Into The Thrill

The most common advice Haewon had heard while playing music was to "interpret it." Music, after all, is a part of the humanities, and without understanding the time period or the composer's situation, it’s impossible to interpret the music properly. One cannot perform music properly with just technique. Emotions need to be infused, and in that moment, you must become the composer. Focusing on the composer’s motives and expression is essential for proper interpretation.
Every time Haewon heard such advice, he thought being a performer was similar to being a student. It’s about immersing yourself in the emotions someone else has created. As Haewon was playing, the professor nodded for him to continue, holding his elbow at the right angle as Haewon drew the bow.
Haewon learned that Kim Jaemin had returned to the U.S. through the last message he sent. He had received several calls, but Haewon didn’t answer. It didn’t seem like Kim Jaemin was the type to leave annoying texts, but when they couldn’t get in touch before he had to leave, he sent a brief message. It simply said, "If you’re planning to visit the U.S., contact me." Haewon didn’t reply. He only checked the message two days later, too late to respond.

In the meantime, Haewon worked on a few jobs. His routine returned to normal. He continued lessons with the professor, maintained his physical fitness with tennis and swimming, attended concerts, and dined at fancy restaurants. He was called to the recording studio several times as a session musician for a fairly famous singer’s album. The pay was decent. Kim Jaemin’s album, which he had produced, seemed to be selling well, and Haewon had received a fair amount of payment from it.
Whether he was short on money or had excess, Haewon never neglected receiving his monthly allowance. On the set date, he went to his father’s house. His father’s car was parked in front of the house. As Haewon got out of the taxi, he came face to face with his father, who had just gotten out of the car.
"Ah, our firstborn. Long time no see. Has it been two months?"

His father asked, looking at Haewon as he adjusted his violin on his shoulder. His father thought that as long as Haewon carried the violin, he was living diligently. Haewon didn’t purposely carry it to please him—it was just that he was coming from a lesson today, so he had brought it along.
"Are you coming back from a business trip?"
"Yeah, it was a longer one this time. About a week."

"You go there often."
"Well, I have to work hard. Our Haejeong is six now. I need to work hard for her."
Haewon almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Even though his father looked at him with a bewildered expression, he didn’t care and handed the luggage to the driver, placing his hand on Haewon’s shoulder and pulling him into the house. Haewon hated being physically close to his father, but he was pulled along by his grip, almost being dragged inside.

"It’s so obvious."
"What’s obvious?"
"You’ve started a new household."

"What? What are you talking about?!"
His father, flustered, let go of Haewon. Haewon shook off his father’s hand from his shoulder.
"How old is she?"

When Haewon asked, his father quickly looked around. No one was around them. The driver was dragging a large suitcase and closing the front gate as they walked inside.
"What nonsense are you talking? Am ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ I crazy? Do you think I’ve changed wives three times?"
"Still two, right?"
"Ah, right. Still two. You brat. Are you working hard? You only come home when you’re picking up money?"

Maybe his father felt guilty, because the blame quickly turned onto Haewon.
"If you just sent the money to the bank, it would be easier for both of us. Why do you make it so difficult? Or just give me the card. I don’t feel like coming."
"Always complaining. If you gave me the card, I wouldn’t show my face here even once a year."

They passed by the ugly old pine trees planted everywhere and entered the house. The housekeeper opened the door to greet them.
"Did you have a good trip, Mr. President?"
"Yes, ma’am. Nothing unusual at home?"

"Nothing, everything’s fine."
The housekeeper took the jacket from Haewon’s father and greeted Haewon.
"Ah, Haewon, you’re here just in time. Dinner is ready. Last time, the madam was quite upset."

Haewon placed his violin where he usually kept it.
His stepmother, who had done her makeup brightly, opened the bedroom door. Haejeong also ran down the stairs shouting "Dad!" and jumped into her father’s arms. Haewon’s father, too, immediately embraced his daughter. Seeing that, Haewon thought this marriage would last a long time.
It was natural for a father to love his child, but the way his father treated his young daughter, whom he had seen in his later years, was completely different from how he treated Haewon, his son.

"Did you have a good trip? You’re here too?"
His stepmother coldly observed the father and daughter and then turned her gaze to Haewon.
"Hello."

"Really, what is this? Is that how a son talks to his mother? Is this something a passing dog would say?"
Her words from the previous time must have stung, as she was colder today. Haewon’s father, who had been fussing and hugging Haejeong, let out an empty warning at his stepmother.
"Enough, let’s eat first. Eat before anything else today."

