Startled, I looked around—and realized I was in the same place I always watched on video before going on stage.
The band ASH’s practice room.
“You practiced so late you’ve lost your head.”
“Hangyeol…”
“Mm?”
Could it be? Was he appearing to me even in a dream? Right before my eyes, Go Hangyeol—just as he looked in the framed photo at his funeral—was moving.
“The hell? Why are you calling my name like that, all sentimental? Don’t do that with me.”
“Taejin…”
“Ah, damn, Seok Dojae’s insane.”
I glanced around. Kwon Taejin and Seok Dojae were there too, dressed in school uniforms. Ah. So this really was a dream. It was so vivid, all the things that had happened until now actually felt more like a dream by comparison.
“But where’d Bae Shinwoo go? Dojae, you heard anything?”
“Dermatology.”
Seok Dojae answered while twirling his drumsticks in a clumsy flourish, all half-assed bravado—exactly the same as back then.
This dream feels way too real.
“Seriously, handsome bastard like that always wants more.”
Even if it was just a dream, it was perfect. Not having to see the face of that backstabbing bastard—perfect.
“Dermatology?”
Maybe that’s why. Even knowing it was a dream, I wanted to jump into their conversation.
“Yeah. Ever since our video blew up, he’s been going to a dermatologist.”
And there—Cha Seonjae got up from the sofa. His face was just as babyish as the others.
“At this rate he’ll probably get plastic surgery too.”
“Exactly. Taejin, you should be the first one to get some work done—”
“Cha Seonjae, I swear I’ll kill you.”
Wait. Did he just say the video blew up? Could it be…
“What year is it right now?”
“What the—Seonjae, did he actually lose his mind?”
“Can’t blame him. Feels like a dream to me too.”
“It’s already been ten days since the video exploded. You’re so clueless.”
While Seonjae and Taejin bickered nonstop, I frantically searched for my phone. The screen showed a date—ten years ago.
“How the hell…”
“Tell me about it. Views already passed three million.”
The conversation flowed naturally, but the subject was all wrong.
We had all fallen asleep at Hangyeol’s funeral, and now… we were back in high school?
It made no sense.
“This dream’s way too vivid…”
Bang—
I smashed my head straight into the wall.
“…That hurts.”
Four pairs of wide, shocked eyes stared at me.
“Crazy.”
“You still checking if it’s a dream?”
“Could’ve just pinched your cheek, idiot. Why smash your skull?”
Same as ever. Say one word and they’d shoot back a hundred, all insults and ridicule.
Pathetically, tears welled up in my eyes.
“Hey, Seonjae. Look, the idiot’s crying from the pain.”
“Seriously, even an idiot like this is our leader—”
“Guess Choi Juyeon put his whole IQ into music, huh?”
“Juyeon… are you okay?”
“Dummy.”
How could pain feel this precious? The throbbing in my head sounded like music.
I was back in the past. Back where I could change everything.
The song that captured our restless emotions before graduation—“Last Page.” It had been ten days since our busking video went viral through the algorithm.
Our channel subs had shot up from just over a thousand to more than a hundred thousand in no time, and the video’s views were skyrocketing exponentially.
If only it were before we uploaded the video…
[ASH]
That was both our channel name and the name of the band—ASH. We’d come up with it in high school, meaning “burn everything until nothing’s left but ash.” A name only possible because we were so full of bravado. If I’d known everything really would vanish in an instant like ash, I never would’ve chosen it.
With that video going viral, all kinds of agencies had started reaching out. It was only natural. We were young, good-looking students who could actually play. But our vocalist, that bastard Bae Shinwoo, intercepted all the contacts and signed a contract under the best terms—for himself alone.
On top of that, he even stole the name ASH and used it as his own stage name when he debuted. The memory was still vivid, even ten years later. The betrayal I felt then—something I’d never forget until the day I died.
“But Shinwoo must be getting a lot of calls, right?”
“He said it’s still kinda iffy—”
“Yeah, only been ten days.”
