Death.
What lies beyond it?
For me, it was a pitch-black void.
"Where am I?"
All I could feel was a vague sense of consciousness—no, maybe it was more like awareness. I existed, but I had no senses. A place devoid of feeling.
Flash!
A sudden flash of light in the distance.
A grim reaper? The angel of death?
As my imagination spiraled, the light grew closer and gradually took form.
"A musical note?"
As I recognized the sparkle as a note, it emitted a sound.
Ting~♬
A clear, beautiful sound like a harp string being plucked resonated through the void. Then, tiny sparkles—like dandelion seeds—began to pour down around me.
"What is this?"
The darkness vanished, and it looked as if the galaxy had come alive with glittering lights performing a symphony together.
I listened closely.
The melodies were all familiar.
They were songs that had accompanied me throughout my life.
From the Michael Jackson songs I idolized as a child, to the ones I copied at SY, to my own original compositions.
These were the pieces that made up more than half of my life.
With each song that finished, the glowing musical fragments passed through me.
Each time, my presence glowed brighter.
I didn't know why this was happening, but I could feel it—each passing note was embedding itself deep in my mind. I understood: these were fragments of my life.
"This is my life."
Music was my life, my memory, my very being.
I slowly opened my eyes.
An old ceiling came into view.
One flickering, half-lit fluorescent light.
Cobwebs hung around it.
The air was damp and cold, and the room smelled of basement mold.
I turned my head in a daze.
"...Huh?"
On one white wall, I spotted a graffiti painting of Jason Mraz.
This was... my very first studio.
The graffiti had been drawn by a close junior as a commemorative gesture.
He insisted it was Jason Mraz, but I had always seen it as Michael Jackson, my hero. That made me cherish it even more.
I bolted upright on the cot.
The thin blanket slipped to the floor, but I didn't care to pick it up.
"My... phone."
On the bedside table, a charging phone caught my eye.
A Galaxy S.
Released in June 2010 by Osung Electronics, it was the phone that had ushered in South Korea's smartphone era. Expensive, but I had stretched my budget to buy it.
To a composer like me, it was revolutionary.
I could instantly record melodies and lyrics, and carry my songs on a large-capacity microSD card instead of an external hard drive.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
November 24, 2010
2:22 PM - Sunny
The phone displayed a date long since past.
"...November 24, 2010?"
Unbelievable.
I had been living in 2022.
I remembered everything clearly—entering SY Entertainment, spending ten years there, quitting in 2021...
And collapsing in my private studio.
Yet the date before me was twelve years ago.
"Is this also a dream?"
They say there are dreams within dreams.
I had thought I'd woken up—but perhaps I was in another one.
I had clearly died before awakening from that dark place.
"...This can't be real."
Reality, death, dream... or reality, death, afterlife, regression?
Whatever it was, it was hard to believe.
I accessed the internet, and saw the outdated green search engine and trending keywords of that time:
Yeonpyeong Island shelling Two marines and two civilians dead F-22s from Okinawa deployed Foot-and-mouth outbreak in Andong
These were long-lost headlines.
In a mix of shock and disbelief, I stood in front of the full-length mirror beside the graffiti.
There, I saw my younger self staring back at me with wide eyes.
Did I really go back in time?
I put the phone down and looked around the studio.
The desk behind the cot, and the equipment atop it, were just as I remembered.
Kurzweil 88 keyboard, old XV-3080 sound module, audio interface, MIDI interface.
I approached and instinctively pressed the power button on the vintage PC.
Whirrrrr~
The PC groaned as it slowly booted up.
Soon, the Windows logo appeared.
"Windows XP...?"
Not just that.
Cubase 5.0
Even the DAW was like an ancient relic.
Plop—
Without realizing, I sat back down on the cot, stepping over the fallen blanket.
2010—when I'd first set up my studio after military discharge.
And the year I was accepted into SY.
But this time was different. I sat in the same room, but with all my memories intact.
Why had this happened?
I didn't know—but one thing was clear:
This was an opportunity.
A chance to do music again.
Thump—thump—
My heart raced.
The reality of this new chance slowly sank in.
"Ha... haha."
Laughter escaped as emotions surged.
Where to begin? There was so much I wanted to do.
