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# Chapter 64: The Price of a Voice
Hayul’s question hung unanswered in the air. Seo-ah picked up her tteokbokki, then set it down, repeating the motion endlessly. Red sauce dripped down her fingers in the process. Red. Continuously falling red. As if something were melting away.
“Did you see the news today?”
Hayul suddenly changed the subject. Yet it was the same subject, approached differently.
“No.”
“Park So-jin. That JYA rookie. Forgery allegations just broke. That song—what was it called, ‘End of Night’? Turns out it wasn’t actually written by their in-house composer. Someone else wrote it. And Park So-jin claimed it as her own.”
Seo-ah’s hand froze. The fork hung suspended in the air.
“Who?”
“How would I know? The news just called it a ‘songwriting plagiarism controversy.’ Park So-jin’s side claimed they didn’t know—said the company gave them the song. But…”
Hayul pulled out her phone and opened a news article, showing it to Seo-ah.
Park So-jin Hit with Plagiarism Claims ‘Out of the Blue’… “I Only Followed Company Instructions”
JYA Entertainment to Release Official Statement
The article was brief, tucked low on the news feed. The scandal hadn’t blown up yet. But the ripples had begun.
“But here’s what’s weird…”
Hayul continued, finally setting down her fork and looking Seo-ah directly in the eye.
“Have you heard that song?”
“No.”
It was a lie. Seo-ah had heard it. Multiple times. On streaming services. Her song, sung in Park So-jin’s voice. Her melody. Her harmony. Her lyrics. Her soul poured into those notes. Hearing it come from someone else’s mouth felt like theft—a part of herself stolen, stripped away.
“I really like that song. Honestly, I cried listening to it. But now that I think about it, the emotion in that song doesn’t feel like Park So-jin. She’s got that low-register emotional style, right? But that song…”
Hayul trailed off. Seo-ah knew why. Hayul had figured it out. Whose song it was. Whose emotion lived in it.
“You wrote that song.”
Not a question. A statement.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. She stared at the tteokbokki, watching how the red sauce seeped into the rice cakes, how the color changed as it soaked deeper.
“Seo-ah.”
Hayul’s voice dropped lower. Alert. Focused.
“When I asked you before—’Do you know what kind of person she is?’—you didn’t answer me.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that why Kang Ri-u took you to Jeju?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Seo-ah still wouldn’t answer. Couldn’t open her mouth. Once she spoke, everything would become real. Once it was said aloud, the dream would shatter. Until now, it had felt like a story happening to someone else—the night at Kang Ri-u’s villa, the sound of waves, his tears, all of it. But if she opened her mouth, it would become her story.
“Han Jun-ho.”
Hayul said it suddenly, though Seo-ah had said nothing.
“What’s that?”
“I should be asking you. Who is Han Jun-ho?”
Seo-ah met Hayul’s eyes. Those eyes were still sharp, unforgiving of lies.
“Kang Ri-u’s… friend?”
“Friend? Just a friend?”
The things Seo-ah knew began pouring out, like a dam breaking. Once started, the flow couldn’t be stopped.
“A friend. And a musician. A student studying in Berlin. And…”
“And?”
“He died three years ago.”
Hayul’s face went quiet. Red sauce clung to the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t wipe it away.
“Suicide.”
Seo-ah added it. She didn’t know why, but the word had needed to be said. Without it, the truth felt incomplete.
“And Kang Ri-u thinks he couldn’t stop it. So…”
“So he’s trying to save you instead.”
Hayul finished the sentence. Seo-ah’s sentence. Seo-ah’s thought. Hayul understood first.
“Yeah.”
“That’s insane. Seriously.”
Hayul pushed away the tteokbokki. It was still warm, but that didn’t matter anymore.
“So he doesn’t love you. He’s trying to save a dead friend through you. You’re a replacement. A substitute for a corpse. Do you understand that?”
Seo-ah understood. She’d figured it out last night in the bedroom, listening to Kang Ri-u.
“When he said, ‘You were like Jun-ho’—that means ‘You are not Jun-ho.’ You’re just standing in for him.”
Hayul reached out and grabbed Seo-ah’s wrist. The one with the matchstick tattoo.
“See this? You know why I drew a match here? You’re burning. No matter what. Whether it’s Kang Ri-u’s fire, or JYA’s fire. You’re burning either way.”
“That’s…”
“It doesn’t matter where you burn. If you’re burning, eventually you’ll go out. And nothing will be left.”