No, I knew he’d already been contacted. Shinwoo was sly. He’d put his personal email address on the Witube channel, saying it was simpler to unify the contact method than have things get messy.
“Whoa, crazy! Even B.O.F gave us a shout-out on Enstagram!”
Taejin shoved his phone in our faces, practically squealing.
“What if even Black Record reaches out?”
“I’m praying for JW.”
“Aren’t both those… like, way too famous?”
“Hangyeol, my mom always says—dream big.”
Seeing their flushed, excited faces made my mouth taste bitter. Of course both Black Record and JW had reached out. Shinwoo ended up getting JW’s massive push and debuting. He was probably weighing offers between the two even now.
Coming back and seeing it all, the situation was obvious. Nineteen was so damn young. No wonder we hadn’t been able to do anything about the tricks he was pulling right under our noses.
Looking at their still-youthful faces only made my disgust for Shinwoo grow. Right now he was probably grinning ear to ear over his “happy dilemma” of which label to choose.
Enjoy it while you can.
The higher you climb, the more terrifying the fall.
Shinwoo had always been greedy. When we first formed the band, he’d said he couldn’t play any instruments and wanted to be vocalist.
But the title that followed his debut was “the guitar-playing genius boy.” I could still see it clearly—the baffled faces of the others reading those articles.
Because we hadn’t even known the bastard could play an instrument.
“Oh? Shinwoo’s here?”
“O~ Taejin, were you waiting for me?”
“As if. You’ve been skipping practice too much lately.”
“Sorry, had a dermatologist appointment, so I’m late.”
For one last time, I wanted to check his conscience. After all, he was only nineteen too.
“Any more agency contacts?”
Joking around, Shinwoo answered as calmly as if nothing.
“Yeah. But the ones reaching out—can’t even find them in a search. Better not to sign with no-name places anyway. How many singers have tanked because they picked the wrong agency?”
“O~ cutting them off for us, huh?”
“You guys don’t need to worry. Just focus on writing songs. Didn’t we just finish one? Hangyeol, put it on my USB so I can send it to other agencies.”
Back then, I’d really believed he was doing it for us.
But now that I knew everything, it was clear he wasn’t.
A bitter laugh almost escaped me, but instead I felt grateful. At least now there was no trace of regret left.
Trash.
This bastard was beyond redemption.
The shock of being back ten years in the past had completely evaporated after facing Shinwoo. Honestly, I’d almost grabbed him by the collar on sight. I wanted to kill him right there. But that would’ve been meaningless, not with Hangyeol still alive and standing beside me. And the truth was, all those terrible things I had lived through—none of them had happened to these guys yet.
That was why I tested him. Just in case he made a different choice this time. If he had, I would’ve ignored him and made music happily with just the rest of us. Not that I’d ever intended to truly band with him again—no way in hell.
If only I’d come back to before we formed the band—it would’ve been cleaner.
The greatest regret I carried after ten years in this industry was that I hadn’t realized how talented these guys were. Compared to them, Shinwoo was nothing. I was confident I could build a band greater than anything with just us.
But Shinwoo’s betrayal was already a fixed future. Which left two goals: succeed as a band without him, and exact real revenge.
Sure, I could just block his deal with JW Entertainment. But that wouldn’t be enough.
Not compared to how he’d turned what I thought was the best moment of my life—our glorious stadium show—into my worst. Not compared to the crushing despair of reading Hangyeol’s tear-stained letter. Not compared to the lost ten years of these boys’ brilliance. The payback had to measure up.
Shinwoo couldn’t be destroyed too easily. Just like how he had slowly strangled Hangyeol until he died gasping for air. Just like how he smeared us as trash until we couldn’t even step outside.
Just as he monopolized ASH’s success, Shinwoo’s eventual rise would become the very foundation of ours. Just like he did, we’d use even that as part of our story.
Before I came back, Shinwoo and his agency had played the “Shinwoo bullied by the band” card as the reason they didn’t cast all of us. The company had swallowed his lies whole.
