No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 001: Destiny

It’s not an excuse, but a justification.
This was all I knew how to do—everything I was capable of.

“President Baek! Please! I’m begging you like this!”

An older man with greying hair falls to his knees, sobbing.
Begging for help.
Pleading for me to save him and his family.
Clutching the hem of my trousers, this man, barely older than mid-thirties, is desperate.

“Please get up,” I say.
“Just give me more time! My son’s life hangs by a thread! I beg you!”
“I’ve done all I can to help. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“President Baek!”

I shake off the hands grasping at me and walk out of the office.
Behind me, his sorrowful cries echo through the hallway.

I didn’t intend for him to fail, but I didn’t stop it either.
If I had to justify myself again—
I, too, have many mouths to feed.

The sound of torrential rain fills the air outside, as if the world itself might drown.
A sleek black car pulls up in front of me and comes to a halt.
A large, bald man steps out of the driver’s seat, opening a black umbrella.

“Boss, is something wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about. Where’s the Chairman?”
“He’s waiting at home for you.”

I slide into the open door, and soon we’re on our way.
The driver’s deep voice breaks the silence after a while.

“Boss… the Chairman seemed quite displeased.”
“I figured. What about President Kim?”
“He’s meeting the Chairman now and is at a venue in Gangnam afterward.”
“I see.”

The sound of raindrops pelting against the car window feels unusually grating today.
Perhaps that’s why a sense of unease has been welling up inside me.
Frowning, I pull a cigarette from my inner pocket and light it.

Whoosh… I exhale deeply.
“Play some music.”
“Yes, sir. The usual selection.”

The car fills with the strains of music once the system is activated.
Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor.
Opus 67.
“Fate.”

The well-known opening bars resonate within the vehicle.

[Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!]

Eight notes crash together in a striking harmony, echoing like fate knocking on a door.
I close my eyes and let the resonance wash over me.

“Sorry to disturb your rest.”
“Speak.”

A tablet is passed forward, showing a list of interview questions from a magazine for tomorrow.
Scanning through them, I mutter under my breath, “Ridiculous.”

“Young Entrepreneurs Illuminating Korea’s Future.”
Such lofty embellishments for a mere thug.
Skimming further, I stop at one particular question.

If you were reborn, what would you like to do?

“Hmm.”

A daydream I’ve often entertained.
Whenever I’ve grown weary of life, whenever I’ve had regrets, I’ve thought about it.
If I’d had an ordinary life, with ordinary parents who gave me ordinary care.
There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to try.
The first and last dream I ever had.

Music.
Classical music, specifically.

With a faint scrape, I jot down “music” with the stylus and move to the next question.

Would you give up everything you’ve achieved to pursue it?

“What a stupid question.”

Frowning, I flick the pen across the screen.
That’s when my phone vibrates.
The caller is President Kim, my longtime subordinate.

“Pull over for a moment. Go have a smoke outside.”
“Yes, boss.”

The car stops by the shoulder, and the driver’s door opens and shuts.
Turning down the volume of the music, I answer the call.

“Yeah.”
—”Boss… It’s me, Changsik. One of your lackeys.”
“You’re drunk.”
—”Yes! Had a drink! I couldn’t take it sober!”
“…Did you hear about it?”
—”How could you make such a decision without consulting us?! Boss… damn it, boss! Can I just blow everything up tonight?!”
“Go ahead.”
—”Is it true? Huh? You’re shutting everything down? Donating it all back to society? Then what about me?!”

“Step away from it all, too.”
—”Why are you doing this?! What’s the reason for throwing away everything we’ve built? How could you—how could we—get here if not for all we’ve done?”
“That’s exactly why I’m quitting. We’ve crossed a line we should never have crossed. I’ve already informed the Chairman. You need to let it go, too.”
—”Damn it…”
“You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
—”Wait, boss… just a moment…”
“What is it?”
—”Do you remember what the Big Boss said to us when we first started?”
“…”
—”A gangster’s pride is everything.”
“He did say that.”
—”But you’re shredding the pride of all of us—your brothers, me, everyone.”
“Get to the point. I’m done listening to nonsense.”
—”Boss, you’re guilty of attempted murder…”
“…”
—”…and I’m claiming self-defense.”
“Enough.”
—”Boss, don’t be a gangster in your next life… it doesn’t suit you.”
“What the hell are you even talking ab—”

Click.

The call cut off.
At that exact moment, two glaring headlights came rushing toward the front windshield.

CRASH!!
.
.
.
.

—”Breaking news… A collision involving… drunk driving… a freight truck… JS Holdings CEO Baek… pronounced dead…”

My head buzzes.
All I can hear is the faint drone of the news, indistinct and distant.
I try to wiggle my fingers.
My toes.
No strength.
The only thing that feels light is my eyelids.
I force them open with difficulty.

