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chapter 30
At first, it was a simple whim.
He found the boy who had been completing the sheet music for himself admirable.
He was tired of the persistent pianist who kept coming to the shop.
He was too old and weary to continue clinging to old scars.
Accepting Hans Zimmermann’s request was nothing more than a caprice born of those feelings.
There was no grand reason, like claiming he had overcome the past or forgiven himself by agreeing to a piano tuning job.
What was lost remained lost.
What was forgotten remained forgotten.
What was unfinished still remained incomplete.
Nothing had truly changed.
Yet, from the moment he heard Zimmermann say he would put the boy on stage, something stirred within his heart.
Had he really accepted Zimmermann’s request just because of a whim?
He began to wonder whether his acceptance of the piano tuning had been a whim—or a sign that he had truly let go of the past.
He wanted to know his own “true feelings.”
If Zimmermann put the boy on stage, perhaps the boy would play this Pavane.
The reason he agreed with Zimmermann’s plan was to confirm his own feelings: had he truly let go of the past?
Could he, having listened to his wife’s completed Pavane—though it could never be the same as before—truly release his lingering attachment?
He attended to find that out. Surely, that had been his intention…
…It seemed he had underestimated himself.
Seeing his chest heave and his body tremble in small convulsions, he realized the depth of his emotions.
Amidst the dizziness in his head, the boy’s fingers began to produce a tender, heartfelt melody.
—Darling, do you know what my wish was?
It was a wish his wife had once told him.
He thought it had been lost to the passing years, but it swept past his ears along the major key melody.
—Someday, I want everyone in the world to hear your piano.
The faint scent of coffee tickled his nose.
It was the aroma of that moment, when everything seemed eternal.
“…Yes, that was my wish.”
The piano sound spread.
Carrying his wife’s final wish, it flowed out to everyone.
He had thought he would never recall it, but hearing the Pavane the boy completed cleared the fog from his memory.
Every note played brought vivid recollections.
Even the memories contained in the timbre returned in full.
They had been truly happy days.
Even though the end had been tragic, the happiness itself remained unchanged.
They had laughed together.
They had been angry together.
They had cried together.
Every moment together had been wonderful.
It was only the fact that they hadn’t been together in the final moments that left him with deep regret.
That single regret cut so deeply that it veiled even the memories.
Even the meaning his wife had tried to convey through this Pavane.
—I was happy.
The melody of the Pavane returned to its starting point.
If it felt heavy, it was okay to let go.
If it felt empty, it was okay to hold on.
If it was too painful, it was okay to forget.
If it was too nostalgic, it was okay to recall.
It simply advised not to dwell in sorrow.
—So, I hope you are happy too.
Listening to the melody return to where it had begun, Yoon Jong-su answered softly:
“…I was happy. Truly, I was.”
That was enough. What else could one ask for?
Yet sometimes, he still missed those days.
The days he had shared with her—they were unbearably dear.
So, even if he seemed pitiful, don’t scold him.
Even if he cried clumsily, don’t worry too much.
It had been forty years.
He had endured it for a long time.
But at least for this moment, wasn’t it okay to cry?
A single tear ran down his cheek.
What was contained in that fallen tear?
Yoon Jong-su asked himself, but could not find an answer.
There was no need to.
The fading melody of the Pavane itself was the answer.
That’s why he did not wipe away his tears.
…While longing for someone he would never meet again.
He had always thought the sorrow of parting was the burden of those left behind.
Like the indelible scars left on parents’ hearts when a young sister passed away.
Like a widow who lost her husband in war, weeping uncontrollably as she collapsed.
Like the emptiness left by a father who passed away, never to be filled.
Those who remain must endure loss.
The dead depart, and the living are left alone to miss them.
In the end, death is cruel to those left behind.
…That was what he had once thought.
He realized the truth when death came before him.
Humans are selfish and foolish creatures.
They lie down more than they rise.
They cannot climb stairs without assistance.
Eventually, they die, unable to even press a single piano key, and in that moment, they understand:
There are those who will grieve their passing.
And they realize how powerless they are in front of those who grieve.
The only thing those who depart can do is pray.
Pray that the living will overcome this easily.
Pray that the wounds left behind are not too deep.
Yet, in their prayer, there is a small selfish hope: that they will not be forgotten.
Like the Pavane left behind by the elder’s wife.
A Pavane in the major key Rondo form, carrying one person’s wish.
If this Pavane, based on Pavane for a Dead Princess, had a name,
it would surely be Pavane for Those Left Behind.
Emotions that no one could express spread through the melody.
Emotions that even Zimmermann could not convey.
Of course. It is impossible to play what one has not experienced.
That is why neither the elder nor Zimmermann could ever complete this Pavane.
A Pavane unlike any other in the world.
Did the meaning contained in this Pavane, left by the departed, reach the elder?
No matter how well it was performed, he was only a third party.
All he could do was play.
To convey the will that his wife had left behind.