The story was obvious: he’d never wanted to be in the band, but we’d pressured and tormented him into it; he’d never once enjoyed it; only now, with the company’s help, had he finally escaped.
Total bullshit.
But once the agency fed it to the public, people went wild with speculation and hate.
Our channel only had performance clips.
Yet people claimed those showed why Shinwoo looked isolated, why the instruments stood out more than the vocals, why we must’ve lowered his mic volume on purpose. They spun all kinds of garbage, even saying it explained why we only ever uploaded instrumental videos.
Whatever. None of that was going to happen anymore.
No point racking my brain over it.
Life’s all about striking first.
“Seonjae, give me your phone.”
“Huh? Out of nowhere?”
“Didn’t you say your goal was to be a Witube star?”
It was time to rewrite the future.
The next day after I returned was the last day of the year—December 31st. We were first-year high schoolers, and it was the day of the annual tradition we’d kept ever since forming the band.
“Ugh, freezing. Who the hell started this tradition? Was it you, Seonjae?”
“Taejin, how do you already have memory problems at nineteen? It was Hangyeol’s idea.”
Hangyeol fidgeted, looking apologetic.
“Sorry, Taejin. Then this year can be the last—”
“No way. I meant it as a compliment. Gathering every December 31 to count down together—it’s insanely romantic.”
“Wow, two-faced bastard.”
This year’s gathering spot was a campsite near school. After grilling meat to our hearts’ content, it was already past 11 p.m.
The cold bit my nose red, but I wanted time to slow down.
“Hey, Cha. Where’s Shinwoo?”
“No clue. He went off to take a call and hasn’t come back.”
“What, he’s dating? He’s been on the phone all day lately—”
Watching the four of them huddled together, a word popped into my mind. The perfect new name for our band.
I squeezed myself into the empty spot between Dojae and Hangyeol.
“Damn, that’s assault. Your shoulders are weapons.”
“There’s space everywhere else, why crowd in here?”
Taejin and Seonjae, shoved half sideways, heckled me.
Just then, something glittered across the sky.
“Whoa, shooting star!”
“Where, where? Gotta make a wish!”
Without anyone leading, we all closed our eyes tight.
Frowning hard with his wish, Taejin blurted noisily,
“Hey, Seonjae. What’d you wish for?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be secret?”
Taejin clicked his tongue, turning away.
“Lame. I’ll just ask our Hangyeol. What’d you wish for?”
After a pause, Hangyeol answered softly,
“F-for us to keep doing the band together…”
A silence fell, heavy enough I could hear his eyes darting.
“You guys… you don’t actually not want to, right?”
Unbelievable. That was his reason?
“Holy—so touching. I’m tearing up.”
“Not just from the cold?”
“Wanna die? Of course we’ll keep going!”
“Even after graduation?”
“What, you scared? Seonjae chickening out?”
Those two would probably still be bickering even on their deathbeds, trying to outlive the other by a second.
“Hangyeol, you’re too soft. How are you gonna survive in this harsh world?”
“He’ll do fine as long as he doesn’t meet people like you, Taejin.”
“Uh-huh~ scammers like you, Seonjae, are way more dangerous.”
Amid the noise, Hangyeol muttered something only I heard.
“Ah… should I have made the wish when Shinwoo was here too…?”
God, what a hopelessly kind guy. Even the shooting star knew its timing—falling at the one moment that bastard wasn’t around.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Your wish will come true.”
They say starlight takes time to reach Earth. Hangyeol’s wish had traveled ten years to reach me, and now it was time for it to shine.
Watching them laugh, not knowing what lay ahead, made my chest ache.
But at least I wouldn’t let them share the same pain again. Not me, not my members.
From the radio, the DJ’s voice rang out, brimming with anticipation for the new year.
[“May the coming year be an even brighter one. And now, the countdown begins!”]
“3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!”
The five of us greeted the dawn of a new year together.
And five days later, in the early hours, one new video appeared on ASH’s Witube channel.