Episode 1: Dream
My dream was to become a singer.
More precisely, a singer so famous and extraordinary that no one in the world wouldn’t know the three characters of my name, Han Yujin.
I can’t quite recall how this dream began, but I’ve been running tirelessly to grasp it.
And I succeeded in achieving that goal.
As the main vocalist and producer of the boy group <Polaris>, under the name “Yujin.”
The proof is right here in my hand—a gramophone-shaped trophy.
[POLARIS]
[RECORD OF THE YEAR – 2039]
[Seventh Heaven]
This trophy is the result of overcoming the pervasive wall of racial discrimination at one of America’s most prestigious award ceremonies, solely through talent.
Having etched the unprecedented achievement of being the first Asian to win a Grammy Award in the General Field into the history of pop music, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say my dream has come true.
Holding this unparalleled honor, I returned to Korea immediately after receiving congratulations from countless artists.
There was no particular reason.
It just… didn’t feel all that joyful.
Instead, the emptiness of having nowhere left to climb overshadowed any joy, overwhelming me completely.
In the end, I flew back to Korea for 16 hours.
The excuse of “wanting to share the joy with the CEO” was enough.
Lee Heekyung, the CEO of Starlight Entertainment, was the benefactor-who pulled me, a nameless singer barely scraping by as a guide vocalist, onto a stage bathed in dazzling spotlights.
And that was a mistake.
“No matter how you look at it, putting Yujin in Polaris was a stroke of genius. A Korean—an idol, no less—winning a Grammy? Even a drama script like that would get trashed.”
Lee Heekyung, a workaholic whose office is practically her home.
When I visited her office upon returning to Korea, there was already someone else there.
A familiar face.
Lee Heeyeon, the PR director of Starlight Entertainment and Lee Heekyung’s younger sister.
Their conversation, unaware of my return, turned my world upside down.
“You don’t know the half of it. The things I did to bring Yujin on board.”
“What? What don’t I know?”
“Oh, it’s a tearjerker of a story.”
Maybe I should’ve turned around and left then.
I didn’t realize that what I was about to hear was a calamity trapped in Pandora’s box.
“What was her name again… ‘Woo Zia,’ I think?”
“Who’s that?”
That was a name that should never have come out of Lee Heekyung’s mouth.
Woo Zia.
The name of a woman who left me 16 years ago, when I was nothing more than a speck sinking into the corner of the world.
She was my pillar, my light, during the grueling days of pursuing music. But she tore my heart to shreds with harsh words and walked away.
Not long after I drowned my days in alcohol, I received a casting offer from Polaris. I set aside the music I’d been making and threw myself into the mainstream idol culture of Korean pop music.
It wasn’t some petty desire for revenge.
I thought that if I achieved success unmatched by anyone, maybe—just maybe—Zia would come back to me.
Of course, I let go of that hope nearly a decade ago, thinking she might have forgotten me and moved on.
“Why now…?”
I couldn’t comprehend why her name had come up, but Lee Heekyung’s next words were nothing short of outrageous.
“The leech who was stuck to Han Yujin. They were practically living together.”
“Whoa, are we talking about the Han Yujin? No wonder he’s had zero dating rumors in 16 years. Living together? The quiet ones always surprise you.”
“Well, back then, maybe. But a freshly debuted boy group member with a live-in girlfriend? That’s absurd.”
“True. So you told her to break up with him? Playing the rich CEO wife card, huh? How much did you pay her?”
“She didn’t take a single penny. At first, I thought it was about money, but when I appealed to her emotions, she just left him.”
“What, like for Yujin’s future or something? Wow, Lee Heekyung was the Lee Heekyung even 16 years ago.”
Their cackling conversation continued, but all I could do was turn and walk away.
I returned to my penthouse in the heart of Seoul, my mind a blur, and pulled a bottle of liquor from a dusty corner of the display case, pouring it down my throat.
The betrayal burned so fiercely in my chest that I wanted to grab Lee Heekyung by the collar and scream, but my cold, rational mind knew it would be meaningless.
“She’d probably say, ‘Was I wrong? Would that woman’s presence have helped you achieve your dreams?’”
And I couldn’t deny her logic.
No matter how much talent I had, without the royal road Lee Heekyung paved for me, that talent would’ve sunk to the bottom of the world.
“But… at least she could’ve felt some guilt…”
I’m not talking about that cliché nonsense about success being the best revenge.
My motivation was never tainted by such petty gaslighting; it was too pure for that.
But to call a foolish woman who gave up her happiness for the one she loved a “leech” or worse? That, at least, Lee Heekyung should not have done.
Bzzt.
At that moment, my phone lit up with a name.
Lee Heekyung.
“Hah.”
The call reeked of her probing intentions.
With countless staff and members in the U.S., someone must’ve told her I was back in Korea and why.
I tossed the phone far away, banishing that revolting name from my sight, and poured more liquor down my throat.
The betrayal-fueled exhaustion mixed with the buzz of alcohol.
I didn’t particularly feel like getting revenge on Lee Heekyung.
The best revenge I could muster—leaving Polaris and Starlight Entertainment—would deal her a significant blow, but…
“What’s the point?”
Even if Lee Heekyung fell so far she could never recover, it wouldn’t bring back the days when Zia and I shared a bowl of ramen with happy smiles.
My heart ached to apologize to Zia, who must’ve spoken those harsh words against her will, knowing my dreams all too well. But what would that achieve?
