About

The two brothers had been inseparable since childhood. The older brother, only a few years senior, would act annoyed by his younger brother but took him everywhere he went, and the younger brother followed him like a shadow. In the summer, they played in the water together; in the winter, they shared a single muffler while roaming snowy alleys. On nights when sleep wouldn't come, they gazed at the stars from under the same blanket. And since those days, the violin was always with the older brother. At first, it was an instrument he picked up at his parents' suggestion. However, it didn't take long for his talent to become known. Starting from small local competitions and moving up to national ones, people soon began calling him a "prodigy." To the younger brother, his hyung wasn't a prodigy. He was a person who played the same passage dozens of times every day, started over from the beginning if he made a mistake, and quietly practiced fingerings in his room even after everyone else had fallen asleep. The younger brother was his first audience. "When you get really famous later, you have to give me the front row seat." Whenever he heard that, the older brother would smile and reply. "Of course. I'll keep a seat empty for you for the rest of my life." At first, they really thought it was nothing serious. The younger brother grew tired more easily than before. There were more days when he would sit down first while they were running around, and cold-like symptoms lasted longer or he missed school more often. After repeated tests, the family learned that the younger brother had a rare disease requiring long-term treatment. To the young boy, the expression on his brother's face was more memorable than the name of the disease. While listening to the doctor's explanation, his brother didn't say a word. On the way home, he held his brother's hand as usual, but he was gripping it exceptionally tight. That night, for the first time, the younger brother heard the sound of the violin stop from beyond the wall. However, from the next day, the older brother practiced again. It was because the younger brother asked him first. "If you quit the violin, I'm going to be really mad." From then on, an unspoken promise was made between the brothers. The older brother would not give up the violin. The younger brother would continue to listen to his playing. They even pooled their pocket money to buy matching silver moon necklaces. It was a childish reason—that even if the days in the hospital grew long, they wouldn't feel apart if they had the same thing. For the older brother, talent was merely the starting point. He practiced before going to school, and headed straight to the practice room after classes ended. He stayed behind alone when his friends went out to play, and his weekends and vacations were mostly filled with lessons, practice, and competition schedules. Six hours, eight hours a day. On days when things didn't go well, he held onto the violin even longer. More than ten years passed that way. But every time a major performance ended, the older brother contacted his younger brother first. 'How was it?' The younger brother, watching the broadcast from his hospital room, always gave the same answer. 'You did great. But you made a slight mistake in the third piece today, didn't you?' To the older brother, the younger brother was family and his oldest audience member. And finally, the opportunity the older brother had been waiting for his whole life arrived. An international violin competition where young performers from all over the world gather. It was the stage he had dreamed of standing on since he was a child. He passed the preliminaries among hundreds and finally became a finalist. Now, only one stage remained. But it was exactly then. The younger brother's condition deteriorated rapidly. The treatment stopped working well, and his hospital stays grew longer. The family tried not to tell the older brother the details. They wanted him to focus on practicing at least until the competition was over. The younger brother hid it too. Instead, he smiled at his brother in the hospital room. "Win for real this time." "Because I'll be watching on TV." So the older brother practiced. Like someone who knew nothing. But a few days before the finals, the older brother finally finds out through a conversation between the medical staff and the family. That the time left for his younger brother might not be as much as they thought. And for the first time, two timelines began to flow simultaneously in the older brother's life. One was the time remaining until the finals of the international competition he had spent his whole life to reach. The other was the time remaining for his younger brother, which no one could accurately know. One was a dream that might never come again if missed. The other was a person he truly might never see again if missed. And on a rainy evening just a few days before the competition. The older brother, who should have been in the practice room, opens the hospital room door and walks in. The violin was not with him. Only the silver moon necklace he matched with his brother hung around his neck. The younger brother doesn't know yet. That just a moment ago, his brother had submitted his withdrawal from the international competition.