WCP 12

chapter 12

It had only been five minutes since the fuss over the suit and school uniform issue.

After barely easing the awkward air with a few trivial conversations during those five minutes, Song Min-woo let out a quiet sigh and checked the board in front of him for his turn.

[Contestant No. 40: Song Min-woo]

There were a total of forty contestants in the preliminary round.
The contestant number also determined the performance order.

“Of all things, I’m the last one. I don’t really like attracting too much attention.”

For most performers, decorating the finale with a brilliant performance was a dream. But for Song Min-woo, it was a little different.

Even in his past life, he hadn’t liked performing in front of others, and there were more than a few times when he had suffered from too much attention.

“Let’s see here… huh? Looks like you’re right after Kang Yoon.”

[Contestant No. 39: Kang Yoon]

At the unfamiliar name from Lee Ji-hye, who was checking the board alongside him, Min-woo glanced up at the name written just above his own. Then he looked back at her as if to ask who that was.

“There’s this famous guy named Kang Yoon. Last year, he swept every award at the competition, but he’s got the worst personality—”

“Who’s got the worst personality?”

A sudden voice cut Ji-hye off.

Turning around, they saw a boy with a rather rough impression walking toward them. He was about the same height as Min-woo, and from his appearance alone, you could tell he came from a good family.

He had the air of a tall, cocky delinquent—the type who seemed better suited for sports than piano.

“You’re Lee Ji-hye, right? The one who came in third at the Incheon Competition last time? Don’t you think it’s kind of pathetic to badmouth the first-place winner just because I gave you some harsh advice back then?”

So this boy was Kang Yoon.

Realizing his identity, Min-woo quietly offered a polite greeting. After all, they were fellow pianists walking the same path, and there was a good chance they’d cross paths again.

“Nice to meet you. My name is—”

“Didn’t ask, jerk.”

There wasn’t a shred of courtesy in his manner.

At such a delinquent-like attitude, one he had never encountered before, Min-woo couldn’t help but frown slightly.

“You’re probably going to get third place again, just like last time. Why not just withdraw in advance? That way you don’t freeze up on stage again and embarrass yourself.”

Ji-hye’s body trembled as she glared at him, the memory of a past she wanted to forget rushing back.

“I give a little advice and you flip out, huh?”

Without pushing her further, Kang Yoon turned his back and walked off. With one last irritating remark, he disappeared into the waiting room.

“A vulgar fellow.”

In 19th century Europe, such discourtesy would have been unimaginable. Pianists back then always carried mutual respect for one another. Even when they criticized, it was only differences in style or conviction—not mockery.

There could be harsh critiques, yes, but never insults.

But Kang Yoon’s attitude just now? That was nothing more than scorn born from a sense of superiority.

Such criticism would be of no help to a fellow pianist. Clearly, ignoring him would be best for Ji-hye.

With that thought, Min-woo quietly asked her:

“That guy’s Kang Yoon?”
“Yeah. As you saw, his personality’s like that. But his skills are undeniable. That’s why he struts around like that.”

Though she spoke with bitterness, Ji-hye still admitted to his talent.

“See? Just by showing up, he’s already changed the mood of the preliminaries.”

At her words, Min-woo looked around. Sure enough, the lively chatter from before had gone flat.

“Kang Yoon… huh.”
“Guess I won’t make it past prelims.”
“Maybe I should just prepare for the next competition…”

Everywhere, voices were shrinking with defeat.

Even though the preliminaries hadn’t even begun yet, some contestants were already giving up. Min-woo could only sigh softly.

“To give up before even performing…”

Performance wasn’t about being judged. A pianist played only to pour their emotions into the melody and deliver it to others. Evaluation came afterward, as something secondary.

“Well, I guess I can’t blame them too much. They all look nervous.”

They were all still so young. The weight of tension before performing, the fear of mistakes—those things were surely pressing down on their shoulders.

“Looks like a lot of them are more nervous than I thought.”
“Well, it is the Korea International Music Competition. Being nervous is natural.”

Drawing pianists, violinists, and cellists alike, this competition was regarded as the first stepping stone into both the domestic and international music world.

There wasn’t a single Korean musician—no matter how famous—who hadn’t passed through this stage in their student days.