What greets me are bright lights glaring into my eyes, the shocked face of a doctor, and the sound of a woman sobbing—a face I don’t recognize.
And then there’s him.
President Jung Sangho.
The man who came to me earlier, crying and begging for help.

“Seojoon! Seojoon! It’s me, Dad! Dad!”

What… what is this situation?

A considerable amount of time has passed.
Most of it, I’ve spent in a daze.
Like a man who’s completely lost his way.

“Haah…”

I rub my face and sigh.
The craving is unbearable.
For cigarettes.

Moments later, the door opens, and the woman who is now my mother—Kang Jungsook—pokes her head in.

“Seojoon, did you go exercising again this morning? I told you not to overdo it yet…”
“I just took it easy. Don’t worry, Mom.”
“I see… Well, do you want to come eat breakfast? It’s your first day at school, and you should have something to eat.”
“Sure, Mom.”

With an awkward smile, she heads out.
From the look on her face, she suspects something is off about me.
Of course, a mother not noticing changes in her child wouldn’t make sense.
I wouldn’t know firsthand—I never had parents—but I understand that much.

“Hm…”

Not that I can explain any of this to her.
What am I supposed to say?

“On my way home after meeting your husband, I got into an accident. When I woke up, I had become your brain-dead son?”
Or maybe I should lean on the excuse the doctor provided:
“My memory’s completely gone, thanks to a head injury. Let’s just start fresh from here.”

I’ve debated these options endlessly during my hospital stay, but I still haven’t settled on an answer.
Either way, I have no choice but to live as this person for now.
So far, I’ve been quietly adapting.

“Still…”

The idea of going to school at my age.
I glance at the uniform neatly laid out on the desk.
Judging by its crispness and condition, it’s brand new.
Something about it feels familiar, but I don’t bother wracking my brain for the memory.

I slip it on carelessly and stand in front of the mirror.
The name tag sewn onto the chest catches my eye.

Jung Seojoon.

“No matter how you look at it… pretty damn good-looking.”

Tall and strikingly handsome.
At first, I couldn’t believe he had chosen something as extreme as attempting suicide.
But that was simply my own ignorance.
Everyone has their own burdens, secrets they can’t share. I have no intention of judging him.

As I step out of the room, the savory aroma of soybean paste stew wafts through the air.
Just the scent speaks volumes about my new mother’s culinary skills.

I sit at the table, waiting for a moment. Soon, Jung Sangho, my “father,” emerges from the master bedroom.
I stand and bow deeply.

“Good morning, Father.”
“Ah, yes… Sit down, quickly.”

Jung Sangho offers an awkward smile as he takes a seat at the table.
Like my “mother,” there’s a subtle discomfort in his demeanor.

“Let’s eat.”
“Yes, Father.”

The meal begins, and silence falls.
I’ve always enjoyed chatting with my brothers over meals, so this quiet is unsettling.
Breaking it shouldn’t be too hard. With a light heart, I speak up.

“Mother, your cooking is excellent. You could open a restaurant.”

Silence.
Mother abruptly stands and retreats to the master bedroom. Moments later, the sound of quiet sobbing reaches my ears.
Meanwhile, Jung Sangho continues eating in silence, spooning rice into his mouth without touching the side dishes.

Did I say something wrong?
Perhaps they’d run a restaurant and failed?
While I fumble for a way to recover, Jung Sangho addresses me.

“Thank you, Seojoon… for eating with us. It’s been so long since we’ve had this.”

Does that mean they didn’t usually eat together?
A family should eat together unless there’s an extraordinary reason not to.
After all, that’s what makes them family.

“Please don’t mention it. Let’s make it a habit from now on.”
“Th-thank you… You’re trying so hard… really…”

Mother soon returns from the bedroom, her eyes red.

“Sorry, sorry. I must’ve gotten chili powder in my eyes. Eat up, Seojoon.”

The couple resumes eating as if nothing happened.
It’s an odd sight, but I follow their lead.

“Seojoon…”
Mother hesitates before speaking.

“Yes, go ahead.”
“At your new school, if anything happens… promise you’ll tell us, okay?”
“Of course, Mother.”
“If the other students—”
“Dear.”

Father’s interjection cuts her off, but her tears begin anew.
Father pats her shoulder to console her, then looks at me firmly.

“Seojoon, remember, your mom and I are always on your side. No matter what happens, tell us. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”

Relief floods his face, and he smiles brightly.

“It’s your first day. Do you need anything?”
“Not really… Oh, actually, there is one thing.”

The couple beams at me, their expressions glowing with delight.
It’s as if they’ve just witnessed their child’s first steps.

“Of course, whatever it is, just say the word!”

