In my past life, I had always yearned for the country known as England.
It was the birthplace of The Beatles, the greatest band in the history of rock, and the home of Oasis, the band I loved most in my previous existence.
For someone like me, who had devoted most of his life to rock music, England was a nation I couldn't help but respect. For rock enthusiasts, the UK is nothing short of a holy land.
For the record, when I speak English, I use a Manchester dialect. It has a rough quality to the consonants, giving the speech a distinctive, clipped rhythm. In my past life, I adored the Manchester and Lancashire regions, and I learned English specifically in that Mancunian style just to communicate with the locals.
Of course, I completely failed my CSAT English listening tests because of it. If you're used to American English, it's relatively easy to understand a British accent, but the reverse is definitely not true.
How do I know that? Because that was exactly my experience in my past life.
"The rain in Manchester really never knows when to quit, does it?"
But even though I was walking the streets of the England I had so dearly loved and yearned for, I wasn't exactly happy. Every time I stepped onto these pavements, the weight of my karma came crashing down on me.
"Wait... isn't this the building where they shot the cover for Oasis's first album?"
This country was a constant reminder that the success of Enfants Terribles wasn't built on my own talent or ability, but by stealing the inspiration of the great artists from my past life.
Since starting a band in this life, I had ripped off countless songs, and the lion's share of them belonged to Oasis. That was simply because they were the ones I respected the most and the ones who had the greatest influence on my life.
In any case, I held my umbrella and walked aimlessly through the drizzling streets of Manchester. There was a specific reason I had carved out time from my packed schedule to visit this city, but first, I wanted to burn the image of the city I loved in my past life into my retinas.
"I didn't have time to look around like this last time."
This wasn't my first time in Manchester, but during the previous visit, I was too preoccupied with meeting Chris Martin and trying to shake off the crushing sense of debt in my heart to actually see the city.
Though my past life had grown quite hazy, the way my heart was pounding now proved that my yearning for Manchester remained rock-solid.
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"Did he say to come to a club called The Boardwalk?"
The handsome blonde youth looked around, searching for a sign that read 'The Boardwalk.' The reason the leader of Enfants Terribles, currently at the peak of his fame, had come to Manchester was to meet Liam Gallagher.
To Hide, Liam Gallagher was like the North Star—a celestial body that had provided the direction for his entire life.
—Tinkle!
Hide pushed open the wooden door, which felt like it might crumble at any moment from the moisture it had absorbed, and stepped into the club.
"This place is...?"
As soon as he stepped inside, a familiar sight unfolded before him. The Boardwalk was the very club where Oasis had performed for two years during their indie days in his past life.
He hadn't realized it just by the name, but seeing the massive Union Jack hanging behind the stage, Hide knew exactly what kind of place he had stepped into.
There, Liam was on stage, singing in his trademark posture. Despite being nearly forty, Liam was living a life intertwined with music, just as he had in the previous world.
"What's this? What brings a rock star all the way out here?"
"I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. Gallagher."
Hearing Hide's words, Liam Gallagher stared at the youth before him with a look of pure confusion. He had liked the kid because he thought he was a reckless, bold rock star, but the boy standing in front of him looked like a brat who still needed a hand to hold.
However, Liam Gallagher wasn't enough of a scoundrel to ignore a kid asking for help. Had it been the Liam of his youth, he might have ignored him while smoking a joint, but the man standing there now was an adult.
"How'd you even find this place?"
"You said at the venue that if I came here, you'd buy me a meal."
Liam Gallagher couldn't help but be shocked by Hide's eccentricity. He had only said it as a joke, yet Hide had actually tracked him down. From his perspective, it was incomprehensible that a star of Hide's magnitude would seek him out.
To Liam, who spent his days tightening screws in a Manchester factory, the fact that Hide had come all this way just to talk was difficult to grasp.
"Well, I suppose I am a bit of a big deal."
But Liam Gallagher was a man so thick with self-affirmation and confidence that he could write off even such an odd occurrence as a natural result of his own greatness.
"What would you think... if I told you I released an album by stealing someone else's songs?"
"Look, I'm busy enough just dealing with my own shit. What kind of fucking nonsense is that?"
Liam treated Hide's words as total rubbish. Liam was someone who had devoted his entire life to music ever since he'd been struck in the head with a hammer and had his ears opened to the art.
To his ears, Enfants Terribles' music was innovative and fresh—so much so that it felt like it had appeared out of thin air.
"What? Are you talking about homages? If that's the case, every moron shaking their arse on the BBC should be locked up."
There was no such thing as truly original music anymore. Humans have limited preferences for sounds, and artists have to create music to suit those preferences. In fact, the better the artist, the more they utilized homages.
Hadn't his own brother—who was now in the afterlife—spent half his time writing songs that were direct rip-offs of others?
"It's not an homage... what if I stole it wholesale?"
"Why should I care? If they're that bothered, they should've released it to the world first."
Liam couldn't understand why Hide kept spouting this weird nonsense after asking for a chat. He was certain that Hide, the leader of Enfants Terribles, was definitely on drugs.
Nothing else could explain this situation if not a drug-induced trip.
"What if... those songs were yours, Mr. Gallagher?"
"What? My songs? Listen, kid, I've never written a song in my life."
"But if they were?"
"I'm not in a band anyway, so who cares? I'd tell you to just use 'em. Doesn't that just mean my songs are that good?"
Liam Gallagher hated whining rock stars. When he was young, it was common practice to record songs you liked off the radio onto a tape just to own them.
It was a natural human desire to want to possess and listen to a good song, even through illegal means. Who would hate their songs getting attention if they weren't even planning to be in a band?
"If you're a rock star, live like one. Stop whining. I don't know what's eating you, but if you bow your head, every single one of your fans has to bow theirs too. Stop fucking around with useless shit like this."
"Mr. Gallagher, I don't believe my success was achieved through my own skills. This position I have now... it's a burden."
Liam Gallagher loathed rock stars who had everything and still complained. In his mind, rock stars had a responsibility to project positivity to their fans.
He believed that was the only way a 'star' living off the love of the fans could repay them. Therefore, a rock star had to walk their path exactly as they damn well pleased.
"If you're going to keep talking that shit, get the fuck out of my sight."
"Pardon?"
"Act like a rock star. Walk your own fucking path. That's your responsibility for the status you enjoy as a star."
As he said those words, Liam Gallagher slammed his fist into Hide's face to wake him up. Whether in this life or the last, he was exactly the same.
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