"Give me the money. I have to go."
"Do you know when was the last time we ate together as a family?"
Haewon didn’t care to know, nor did he want to. He stared at her with a blank expression. "Family"? Haewon didn’t consider his stepmother or Haejeong as part of his family.

"A year ago. On Haejeong’s birthday."
"Has it really been that long? Haewon, today, you’re eating with us. For sure. It’s been a long time since the family ate together."
"...."

Who exactly is calling us a family?
The words almost rose to Haewon’s throat, but he just froze his expression, saying nothing.
Haejeong, in her father’s arms, looked at Haewon as though she had something to say. His stepmother, ignoring them, waved her hand and went into the kitchen. His father, still holding Haejeong, followed her.

Haewon let out a deep sigh and reluctantly walked inside. It just so happened that dinner had been prepared by the time his father had arrived.
The dining table was abundant with food. Haewon’s three meals a day usually consisted of either a couple of dry side dishes or, when he was too lazy, delivery food or instant meals. Seeing such a luxurious spread, his initial complaint faded. He felt it was best to just eat and leave.
"Haejeong’s mom worked hard today."

"I didn’t do much. The housekeeper did everything. Sit down. Haejeong, stop clinging to your dad."
The four of them, who never seemed to fit together, sat down together. Haewon helped Haejeong, who was trying to sit on her tiptoes, by lifting her waist and sitting her next to him. Haejeong awkwardly stared at him and quickly looked away when their eyes met. Haewon picked up his spoon with an indifferent face.
"How’s the freelancing going?"

His father asked without much interest, as he ate the food his stepmother had served.
"I’m doing just fine. I’m not starving."
"Good, that’s all you need. Don’t forget, art isn’t about making a living. If you need more, just tell me."

"Just give me the card. I don’t want to talk about it."
Annoyance surged through Haewon. He stopped eating, his eyes narrowing. His father, pretending not to see, turned his gaze to Haejeong.
"Ah, Haejeong, eat a lot."

"Give it to me with the card."
"Without that, we wouldn’t even see you once a year. Getting money from your parents is part of being a child. Do your part."
"Parents have to be parents first, for the children to be children."

When Haewon shot his cold glare, his father seemed to avoid it. Not having done anything worthwhile other than making money, his father ignored Haewon’s silent protest.
 
Haewon’s stepmother, acting with care, placed a slice of meat jeon (a Korean dish) onto his father's plate.

"What kind of manners are those when you speak to your father? If it’s so bothersome to come here for the money, I can bring the side dishes to you next time," she said.
"..."
Haewon didn’t respond, just rolling the rice grains around in his mouth with his tongue.

"With the laundry and everything, someone has to take care of it, right?"
Seeing Haewon remain silent, his stepmother glanced at him cautiously and added, "You know, someone should be managing the household."
Haewon, who had been quietly listening, nodded and replied.

"Then please bring it to my officetel."
"...Really?"
"Yes, it would be more convenient for me if you brought it."

"Then, should I start coming next month?"
His stepmother’s eyes lit up at Haewon’s words. His father, oblivious to the situation, alternated his gaze between Haewon and his wife, clearing his throat.
"Why would you go that far? Just give him the card. Don’t make a fuss over things like this."

"Well, Haewon is doing music; someone should be supporting him."
"Stop it. He’s old enough now. He only needs money, that’s all."
"Still..."

"I said stop."
His father’s cold tone made his stepmother drop the subject, sighing with a disappointed expression and elongating her last word.
Haewon continued to focus on his meal, pretending not to notice. His stepmother, who was only eight years older than Haewon, was aware of this and seemed to act accordingly. Fortunately, his father was conscious of the age difference.

After finishing the meal, Haewon sat across from his father on the living room sofa. His father pulled out a card from his wallet and handed it to Haewon.
"If you didn’t want to come back and forth, you should have said something."
"I’ve mentioned it every time."

Haewon took the card and placed it into his wallet. Just then, his stepmother entered, holding a tray with tea and snacks.
"Have some tea."
She placed the teacups and fruits on the table. Then, suddenly, she knelt on the floor next to his father’s sofa, taking a piece of fruit from the plate and offering it to him with a fork.

It was absurd for both Haewon and his father. Even the housekeeper, who was watching, stared at the scene with wide eyes. Haewon’s father, awkwardly, tried to take the forkful of fruit from his kneeling wife. The stepmother shook her head, making an "ah" sound.
It seemed as if Haewon’s father was being controlled by someone, his back stiffened as he opened his mouth. A beautifully peeled apple slice was pushed into his mouth. He chewed it, swallowed, and then said,
"You should get married soon too. A man should live like this—treated well, so his business will thrive, and everything will go smoothly."

