Chapter 84

Chapter 84

Chapter 84 We're All MeTube Stars (7)

Fortunately, the rude question, “Why did you become a singer with skills like that?” was the last of its kind.

The conversation that followed was mostly Sani boasting about his profound(?) knowledge of singing.

“The important thing is to sing happily! Whenever I eat delicious food, I always sing!”

“Is that so?”

“It’s not ‘is that so,’ it is so! If you don’t sing happily, you won’t get any views! I filmed myself singing while crying, and all those videos got deleted.”

“That’s an incredibly realistic reason.”

Instead of some clichéd answer about sincerity or how the listener wouldn’t enjoy it either, it was an unexpectedly insightful answer that struck straight at the heart of the matter.

“Hmm~ Hmm~ A fox transforms into a beauty~”

“By the way, what are we folding?”

Wooju had been following Sani’s folds by watching him closely, but the shape of the paper gradually grew stranger until, in the end, it looked no different from a crumpled piece of wastepaper lying on the floor.

“Wooju doesn’t even know that? This is... this is...”

‘That’s the face of someone who forgot.’

Perhaps Sani also sensed that something was wrong, because after thinking for quite a while, he suddenly slammed the table and shouted.

“Ah! This is a paper ball!”

“Really?”

“Phew. This piece was a success too.”

-Beep.

Leaving the misshapen paper ball sitting alone on the table, Sani pressed the camera’s power button.

Wooju found himself smiling at the manly filming style that didn’t even bother with closing remarks.

“Good wor...”

“It’s over now. I’m hungry!”

Just as Wooju was about to praise the child, who looked barely old enough for elementary school, for personally finding a guest and even completing the video shoot, the child dashed out first at a speed he couldn’t possibly keep up with.

Wooju followed after him belatedly, but the child was already in the kitchen watching the coffeehouse owner cook.

“It’s almost done anyway.”

“I’m curious what we’re eating today.”

“Braised pork and kimchi. Sounds good, right?”

“Ooooooh! But it looks too spicy.”

“I’ll rinse yours in a little water.”

“That sounds good!”

‘Braised kimchi?’

-Growl.

Only then did Wooju realize that he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous evening.

“Ah, good work today. Since you came all this way, why don’t you stay and eat?”

“Would that be all right?”

“There aren’t any restaurants nearby.”

“Then I’ll gratefully accept.”

He should have politely declined, saying he was fine.

The filming was already over, and there was no need to share an awkward meal with people he’d only met today.

But all he had waiting for him at home was ramen.

Even that only became enough for a full day’s meals if he mixed in so much rice that not a drop of broth remained and split it across meals. Meanwhile, a pot of braised kimchi packed with large chunks of meat was simmering right in front of him, making it difficult to refuse.

-Bang, bang.

“Everyone, get ready to eat.”

“Yes!”

‘What? Weren’t those people just customers?’

They had definitely been sitting at tables drinking coffee.

But at the coffeehouse owner’s call to eat, everyone came into the kitchen and began moving spoons, chopsticks, and bowls around with practiced motions.

And before he knew it, Wooju, who had only just arrived for the first time, was naturally included in the bustle.

“Wooju, pass me those rice bowls over there.”

“Th-These?”

“No. The ones above them. Hey, you bastard monk! Take these side plates.”

“I’m taking out the side dishes right now too.”

With several people bustling around the kitchen together, lunch was quickly set across two tables pushed together.

“Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you for the food.”

‘That’s a little too much rice.’

It wasn’t a little.

Of the six bowls of rice, only his was piled up like a mountain.

Even though he was hungry, the amount made him wonder whether he could finish it all.

But the hunger from eating nothing until now made him pick up his spoon before his worries could stop him.

“Mmph.”

“It’s good, right?”

-Nod, nod.

With his mouth stuffed full of food, vigorously nodding was the only response he could manage.

‘Is it because I’m so hungry? I don’t think I’ve ever had braised kimchi this good before.’

The kimchi had been made with domestically grown chili peppers, and the dish was packed with enough meat to give it a rich savory flavor.

Jinseong had spared no expense on the ingredients to such an extent that selling the dish for money would have meant taking a loss, and Wooju was currently experiencing the finest braised kimchi he’d ever tasted in his life.

_____________

It would’ve been a disaster if I hadn’t prepared food for him.

I hadn’t expected him to eat that well.

We’d agreed to film at nine in the morning, so I’d assumed he would leave as soon as we finished.

It was still a little early for lunch, and singers usually controlled their diets, so white rice and braised kimchi didn’t exactly seem suitable for maintaining a physique.

But the moment I first saw this singer named Wooju, I immediately filled the rice cooker.

His shabby clothes were one thing, but he was practically skin and bones.

Even Yongman, who had been the first customer to arrive at our coffeehouse looking like a beggar, had looked far healthier than this young man.

Fortunately, it seemed he wasn’t naturally a small eater, because the mountain of rice I’d piled into his bowl disappeared quickly.

“Would you like more?”

“No, thank you. I ate a lot.”

He truly had.

There had been a heaping bowl of rice and nearly half a head of kimchi in the braise, and he had eaten that enormous amount by himself.

“Ah, you don’t need to clean up. We can just put everything in the dishwasher.”

At some point, meals at our coffeehouse had stopped producing leftovers.

