Producer with no Regrets - Chapter 580



Only Noblemtl

Episode 580

During her two years of high school (the final year of secondary education in Russia is two years, unlike the three years in Korea), Rosa lived a life that was incomparably less dense than before.

It was thanks to the K-pop dance club.

Even though it was a club, it was more like a small gathering of like-minded people. There was no recognition or support from the school.

“Do you know K-pop?”

The student who had dragged Rosa in asked.

At that time, Rosa didn’t know about K-pop. Then, the student happily showed her a music video.

“How is it? Is it good?”

The student asked, meaning, ‘Do male idols have good faces?’

“Yeah, cool.”

But Rosa’s answer was, ‘The dance is great.’

From that day on, Rosa learned K-pop performances little by little every week with the friends she met for the first time.

That was the first experience in Rosa’s life where she learned what it meant to be connected.

Modern society where individuals are fragmented and local communities are collapsing.

In the urban areas, which are the essence of that society, it was rare for people to feel a sense of accomplishment by rubbing shoulders with each other.

Rosa wanted to play sports. She had a romantic feeling about seeing boys sweating, encouraging each other, and sometimes going through conflicts and reconciliations.

It was a romance called colleague.

Unfortunately, Rosa’s school didn’t have any sports clubs for girls. Now, there was something like that.

“The number of views is 100!”

They uploaded the video they took to iTube.

There were only a few dozen or a few hundred people watching, but they were still happy that someone was watching them dance.

Above all, I was happy to have friends who shared the same hobbies and goals.

“Goodbye, guys.”

But that ended with my graduation from school.

Some went to vocational schools, some to junior colleges, and some to comprehensive schools.

We keep in touch, but we don’t have the opportunity to meet up like before.

Rosa began to delve into K-pop as if trying to compensate for her lost bond.

And the target is.

‘Girls League.’

This is a group that I came to know after dancing to Girls’ League’s ‘Ani’ at their graduation performance.

Rosa started to follow the Girls’ League and became a citizen.

I made a lot of friends through the Internet.

That had its own meaning, but I needed a relationship that was tangible.

Then, by chance, I met Plekhanov.

“Stand up, you too! This is International!”

When I first saw him, I thought he was crazy.

But despite his unnatural appearance and speech, he was a good person. Not only that, but all the people who were with Plekhanov were good people.

And now, Rosa is standing on stage with them.

‘Thank you all.’

Rosa was absorbed in the performance of ‘Arabesque’, which she had practiced desperately with them.

A smile formed.

‘Thank you so much.’

Don’t you know that Rosa Plekhanov and the people are reluctant to do such a thing?

It would be embarrassing to ask men in their 40s to dance to K-pop. Nevertheless, they listened to Rosa’s wishes.

Of course, there was also the desire to see the Girls’ League up close, but the main reason I participated in the competition was because of Rosa.

‘thank you.’

Rosa focused on the thanks after the competition.

The Girls’ League and Jang Ha-yang are right in front of you.

This ‘Arabesque’ is a dance for her.

Every time Rosa’s eyes met Jang Ha-yang’s, her body would shiver.

Rosa is facing her own utopia.

‘your…….’

Because I like your song.

Because I like your dancing.

Because I like your music.

I like your face, your story, everything about you.

‘I practiced hard.’

To face you without shame.

I never thought I’d want to show you this side of me, but I’m honored to be able to do so.

‘Because you are my idol.’

Rosa sees an idol she can’t be, but wants to be, and imitates him.

I wish to be like her.

And all the praise paid to her is for the utopia that sleeps within Rosa.

Idol.

Everyone’s idol.

Rosa’s utopia.

The greatest love Rosa could offer to her, who held onto him during his wavering and wandering youth and showed him the way forward.

imitation.

‘I want to be like you.’

You are so wonderful, so kind, and so beautiful in every way… … beyond words.

That’s why I want to be like you.

It must be the happiest words for an idol. They convey it by being in this place and through dance.

‘Arabesque’ is a tribute to her.

I hope she knows.

‘you are.’

He is such a great person that I wish I could be like him.

I am a fan who admires you like that.

Because that’s who you are, because I’m a fan of that kind of you, I’m standing here.

“Swoop, hoo.”

The performance is over.

Rosa stopped in her ending pose.

Jang Ha-yang brought the microphone to her mouth. And now she had a brighter smile than ever before.

“■■■.”

It was Korean.

The man behind Jang Ha-yang interpreted the Korean. But even without the interpreter, Rosa seemed to be able to understand.