Despite my indescribable success, I gave up on finding Zia again.
She might’ve already healed from that painful wound.
Appearing before her with an apology would only tear open a scar that’s already closed.
All I could do was drown myself deeper in the haze of alcohol.
As I set down the empty bottle and reached for another, my eyes fell on the gramophone-shaped trophy still clutched in my hand.
And then,
“Yujin, you’re going to be an incredible singer. You’ll even win a Grammy!”
A long-forgotten, silly conversation flashed through my mind.
“Is Grammy the name of someone’s dog?”
“Wanna bet? If you win a Grammy, I’ll grant you a wish. If you don’t, you grant mine.”
“Didn’t you just switch that around?”
Why now?
Why did the memory of those happy times, when just dreaming of the future together was enough, come flooding back?
“A wish…”
But the person who’d grant that wish is no longer by my side.
“I miss you, Zia…”
The only reason I said those words out loud was surely because I was drunk.
***
“Han Yujin, are you listening to me?”
The husky voice of Zia shook me awake from the darkness brought on by my drunken haze.
Even after 16 years, I recognized its owner instantly, and my eyes snapped open.
‘A dream.’
I immediately knew this was a dream.
A monochrome world devoid of any color except black and white.
Zia stood there, gazing at me impassively.
This was a reenactment of the day she broke up with me.
This nightmare had haunted me every time I fell asleep sober, forcing me to drown my nights in alcohol after our breakup.
It stopped only when I was scouted by Lee Heekyung and vowed to achieve success to win Zia back.
That was 16 years ago, and I thought I’d forgotten it all.
‘Maybe not.’
The dream felt so vivid that, if the world weren’t cloaked in monochrome, I might’ve believed I’d truly gone back to that day.
‘Did I make a wish I shouldn’t have?’
No matter how you look at it, why this day?
There were countless happy moments with Zia, yet my mind dragged up this, the worst of memories.
It seems the karma I’ve accumulated is no small thing.
“You’re annoyed just talking to me? So sick of looking at me that you’d rather close your eyes?”
Zia’s voice pierced through me again.
‘She never said that… did she?’
Perhaps the root of this nightmare was my own guilt.
After 16 years, this nightmare had evolved with strange variations.
“You’re not even denying it now. Fine. What’s the point of talking? Let’s just end it here. I can’t do this anymore.”
They say dreams can’t recreate what you haven’t experienced.
If that’s true, Zia’s words were pulled straight from my memories.
Normally, this is where I’d snap, “Why does it have to end like this?” and she’d hurl increasingly harsh words at me. I’d beg through tears, but she’d leave anyway.
Knowing now that vile manipulation lay behind this breakup,
And knowing my mental state couldn’t withstand her cruel words again,
I twisted the dream.
This time, I didn’t respond to her breakup declaration at all.
Her eyebrows twitched slightly.
“Not even stopping me? Guess you were thinking the same thing. Good. Let’s end this cleanly without making a scene. Throw out all my stuff in your place. I don’t want to use it again, and I don’t want it lingering in your room—it’s disgusting.”
In the dream, Zia skipped straight to her final declaration, stood up, and left.
I watched her blankly.
Was it because, even in this twisted dream, her harsh words still tore at my heart?
‘No.’
It was because I saw things I hadn’t noticed back then.
The faint trembling of her fingertips.
The way her shoulders moved, as if forcibly suppressing intense emotions despite her calm tone.
The reddening veins in her eyes, as if she were about to burst into tears.
‘What is this…?’
I didn’t understand.
Was this how she really was back then, and I’m only now, older, able to see it?
Or was this nightmare reflecting my desperate hope that her harsh words weren’t laced with her true feelings?
‘Can I even call this a nightmare?’
It was undeniably different from the one that drove me to drink 16 years ago.
That much was certain.
‘If I’m dreaming, why not do what I want?’
It’d probably just be a pathetic self-consolation, deepening my self-loathing when I wake.
But I was already a pitiful guy who couldn’t function after her breakup, so what’s one more layer of misery?
I jumped up, but Zia had already left the café. I bolted outside.
In the gray streets filled with people, distinguishing her in this colorless world should’ve been impossible, but I spotted her immediately.
“Sob!”
Zia, walking far ahead, was crying loudly, heedless of the stares around her.
‘Did you really cry like that back then?’
The unease I’d felt from her earlier behavior sparked that question, but I brushed it aside.
This wasn’t the time for pointless introspection.
The only thing that mattered was that the object of my emotions, radiating presence even in this monochrome world, was crying.
I ran toward her.
My body, not the one trained for intense choreography, quickly grew breathless, but catching up to Zia, who was stumbling forward while crying, wasn’t hard.
“Sniff!”
She was sobbing so hard she didn’t even notice me beside her.
A woman bawling her eyes out and a man trailing behind—naturally, it drew people’s attention.
“If you’re going to cry like that, why say we should break up?”
Was this what I secretly wanted to see?
Ignoring everyone’s stares, I desperately held back my own tears and grabbed her hand. In that moment, I wondered if this might not be a dream.
Whoosh!
The coldness of her wrist, chilled by the winter breeze, registered in my hand, and color flooded back into the monochrome world.
And then,
“Look at your makeup, all smudged. Still beautiful, though.”
If dreams truly can’t recreate what you’ve never experienced, then the sight of mascara running down Zia’s tear-streaked cheeks shouldn’t have appeared.
Because I’ve never once seen Zia cry.