I jumped up and moved to the computer.
Launching Cubase revealed all the files I had worked on—some completed recordings, others with just notes or ideas.
Unfinished tracks I had written in frustration.
Now, they were treasure chests filled with gold.
Because I knew they could become masterpieces.
I turned on the keyboard, grabbed the mouse.
Laid out tracks, cleaned up bass and rhythm, layered stylish top lines.
Even with twelve-year-old VSTi software, the music felt vibrant.
Better than what I'd completed back then.
Was music always this easy?
Or was it all my experience?
Everything flowed effortlessly.
A deep sense of satisfaction spread through me.
Yes. This was music.
I don't believe in God, but at that moment, I was grateful.
Thank you—for letting me do music again.
"What time is it?"
After finishing three songs in a row, I stretched and checked the time.
November 25, 2010
11:22 AM - Sunny
A whole day had passed.
I thought it had only been a moment, but it had been 20 hours.
No wonder—my body from ten years ago had insane stamina.
I'd stayed up all night and remained focused the whole time.
Three songs in one day...
"This is monstrous."
I stretched and stood up.
Growl~
My stomach rumbled.
In the past, I would've ignored it and gone to sleep, but this life would be different.
"Let's go out."
A lesson from my past life:
Take care of your body.
I grabbed a coat and headed outside.
Late November weather was brisk.
Even at midday, my breath was visible in the cold.
"Where's a good place to eat?"
I recalled a nearby Korean blood sausage soup spot.
Soon, a steaming hot bowl arrived.
I seasoned it with shrimp paste and radish kimchi juice and mixed in rice.
In the past, I could barely finish one bowl.
This time, I devoured it.
Burp! "That hit the spot."
The menu said 3,500 won for the soup.
Last time I had it, it was 10,000 won...
Outside, the reality of my return to the past set in even deeper.
As I prepared to return to the studio and sleep, an odd sense of urgency hit me.
This dreamlike time could vanish at any moment.
It still didn't feel real.
It might take days to accept it.
I decided to plan.
At a nearby café, I ordered an iced Americano and gathered my thoughts.
I was 23.
Finished military service, scraped together money, and opened a studio.
My dad had passed when I was a kid. My mom... she passed last year.
Relatives?
"Not even worth thinking about."
They tried to steal the house Mom left me.
That house is gone now.
Part of it went to my studio deposit, the rest is in my account.
I preferred to live and sleep in the studio anyway.
No fond memories—sold the house.
"But more importantly..."
I remembered joining SY around this time.
Today was Thursday, November 25. So the call would likely come today or tomorrow.
It hadn't been a weekend, that much I recalled.
If SY calls again—what will I do?
If I join again like before,
Can I really do music there?
Can I endure Claude Bernard?
No.
Absolutely not.
I know myself.
In this life, I should start somewhere else.
That doesn't mean I'll forgive him. I'm no saint.
I'm not a perfect artist, but I don't want to create music from a place of bitterness.
I'm a composer.
Someone who expresses emotions—joy, sadness, love—through music to comfort and inspire others.
If Claude Bernard crosses paths with me again in this life and tries to hurt me, that's one thing.
But I won't go seeking revenge.
He's a coward.
Like a hedgehog hiding behind sharp quills.
That's what I thought hearing his final confession.
It's not that I'm a pushover.
I just have unfinished dreams.
In this life, I want to proudly share the songs I never got to in the last one.
To endlessly challenge and grow to make better music.
That's what being a composer is.
And for that, I need a nest—a place I can truly belong.
"This time, I'm joining TW."
I made up my mind.
The age of lone composers is over.
21st-century music requires collaboration.
From composition, arrangement, lyrics, session recording, guides, chorus, mixing, mastering, distribution, broadcasting, and promotion—
All of that is required just to release one song.
TW Entertainment wasn't a major agency like SY.
But it was artist-centered.
It supported creative freedom.
Sure, the pay and benefits weren't as good as SY, but it was home to unique artists making their own music.
Unlike before, I wouldn't let myself be dragged along creating music to fit idols.
This time, I wanted to create sincere music that grew alongside the public.
That's why I chose TW.
Just then—
Buzz—Buzz—!
The phone on the table began to vibrate.