The emotions expressed on Jang Ha-yang’s face were clear.

“It was really cool.”

Rosa’s eyes turned red.

“Thank you (Spasiva)… … .”

Soon, Rosa lost her composure and began to sob, covering her face. A single word of praise from her idol drove her into a crucible of emotion.

Plekhanov, the propagandist, and the people rushed to her and set her on fire. The judging had not yet been completed, but they were already in a celebratory mood.

Jang Ha-yang was slightly surprised, but soon smiled brighter than before.

* * *

“The battalion commander.”

Major Axelrod spoke, smoking a cigarette or not.

“They said that ammunition consumption was too high.”

Plekhanov let out a hollow laugh.

“Isn’t it the average? I’m sure you don’t know why.”

Statistically, it takes tens of thousands of bullets to kill one enemy in war, sometimes hundreds of thousands.

There is even a joke that if you give the enemy the price of bullets, they will stop the war and return to their hometown. The public’s thoughts stop there, but there is another reason.

“Our unit’s soldiers are new to war. They lack experience.”

The reason it takes so many bullets to kill one enemy is simple.

Because soldiers are reluctant to kill people.

Only a very small number of soldiers can kill their enemies with precision. Most soldiers pray while firing countless bullets. Please run away. Please step back. Please don’t let me kill anyone… . . .

“It’s natural to use a lot of bullets. It’s even in the officer training.”

Even in extreme situations like war, humans are reluctant to kill others.

In provocative novels and comics, war or extreme situations similar to it often appear. A surreal gate opens, monsters come out, society collapses, and things like that.

The protagonists there commit murder so naturally, either because they have committed an act that is harmful to themselves or because they have threatened their colleagues.

It’s clear he’s a psychopath.

A decent human being would hesitate to kill even when the situation is extreme. That is why the sin of murder is so serious.

Because killing a human being means throwing away the hesitation of tens of thousands of bullets.

“You know that too, Commander.”

Major Axelrod stared blankly at his cigarette and then just threw it on the ground.

“But, that’s because you’re blinded by promotion.”

“Does bullet usage also affect advancement?”

“Well, bullets are also military assets. The less you use and the better you win. It can be proof that the soldiers are well-trained.”

Major Axelrod fiddled with the hand that had thrown away his cigarette. Perhaps his hand was empty, so he took something out of his pocket and fiddled with it.

It was an Orthodox crucifix.

Major Axelrod squeezed the symbol representing Jesus on the cross in his hand several times.

“So… … education is necessary.”

This is what he meant by education.

Make sure your soldiers don’t hesitate to kill.

No, it’s not murder.

‘It’s something that keeps you from thinking about murder.’

The true nature of education was soon revealed.

The NCOs gathered the soldiers together, selected some as examples, and beat them.

“You think we’re joking? You’re in a battlefield!”

One NCO screamed with bloodshot eyes.

“This is a holy war for our country and our people! Do you intend to bring shame to your country? Do you intend to show shame in front of your parents, brothers, sisters, and children?”

Plekhanov watched from a distance from the scene of military training.

“Aliosha! Try doing it in front of your parents! Take a video and send it to your parents! Show them how you hide like a coward and empty a few magazines, which is worse than human garbage!”

“sorry!”

“You are your country! Is your country a coward!”

“no!”

“Are your people cowards?”

“no!”

“Then what should I do!”

Private Alyosha, whose nose was bleeding, had red, swollen eyes. He shouted with his head paralyzed with fear and anger.

“Bravely tear and kill the enemy! I, Russia, am not a coward!”

“okay!”

As a reward for his good answer, Alyosha was hit in the stomach by the sergeant.

Urgh, Urgh. A painful groan escaped.

After that, the NCOs continued to give speeches about patriotism. It would work in the short term. If this were repeated over and over again, the soldiers would finally lose their fear.

What they are doing is not murder.

It is the work of killing enemies of the country and people, that is, non-humans. I will gradually embody that kind of thinking.

Patriotism is not optional for a soldier. Without it, he is ruined.

Alyosha staggered to his feet. Plekhanov met his eyes.

Aliosha suddenly lowered his gaze.

At the same time, Plekhanov also bowed his head and checked his wristwatch.

‘It’ll be dinner time soon.’

Plekhanov looked at the ridge.

Because it is in the mountains, the sun sets early.

It’s already getting dark around here.

‘I guess I’ll have to tell them to stop after about 10 more minutes… … .’

That was when.

A loud noise was heard, ripping the air.

