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# Chapter 46: Before Silence Becomes Music
The fluorescent light went out.
Sae-ah heard it first. The humming that had filled the convenience store ceased abruptly. Then she saw it. The entire shop turned black. 2:45 AM. A blackout. That hour when Seoul’s night seemed to hold its breath. Sae-ah’s eyes began adjusting to the darkness. The streetlights outside were the nearest source of light. Even those felt distant.
Kang Ri-u didn’t move. He remained leaning against the counter. As if even in the dark, he was still watching her. Sae-ah felt it. When sight vanished, her other senses sharpened. His breathing. The weight of his body against the counter. And how heavy that weight truly was.
“Is it a blackout?”
Sae-ah asked. Her voice sounded different in the darkness. Smaller. Lonelier.
“No. I… I have to go.”
Kang Ri-u said. His voice too sounded different in the dark. More honest. More broken. “It’s almost dawn. I can’t stay anymore. You need to work anyway.”
Sae-ah heard him pull away from the counter. The sound of his shoes touching the floor. Then the sound growing distant. Kang Ri-u was walking toward the exit.
Sae-ah said nothing. Instead, she waited until the power returned.
Ten minutes later, the lights came back on.
The fluorescent tubes began humming again. Like a creature waking from sleep. Sae-ah stood behind the counter. Alone. Kang Ri-u was gone. The convenience store became a convenience store again. Ramens on shelves, ice cream in the freezer, cigarettes on the counter. Everything returned to its place. But Sae-ah could not return to hers.
She looked at the spot where he had stood. Where Kang Ri-u had leaned. There was nothing there. Only tile floor and the reflection of fluorescent light. And yet something remained. The silence his hands had created. It lingered.
Sae-ah’s phone buzzed. KakaoTalk. It was Haeul.
“What time is it? You should be sleeping. Why are you online?”
Sae-ah didn’t reply. Instead, she read the message. Haeul’s tone. Familiar. Ordinary. It seemed like the world from a few hours ago. Like the Sae-ah from a few hours ago.
But that Sae-ah no longer existed.
Sae-ah turned off her phone and put it away. Then she leaned against the counter. The way Kang Ri-u had. As if entrusting her body’s weight to someone else.
At 4 AM, the convenience store door opened.
A man came in. Late forties, wearing a suit. His face was full of exhaustion. The expression of Seoul’s night-shift workers. Sae-ah had seen that look for years. Behind this counter. But this man carried a different kind of fatigue. Not of the body, but of the soul.
“Cup noodles. Large.”
The man said. Sae-ah moved. Automatically. Motions her body remembered. How many nights had she done this? Taking out the noodles, pouring hot water, closing the lid, handing over the bag. Everything flowed like music. Rhythmic movement. Movement that required no thought.
“Oh, a spoon too.”
The man added. Sae-ah placed a spoon in the bag. Then she looked at his face. His eyes were fixed on the cigarette display behind the counter. But what he was actually seeing was somewhere else. He was looking at how he had come to be here.
“That’s five thousand won.”
Sae-ah said. Her voice sounded mechanical. She had been trained to sound that way. The man handed over five thousand won. One coin. Sae-ah calculated the change. Zero won. A perfectly balanced transaction. No one loses.
The man took his noodles. And left. Sae-ah watched his back disappear. The convenience store door closed. The fluorescent light was alone again. Sae-ah was alone again. She had always been alone. So much so that the past few hours seemed like a fantasy.
At 6 AM, Sae-ah’s phone rang.
A call. Caller: Kang Ri-u. Sae-ah saw it. His name on the screen. And beside it, the reject button. Or the accept button.
Sae-ah accepted.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing right now?”
Kang Ri-u asked. His voice was tired. The voice of someone who had stayed up all night. But it wasn’t physical exhaustion—it was the voice of mental fatigue.
“At the convenience store.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Alone?”
Kang Ri-u asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
Kang Ri-u said nothing. Over the phone came only his breathing. And background noise. The sound of a car engine. Kang Ri-u was driving.
“Where are you going?”
Sae-ah asked.
“To the office. I need to meet my father. I’m going to talk to him about you.”
Kang Ri-u said.
Sae-ah’s body went rigid. Kang Min-jun. CEO of JYA. Kang Ri-u’s father. Sae-ah had met that man once. At the Incheon studio. His eyes were very cold. As if he were evaluating a product rather than listening to music.
“About what?”
Sae-ah asked. Her voice was trembling.
“I don’t know yet. It hasn’t been decided. That’s why I’m thinking about it while I drive. How to say it. How to protect you. How to save you from my father.”
Kang Ri-u said.
Sae-ah heard those words. And she understood something. Kang Ri-u wasn’t trying to save her from his father—he was trying to save her from herself. Kang Ri-u was trying to prevent her from becoming like his friend. But Kang Ri-u himself was already broken, and broken hands cannot save anyone.
