WCP 05

chapter 5

A soft New Age-style melody rang out, mingling with metallic tones.

The stage wasn’t properly set, and the instruments weren’t fully prepared—yet it was performing the OST of a famous movie or drama.

The melody, far removed from classical music, caught the attention of passersby on the street, almost like a siren’s song.

“Wow, isn’t this the OST from that recent movie?”
“They play really well.”

The admiring voices of the pedestrians reached Song Min-woo’s ears over the piano melody.

As expected, the reaction isn’t bad.

It was a good decision to prepare modern music instead of classical.

Though he secretly wanted to play familiar classical pieces, his immediate goal was clear:

He needed to earn the competition entry fee.

Sometimes, to achieve a greater goal, you have to put your stubbornness aside. This much was tolerable.

Well, I actually like modern music too.

Contrary to what he expected, given the 200-year gap in eras, the New Age-style music actually suited Chopin’s tastes. Whether it was because the music aligned with his memories or because he simply liked the style, Chopin couldn’t say for sure.

One thing was certain: even New Age music, far from classical, could capture the attention of the public when it passed through his hands.

[Busking in progress]

The small but steadily filling box in front of the piano was proof.

[Clink—]

As the performance reached its climax, the metallic sound of coins hit his ears.

The sound was heavy, probably around a thousand won.

Min-woo glanced into the box amid his busy playing and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

At the same time, the 30 minutes he had “wasted” earlier came to mind with a tinge of regret.

It would have been better if things had started this way from the beginning, but thanks to that woman earlier, he realized it quickly.

The first 30 minutes were lost as a free performance, but he could think of it as a stroke of luck.

Adjusting his mindset as positively as possible, Song Min-woo began to consider the next piece as his current performance neared its end.

Looks like I’m running out of prepared pieces.

Playing unfamiliar New Age music nonstop for an hour was already pushing his limits. On top of that, as mentioned, 30 minutes had been wasted, so he needed a plan.

“Excuse me, can I request a song?”

At that moment, a woman who had been listening approached him.

“Oh, yes. If it’s something I can play, absolutely.”
“Then please play ‘Black Key’!”

Black Key?

He had assumed requests would be for modern pop or drama OSTs, so this was unexpected.

Chopin’s Etude Op.10, No.5.

Popularly known as [Black Key], a widely recognized practice piece.

“Sorry if it’s too much to ask…”
“No, not at all.”

Too much? It wasn’t any ordinary piece—it was a work he had personally engraved note by note in life.

…he wanted to say that, but swallowed the words.

Even without the sheet music, he remembered every note perfectly.

The only concern was that his body hadn’t fully adapted yet.

His mistakes during yesterday’s performance of Bach’s Chaconne at school proved it.

At least the consolation is that Min-woo had practiced this often.

He had trained on various Chopin pieces regularly, almost like a dedicated fan. It wasn’t perfect because it was self-taught, but the pieces were ingrained in his hands.

• You think too much. That’s why you’re always a beat late in action and suffer.

A familiar voice of his old friend drifted like the wind.

It was strange—he never imagined that friend’s nonsense would ever be helpful.

A faint smile appeared on Song Min-woo’s lips.

Without needing to gather himself further, he pressed the keys, inspired by his friend’s voice.

[~~~~]

A slightly off-key D-flat minor melody began.

Mixed with metallic sounds here and there.

In a good light, it sounded vintage; in a bad one, slightly broken. Yet Song Min-woo’s fingers danced freely across the keys.

Chopin’s Etude, Op.10 No.5.

His right hand raced across the 88-key keyboard, predominantly over the black keys.

Though an etude, the melody had a waltz-like quality.

It was said he created it on the spot during his European travels after losing his wallet. Who would believe it?

Later refined as an arpeggio and scale practice piece, the essence of the work was originally meant to captivate passersby during busking.

“Isn’t this Black Key?”
“Amazing…”
“This is like a conservatory student level.”

The crowd around the piano stirred even more.

The reaction was markedly different from when he had played New Age music earlier.

Black Key… not a bad nickname after all.

Even in his lifetime, people occasionally called it that, but he never expected the nickname to become formal over time.

Who could have predicted that a piece born out of financial need would get such a perfect nickname?

Right-hand movements soared over the keys, and with the momentum, both hands jumped across octaves to conclude the piece with an intense flourish.

[~~~~]

Applause from strangers filled the street magnificently.

Even people who hadn’t cared before stopped to listen.

The crowd swelled, drawn by the clapping.

Was it his imagination, or did this humble street stage feel more brilliant than any stage he had ever seen?

I haven’t been forgotten yet.

He had thought classical music was an old legacy, appreciated only by those in the know.

But that was a huge misconception.

The applause pouring onto this humble stage proved it.

Music from a bygone era hadn’t been forgotten.

Despite the passage of time, music endured.

Emotion surged, and his heart raced.

On this stage, shining brighter than any moment in his life, Song Min-woo quietly placed his hand over his chest.

• How does it feel? My feelings after just going for it.

His friend’s voice brushed faintly but clearly against his ears amidst the cheering.

A faint smile returned to his lips.

“Not bad at all.”

Lost in the cheering, it was a quiet mutter.

As the sun began to set along the horizon, the air cooled from the day’s heat.

Song Min-woo leaned against a roadside fence, counting the money in the box.

From 100-won coins to 10,000-won bills, the collection was diverse.

“Just bills, 40,000 won… including coins, about 50,000 won.”

Better than expected? Worse?

More than the worst-case scenario, but far from the best-case.

Realistically, earning 50,000 won in one day was nearly a miracle.

Tomorrow might not yield the same results.

He had been lucky today—lots of people on the street and many who appreciated classical music.

His goal of 200,000 won was still far away.

Time was running out. Tomorrow was practically his last chance.

Earning the remaining 150,000 won in one day seemed almost impossible.

“Well, that’s a pretty gloomy expression for what you earned.”

A stranger’s voice came from beside him.

A man in his 50s, dressed plainly despite the atmosphere, asked.

“I have big dreams that don’t fit my means.”
“Considering your skill, big dreams are natural.”

Had he heard his performance earlier?

“Your busking skills are too good to waste. Are you a conservatory student? Or maybe a prep school student?”
“I’m aiming for a music university. I’m busking to earn the competition entry fee.”
“Ah, so this is a rising star in Korea’s classical scene.”

Somewhat excessive praise.

Though the first [Black Key] went well, the other classical pieces he played afterward didn’t meet his own standards.

[Rustle—]

The man brushed his clothing and pulled out a wallet.

From the worn leather came a glowing 50,000-won bill.

Not 10,000, but 50,000, which he handed to Song Min-woo without a word.

“What’s this? Don’t accept it.”
“It’s a bit much for performance pay… I’m surprised.”
“I may look rough, but I have good ears. I wish I could give more, but this is all I have on me—take it.”

“…Thank you.”

In such a situation, he couldn’t object.

Receiving the money, Song Min-woo quietly thought:

Now that’s 100,000 won in total.

Achieving even half of a seemingly impossible goal felt different from a quarter.

“Well, I’d better get home. My wife’s nagging is scary.”
“Take care.”
“Oh, one more thing.”

The man paused, as if he had forgotten something.

“What’s your name?”
“Song Min-woo.”

Why ask his name now?

“Song Min-woo, huh. Looking forward to it. Good luck in the Korea International Music Competition.”
“Huh?”

Had he mentioned any competition?

Song Min-woo, startled, tried to stop the man. But he was already gone.

“…Quick on your feet, huh.”

Like the wind, he came and went.

Song Min-woo looked at the 50,000 won left behind, sensing that fate might cross paths again.