Chapter 61…
It Was a Broken Gift
[“I smell the scent of a stranger on you, oppa….”]
“What! What are you talking about! What the hell did you do to make the location sponsor suddenly cancel? What did you do!”
Wow…
I just wanted to come home and rest a bit, but now I had one ghost and one human pestering me.
[“Who is she? Who’s the one who touched oppa’s body?”]
“Hey! Nobody touched anything! Shoo! Get lost!”
[“Hmph!”]
Yeonju sulked and disappeared.
“Seriously! She’s treating me like some cheating husband.”
“Yeonju? Did she find something out? Look, I need to know too so I can figure out a countermeasure!”
In the end, I explained the whole situation to Gam-dong.
“…You’re saying you recommended a haunted school as the filming location?”
Gam-dong asked again with a pale face.
“What’s wrong with that.”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’! Do you think we’re filming Gonjiam here?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Haven’t you heard the superstition? If ghosts appear on a set, the movie becomes a huge hit.”
“I don’t believe in that crap! Why on earth a haunted school….”
“Hey, what’s your problem? You’re living just fine in a haunted house yourself!”
“Uh…”
Gam-dong was left speechless, just opening and closing his mouth before he finally spoke again.
“Even so, what good is it? They said they’re canceling the offer to provide the location.”
“That’s temporary, don’t worry. Chairman Choi Woosan of the Cheongsan Foundation promised to help. And if not that school, he’ll provide a similar or even better location.”
“Well… if that’s the case.”
Gam-dong switched sides fast.
Still, he seemed serious this time. He looked like he was betting everything on this film.
No wonder. What was supposed to be a modest independent feature had ballooned into a 1.5 billion won budget. Still “low budget,” but enough to fuel ambition.
Choi Won-uk, financial director of the Cheongsan Foundation, rushed toward Yangseo High School after receiving an urgent report.
“Father… what in the world!”
He had heard that a shaman ritual was being performed at the school.
When he arrived, his father’s car was already parked there.
Won-uk practically ran toward the gymnasium, where the ritual was supposedly happening.
He slammed the doors open—only to freeze. The place was quiet.
Not just quiet—strangely solemn.
“Father…”
“You’re here. Sit down.”
In the vast gymnasium, there were only three chairs placed in the center.
Two were already occupied: one by his father, Choi Woosan, and the other by Baeksan Group’s chairman, Yang Mansik, a family friend.
Clenching his lips, Won-uk spoke.
“Chairman Yang, I respect you greatly, but this is our family matter.”
“Who said otherwise? I’m just here to watch—don’t mind me.”
Grinding his teeth, Won-uk remained standing. Then his father’s voice rang again.
“Sit.”
“I refuse.”
“Are you trying to stop a ritual—or the truth itself?”
That made Won-uk falter.
“What… do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?”
“You’re just being deceived by frauds. I won’t be a part of some ridiculous invitation—”
Step.
He fell silent.
Someone was slowly walking onto the stage.
“Woo Su-han…”
A man who had left him with nothing but unease. Memories of that day only brought inexplicable emotions.
Now, Su-han walked toward the piano placed in the middle of the stage.
Only then did Won-uk notice the piano.
“Just once. Both you and I can listen to a single song, can’t we?”
Choi Woosan’s coaxing tone made Won-uk reluctantly take a seat beside him.
“One song. But no more shamans, no more rituals after this.”
“Of course. We didn’t call a shaman, did we?”
Biting back words, Won-uk looked at Su-han on stage. Calling him a shaman would be a stretch.
Su-han sat at the piano and spoke.
“Shall we begin?”
His low voice carried clearly in the still gym. He spread his arms, tilted his head back briefly, then straightened. Turning toward the tiny audience of three, he smiled.
That smile made Won-uk shudder.
It was innocent—too innocent for a grown man’s face.
He had seen that smile before, long ago.
Before he could think further, Su-han’s fingers began to dance across the keys.
Ding…
A familiar melody flowed.
Won-uk turned instinctively toward his father.
A smile tugged at Chairman Choi’s lips as he softly mouthed words.
“…And so I face the final…”
Not Chopin this time. His father was humming My Way.
It was his favorite song—one he often sang when tipsy.
And then—
Won-uk’s eyes widened at Su-han, whose radiant face was framed with a beaming grin as he played.
He looked back and forth between Su-han and his father, who was mouthing along with joy.
And suddenly—
“This… this is…”
A memory.
More than ten years ago, on his father’s birthday.
His own son, Jung-hoo, had given a surprise performance.
At just seven years old, after so much practice, he had played beautifully.
And his father’s proud, radiant smile that day…
The very same scene was unfolding again, here and now.
It was unforgettable.
A day when his stern father had smiled so brightly—etched forever in his mind.
“Why are you doing this…”
He thought it was a cruel prank. Why was his father going along with it? Even hiring an actor?
But confusion soon gave way to anger.
When the song ended, Won-uk rose with an icy voice.
“One song. I’ve heard enough.”
He turned to leave.
“This was a gift for you—”
“No. This ends here.”
He cut off his father’s words and strode toward the door.
But then—
A new melody began.
A cheerful tune.
A song he once used to hum: Red Sunset.
Won-uk froze, grimacing.
That was once his favorite song. But he had stopped listening to it, buried it, because of the painful memories attached.
After that birthday, his father discovered his grandson’s natural talent and began grooming him as a pianist.
One day, Won-uk had come home early—
Only to hear his son secretly playing Red Sunset.
“What are you doing?”
“Dad…?”
At a time when the boy should have been preparing for competitions, he was playing pop music.
Furious, Won-uk smashed every CD and player in the house.
His son had clung to him in tears, apologizing.
Won-uk believed he had done the right thing. From then on, Jung-hoo practiced dutifully and swept competitions.
It was duty, he thought. His responsibility as a father.
And the proud smiles of his own father seemed to justify it.
It wasn’t bad, he told himself.
Everyone was happy…
If only his son hadn’t been frail.
If only his body could have endured it.
Now the cheerful tune of Red Sunset scraped at his heart like a wound.
“…Ugh…”
He tried to rage—but his breath caught.
On stage, Su-han smiled at him while playing. But the smile was twisted—like a child, scolded, smiling desperately to hide tears.
And indeed—tears shimmered in his eyes.
Won-uk’s fury crumbled into emptiness. His knees buckled.
He collapsed, trembling, staring up at the stage.
That day came flooding back.
The day he caught his son secretly playing Red Sunset.
Jung-hoo had smiled through tears, trying to please his father even as he cried, pounding out the notes.
Now, here, Su-han was gone. Only the image of young Jung-hoo remained, desperately smiling, desperately crying, while playing Red Sunset.
“You loved it so much… even though I told you never to listen to such noisy songs.”
Choi Woosan’s voice quivered with sorrow.
“My gift was My Way. And it seems the gift meant for you… was this song.”
“What… what have I done…”
Shaking, Won-uk buried his face in his hands.
Meanwhile, Red Sunset swelled into its chorus—
I love you… I shout it, but there’s no answer…
He should have answered. Instead, he had only gotten angry.
He hadn’t recognized his son’s joy, nor his heartfelt gift. He had destroyed it all.
Along with the music, the smiles in their home had vanished too.
All that was left was relentless practice, competition trophies, validation.
But who was it really for?
“…I should have realized sooner…”
Only the old man’s regretful voice echoed in the gym, as Won-uk wept, broken.
Regret is always too late.
Time never rewinds.
And in that truth, Won-uk collapsed and cried.
