Chapter 789: Question (10)

Where did it all go wrong?

The jazz musicians were chattering away, excited.

"Teacher Sun Myeongju said that Gunsan is a land full of mystery and magic."

"I'm so excited. I wonder what it's really like?"

"Of all the places, we absolutely have to visit Wolmyeong Park. Myeongju told me to see the sunset there."

On the bus I simply rubbed my palms together in silence.

I licked my lips, glanced across at the jazz musicians, then looked forward again.

Biju, who was sitting next to me, leaned in and whispered.

"Bro, I think those people have some pretty fanciful ideas about Gunsan."

"Right. How do we even say this?"

I couldn't tell them, "Whatever you've heard, that's not true," nor could I burst the bubble of people who were so excited and full of expectation.

No.

"What on earth do Dad and Mom tell people?"

"I don't know exactly... but I think they packaged up the mysterious stories of Gunsan and sold them pretty nicely."

"They went a bit overboard with the packaging. I looked it up — that Wolmyeong thing isn't even about Gunsan."

"Whoa..."

The Gunsan I grew up in was not the magical town those folks imagined.

It was a city full of vitality and charm, with both sea and mountains, with modern-era history in every corner.

I was proud of my hometown, but no matter how I thought about it, it wasn't the enchanted city they pictured.

What were those people saying, anyway?

"I think—"

The maknae poked his head out and said,

"I think they're imagining Gunsan like in The Wailing."

"The Wailing?"

"The movie."

"Oh. That."

It was a really apt comparison.

Maybe they were taking Gunsan the way The Wailing portrayed a mysterious town.

Ri Hyuk, who was sitting two seats over, said,

"Still, I think we should warn them. They might get such a shock when they see it that they collapse."

"It won't make anyone collapse over something like that."

"There are actually documented cases in academia. Look up Paris Syndrome."

When I searched online, there were stories about Japanese people fainting or hallucinating when they visited Paris long ago.

They had vague, romantic fantasies about the city, and the real place looked different enough to shock them.

Well. Surely people wouldn't be shocked so badly by that...

"I'm so excited I feel like I'll cry."

Seeing one of the jazz musicians staring dreamily into space, I immediately changed my mind.

I should tell them.

We were about to enter Gunsan, so I took the microphone from the bus driver.

"Everyone."

Bright, eager eyes from the jazz musicians turned to me.

"We're about to enter Gunsan."

"Wow—!"

"Wow!" and "Yes!" — the Black musicians pumped their fists, and I spoke calmly.

"First of all, Gunsan is not the magical—"

Just as I was about to continue, someone shouted while looking out the window.

"It's fog!"

"I think I've seen this in a movie."

"That's weird. There wasn't any fog a moment ago. What's going on?"

"It's magic, I told you."

As soon as we entered Gunsan, fog crept in like magic.

It felt like sentences from the modern novels I read while studying for exams were slowly appearing through the mist.

—It is not that Mujin lacks famous sights. I know what it is. It is the fog.

The fog slithered between the hills and wrapped around the roadside.

Cars drove with headlights on as visibility dropped, passing slowly on the opposite lane.

"..."

Eyes turned to me holding the microphone.

When I cleared my throat as if asking what I was about to say, something suddenly popped out.

"Whoa...!"

"A deer!"

"Where did that come from?"

"I told you — magic."

Something jumped out of the fog.

A water deer crossed in front of the bus, which had slowed its speed.

The deer stared at the bus as if sizing something up, then [hop]

[hop]

it disappeared over the bushes.

"Wooooah—!"

The excited jazz musicians pressed their hands to the windows and cheered.

Fog.

A deer slipped out, looked at the vehicle, and vanished into the mist.

Jiho marveled.

"A horror movie opening, for sure."

"..."

I opened my mouth to say something, then stopped and put the microphone down.

I wasn't sure either.

I stared blankly at the fog-shrouded Gunsan, and my gaze met Junhyun's, who was also staring out the window.

"Junhyun."

"Yes, hyung."

"You're not going to make a wish or anything, are you?"

Junhyun squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. A serene smile, like that of a Buddha statue, appeared on his face.

"Hyung."

"Yeah?"

"Don't say ridiculous things."

"Fair enough."

Even to me it was a ridiculous thing to say.

The lackeys around burst into mean-spirited laughter.

"We've arrived."

We had finally reached our destination.

Beyond the sign that read [Sun Myeongju Memorial Hall], a three-story building stood with a majestic presence.

"This is the place."

I helped Winston Ross down from the bus.

The old man leaning on a cane looked at the building across the lawn with a nostalgic expression.

"This is where Teacher Sun Myeongju was."

Paul Laurent's eyes also brightened.

I answered.

"Yes. This is where my father is."

Because of the plane crash, my parents didn't have a separate ossuary or anything.

There was a place with a burial ground, but it was empty.

This memorial hall served that purpose.

When I was a child, or when things weren't going well, I would come here to quietly look at my parents' faces and leave.