Hayul let go. Seo-ah lifted her own wrist, staring at the small but unmistakable flame tattoo.
“Kang Ri-u isn’t saving you. He’s using you to resolve his own guilt. And you’re mistaking it for love.”
Seo-ah couldn’t respond. Instead, she pulled out her phone. Opened KakaoTalk. The conversation with Kang Ri-u. The most recent message.
Kang Ri-u: “Are you free tomorrow evening? Want to meet? Want to be together.”
Seo-ah read it. Read it again. What did it mean? Being together. Is that love, or guilt?
“You didn’t reply?”
Hayul asked.
“No.”
“Don’t. Don’t reply. You need to think about Park So-jin. That girl is a victim too. Think about what you’ve done to her. You gave her song to Kang Ri-u. Actually, no—you tried to give it to him.”
Now came the question Seo-ah had been dreading most.
“You wanted to release that song under your own name. I know you did. You always said you wanted to sing under your own name. So why’d you give it away?”
“I needed money.”
Seo-ah’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Money? For what?”
“Do-hyun’s college tuition. Mom’s medical bills.”
Hayul sighed. A deep sigh. A sigh of despair.
“And after you met Kang Ri-u? Did you still need money?”
“That’s…”
“You thought he’d help you. That’s why you went to Jeju. And you still think he will.”
“No.”
Seo-ah spoke too quickly. Reflexively.
“Then what?”
“Kang Ri-u found out what I did. About the Park So-jin song. Once he knew, I realized what he was going to do.”
“What was he going to do?”
“Expose Park So-jin. Reveal that she stole my song. Then my song would be mine again. That’s what I thought…”
Hayul burst out laughing. But it was a sad laugh.
“So you were going to get revenge through him. On Park So-jin. On JYA. But is that really revenge? Or is it just another form of exploitation?”
“What do you…”
“Park So-jin stole your song. So if you expose her, what do you become? A victim? Fine. But what do you have to give up to Kang Ri-u in the process? You keep giving. You’re not the one receiving. You’re always the one giving.”
Seo-ah couldn’t respond. Because Hayul was right. And because she already knew it.
“Did Kang Ri-u leak the news about Park So-jin?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Seo-ah should have said she didn’t know. But she didn’t. Her silence was the answer.
“It was Kang Ri-u. Already.”
At the tteokbokki stand in front of Hapjeong Station, Seo-ah stopped eating. So did Hayul. They just sat there. Under the afternoon sunlight. Warm, but not warm.
“What are you going to do now?”
Hayul asked. A question, but also a warning.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t reply to Kang Ri-u. Not for now. And think about Park So-jin. She’s a victim too. Think about what you’ve done to her. You gave Kang Ri-u her song. Well, no—you already gave it to him.”
“I did.”
Seo-ah’s voice was small.
“What?”
“Park So-jin’s song. I already gave it to Kang Ri-u.”
Hayul’s face went pale.
“When?”
“Yesterday. In Jeju. When Kang Ri-u said he’d expose Park So-jin. I…”
“You what?”
“I gave him another song. A different one Park So-jin sang. One I wrote.”
Hayul stood up. The fork clattered onto the paper plate. The sauce scattered.
“You’re insane. Seriously. Seo-ah, you’re destroying one person with two songs. And you think that’s love?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth. She didn’t know what she was doing. Why she was doing it. Whether it was love, revenge, or just another form of self-deception.
Hayul sat back down. She didn’t face Seo-ah.
“Have you ever done anything for yourself? Even once?”
“Yes.”
Seo-ah answered, but without conviction.
“When?”
“I worked at a convenience store. For Do-hyun’s tuition.”
“That wasn’t for you. That was for Do-hyun. When have you ever done something just for yourself?”
Seo-ah couldn’t answer. She couldn’t think of a single time. Something she’d done solely for herself. Had there ever been such a thing?
“That flame tattoo says it all. You’re burning. But nobody sees it. Nobody knows whose fire it is. You just keep lighting the way for someone else.”
Hayul pushed the tteokbokki away completely. It had gone cold. The sauce congealed.
“Don’t see Kang Ri-u. And apologize to Park So-jin. It’s not too late.”
“But Park So-jin already…”
“I know. Then move faster. You have to do something before you destroy her completely. You’re not a match anymore, Seo-ah. You’re becoming acid. Burning everything in your path.”