Everyone ate every last side dish, so cleanup consisted of putting the dishes straight into the dishwasher and pressing a button.

And dessert, as always, was a warm cup of coffeehouse coffee.

It might have been summer, but coffeehouse coffee enjoyed under the slightly overpowered cool air of the air conditioner couldn’t compare to iced coffee, which quickly melted and became watery.

“By the way, are you really okay appearing on Sani’s channel like this? I already sent the contract and related documents, but if it bothers you, we can take the upload down.”

“Why would you take it down!”

“If people find out you appeared on a channel with hardly any subscribers, it might become an embarrassing mark on your record.”

I’d occasionally seen posts like that on humor sites.

They collected photos of people who were now superstars but had once held pitiful fan signings in their unknown days or worn humiliating costumes for shoots.

For entertainers, whose image was everything, material like that could be fatal.

And in Sani’s case, it would even be uploaded as a video.

“No, it’s fine. I had fun filming thanks to you. Actually, I think this might be the last time I ever film in front of a camera.”

“Are you quitting?”

“When I stand in front of a lot of people, I can’t sing...”

“Ah.”

That was an answer I hadn’t expected.

Then again, after making such a mistake on his first stage, it made sense that he might have been left with trauma.

“So I’ve kept uploading songs to MeTube. You can film MeTube alone. But now my agency won’t let me use the recording studio anymore.”

Wooju fiddled with his empty coffee cup with a bitter expression.

A singer who hadn’t even had the chance to properly take flight was giving up on his dream, and his final appearance had been on Sani’s MeTube channel.

There could hardly be a sadder tragedy.

“Then how about filming here?”

“Pardon?”

“Lia and Sani are basically the only ones who use it anyway, and even they hardly ever do, so it’s usually empty.”

“Would that really be all right?”

I would actually prefer it if he used it.

The office and filming equipment were things I had also obtained with someone else’s help.

_______________

A month passed after Wooju first came to our coffeehouse.

“Hello!”

“Welcome.”

“I bought these on the way. Please have some.”

“Thanks.”

“Are those snacks!”

“They’re not snacks, that’s Wooju. At least greet him before you eat.”

“I see Wooju all the time, so it’s fine if I skip greeting him once, but I’ve never seen these snacks before!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Wooju came to our coffeehouse every evening at eight thirty.

Perhaps he felt bad arriving empty-handed every time, because he would bring a bag of snacks that Lia and Sani might like and place it on the counter just like this.

Then he would immediately bring out a broom and mop from the storage room and start cleaning.

He said he felt guilty using the filming equipment for free.

I’d figured simply receiving favors might make him uncomfortable, so I allowed it, and by now the sight had become quite familiar.

After diligently showing up every day for an entire month, he uploaded roughly two or three videos a day.

Perhaps that diligence had been rewarded, because Wooju’s MeTube channel had already surpassed ten thousand subscribers.

And today,

I had prepared a somewhat unusual gift for Wooju.

“Wooju, don’t go in yet. Stay here for a moment.”

“Yes?”

I played a recording on the tablet for Wooju, who stood there looking confused.

(The wind brushing past the window carries traces of your smile)

(At the end of the road I walked without thinking, you’re still standing there)

“Huh? Is this... something recorded here...?”

“Yeah. We’ve heard every song you’ve sung here until now.”

Naturally, the MeTube office of Dangsan Enterprises wasn’t a soundproof booth.

Every song Wooju sang until the last bus arrived could be heard clearly by all the customers in the coffeehouse.

Everyone who visited the coffeehouse had silently agreed not to mention that fact.

Because if Wooju became unable to sing even here, he might give up on his dream forever.

But not anymore.

“You can’t keep singing by yourself like this forever. That’s not what being a singer is, is it?”

“Yes. I know...”

Wooju wasn’t a composer.

Because of that, the songs he sang were covers of other singers’ work, and even though his views were respectable, they couldn’t be turned into revenue.

There was little chance his situation would improve if he kept living like this forever.

Then he had to move forward.

He had to make that decision himself, but sometimes someone needed to give you a push from behind.

“We can hear your singing from outside. So sing like you normally do.”

“What if I sing strangely again like last time?”

“What’s the worst that’ll happen? The Haedong Divine Maiden over there rolls around on the floor laughing again?”

“N-Not this time!”

There were no fewer than eight customers gathered in the coffeehouse, and every one of them had been listening to Wooju sing practically every day.

“Go on in. You were planning to quit anyway, so you don’t have anything left to lose.”

“Yes.”

I pushed Wooju’s back once more when he couldn’t bring himself to take the first step.

This was as far as I could help him.

From here on, it was Wooju’s job to take the microphone and sing.

Encouragement was only encouragement, after all.

______________

And how much time passed?

(All those nights I couldn’t speak of piled up only inside my heart)

(Following the season when we were together, I call your name once more.)

A familiar singing voice came from the office.

“Oh my! He sings so well!”

“Shh! Shh! He’ll hear you!”

Wooju’s second debut stage was a success.

I’d never been to another singer’s live concert, but it felt as though there couldn’t be a singer whose songs touched my heart more deeply than Wooju’s voice softly resonating through this old coffeehouse.

And so our coffeehouse became a special stage where, instead of an old LP stereo and radio, a real singer would occasionally perform live.

It was around the time the sweltering summer was coming to an end.