With that level of prestige, it was no wonder even the preliminaries left everyone on edge.

“Anyway, you’re lucky. Being last must be nice.”
“What about you, Ji-hye? What number did you get?”
“Seven.”

Her turn was much earlier.

Maybe that’s why her fingertips were already trembling.

“Well, it’s a lucky number. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled as if unconcerned, but her hands still shook.

Of course, how could anyone not be nervous?
It wasn’t enough to simply perform—they would be scrutinized and judged in detail.

“You’re really nervous, huh?”
“N-no I’m not! It’s not like this is my first competition.”

At his question, Ji-hye tried to act confident, forcing her chin up.

“What about you, then? You’re not nervous?”
“Of course I am.”

How could he not be?

Even in his past life, no matter how many times he performed before countless audiences—whether as an unknown or as a great master—he had never once stood on stage without nerves.

Every performance had been filled with tension and pressure.

And that was not something one could conquer. Even in the final days, when illness robbed him of the ability to play, he never overcame stage fright.

He knew now—it wasn’t something to overcome. It was something to accept as natural.

Ji-hye’s eyes flickered with surprise at his honest admission.

“So don’t bother trying to hide it.”

Min-woo smiled faintly as he said this.

At those words, Ji-hye lowered her head quietly.

“You know… whenever a competition approaches, my hands always tremble.”
“Mine too. Feels like I’ve got a tremor, doesn’t it?”
“Honestly, I just want to run away.”
“But you won’t, will you?”

If she really wanted to run away, she wouldn’t have kept practicing with him during lunch breaks.

“What if I make a mistake?”
“Then just keep playing shamelessly, like nothing happened.”
“Pfft, what kind of advice is that?”

At his half-joking reply, Ji-hye let out a small laugh.

The violent shaking in her hands had already eased a great deal. Her usual cheerful smile returned to her face.

She seemed a little embarrassed to realize she had been comforted.

Just then, the announcement broke the silence.

[The Korea International Music Competition will soon begin. All contestants please proceed to the waiting room…]

“Guess it’s time.”
“Yeah.”

The preliminaries would soon begin.

Carrying a mix of anxiety, tension, and a faint sense of anticipation, Ji-hye held out her fist toward Min-woo.

“Let’s both do our best.”
“Yeah.”

Their fists bumped together.

Hoping sincerely that both of them would meet good results.

Backstage, time always seemed to crawl.

The sound of competitors playing just ahead, the pounding of her heart so loud it felt like others could hear it, even the applause congratulating earlier performers—everything seemed stretched out.

In that endless time, Ji-hye stared at the stage far ahead and wished.

That time would just stop. That her turn would never come.

She had always wished the same at every competition.

But not once had that wish ever been granted.

Slowly but surely, time flowed on. And soon enough, her turn arrived—quietly, yet unmistakably, footsteps echoing.

When the moment came, the girl stepped toward the stage.

Her legs felt ready to buckle, but she pushed them forward.

Leaving behind the dark backstage, she walked toward the piano bathed in the spotlight, waiting for her.

[Gulp—]

The tension she thought she had forgotten came crashing back.
Her fingertips trembled once more.

But she did not stop.
She pressed on, overcoming her fear.

Her shadow appeared on the stage, cast by the spotlight.

And at once, all eyes turned to her.

The audience wasn’t as large as she had imagined. Three judges sat in the front row, while most of the others were simply parents who had come to watch their children.

Somewhere out there in the darkness, her own parents must also be watching.

Trusting in that, Ji-hye bowed to the audience and sat before the piano.

She lowered the slightly raised chair, drew a deep breath, and placed her trembling hands on the black-and-white keys.

“Do your best. Even if you make a mistake…”

Looking at her reflection on the glossy black surface of the piano, Ji-hye whispered to herself.

Perhaps because of her fear of mistakes, Min-woo’s earlier words came back to her:

“Just keep playing shamelessly, like nothing happened.”

Was it just her imagination, or did her trembling fingers really steady a little at that memory?

A faint smile spread across her lips.

With that smile, Ji-hye pressed the keys.

Carrying in her heart a small gratitude for that boy.