[ASH: Record of Youth]
Tap-tap-tap. As the title etched itself across the center of the screen in cursive, the video began.
Cha Seonjae had this habit of shoving a camera in our faces at all hours, swearing he’d make it big on Witube. When we were younger I’d grumble, mortified, asking what the hell he needed to film so much. Looking back, we couldn’t have asked for a better godsend. The countless clips Seonjae shot had ended up chronicling our time together.
“Everybody, look here.”
“Ugh, Seonjae’s filming again?”
“Isn’t this the first step of a historic band?”
“Kimchi-juice drinking at its peak.”
“As if I’d film you, Taejin—you’re too ugly.”
“Get your eyes checked.”
Taejin’s face filled the screen, and then Seonjae’s big hand shoving it away. Raw, unfiltered footage.
And Seonjae actually had a decent eye. The camcorder footage was old and grainy, but the sun-faded tones only sharpened that “youth” feeling. Jagged little letters crawled over torn-paper scraps on-screen.
[Prologue: Where is YOUTH?]
Seonjae’s camcorder swung toward me.
“Our team’s visual, Mr. Choi Juyeon, say a word.”
“What are you on about? I’m the visual.”
“Taejin, go look in a mirror.”
You couldn’t see it, but the audio caught Taejin huffing.
“I’m Choi Juyeon, guitar and composition.”
“Look at this guy being all serious.”
My face, much younger than now—first year of high school. Back then I never imagined I’d be watching this in a stadium green room more than ten years later.
That was the first moment the bitterness really landed: the ten years I’d built had been wiped clean.
And yet, strangely, I didn’t feel much regret.
“Ahem. Then I’m Kwon Taejin on bass.”
“Guitar—way cooler than bass—Cha Seonjae.”
“And I’m… Go Hangyeol on keys.”
“Even now, our Hangyeol’s the polite one.”
“I’m simply on a different level than you people.”
“Seok Dojae, you’re not the one to say that.”
Dojae flourished his drumsticks in showy patterns.
“Crazy drums, Seok Dojae. Peace—”
“Peak try-hard.”
Then came Bae Shinwoo’s turn. He’d been glued to a mirror the whole time and now tidied his hair in the camcorder screen.
“I’m ASH’s center and vocalist, Bae Shinwoo.”
“Wow, we made you vocalist because you couldn’t play an instrument, and you immediately claim center?”
“Jealous? I’m the face of ASH.”
“Congrats, truly.”
This was the first video after we formed the band. Every face flushed and brimming with expectation.
“What does ‘ASH’ mean, Mr. Choi Juyeon?”
The camcorder completed its circle and landed on me again.
“It means we’ll burn everything on stage until all that’s left is ash.”
“Wow, he didn’t even crack a smile.”
Taejin’s laughter boomed through the practice room at my grim resolve.
“Still—great name.”
“It’s wild how that scary face hides such feelings.”
“Wrong, Taejin. You’re the scary face. Juyeon’s scary-good-looking.”
“Everybody remember this. Today’s a historic day. First we form the band, then I kill Cha Seonjae—”
Seonjae and Taejin bickering; Hangyeol wedged between them trying to keep the peace; me and Dojae fiddling with our instruments like nothing new; Shinwoo fussing with his hair nonstop.
Chaotic—and all the more alive for it.
After the playful everyday bits rolled by, the next segment stitched together our rehearsal clips in short bursts, like flipping through a yearbook, our playing layered underneath as the soundtrack.
A video tailor-made to hit every nerve of youth nostalgia.
The night we uploaded it, I gave up on sleep. I’d pulled more all-nighters than I could count over the last decade, and now that I was back in a twenty-year-old body, this was nothing.
It was our first upload since the busking video went big, so even in the pre-dawn hours the reactions poured in the moment it went up.
Good. Everyone was focused on our team.
Around nine a.m., Shinwoo finally started calling non-stop—guess he’d just woken up. I ignored every one. I did want to ask how it felt to wake up to surprise news like that.
I briefly considered blocking him, but he’d be the one doing that soon enough anyway.
As his missed calls stacked up, the view count climbed just as fast. Even accounting for the stealthy pre-dawn upload—to keep it off Shinwoo’s and the label’s radar—the response was scorching.
And that afternoon, January 6, the article dropped: JW Entertainment had signed Bae Shinwoo. Same date, same company as before the return.
[JW Entertainment joins hands with Bae Shinwoo of viral band ASH…]
JW Entertainment announced they have signed vocalist Bae Shinwoo of the recently popular band ASH. A JW representative said, “We’re excited to work with Bae Shinwoo, a core member of ASH. We’ll spare no support for his future musical activities.” They added that if all goes well, Bae could debut as early as the end of next month and is currently practicing day and night.