"Is it good?"
His stepmother smiled sweetly, then picked up more fruit on the fork and forced it into his mouth. Haewon’s father reluctantly accepted it and pointed at Haewon, as if to say this is how things should be.
The fruit on the plate disappeared into his father’s mouth. The scene felt like something from a horror movie. Haewon’s father ate everything she gave him, unable to even say he was full, all while being unable to ignore the odd atmosphere from his stepmother.

Haewon had no patience for this dull show. He slammed his fork down on the table with a loud clink. Both his father and stepmother turned to look at him.
"Stop just going out and pay attention to things at home."
"Pay attention to the house?"

"What do you mean, paying attention to the house?"
They both stared at Haewon, pointing their fingers to their chests as if asking who he was referring to. Haewon, looking at them with disdain, stood up. His stepmother, kneeling beside his father, doing something she had never done in her life, had become so absurd that even Haejeong, frightened, stood off at a distance, observing them.
Haejeong’s eyes were on Haewon. Haewon smiled gently at her.

"Hello, Haejeong."
"Goodbye, Oppa..."
Haejeong waved her hand shyly from behind a pillar, and Haewon forced a smile before turning to leave. The housekeeper was standing by the front door, holding Haewon’s violin case.

"I’ll be going."
"Haewon, you should visit more often. When the president goes on business trips, it’s so scary for us women in such a big house."
"There are still the driver and the staff here."

"They’re not family, are they?"
"At home, it’s noisy."
Haewon shook his head in refusal, and the housekeeper silently escorted him out.

As Haewon left, carrying the violin case on his shoulder, his father chased after him. He waved his hand dismissively at the slow-moving stepmother, signaling her to go back inside. When the door closed, his stepmother disappeared from sight.
Haewon walked along the garden path, and his father put his arm around his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
"Did you hear something about that wife of mine?"

"What could I have heard? Don’t you know about intuition or a hunch?"
"Unless you dropped something, how could you know with just intuition?"
"When have I ever shown interest in that? Don’t make baseless accusations."

"Why don’t you care about your father’s business? It’s your father’s issue."
It seemed that Haewon’s father did have someone hidden in the U.S. Haewon’s expression grew tense.
"Stop changing wives. It’s not just about me, Haejeong’s the one who’s pitiful."

"Of course. That’s why I’m not planning to have more children."
"Why insist on starting a family? What’s the point?"
"Because it’s thrilling."

"......"
Haewon didn’t know what to say anymore. His father, who at the age of almost sixty was still making childish faces, seemed to think his reckless behavior was some kind of secret to living young.
Haewon knew well that he could bear his father’s insults directed at his mother, but when it came to his own mother, Haewon couldn’t bear the thought of even talking to him.

Without saying a word, Haewon walked out the door and down the alley. Having successfully gotten the card, Haewon knew he wouldn’t need to come back here anymore. Thinking this, his steps felt much lighter as he reached for a passing empty taxi.
∞ ∞ ∞
As summer came to an end, the ginkgo leaves along the streets turned yellow. People’s clothing got thicker. From the top floor of an office building, Haewon could see the street below and the change in seasons.

The album he worked on with Kim Jaemin had high sales. When the radio was on, his performance could be heard. Thanks to that, Haewon received more offers. He wasn’t concerned about how much they paid. Work was decided by his mood each day—if he felt like going, he went, and if he didn’t, he didn’t. The card his father gave him allowed him to cut ties with things he didn’t want to do.
Kim Jaemin contacted him, but Haewon didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like engaging in meaningless small talk with someone who wasn’t even in Korea. Too many calls from unknown numbers made Haewon switch his phone to silent, and he missed Taeshin’s call by accident.
Haewon spent his time in a daze. He woke up in the morning, showered, and practiced. In the afternoon, he worked out, mingled with people, went to lessons, and worked as a freelance performer, passing the seasons.

Before long, fall arrived, and the weather suddenly grew cold. The news announced the first snowfall of the year, marking the season of winter.
It felt like another uneventful year would pass.
Haewon filled his closet with winter clothes, but his daily routine didn’t change. He showered, practiced, watched busy people, went to play or practice, and spent the winter days.

On the day after heavy snow, Taeshin died.
It was suicide.