Hoping that her will would reach the elder, he pressed the keys.
The performance returned to the starting point.
The Rondo-form C7 chord at the start, which was simultaneously the ending.
The Pavane began quietly, and quietly it concluded, carrying a faint scent of coffee—was it just his imagination?
The melody faded.
Like an echo slowly dissipating.
—Thank you.
Within that echo, a faint whisper seemed to reach him.
But it was soon drowned out by the audience’s applause.
[~~~~]
Amid the pouring applause, Song Min-woo quietly lifted his head.
The faint coffee scent had already vanished.
Along with the unfamiliar voice that seemed to whisper to his ear.
“…I should be the one giving thanks.”
Thanks to them, he could perform such a beautiful Pavane.
He sent his deepest gratitude to the fleeting voice, though of course, no answer came.
With a bitter smile, Song Min-woo looked at the elder sitting ahead.
“I hope it reached you.”
The muttered words, drowned by applause, dispersed into the cold air.
What followed that unheard mutter was Zimmermann’s praise, patting him on the shoulder with a look of pride.
“Excellent performance. As expected, my judgment was not wrong.”
“Thanks to your fine piano.”
Without the elder’s piano, he would never have been able to convey this level of emotion with his current skill.
Song Min-woo spoke the truth, not out of humility, and Zimmermann’s gaze toward him seemed even warmer.
‘What a somewhat burdensome look.’
He hadn’t come to the stage to gain favor.
He had stepped onto the stage for one reason:
Because there was something he needed to convey.
As a pianist.
As a composer.
And as someone whose loved ones had departed this world.
With a bitter smile, Song Min-woo left the piano.
Leaving behind the gently fluttering sheet music as if to bid farewell.
The surroundings were very noisy.
About ten minutes after the concert ended, nearly 2,000 audience members were pouring out of the concert hall.
One person’s name kept being mentioned in everyone’s conversation.
“Zimmermann’s concert was amazing as always.”
“Zimmermann was great, but that last performer was incredible too, right?”
“Ah, yes. He played insanely well. Was he Zimmermann’s student?”
“He looked like that boy who won a joint prize in the international competition. I remember him because he was so handsome.”
The reason people were unusually excited was Song Min-woo’s performance.
The mysterious boy who performed the encore in place of the master.
Despite being called onto the large stage suddenly, he gave a performance that satisfied everyone, drawing attention.
“—Everyone’s talking about you, Song Min-woo.”
Song Min-woo, who had his hood pulled low as if he were a wanted criminal, was addressed jokingly by Lee Ji-hye.
Her sharp gaze seemed to demand an explanation.
“Could it be… that you were actually Zimmermann’s student…?”
Similarly, Jeong Da-yoon looked at him expectantly.
“No way. We just talked briefly recently.”
“You? With Zimmermann? When? Where? Why??”
They were asking far too many details.
Someone might think he had committed a crime.
“Is knowing Zimmermann really such a big deal?”
Song Ye-rim, watching the fuss, asked with confusion. She apparently didn’t understand classical music well and couldn’t grasp the situation.
“Of course! Your brother knows a superstar in the classical world!”
“Not just a superstar, almost like knowing a member of VTS….”
Perhaps that explanation helped her understand.
Her expression shifted from confusion to slight admiration… though more like questioning how he could possibly know someone so famous.
“Anyway, explain quickly! I’m dying to know!”
“…It’s a long story.”
“Eh-hey! Don’t try to brush it off!”
“I’m not trying to brush it off…”
…It really was long.
To explain his connection to Zimmermann, he had to talk about the elder as well.
It wasn’t a story that could be lightly told.
“I think I can help with that.”
“…?!”
A familiar voice came from behind.
Sure enough, it was Zimmermann.
Like before the concert, he had come to the lobby, his face hidden under a hat.
He must have known the chaos that could erupt if his identity were discovered, yet he came all the way here.
‘…Still, the reaction is underwhelming.’
Song Ye-rim had reacted before the concert, but Lee Ji-hye and Jeong Da-yoon’s calm reactions were unexpected.
“Um… who are you?”
“…??”
What was she saying? Did Ji-hye really not recognize him?
Could it be possible that someone could not recognize Zimmermann with just a hat?
Song Min-woo looked at Ji-hye in disbelief.
But Da-yoon didn’t recognize him either.
“Do you know him?”
“….”
Could there really be some facial recognition issue between East and West?
“Haha, excuse me.”
Seeing the two girls fail to recognize him, Zimmermann smiled and gently lifted his hat.
Only then did they realize who he was.
The two girls froze like statues, then became completely unresponsive.
“Z-Z-Zimmermann…!”
And at that moment, Ji-hye’s flustered voice drew the attention of everyone around.
…What has come over this place today?
Looking around at the pre-storm chaos, Song Min-woo muttered quietly:
“…We’re doomed.”
This was his final word before being swept up in the pandemonium five seconds later.
