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# Chapter 90: The Weight of a Voice
After closing the door, Seah threw herself into the Porsche’s leather seat. The moment her back touched the comfort, every muscle relaxed at once. As if someone had cut a string holding her up. That relaxation was, simultaneously, terror. The realization that she could crumble so easily. That what she’d been holding onto wasn’t holding at all—it was drifting away.
Hayul gripped the steering wheel but didn’t start the car. The engine was on, rumbling low, but the wheels didn’t move. The night streets of Hapjeong Station froze in the window frame. The laughter of drunk women. Fluorescent lights at the bus stop outside a convenience store. And somewhere distant, the wail of a police siren. Seoul’s Saturday nights were always this filthy.
“You’re really going to do this?”
Hayul asked again. This time, the anger was unmistakable. The line of her jaw moved differently with the cigarette between her lips. The angle of rage.
“I have to.”
Seah said it. She looked at her own hands. Still trembling. She understood that tremor didn’t belong to her will. Her nervous system still remembered Kangryuu’s hands. Still remembered the black of the Jeju sea. Still remembered death on the Han River bridge. Her hands were storage units for those memories.
“For money? For your brother?”
Hayul asked. This time, as if she genuinely wanted to know.
“All of it.”
Seah said. And added: “And for me too.”
At those words, Hayul finally lowered the cigarette from her lips. And exhaled smoke out the window. Long and slow.
“What have you become, Seah?”
Hayul’s voice had grown small. The anger dissolved, replaced by something else. Sadness, maybe. Or frustration. Or just exhaustion. An emotion difficult to categorize.
“I don’t know.”
Seah answered honestly. It was the closest thing to truth she could offer.
Kangryuu was still looking for Seah. He’d filed a police report. What did that mean? Love? Or possession? To him, her leaving was like losing an object. And he had to find that object. Because he’d lost his salvation project. Lost the tool to offset his guilt.
Hayul started the car. Moving away from Hapjeong. There was no destination. It seemed she just needed to move. When they stopped, her thoughts kept circling back to Kangryuu.
“Let’s go to the studio.”
Hayul said suddenly.
“The studio?”
“Yeah. My friend runs a small studio in Hongdae. It’s Saturday night, but it’ll probably be open. Go there and do something. Recording. Composing.”
Seah shook her head.
“I don’t have money.”
“I’m paying. You just go. You planning to live in a convenience store all day? Like a corpse?”
Hayul was right. Seah was a corpse now. A moving corpse. A breathing corpse. But not truly alive.
The route to Hongdae was more congested. As they approached 11 PM on Saturday night, the bars and clubs began in earnest. The streets filled with young people. People Seah’s age. They were all going somewhere, searching for something, enjoying something. Everyone except Seah. She was just drifting.
The studio was in an alley near Hongdae Station entrance. They had to climb narrow stairs. Hayul went first, Seah following. Posters covered the stairwell walls. Band performances. Singer-songwriter shows. DJ parties. All of them past events. Dates written. All history. Already finished things.
When they reached the second floor, the door was open. Guitar sounds came from inside. Someone was practicing. The same melody repeating. Three times. Four times. Five times. As if trying to memorize something. Or trying to forget it.
“Jun? You here?”
Hayul went in. Seah followed.
The studio was smaller than expected. Microphone booth. Audio interface. Headphones. Acoustic panels on the walls. Everything built to contain someone’s dreams. And all those dreams had passed through here.
The man inside set down his guitar. Mid-thirties, maybe. His face was tired, but his eyes were bright. The eyes of someone still waiting for something.
“Hayul? This hour?”
The man called Jun stood up.
“Yeah. Brought a friend. She does composition.”
Hayul gestured to Seah. The introduction was simple. As if Seah obviously possessed some value.
Jun looked at Seah. For a long time. That gaze seemed to penetrate her skin. A musician’s gaze. The gaze of someone trying to read someone through music.
“Composition? You?”
Jun asked. Skepticism mixed in. Seah didn’t look like a composer. Composers usually looked like they had … something. Confidence. Energy. Seah had nothing. Just a body drifting along.
“A little, yes.”
Seah said.
“A little? Hayul said you’re a good composer.”
Jun looked at Hayul.
“A legend. Seriously.”
Hayul said. Not joking.
Jun looked at Seah again. From a different angle this time. As if reassessing something.
“Alright, try. Make something.”
Jun said. And pointed to the microphone booth.
Seah went there. Inside the booth. Sealed space. A place where outside sound was completely cut off. Seah had been in a space like this before. JYA Entertainment’s recording studio. Kangryuu had taken her there. And she’d sung. Her own song. And it went somewhere. Became someone else’s voice.
“What are you doing? Sing.”
Jun said from the audio booth. Through the microphone.
Seah opened her mouth. Sound came out. A note. One note. Low. A vibration from her throat. The microphone caught it, and it came back through the speaker. Hearing your own voice. It was always strange. A recorded voice wasn’t your voice. It was someone else’s voice.
“Make a song. Now.”
Jun said again.
Seah closed her eyes. And thought. What to make. What to sing. The Jeju sea? Kangryuu’s hands? The convenience store’s fluorescent lights? Her mother’s breathing? Dohyun’s worry? Hayul’s cigarette smoke?
Everything rushed in at once.
And Seah sang.
At first, it was just sound. Sound without syllables. Like crying. Then words came. Words she hadn’t expected. Words coming from her mouth.
“The light is going out. Inside me. Slowly. But someone keeps trying to turn it back on. With their hands. With their guilt. But the light is mine. My fire. Whether I extinguish it or light it. No one else.”
Seah sang. It wasn’t a song. Just speech. But speech in the form of music.
Jun kept recording. Until Seah stopped.
When Seah stopped, silence filled the studio. Long silence. No one spoke.
Then Jun removed his headphones. And played back the recording file. Seah’s voice came through. That unfamiliar voice.
“What is this?”
Jun asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seah said.
“You really just made this for the first time?”
“Yes.”
“This is… this is good though?”
Jun said, surprised. It wasn’t false. He sounded genuinely shocked. Like opening a door expecting something, but finding it was far bigger than imagined.
Hayul burst out laughing.
“What did I tell you?”
Hayul said to Jun. With a voice that proved her judgment right.
Seah didn’t move inside the microphone booth. Glasses still on. Headphones still on her ears. Listening to her own voice.
Was that voice really hers?
Or was it the voice of someone she was just becoming?