I return their smile and say,
“Could I borrow a cigarette?”

“Who cries over something like that? Mother sure is tender-hearted.”

It’s been a while since I last took the bus.
I usually moved around at night, so seeing the world this early in the morning feels almost refreshing.

Staring out the window, I savor the view. The clear skies, the absence of my usual headaches—it all puts me in an inexplicably good mood.

“…Ridiculous.”

I chuckle dryly.
I was killed by someone I called family, and here I am, feeling carefree.
Sometimes, even I think I must be crazy.

Buzz, buzz.

The phone Mother gave me vibrates incessantly.
A group chat notification.
The sender? Yoon Sangsoo and eight others.

“Friends of Seojoon, maybe?”

I don’t bother reading the messages. Instead, I block the chat outright.
These are people I can no longer share memories with.
It’s better to sever ties cleanly.

Time passes, and I arrive at school.
Finding my way is surprisingly easy.
Young students, especially a group of friendly girls, eagerly guide me to the entrance.

“The future of Korea is looking bright.”

The giddy feeling I had quickly crumbled as soon as I stepped into the teachers’ office.
It was all because of the look in the homeroom teacher’s eyes.
That familiar expression, the one worn by someone forced to take on an unwanted burden.

“You look fine—why would you do something like that…”
“Sorry? What did you just say?”
“Never mind. Anyway, welcome to your new school. Keep your head down and behave.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your classroom is… ah, there’s someone from our class right there.”

The teacher raised his hand and called over a student. He told me to follow the boy.
I trailed behind the sharp-looking student out of the office and into the hallway.

The corridor was alive with noise.
Though much of the chatter was incomprehensible to me, the laughter ringing through the air was oddly comforting.

“Hey! You’re dead if I catch you!”

Two boys sprinted past, the smell of sweat lingering in their wake.
Instinctively, I turned toward the window on my right and took in the vast school grounds.

Clusters of students making their way to class, an empty sports field, a worn-down gymnasium, and walls overgrown with vines.

“…”

For the first time, the reality of being in high school struck me, and an indescribable mix of emotions welled up inside me.
Bittersweet, poignant, and strangely moving.

Perhaps it was the sheer absurdity of finding myself attending high school again that made it feel so surreal.

“It’s like being reborn…”

—If you were reborn, what would you like to do?

The question I’d been asked before my death suddenly resurfaced.

My answer to the first question was music.
More specifically, classical music.

Classical music had been my innocent first love and my exhausting unrequited passion.
As a child, it had pulled me from despair.
As an adult, it had filled me with nostalgia and bittersweet longing.

It reminded me I was still human.
But it was something I could never truly claim as my own.
No matter how desperately I wanted it, life had twisted itself into knots too tight to unravel.

It was beautiful, tragic, and forever out of reach.

—If you could give up everything you’ve achieved to pursue it, would you?

That was when I heard it.

[Ba-ba-ba-bam—]

The faint melody of Beethoven’s Fate Symphony reached my ears.
Not a recording, but a live rendition.
Though slightly off-key and uneven in tempo, it was unmistakably performed by an orchestra.

I stopped walking, my entire being focused on the sound.
I strained to locate its source.

The melody repeated, clearer this time.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Ignoring the call, I sprinted in the direction of the music.
It felt as though the sound was slipping away, growing fainter with every step.

Breathing heavily, I dashed across the sports field and threw open the doors of the gymnasium.

Bang!

About thirty students, all holding instruments, froze and stared at me with wide eyes.

“Who are you?!”

The woman conducting them shouted at me, her voice sharp with irritation.
I strode toward her without hesitation.

I wasn’t sure what expression I wore, but I could guess.

It was probably the same look I had when I first stood before my hyungnim after being expelled from school.

“Hyungnim! I’m done with being a student—I want to be a gangster!”

The emotions I felt then were eerily similar to now.
Back then, I was desperate.
I wanted to live my life properly.

Now, I was just as desperate.
For the same reason.

“I said, who are you?!”

I marched up to the podium where the conductor stood.
Thump, thump.

Was it from running, or the intensity of the moment?
My heart pounded like it would burst, but I let that adrenaline fuel me.

“Ma’am!”

I bent in a deep bow, nearly folding myself in half.
It was the most earnest gesture I could muster.

“What is wrong with this boy…”

The absurdity of my current situation hit me all at once.
Dying a meaningless death, waking up in the body of a stranger, and wandering aimlessly for days, unsure of what to do.

But now my mind was clear.
I finally understood just how incredible the opportunity I’d been given truly was.

—If you could give up everything you’ve achieved to pursue it, would you?

My answer to the second question was this:

“I don’t want to be a gangster anymore. I want to do music! Please, let me join!”