A weight filled the entire temporary camp. The sound from the sky made the air ring terrifyingly.

Plekhanov looked at the sky.

‘mine thrower.’

At the same time as that thought, someone shouted.

“The enemy… …!”

Plekhanov’s mind was blown.

* * *

Plekhanov opened his eyes.

There was no sound.

At the same time, the vision shakes.

I desperately tried to regain some sense of my body.

As I wiggled my hands and feet, my sense of reality returned. The darkness that had descended upon the sky was colorless, and the ground was filled with bright flames.

“Uh, uh… … .”

Plekhanov tried to raise his upper body, but he lay on the floor in agony due to the sharp pain he felt in his lower body.

Looking down, he saw a half-severed calf. Nearby lay a sheet of tin covered in Plekhanov’s blood.

It was like being blown away by an explosion.

Plekhanov looked around.

It’s a big change.

Shadows moving between the rising flames repeatedly screamed in panic. Gunshots and cannon fire rang out alternately from the outskirts of the camp.

Even in his dazed state, Plekhanov could see the situation. The battalion commander seemed to prefer withdrawal over confrontation.

“Ah, uh… … .”

Plekhanov struggled to get up. He might not be able to walk, but he could still walk.

If things continue like this, I will either die from excessive bleeding or be captured and die without even receiving proper medical treatment.

We have to withdraw with the troops somehow.

“Hey, hey. Anyone… … .”

That was when.

10 meters from Plekhanov.

The prisoner was seen. He was free and was trying to escape from the camp when his eyes met Plekhanov’s.

He was wearing a blood-stained military uniform.

The prisoner looked at Plekhanov, then began to approach quickly.

“Fuck… … !”

He roughly grabbed the strap that was hanging diagonally on his shoulder. Then he grabbed the gun that was hanging on his back and… … .

‘doesn’t exist.’

The string is broken.

It seemed to have been broken during the explosion.

Plekhanov quickly reached for his waistband and tried to draw his broadsword.

But the prisoner was faster than that.

He caught up with Plekhanov.

Plekhanov closed his eyes, sensing his doom. But then he felt his hand between his armpits.

Then Plekhanov’s body was dragged by him. He was holding Plekhanov and dragging him somewhere. Not in the direction of the enemy, but in the direction of the Russian army’s withdrawal.

“what…….”

Plekhanov looked up in surprise.

The prisoner’s face was a mixture of fear, horror, and anger. In that state, he dragged Plekhanov away.

“What, why… … .”

The prisoner answered with a voice that was half fear and half anger, just like his face.

“Cigarette prices!”

“……what?”

Plekhanov’s vision shook violently. It felt like his head was spinning.

A certain landscape overlaps the field of vision.

A village reduced to ruins by Plekhanov’s troops.

A woman leaning against the second floor window and looking down at herself.

Corpses covered the ground.

‘For the country, for the people.’

The voice of Major Axelrod.

“It’s the price of cigarettes!”

The prisoner shouted again.

It was a firm tone, as if trying to convince himself.

With his voice, the world Plekhanov had seen collapsed. The distortion created by tears distorted Plekhanov’s world.

Plekhanov sobbed.

The faces of the enemies, no, the humans, that he had killed, came to mind clearly.

‘No, no… … .’

Plekhanov wiped his eyes roughly and tried to calm his mind.

But it didn’t work.

The human warmth he felt from the hands of the enemy prisoners who rushed to save him did not allow Plekhanov to become a soldier.

Plekhanov’s shield falls.

The feeling of patriotism disappears.

It was a treasure that was more precious to him than anything else.

‘This won’t do… … .’

Patriotism is the most concrete expression of altruism.

Because they are citizens, people sympathize with people they have never seen and will never see again.

I hope they don’t starve because they are citizens.

I hope they don’t die just because they are citizens.

Help them because they are our citizens.

Make them fight for you because you are our people.

That allows them to die for them just because they are citizens.

Altruism, the triumph of human reason and the greatest expression of the most beautiful human emotion.

I’ve been thinking that way.

Patriotism makes Plekhanov love 150 million people he has never met.

At the same time, it was the limit of empathy.

Plekhanov was not concerned about whether millions of people, not even his own people, would die of starvation.

Whether or not non-citizens will lose their homes and livelihoods to rising sea levels.

Whether or not non-citizens suffer from poor working conditions.

Whether non-citizens die or not.

Those who were not citizens could be killed by indifference, neglect, bullets, and war.

For the sake of my country and my people, whatever happens to the 5.85 billion people is fine.