Hayul stood. Really stood. Preparing to leave the tteokbokki stand.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“Tattoo shop. I’ve got work.”
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. You’re going to do what you’re going to do. Even if I wait…”
Hayul didn’t finish. She just left the stand. Quickly. Without looking back.
Seo-ah was alone. In front of cold tteokbokki. In front of Hapjeong Station. Under the afternoon sun.
Her phone rang. Kang Ri-u. A call. If she didn’t answer, maybe things could be different. If she just let it ring…
But she answered.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?”
Kang Ri-u’s voice. Warm. It could have been the voice of someone she loved.
“I’m at Hapjeong Station.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. Through the phone line.
“You saw the news about Park So-jin?”
Kang Ri-u asked. A question he shouldn’t have asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good, right?”
That word. Good. Good for whom? Park So-jin’s destruction? Seo-ah’s revenge? Or the resolution of Kang Ri-u’s guilt?
“Yeah.”
Seo-ah lied.
“Then the next song too…”
“No.”
Seo-ah cut him off. Mid-sentence.
“What?”
“I’m not doing it anymore.”
“Why?”
Seo-ah couldn’t find the words. Why. It just felt like it had to stop. All of this had to stop.
“Seo-ah?”
Kang Ri-u called her name again. Her own name. Why did it feel so heavy when he said it?
“Yeah?”
“Meet me. Now.”
Seo-ah should have refused. Like Hayul said. She should have. But refusal was a word she couldn’t say. To refuse was to end things. To end things was to be alone.
“Where?”
Seo-ah heard her own voice. It wasn’t her voice. It was someone else’s. The voice Kang Ri-u wanted to hear. Weak. Dependent. Obedient.
“Han River Park. Near Hapjeong. Now.”
Seo-ah went to meet Kang Ri-u. She left the cold tteokbokki behind. She ignored Hayul’s warning. She went against her own instinct.
The Han River was full of afternoon sunlight. Light reflected off the water. Fractured light. Like thousands of little flames. Each one glimmering, moving, seeming alive.
Kang Ri-u was already there. On the walking path. Hands in his pockets. Trembling hands. Hands that could no longer play piano.
Seo-ah approached.
“What did Park So-jin say?”
Seo-ah asked first. Instead of hello. Instead of a greeting.
“What do you mean?”
“To the media.”
Kang Ri-u looked at her. What was in his eyes? Love? Guilt? Both?
“She said she didn’t know. That the company gave her the song.”
“And?”
“And the company’s investigating where they got it. They’re trying to find the original composer.”
Seo-ah’s heart stopped. The original composer. That meant her. She would be found. And then not only Park So-jin would have a problem—JYA would too. The company that plagiarized the song. The company that stole her work.
“Good, right? Now you’ll be famous. As a composer.”
Kang Ri-u smiled. It was a beautiful smile. But Seo-ah was afraid of it. Because it wasn’t her smile. It was Kang Ri-u’s smile. The smile of a man whose guilt had been resolved.
“I planned it.”
Kang Ri-u said, as if boasting.
“What?”
“Park So-jin. From the beginning. I arranged for that song to reach her. And I tipped off the media about the plagiarism. Then the original composer will come forward. That’s you.”
Seo-ah couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.
“I did it for you. Now you’ll be famous. You’re not a convenience store clerk anymore. You’re a composer. One song. That’s all it takes for you to become famous.”
“But you destroyed Park So-jin for that…”
“Park So-jin isn’t a victim. Park So-jin became famous because of you. That song made Park So-jin. Not the other way around.”
“But…”
Seo-ah couldn’t continue. In the face of Kang Ri-u’s logic. It was logic. Cold logic. The logic of the music industry. The weak are exploited. The strong exploit. That was the rule.
“You’re my producer now.”
Kang Ri-u said. Still in that warm voice.
“What?”
“I’m starting an indie label. You’re my producer. You write the songs. I’ll promote you. Every song we make together will have your name on it. And we’ll be together.”
“Together?”
“Yeah. Forever.”
Kang Ri-u extended his hand. Trembling. Those hands that could no longer play piano.
Seo-ah stared at his hand. What would happen if she took it? Would she really become his? Or would he become hers?
The sunlight from the Han River bathed Seo-ah’s face. Reflected light. Fractured light. Like thousands of little flames.
In that light, Seo-ah raised her hand. And slowly… she took his.
End of Chapter 64