Not only the jazz musicians but my younger brothers stared at the three-story building with strange expressions.

"This is the place."

Biju, who had wanted to come the most, was smiling.

"Ri Hyuk went during the Lunar New Year holiday and told us all about it. So I really wanted to come."

"Come to think of it, this is your first time."

He had visited with Ri Hyuk last Lunar New Year.

"..."

"..."

I smiled and gestured to the jazz musicians and my siblings who were gazing at the building.

"Shall we go in?"

Today, the Sun Myeongju Memorial Hall was normally closed.

To let foreign jazz musicians view it, the hall had to open specially; otherwise it was hard.

A representative from the Sun Myeongju Foundation had said,

—People come in huge numbers on both weekdays and weekends. Ever since PBS aired the Sun Myeongju special, the number of visitors has skyrocketed...

She said visitors had increased tremendously since the PBS documentary, so it was incredibly difficult to tour.

"I will guide you from now on."

Foundation staff and an interpreter accompanied the jazz musicians for the memorial tour.

"Let's go our own way."

I led my siblings on the tour.

Ri Hyuk stuffed pamphlets into his pocket as soon as we entered the lobby.

"You already took some last time."

"The design changed."

The pamphlet enthusiast beamed as he slipped them into his diary and we headed to the second floor.

The memorial hall hadn't changed much since our last visit.

There wasn't much to see, but my brothers quietly read the placards and watched the exhibition videos with solemn faces.

"Guys, aren't you coming?"

They were concentrated on reading the placards.

Unlike me, who had seen them so often I could recite them, this was a special experience for the members.

Standing beside the photos of my mother playing cello and my father at the piano, reading captions like "Carnegie Hall performance," I watched my brothers.

"Um, Wooju."

A foundation official approached me.

"If you've finished viewing, would you like to see a newly prepared space?"

"A new space?"

"It's an area under renovation. We're preparing something new."

I followed the official and the manager up to the third floor.

[Authorized personnel only]

Beyond a door with that sign, a paint-scented, dusty space unfolded.

It was a room full of video displays.

[Returning after 20 years]

This had originally been the place where the exhibition ended after the unfortunate accident, but it was being newly refurbished.

The first item was my father's performance trailer that had been shown on NewBlack TV.

[Ladies and gentlemen. I, Sun Myeongju, have returned.]

Starting with that, photos of my fundraising party performance were displayed.

A caption read, [His son, and leader of the world-famous boy group NewBlack...] and I smiled awkwardly.

There were still empty monitors and spaces for various exhibits with no videos yet.

"Is this area empty for now?"

The official nodded.

"Yes. After the Sun Myeongju performances conclude, we plan to include videos and behind-the-scenes footage here."

"That's great. I like it."

My parents' story had always felt like a tale cut off mid-sentence.

A story that ended suddenly, unfinished.

It felt touching and good to see what seemed like a final chapter being added.

"I hope the performance ends soon so this gallery can look fantastic."

"We feel the same."

As I imagined how the room would look after the performances, one thought occurred to me.

Besides this month's performance, there would be another performance related to Dad next month.

For security reasons I couldn't discuss it outside.

"Mm."

I hinted to the staff.

"It would be good to add one more display space."

"Yes?"

"I can't say yet, but there's something special we're preparing."

I smiled at the puzzled staff member.

At the same time, the members were walking around the second floor.

"Wow."

A young man's face smiling among famous musicians one would only see in old jazz textbooks.

A photograph of him sitting before the U.S. president with other musicians.

Videos of him playing piano before nearly a million people in Russia.

"He really was amazing."

At the same time it made sense.

From the first time I met Sun Wooju I wondered where such a monstrous talent had come from.

Sure enough, planting a super-bean yielded a super-great-bean.

"I think coming here was really worth it."

Jiho said as he looked at the exhibits.

"It feels like meeting Wooju's parents in person. I like that feeling."

"Right."

Others might come to see the musician Sun Myeongju, but for them this was a different experience.

Meeting a member's parents for the first time.

They had met my grandmother before, but never my parents.

"You can't really ask about it."

No matter how close people are, some topics are hard to bring up.

Questions that are curious but difficult to ask.

Only recently had they been able to ask a few things; until then it was a subject they couldn't easily bring up.

"So I like it."

Biju said.

"It really feels like meeting his parents in person."

"Me too."

Junhyun agreed.

Since the format of the Sun Myeongju Memorial Hall itself was like a musician speaking directly to visitors, it felt like a conversation.

Ri Hyuk tilted his chin up and said,

"I told you, it'd be great to come here once."

"Wow, look at that ego. Someone might think he's the owner of the memorial."

While Jiho teased Ri Hyuk for boasting about having visited, they reached the final exhibition video on the second floor.

It was a video of Sun Myeongju and Lee Myung greeting visitors.

Apparently when the memorial project was first prepared, the couple had been alive.

A man like autumn and a woman like spring.

They, who gave Sun Wooju half of his features each, smiled like sunshine.