This prisoner was one of them. He was not a citizen, so he was to be killed.

But that couldn’t be the case anymore.

The limits of empathy were broken, and Plekhanov was immersed in pain and sorrow that no human being could bear.

A soldier who loses his patriotism is ruined.

“Plekhanov!”

Axelrod, who was about to get into the car, approached Plekhanov. The prisoner fell in fright as Axelrod approached him with a pistol.

Axelrod looked between Plekhanov and the prisoner, then frowned as if in pain.

He looked in the direction of the shells and gunfire. He pointed his finger toward the hell of flames and noise.

“good.”

The prisoner ran towards him without asking again.

Axelrod put his hands in his pockets and stroked the crucifix. He closed his eyes tightly and picked up the fallen Plekhanov.

Plekhanov was still crying.

* * *

Plekhanov suffered from social phobia due to PTSD symptoms. After his discharge, he stayed home for a while.

Then I mustered up my courage and went outside.

It was a country that had been at war with Russia and where Plekhanov had served as a soldier.

I went to the village where the prisoner was taken.

The town, which was thought to have been rebuilt to some extent, was still in ruins. Only a few houses had survived the bombardment.

“… … .”

Plekhanov reached the bottom of the two-story house and stared at the ground for a while. Then he mustered up his courage and raised his head.

There was no one at the wide open window.

Plekhanov looked at the place for a while, then turned around and walked away.

He became a barista.

I saved money and opened a cafe.

“Is this okay?”

A friend who served in the same military unit as me, Seon Do-gwan, was a regular at the café. In fact, Seon Do-gwan thought that Plekhanov’s coffee was not that great compared to other places.

“What kind of cafe is this when you can’t even speak properly?”

Still, he became a regular because he didn’t want to see Plekhanov starve to death.

Plekhanov still suffered from social phobia. What kind of café is a café when he can’t even talk to customers properly?

“Why don’t you just pass it on to someone else?”

“… … .”

Plekhanov shook his head.

The propagandist sighed.

A few months later, the propagandist decided that this could not go on and made a proposal.

“Idol?”

The suggestion was to start by making friends on the Internet. Plekhanov was initially reluctant, but she couldn’t resist the propagandist’s persistent sales pitch and started to become a fan of the Girls’ League.

It was easy to get sucked in.

The Girls’ League was fascinating.

However, the friends he made on the Internet had a more positive effect on Plekhanov.

He learned how to get along with people from the beginning.

“Commemorative cafe?”

“Yes. I heard that there is such a culture in Korea. How about decorating a cafe to commemorate the comeback of Girls’ League?”

The propagandist spoke in a sly tone.

“Try inviting your friends too. It’ll be easier to approach them than other people.”

“Can I do it… … ?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Plekhanov hesitated, then said he understood.

The cafe was decorated with Girls’ League goods. His comrades, no, those who have now become the people, helped.

The long-awaited opening day of the commemorative café.

Plekhanov could not shake off his anxiety.

How should I greet you?

I wonder if I can speak properly.

Like on the internet, will we be able to become really close?

“It’s time for the event to start.”

The propagandist said.

It’s the appointed time, but not a single person has arrived yet.

Plekhanov felt both regret and relief.

That was when.

The cafe door opened and a girl came in. She looked at the cafe’s interior with curiosity.

Plekhanov swallowed hard.

The propagandist gave him a encouraging push on the back.

Soon, Plekhanov.

“The people… …?”

The girl let out a small scream, ‘H-h-h-h?!’

Plekhanov was already feeling discouraged.

But still, there was a little bit of courage left.

“You’re right on time.”

He unconsciously spoke in the same way he had spoken in the military, but it didn’t matter. Plekhanov was not in his right mind enough to care.

Talking to strangers was a very difficult and scary thing for him.

Still, the story continues somehow.

The propagandist who was watching clenched his fist.

“I am Plekhanov. Sit down.”

“yes yes?”

“It looks like everyone is here, so let’s begin, comrades!”

My memory after that was unclear.

I only remember the atmosphere.

Plekhanov and the people taught the girl, Rosa, many things.

“This is how you do fandom! You can do it more cleverly!”

We shared tips for fandom, sang songs together, and had a great time.

Plekhanov found it hard to believe that he was talking to Rosa so casually.

Is this really you?

“Thank you, Mr. Plekhanov!”

Rosa laughed heartily.

Seeing that, Plekhanov also laughed.

And then he realized something.

‘Ah, what it means to be human… … .’

Just because we like the same things, we can become so close.