“Shut up.”

“I'm complimenting you.”

“That's why I said shut up.”

Cha Sion never looked our way. Her ears had turned red again.

“Footsteps. That's what we'll go with.”

Bae Somi repeated it softly. Footsteps. She looked as though she was testing how it sounded. I took out my phone and noted down the title.

“Yun Taerin, don't make a typo when you submit it.”

“How could I get the title wrong?”

“You could manage it.”

“Ah, seriously, Uncle!”

And so, our band's first original song got its title.

#

On Monday morning, as soon as I got to work, I checked the client emails that had piled up over the weekend. I handled two delivery schedule inquiries, then opened a quotation sheet when Assistant Manager Kim suddenly poked their head over the partition.

“Manager, what did you do over the weekend?”

“I stayed home.”

“I only watched Noise Line videos. I gave up counting how many times I replayed them. Those kids are seriously monsters.”

“You said that last week.”

“Last week, I was talking about them overall. Today, I'm talking about the guitar.”

Assistant Manager Kim lowered their voice, though their excitement was obvious.

“You know that guitarist? The video description says his name is Park Taegeon, and he's insane.”

“What about him?”

“His tone. How does a high schooler dial in that tone? His equipment doesn't even look expensive. And when he starts digging into a riff, everyone's attention snaps right to him. Even while the vocalist is singing. How many people in this field can do that?”

Not many. Assistant Manager Kim was right about that.

Park Taegeon's guitar, as I had heard through the video, was heavy. It was not fast, but it had weight. Even without flashy technique, you could tell the guitar had the whole song in its grip and was pulling it forward the instant you heard it. That was why your attention was drawn to him. It was rare for someone that age to do that.

‘If it hits the ears of someone who has listened to nothing but rock for ten years like that, it isn't just some cheap trick.’

I lowered my gaze and stared quietly at my fingertips.

My hands were much better than before, but they were still not the hands from my previous life that could perfectly bring the image in my head to life. With these hands, so clearly limited by my body, I had to stand on the same stage as that monster.

I was not impatient. If anything, the calculation became clearer. In a pure contest of fingers, I was at a disadvantage. So I would win with the song.

“Manager, are you listening?”

“I am.”

“When the Main Round video goes up, I'm watching it right away. I'll freeze-frame it and analyze exactly how he plays guitar. I need to see if a high schooler can really do that.”

Freeze-frame.

The moment those words lodged in my ears, a cold sensation shot up my spine.

‘...Wait.’

The Preliminary Round video had been safely handled with only my elbow brushing through a corner of the frame, thanks to my older sister's meticulous angle calculations. But the Main Round was different. High-definition cameras would be rolling in front of an open live stage.

That clear stage video would be preserved in full on a channel watched by hundreds of thousands? And the rock fanatic sitting next to me was going to examine it frame by frame?

“Manager, make sure you watch it too when it goes up. Seriously.”

“...Yeah. If I get the chance.”

“Not if you get the chance.”

“Assistant Manager Kim, Hanseong Mart said they need that quotation by today.”

“Ah, yes.”

Even after Assistant Manager Kim disappeared beyond the partition at the department head's call, the cursor in my Excel sheet stayed in the same cell for a long time.

#

After work, I returned to my studio apartment and sat at my desk. I opened my old laptop, but I could not bring myself to touch the demo file on the desktop. One word I had heard earlier kept circling in my mind.

Freeze-frame.

I cooled my muddled head and went through the possibilities one by one.

Drop out?

That was absurd. Black Rabbit without a guitar could not even function as a band onstage. I could not drag the kids this far and then irresponsibly abandon the band.

Go on as I was?

If the video was released, someone from the company would definitely see it. A fanatic like Assistant Manager Kim would never miss my face. The next steps were obvious. Assistant Manager Park, whose weekend side job had been rejected at the department head level. Choi Yeong-rak, who had been publicly humiliated in the middle of the office not long ago for selling unrelated merchandise.

I would get disciplined for violating the ban on outside work, or in the worst case, get fired. If I lost my job and could not extend my overdraft line, then my second life in music would end there too, guitar rehab and all.

Of course, that was the worst case. It was far more likely that it would end with a written explanation and a warning. But the problem was that the department head was not the kind of person to leave it at that.

Then there was only one answer left.

Cover my face.

A thirty-six-year-old man in a mask and a cap pulled low, standing among three high school students. It would look ridiculous even in my imagination, but fortunately, there was no audience for the first round. What I had to show the judges was not my face, but our band's performance.

‘I will cover up for the first round.’

Then what? If we made the final, there would be an audience. Would I keep up that suspicious outfit there too?

I would think about that if we got through. I put aside a problem with no answer for now.

Just then, the phone plugged into the charger on my desk vibrated briefly. It was a message from Yun Taerin.

Yun Taerin> Uncle, they said we need to submit the Main Round member list again

Yun Taerin> The guitar is currently under senior Doyeon's name

Yun Taerin> Should I submit it with your name and age?

< Wait!!!

I urgently stopped her, then thought for a long time.

Senior Doyeon. The previous guitarist who had left to prepare for college entrance exams. It seemed Yun Taerin had submitted the application without changing that name.

But now that we had passed the Preliminary Round, we could not leave it as it was.

Lee Han Yong, 36 years old.

Put my real name and age right into the list of teams advancing to the Main Round? The instant that record remained in the competition database, covering my face would be pointless if someone searched my name.

Use an alias. I reached that conclusion immediately. The problem was what name to use. I felt uneasy about writing down just any name. It was a name I would take onstage.

Then a name suddenly crossed my mind.

A name I had been called for sixteen years. Backstage, in magazines, in the first line of reviews. A name that did not exist in this world. A name no one here knew, one that would not raise any flags.

Slowly, I tapped out a reply on my phone.

< One Dragon

The moment I hit send, the 1 disappeared at once.

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