["Hello, visitors."]

["If you'd like to leave us a message, please do! We love hearing your stories."]

There was a place to put Post-it note messages into a jar.

The members watched the video for a moment.

Seeing Sun Wooju's parents converse like that wasn't the first time.

—This...

Wooju had awkwardly handed them a USB.

—What's that, hyung?

—Dad and Mom wanted you to see it...

—For us?

Wooju's father had prepared videos not just for his future daughter-in-law but even for his son's close friends.

—There's all sorts of videos. When I get married, there are videos for introductions and guests walking in.

The video the leader handed over wasn't long.

About five minutes.

Messages like "Thanks for taking good care of our son," "He was born handsome, so he might be a bit spoiled," and other things drifted through their heads.

"We..."

Among the members who were quietly watching, Biju was the first to speak.

"We'll take good care of Wooju. We're not blood siblings, but we're his brothers anyway."

"We're brothers joined by money and contract."

The maknae's remark made the others laugh.

Jiho shot a questioning look.

"Why are you laughing, hyungs? Being connected by money and contract could be even more genuine than blood ties."

"Right."

"Mr. and Mrs. Wooju. This youngest brother connected by money will take good care of the eldest."

Everyone laughed at Jiho's words.

When it was time to replay the video, Junhyun smiled at the handsome couple repeating the same lines.

"Wooju really helped me a lot. I really like him, and I want to be with him for a long time. I don't know if I'll be of much help, but I'll try as much as I can."

"But honestly, if we were the ones who received help, there isn't much we need to take care of..."

Ri Hyuk said that, and images flashed through my head.

—Sleep until death... Sleep and you'll be fine...

—Whoa! Guys! Wooju's eyes are flipping!

—Ah, my stomach hurts. This gastritis won't go away.

—If that continues, his body might disappear too. Why? Did I say something wrong?

On top of that, there was the kryptonite-like issue of being vulnerable to alcohol.

"..."

"..."

Ri Hyuk nodded and said,

"We should look after him."

We thought of the eldest brother who was good at work but hapless in many other ways.

Ri Hyuk said,

"Since his father liked science, I think we'd have gotten along really well..."

The members laughed.

"Honestly, I think Dad would have liked me the most."

"Wait."

Biju said firmly.

"I don't think so, Ri Hyuk."

"I disagree."

"Wrong."

The maknae and the rapper both shook their heads.

"Honestly, I'm right. Dad would have liked my personality. He likes science. He's meticulous."

"But Dad is a nicer person than Wooju."

"..."

"Adults like cute kids like me."

From there, the members launched into a heated debate about who Dad liked the most.

Their lively discussion blazed on and didn't end until Sun Wooju returned.

"What are they doing, Mingi hyung?"

"They're debating who Dad and Mom liked the most."

The subject himself burst into laughter.

After finishing the memorial tour, we had a simple lunch and continued the Gunsan tour.

Because of the salty lunch, some wanted something sweet, so I treated them to Korea's traditional sweets.

"...What is this, Wooju?"

I introduced Paul Laurent to a Korean folk dessert.

"It's a tteung-macaron."

"Tteung macaron?"

"As you can see, it's a macaron!"

The Frenchman, who had a serious look at the tteung macaron in his hands, initially frowned.

"This is not the thickness a macaron should have."

"Aren't you going to try it?"

When I playfully tried to snatch it, Paul pulled the tteung macaron to his chest.

Then I saw it.

At first he denied, "This isn't a macaron!" but before long he took another tteung macaron out of the bag.

"This is the sunset of Wolmyeong Park you all wanted to see."

Although the fog was heavier than usual and the view was hazy, everyone seemed satisfied — maybe it made it more mysterious.

With the Black musicians in hanbok, we finished the Gunsan tour and reached the day's final stop.

It was time to go see our Kim Deoksun.

"I remember how to say her name. Teacher told us to combine the Duck of 'duck' and Soon meaning 'soon' — Deoksoon Kim."

It was time for people who knew Mom and my grandmother to meet.

The jazz musicians' faces shone with anticipation, having heard many good things about my grandmother.

"She had a big mama image."

"Every time people ate her sundubu, they said their colds went away. It must be like chicken noodle soup."

Listening to them, one imagined a grandmother figure of a large Black family.

"She always said she communicated with regulars in a shabby shop... she was the spiritual mentor of Gunsan people..."

As someone said that, the fog suddenly cleared as we approached the destination.

[Sooni's Restaurant]

A huge building with neon signage flashed, like the bathhouse in Spirited Away.

Someone stood in front of it, coat flapping, surrounded by strong-looking staff.

The owner, whose gaze was sharp, opened her arms wide to welcome the travelers.

The lackeys murmured her title.

"Kim Deoksun the Queen."

"Queen of Gunsan..."

A huge family-style restaurant.

Standing there like the final-stage boss, Kim Deoksun fell the jazz musicians silent.

"..."

I gave them an awkward smile.

"Not quite what you imagined, right?"