Even after ten years, I remembered this day with perfect clarity. It’s why I uploaded at dawn.
Before the return, Shinwoo’s solo debut had happened at a ridiculous pace. They must’ve wanted to milk the viral buzz to the last drop, so they forced the schedule through. He’d kept his mouth shut with us, but behind our backs the contract was signed and the debut album in motion; there was no way to change plans overnight. Honestly, them putting out the article today, as expected, almost felt helpful.
My phone was on fire with messages from the guys.
[Hangyeol_Keys: (article link) What… is this?]
[Taejin_Bass: When did he leave the group chat?]
[Dojae_Drums: Is this a dream?]
[Seonjae_Guitar: How do you do this without so much as a word to us]
[Taejin_Bass: Why’s Choi Juyeon silent—sleeping?]
Articles were exploding like crazy, and the members were only now realizing they’d been betrayed. Just like before I returned.
But one thing was different: public reaction. People were more curious why Shinwoo alone entered JW Entertainment.
Sure enough, JW Entertainment tried a different excuse this time. If it were the old timeline, they’d already be pumping out pieces about Shinwoo being a bullying victim.
[JW Entertainment: ‘Discord between Bae Shinwoo and ASH? Merely a difference in musical views.’]
JW weighed in after formalizing the signing. With the internet buzzing about discord—since the choice looked nothing like the cheerful band vibe in the video uploaded on ASH’s Witube this very dawn—the company stated on ASH’s official account that there was no discord whatsoever; Bae Shinwoo and the band simply had differing musical views and chose to support each other on separate paths…
Thank God for winter break. If not, school would’ve been a circus all day.
[Seonjae_Guitar: The back of my head stings.]
[Taejin_Bass: That crazy bastard—using ASH as his stage name?]
[Seonjae_Guitar: The trademark’s already registered. Nothing we can do.]
[Hangyeol_Keys: Then… what happens to our band…?]
With each message, the little “1” read receipt ticked away. Just text on a screen, but I could see how stunned and hollow they must’ve felt.
I sent a short reply.
[We make our own band.]
[Dojae_Drums: How do we make a band with just us?]
[It’s only one person gone.]
[Seonjae_Guitar: Not just any member—the vocalist is gone. Who sings?]
[Hangyeol_Keys: Guys, don’t fight…]
I knew it sounded crazy, me saying this now.
There was a time I swore I’d never sing into a mic again. It won’t happen in this timeline—but the trauma is etched sharp in my memory.
Even so—if I could move in step with this turning tide…
[Sing? I can do it.]
Maybe I wouldn’t be afraid anymore.
[This time too—trust me and follow.]
What did I text ten years ago? Maybe it was the same line.
When I recruited the members to ASH, and when I tried to keep the band after Shinwoo left, I shouted Trust me and follow with all the bravado in the world. No basis—just love for the band.
But now, I can promise it with my chest out. Everything I clawed out alone over the last ten years is still in me. My hands, still soft but already callusing again; my head; the fire in my chest—remember.
Minutes passed after the “1”s vanished, with no replies. Normally, they’d have deflected with jokes—calling me cringe for striking a pose, asking if I was trying to look cool. The silence meant they were thinking.
The first answer was from Go Hangyeol.
[Hangyeol_Keys: I want to keep doing the band too.]
[Hangyeol_Keys: Juyeon, you always make the right call.]
I froze. The one topic that made Hangyeol speak first, without being drowned out by others, was always music. It felt like getting that confirmed all over again. And a stone settled heavy in my chest.
“…You think too well of me.”
[Dojae_Drums: Choi Juyeon just dropped a shounen manga line lol]
[Taejin_Bass: Dojae, stop watching anime.]
[Dojae_Drums: I refuse to dine with non-shounen-watchers.]
Was this the same chat that felt like a funeral a minute ago?
[Taejin_Bass: If you can’t sing, I’m taking vocalist—so be ready.]
[Seonjae_Guitar: If Taejin sings, I’m quitting, so practice properly.]
[Taejin_Bass: If I pick up a Death Note, I’m writing your name first, Seonjae. k thx]
[Seonjae_Guitar: Taejin, you’re the guy who’d write your own name on the cover so you don’t lose the Death Note.]
[Taejin_Bass: Guess we’re a lifelong band—since I’m gonna beat up Seonjae every day, brace yourself.]
Yeah. We’re too young to be solemn.
We’ve got time to spare for setbacks, and a blinding future too bright for despair.
This time, we’re not letting it slip.