Chapter 46

### Rebellious Genius Composer Returns - Chapter 46 (46/482)

There is a man. Every day, he would descend a steep hill in the early morning and climb back up when the sun set. It was a grueling commute, but for the people who lived in the shantytowns and slums, it was a familiar routine.

Thud, thud—

The man, who was walking, suddenly stopped. He then abruptly turned his head to look down the hill. The area was densely packed with dilapidated apartment buildings that could collapse at any moment. What was peculiar was the number of cross-shaped neon signs that could be seen.

He had once thought about it.

It was only a few days after he had been forced to move to this neighborhood. Out of breath, he had stopped to rest and looked down. He wondered why there were so many churches.

This was a place where many people still used kerosene for heating and trembled at the word "redevelopment." Why were there so many churches in such a backward area?

He chuckled.

The man smiled. He thought he understood. Even he, an atheist, found himself seeking God more often. The harder life was, the more people needed something to rely on. And this neighborhood was full of such people. The abundance of churches seemed as natural as the laws of nature.

The man prayed.

If you really exist, please intervene in my life a little. Please give me the strength not to give up on the dreams I've harbored for so long. If you do, I will believe in your existence. If I ever make a lot of money, I'll make generous donations.

After a short, not-so-devout prayer, the man started walking again. His long-held dream was to be a writer. He had submitted his work many times but was repeatedly rejected. In the midst of these failures, he had become the head of a household.

Now, he had responsibilities.

And because of these responsibilities, he had become someone who could no longer freely pursue his dreams. Some might think he was using his family as a shield for his incompetence, but that was the reality. Children grow up quickly.

And his wife was ill.

His wife, who had always been frail, was diagnosed with asthma. She was a kind woman who told him to keep dreaming while she would earn the money. She was the one who had taken on the hard work and ended up in this condition.

If I talk about dreams now, I must be crazy.

He had completed his final manuscript with the intention that it would be his last. If he didn't get published this time, he planned to give up his dream. In fact, if it weren't for his wife's encouragement, he wouldn't have submitted it at all.

Actually, giving up a dream isn't as significant as one might think. Don't most people live that way? They dream big and then compromise. There's no need to attach meaning to it. Now, the only meaning left in his life was his beloved family.

"Dear, you're back?"

"Daddy! Look at this!"

As soon as he opened the door, his wife and daughter greeted him.

"How are you feeling today?"

"I think I'm better."

His wife often gave herself a diagnosis that contradicted the doctor's opinion.

"Better?—"

His daughter then grabbed his sleeve, drawing his attention.

"Daddy, I got a perfect score on my dictation!"

He smiled and, taking a can of beer from the fridge, replied.

"Really? Let me see that perfect test paper!"

His daughter, with her small mouth, chattered on. In summary, she had been confused between 're' and 'doe' but, after much thought, wrote the correct answer and got a perfect score.

That's it.

He had already taught his daughter too much about giving up. He didn't want to teach her how to give up on her dreams. If the price was his own dream, he was willing to bear and accept it.

"Our daughter is amazing."

At that moment, his wife said.

"Daughter, it's time to take a bath."

"Already?"

"Yes, you need to get ready."

"Phew…."

It seemed she wanted to chat a bit more with her father who had just come home and play a little. Watching the conversation between mother and daughter, he said.

"You can play with Dad after you finish your bath."

"Really?"

"Yes, so hurry up and get ready."

"Yay—!"

His daughter quickly took off her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. His wife, saying, "We can't live like this, we can't live like this," picked up the clothes and followed her into the bathroom. He took a sip of beer and turned on his laptop.

He had gone to the logistics center at dawn to do hard physical labor and returned when the sun set. The fifteen to twenty minutes while his daughter was bathing were a short respite, like a drop of rain in a drought.

He opened the internet with a calm face. In the past, he would have opened a word processor and started writing. But after deciding to give up his dream, he had completely changed the use of his laptop.

He hadn't opened a word processor once. He resisted countless temptations and opened the internet. Like most people, he skimmed through web news and criticized politicians.

This is how I live.

Like ordinary people.

Just like ordinary people.

As he scrolled down with a calm face, an article with the highest number of views on the entertainment page caught his eye. Although he wasn't particularly interested, since he had decided to live like an ordinary person, he clicked on it out of curiosity.

He knew Jayble, even though he was a layman in music. Jayble was a famous person. It was probably just noise marketing. He wasn't particularly interested, but he skimmed through the article. It was a typical noise marketing piece. On a whim, he also read the comments.

- Jayble betting his number one chart position on a retirement challenge? It won't last long. HS, good luck, it was fun.

- Jayble suggested changing it to a donation. Please read the article properly.

- HS has been so successful lately that he's become too arrogant. I thought I'd teach him a lesson, but I ended up getting scolded.

- I'm not the only one. I thought I'd give it a try, but I found myself listening to it over and over.

- The song is amazing; the tracks are all different and each one is charming. He's the real deal. He might be a genius.

- But challenging Jayble to a retirement bet is a bit too much; he's a senior.

- HS must be very confident in this song. The quality is outstanding. What's the problem?

He thought HS was a parasite attaching himself to a famous senior. He expected to be criticized, but the mixed reviews piqued his curiosity.

Just then, he faintly heard his daughter laughing from the bathroom. She was finally lathering up. It was a sign that they had time.

'Should I listen to the song?'

He quickly found several songs by HS, the composer. It turned out he was more famous than he expected. He had composed successful songs for recent stars like Seo Jini and Jeong Arin. With such royalties, why would he need noise marketing?

"Hmm."

Seo Jini and Jeong Arin's songs were still popular, often heard in bustling streets. As he skimmed through HS's career, he couldn't help but smile.

