The day he received that one letter that supposedly changed his life, Myungsoo was still frantically looking through the pile of the magazines, page after page searching for possible scholarships, apprenticeships, anything that could help him survive through the last semester of the university. Being a diligent and talented student majoring in photography, one could think that nothing should go wrong - but to Myungsoo's despair, everything, his whole life, was just going in every other direction than good. He was already behind with the last two payments for the rent as he didn't even have anything to pay with; it was only the middle of the month but he has already spent his last money on the new lens, the one he definitely shouldn't have bought, if his empty stomach and the countless bills littering the kitchen table were anything to go by.
Myungsoo was officially ed and on top of that pretty much convinced that nothing could save his from getting kicked out of the apartment before the week was over. And even if he did somehow survive the wrath of his landlady - sometimes having a nice smile, pretty eyes and overall a handsome face was worth all the hassle - he would still probably die from hunger, since being talented and winning most of the university-based competitions couldn't really replace a freshly cooked rice. Possibly with the additional portion of kimchi jjigae or any kind of meat.

In the end, he spent the last twenty minutes just staring blankly at the endless offers clogging up the screen of his laptop, wondering what kind of unforgivable sin must he have committed in the previous life to end up like this.

The point was, Myungsoo really did have talent; whenever he got an assignment, he was sure to come up with something unusual, unexpected, brave even, something that amazed both his professors and fellow students alike. According to the most of them, it wasn't that hard to take a good picture, especially if you applied all the rules and advices that you've been taught so far; but the essential part of an extraordinary photograph was the feeling you tried to convey, something you just had to find in yourself, in your way of looking at the world and people around you. And somehow, either despite or thanks to his young age, his friends and colleagues still weren't sure which one was more correct, Myungsoo has manage to create pictures that were not only beautiful, but also raw, even painfully so, full of unobscured authenticity. When looking for the inspiration, he would rather go out on the street and search for the normal sights, people, things that aren't usually in the center of anyone's attention. However, what made them especially unique in the young photographer's eyes were their imperfections, shortcomings, flaws - all the traits that others' usually disregarded or tried not to notice. No matter what the others thought, however, the world was neither completely beautiful nor perfect, and that was exactly the message Myungsoo wanted to spread through his work.

The most distinctive feature of his photos, though, was also what made it so hard for him to find a well-paid job - or any job at all. Most of the answers he got from the multiple companies and firms, both small and big ones, contained something about how doubtlessly they wanted to praise his art and how thankful they were for the interest, but “their supervisors were searching for something less daring and more conservative.”

Myungsoo, being his usual stupid, stubborn self, did not consider it even for a moment at first, or at least for the first twenty times. He was slowly changing his mind now, though, when the number of rejections he received since that time has already reached the three digit numbers.

That's why when the doorbell rang loudly, informing the distressed artist about an unexpected visitor, Myungsoo was not prepared for anything else than yet another disappointment – or more specifically, yet another unpaid bill. He sighed heavily and glanced one last time at the screen, a small part of him hoping that it would show something else than before, but unfortunately the round zeroes in his bank account still mercilessly shouted in his face that he was pretty much as unemployed and broke as he was just a moment ago. All of sudden feeling more irked by that sight, the brunette closed the laptop with more force than he should, stood up from his favorite old yet still comfy chair, ruffled his hair a bit to make it look at least a bit presentable and moved to open the door.

“Mister Kim Myungsoo?”

Even though the older male, at the first sight probably in his late fifties, was smiling friendly at Myungsoo, making him involuntarily think of his own grandfather, the photographer cringed slightly at the sight of the postman; the news he was about to receive couldn’t be anything good. Still, at the mention of his name he murmured a soft ‘yes’ and nodded his head in agreement, hiding his sweaty hands in the pockets of his oversized black hoodie, waiting for what was about to come. The man handed him the clipboard with a form attached to it and pointed at the appropriate section, small smile stretching his lips.

“Your signature here, please.”

After he neatly filled in the space with his name, the postman reached into his bag and, to Myungsoo’s surprise, what he offered him afterwards wasn’t anything the student was prepared to get. With his eyes widening in shock, he speechlessly stared at the plain white envelope, only adorned with a simple picture of three white stars inside a black circle, a logo of an institution that each and every artist in Korea having the most basic amount of knowledge about the Asian art scene could easily name as one of the quickly rising giants in the field of contemporary art – and especially, in photography.

His hands were slightly shaking when he received the letter, as if it was a letter from God himself. All that Myungsoo has done afterwards seemed like a blur; he remembered to bow politely to the postman who was still watching him and his reaction with amusement, close the door, come back to the kitchen, find his phone hidden under the empty packages of instant ramyeon, dial the familiar number, wait a few seconds until an irritated voice from the other line greeted him with a familiar, snarky comment.

“Some people do have work, Kim, did you forget about that?” He could hear Sungyeol muttering in a low voice at the other end of the line. “I had to beg Howon to let me answer this, so you better have something important to tell me, bastard.”

The black-haired boy finally took a deep breath and laughed out loud, probably starling his best friend who was intently listening to him. However, before Sungyeol was going to call him mental and curse him for his sudden outburst, Myungsoo calmed down enough to reveal the reason of his unexpected call.

“Stardust… I’ve got a letter from Stardust, Yeol.”



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