“Kang Ri-u.”
Sae-ah said.
“Hmm?”
Kang Ri-u responded.
“You can’t save me. Because you couldn’t save yourself.”
Sae-ah said. It was the most honest thing she could say. And the cruelest.
Over the phone came only silence. Kang Ri-u didn’t speak. Instead, she heard the car accelerate. Kang Ri-u kept driving. To somewhere unknown.
“That’s right.”
Kang Ri-u finally said. “That’s why I wanted to escape from you. From your music. From your voice. I don’t want to become my friend. I want to resurrect my friend through you.”
Sae-ah heard those words. And she understood their meaning. Kang Ri-u didn’t love Sae-ah—he loved her music. Or more precisely, he was trying to resurrect his friend through her music.
“Then why did you meet me?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Because… you’re still alive.”
Kang Ri-u answered.
Sae-ah hung up.
She sat down at the counter. The convenience store remained open. 6 AM. An hour and a half remained. How would she endure it?
Sae-ah picked up her phone again. And looked at her conversation history with Kang Ri-u. There was nothing. No messages on KakaoTalk. Only a call record. Phone calls leave no trace. As if they never happened.
But it did happen. Everything happened.
Sae-ah opened her music folder. It was empty too. All the songs she had written were stored on JYA’s servers. Nothing remained on her phone. As if they had never existed in the first place.
Sae-ah opened Park So-jin’s SNS. Latest post: a new music video. Two million views. Thousands of comments. Everyone said Park So-jin’s music was beautiful. They didn’t know. Who had created it.
Sae-ah clicked the video.
Park So-jin appeared. In a studio. In front of a microphone. Singing Sae-ah’s song. And Park So-jin’s voice was beautiful. Really. Her voice made Sae-ah’s song even more beautiful.
Sae-ah turned off the video.
And buried her head in her hands at the counter. Her fists clenched until her fingers turned white. Like Kang Ri-u’s hands. Trembling hands.
At 7 AM, Sae-ah’s phone rang again.
This time it was Haeul. KakaoTalk.
“Hey, there’s a problem.”
“Park So-jin dropped a new song.”
“But your name’s in the credits.”
“Composer: Na Sae-ah.”
“Hey, wake up. What’s going on?”
Sae-ah read the messages. Her hands trembled. No—her entire body trembled. As if she were shattering into pieces.
“What?”
Sae-ah muttered to herself.
She opened Park So-jin’s new music video again. She looked carefully. The subtitles. The lyrics. And at the very bottom, the credits.
‘Composer: Na Sae-ah’
There it was. Sae-ah’s name. Could this be possible? Had Kang Ri-u already done something?
Sae-ah called Kang Ri-u.
“What did you do?”
That was the only question she could ask.
“I talked to my father. And… he agreed.”
Kang Ri-u answered.
“Agreed to what?”
Sae-ah asked.
“To transfer you to a new contract with a signing bonus of one hundred million won. In return, you’ll officially work under me as a producer, and all your songs will be credited under your name. We’ll also correct the credits on Park So-jin’s previous songs.”
Kang Ri-u explained.
Sae-ah said nothing.
“But in exchange…”
Kang Ri-u continued. “You become mine now. Officially. Contractually. And no one will know what I do with you.”
Sae-ah heard those words. And she understood. This was sacrifice. This was a transaction. This was the music industry.
“Thank you.”
Sae-ah said. It was the only thing she could say.
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t save you. I just moved you to a deeper hole. But in this hole, at least your voice will be heard. In some form.”
Kang Ri-u said.
Sae-ah hung up.
And she heard the fluorescent light humming. The convenience store’s fluorescent light. 7 AM. Thirty minutes remained.
Sae-ah sat at the counter and watched Park So-jin’s video again. She looked at the subtitle.
‘Composer: Na Sae-ah’
There it was. Sae-ah’s name. That was all. In a world where that was all.
At 7:30 AM, Haeul walked into the convenience store.
She saw Sae-ah. Sitting behind the counter. A tired face. The face of someone who had worked through the night. But something about that face had changed.
“Hey, what happened? Why are you smiling?”
Haeul asked.
Sae-ah wasn’t smiling. But there was something on her face. Realization? Despair? Or some mixture of both?
“It’s nothing.”
Sae-ah answered.
“You’re not going to explain? Park So-jin sang your song, your name showed up in the credits, and I can feel that some guy named Kang Ri-u did something. Your expression says everything’s changed.”
Haeul asked. Haeul always noticed things.
“I think… I got sold.”
Sae-ah said. It was the most honest answer.
“Sold?”
Haeul repeated.
“Yeah. But this time for a higher price.”
Sae-ah said.
And finally, Sae-ah smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. It was despair wearing the shape of laughter. It was the most beautiful smile. Because it was the most honest.
The fluorescent light continued humming.