'Wow.'

He felt like a 'normal person' for being interested in such gossip.

─ Dear my Beethoven.

He found the new song in a few seconds. He didn't know what the song would be like, but the title appealed to him. "Dear my Beethoven," he repeated softly and pressed the play button.

Click—

A gentle piano melody played. It was calm yet stirring. He knew nothing about music, but it felt comforting. It was like someone was consoling him, refilling his glass, and offering sincere comfort. "You've worked hard, you've worked hard." It felt like receiving warm encouragement.

『We kept saying we would live through the nights.』

『Nights.』

『Nights as quiet as you.』

『Let's live, let's live.』

『Let's, live.』

The lyrics were even better. The man thought the unknown composer must be envious. He must have written the song while reminiscing about the days of dreaming in a small room, just like him. And he must have had someone to take responsibility for, just like him.

In the end, the composer succeeded. He might not be a big name, but he was certainly making a living. The man envied the composer's different life. He didn't feel jealous; he genuinely wanted to support him. His emotions were in turmoil.

Tears threatened to spill. If his wife and daughter hadn't come out of the bathroom at that moment, he might have cried.

The man took a deep breath and composed himself. The composer's music continued to play softly.

"Daddy, I'm done with my bath!"

At his daughter's call, he forced a smile. He thought that "Daddy" referred to people who didn't show their struggles, who smiled brightly even at the end of a difficult day.

"You'll catch a cold! Dry your hair!"

"Okay! I'll be right there!"

"Take your time and dry your hair properly!"

Meanwhile, the man checked the song's reception. Perhaps because the song was ambiguous, the interpretations were varied. The dominant opinion was that it was a letter to a departed lover. But what did that matter?

What mattered was that it was a good song. He thought he would listen to it for a long time. On his way to work, while walking downhill. On the bus to the logistics center, and throughout his workday, it would echo in his ears.

So, right now.

Click, just as he pressed the repeat button, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Knock, knock, knock—

Late in the evening, he got up to see who the uninvited guest was.

His wife, who was drying his daughter's hair, was startled and asked.

"Did you order anything?"

"No."

"Is there a package coming?"

"No…."

Ironically, they couldn't even afford to order food. Online shopping was out of the question. Was it the landlord? The thought crossed his mind but was quickly dismissed. Fortunately, he had paid the overdue rent at the beginning of the month. He even received a compliment. "201's husband! You've finally come to your senses!" He didn't realize that giving up his dream would be praised.

So, who was the uninvited guest at the door?

The man cleared his throat and asked.

"Who is it?"

The response from the other side of the door was, "It's the post office." In his limited social circle, he didn't expect any registered mail or letters.

Except for one.

The results of the world literature award he had entered recently were to be announced by mail.

Click—

The man swallowed hard before grabbing the doorknob. A mix of hope and fear grew. He tried to calm himself but as he touched the doorknob, his heart raced again.

"Mr. Kim Joo-sung, is that you? Please sign here."

The man signed the electronic signature pad and took the envelope with both hands. His heart was about to burst out of his chest at the sight of "World Daily" on the envelope.

Click—

His mouth was dry, but he forced himself to swallow. With trembling hands, he opened the envelope.

—Dear Mr. Kim Joo-sung, you have been selected for the 22nd World Daily New Year's Literary Competition. The selected work is as follows.

At the end of the tunnel, there was a flower field.

It was a scene he often imagined. It was also a bit audacious. He often shook his head and stopped himself from imagining it. Usually, when receiving such mail, one would be surprised and rub their eyes, but he stood still, like a paused screen.

"Dear, what's wrong? What is it? Why are you standing there…."

At that moment, his wife's voice came from behind.

"Is it another bill? How long has it been since we paid the utilities…."

His wife's eyes widened, thinking it was a bill. The man shook his head stiffly. No, no. His wife, relieved, exhaled deeply, her face etched with the hardships of their life.

"Then what is it?"

The man then embraced his wife. The woman who had told him to keep dreaming and that she would earn the money, he hugged her tightly, almost sobbing.

"You've worked hard, thank you, really thank you…."

Then, he shook the postman's hand firmly and said.

"Thank you, really thank you."

The postman seemed embarrassed. It seemed he thought it was a good thing, but he didn't deserve the thanks. The man didn't care. He felt like his heart would burst if he didn't express his gratitude to someone.

"Did you…?"

At his wife's question, he nodded.

Tears streamed down his face. He met his daughter's bewildered eyes. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not being a good father. I'm sorry for not being able to control my emotions.

"Daddy, why are you crying…."

At his daughter's call, the man cried even more sorrowfully. Like a child who had been comforted, he cried even more. The three of them embraced each other, crying together. It was the sound of a frozen iceberg melting. It was the sound of a warm spring arriving after a winter of death. It was the moment his abandoned dream whispered to him.

You've worked hard, live the life you want.

Perhaps it was just the beginning. Yes, he was finally at the starting line. Just then, the composer's song, which was on repeat on his laptop, reached its climax.

『Let's live, let's live.』

『Let's, live.』

Yes, he would live. He would live fiercely. He would live as if he were dying if it weren't for his dreams. He didn't care what others thought. The song had become a part of his life.

Art, after all, has different weight depending on the person experiencing it. To the man, this song was unforgettable. He thought it was more valuable than all the art in the Louvre combined.

Truly…

To the man, it was the best song of his life.

Fortunately, it seemed he wasn't the only one who felt this way.

Following the public interview, Hyun Seung's song attracted significant public attention and…

—17th place.

—15th place.

—11th place.

—8th place.

It finally entered the top 10 charts. Yes, it was the beginning of the so-called "chart reverse run."