WCP 31

chapter 31

The faint melody of jazz drifted through the air.

Along with it came the clinking of dishes in rhythm with the music and the fragrant scent of olives teasing the nose.

In a space that seemed to relax every muscle just by sitting still, the terrified voice of Song Min-woo echoed.

“Th-thirty-seven thousand won…?”

The reason his voice trembled in fear, out of place in such a serene atmosphere, was none other than the menu he was looking at.

The menu of [Misun], a Michelin three-star restaurant renowned in Korea.

If you asked why he was staring at a menu whose basic price started in the 300,000 won range…

“Don’t worry about the price, just order the course you want. I’ll pay.”

…All thanks to that wealthy, top-class pianist.

It had only been thirty minutes since the concert ended, which had been a bit chaotic. In the rush to escape the crowd clamoring for autographs, he had ended up, almost without realizing it, seated at a table in such a high-end restaurant with Zimmermann.

“This… this is too much of a burden.”
“Burden? Ha! This is pocket change for him.”

At that moment, the voice of Elder Yoon Jong-su joined the conversation.

Having just arrived and seated next to Zimmermann, it seemed he had also been invited to the meal.

“Mr. Yoon is right. Price isn’t an issue, so don’t worry—just order whatever you like.”
“…Still, 370,000 won for a single meal feels a bit… much.”

Was there no one to back him up?

Looking at Zimmermann and the elder, both determined to treat him at this extravagant place, Song Min-woo glanced sideways.

“Wow… really… wow…”
“To think I’m having a meal with Zimmermann…”

…Looks like asking for help is out of the question.

Perhaps they still couldn’t believe Zimmermann was really sitting in front of them. Watching Lee Ji-hye and Jung Da-yoon, still in shock, Song Min-woo let out a low sigh.

‘Even if Ye-rim wanted to help, I doubt he would.’

After all, Ye-rim had the same vacant expression.

Song Ye-rim had been staring blankly at the interior since they arrived.

Was the sight of a luxury restaurant so overwhelming?

It was as if he were watching his own reaction upon first arriving in Paris in a past life.

Anyway, there was no escaping this meal.

“You’re a peculiar one. Eating at such an expensive place and still wearing that expression?”
“Well, it’s because I’m nervous.”

It wasn’t just the expense—it was the worry about what trouble might follow from accepting someone else’s generosity.

Taking someone’s favor too readily could mean repeating the chaos of tonight’s concert.

Even though he had voluntarily gone on stage, the burden remained.

“Don’t worry. Mr. Song, I invited you and your friends here simply to express my gratitude.”

Had he read their minds?

Hearing Zimmermann speak as if he had pierced right through his worries, Song Min-woo asked, a little surprised:

“Gratitude?”
“Yes. Thanks to you, Mr. Song, I was able to experience a Pavane the world will never hear again.”

…A Pavane the world will never hear again.

It was a somewhat exaggerated way of putting it.

He had only transcribed onto the sheet music what the composer had intended to leave behind.

“It was just luck.”
“Tch, don’t be modest. You did well, so don’t blame luck.”

It wasn’t false modesty.

It really had been luck.

After facing death once, it was sheer chance that he had encountered the incomplete Pavane.

“That you say so… I’m grateful.”
“Ah, what an old-soul comment. The gratitude belongs to me, not you.”

The elder’s voice, which had been scolding a moment ago, suddenly softened.

…Why does silence always follow polite exchanges?

Perhaps from embarrassment or the awkwardness of receiving kindness.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, though.

That shared understanding carried them through the rest of the meal.

Of course, the three girls who had been invited without knowing the circumstances struggled to hide their awkwardness.

“Your desserts are served. Please enjoy.”

Amid the ongoing quiet, beautifully arranged desserts appeared: macarons, tiramisu cake, and… a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

Watching the white steam curl above the cup, the elder spoke softly:

“…What a nostalgic aroma.”

His voice carried a deep, tender longing.

What kind of longing it was, he didn’t say. He just smiled at the bittersweet aroma of the coffee.

“It’s been a long time since I smelled this.”

The steam faded, leaving the gentle aroma of coffee.

It was the same scent that had brushed his nose when the Pavane’s melody filled the stage.

“The coffee smells good.”
“Come on, don’t act like you know. Coffee smells are pretty much all the same.”

The elder sipped the remaining coffee, replying to Zimmermann’s admiration.

“…A little sweet, though.”

Even from the strongly brewed Americano, he detected sweetness.

The meal at the Michelin three-star restaurant had been lavish.

A blend of French dining and Korean cuisine, dishes he had never seen in his past life.

The pinnacle of modern fine dining was truly satisfying.

If only the meal had ended on that note…

“…T-two million—”

It had been a mistake to glance at the receipt handed by the staff.

370,000 won per person.

Including him, Zimmermann, the elder, Lee Ji-hye, Jung Da-yoon, and Song Ye-rim—six people total.

Over two million won wasn’t hard to imagine, but seeing the exact number made a different impact.

Just a glance caused sweat to cascade down his spine.

“Zimmermann, as expected…”
“To think this is what it takes to be a top pianist…”

What are they even saying?

Since when was a top pianist defined by spending habits?

Looking at Ji-hye and Da-yoon, still spouting strange comments, Song Min-woo noted they hadn’t fully recovered from the shock.

‘Now that I think about it, both were quiet the whole meal.’

Da-yoon, naturally timid, was understandable. But Ji-hye? Even she hadn’t spoken.

The meeting with Zimmermann had clearly shocked them deeply.

…Ye-rim, however, seemed shocked in a different way.

“You’re not planning to gouge me or anything later, right…?”

Probably also seen the receipt.

Seeing his sibling’s pale, trembling face, Song Min-woo chuckled nervously.

“No, of course not.”

Not gouging, but perhaps something else, like making him play until his hands were sore or worn out.

‘I just hope he doesn’t push me recklessly like today.’

Look at that burdened gaze—it was like a grizzly bear spotting a plump seasonal salmon.

True to his Polish roots, Zimmermann’s gaze pinned him down, and Song Min-woo smiled awkwardly.

“Mr. Song, unfortunately, we’ll have to part ways here.”
“No need to be so regretful, I think.”

They would meet again someday anyway.

Even if not, Zimmermann would probably find a way.

“Please accept this, a small gift from me.”
“Huh?”

After a two-million-won meal, what else could he have prepared?

As Zimmermann reached into his pocket, Song Min-woo froze.

“This is…”

It was a small card.

Too plain to be a business card, too small to be a letter.

On the back was something written in Polish:

“This is my home address. If you ever come to Poland, don’t hesitate to come by.”

“….”

Though he said “if ever,” the tone was confident, as if certain he would come to Poland.

Poland.

His homeland, dreamed of but never reached.

Two hundred years ago, he had closed his eyes in France without setting foot in his motherland.

Yet those 200 years were not the same for him.

When he opened his eyes, he was already Song Min-woo.

The memories of Chopin that should have disappeared remained vivid, as if only yesterday.

Now, as Song Min-woo, not Chopin, setting foot again on Polish soil meant only one thing:

He had earned the right to step onto a stage where the era’s top pianists gathered.

‘It’s truly far away.’

In the past, and now.

“Mr. Song?”
“…Nothing, thank you.”
“The gratitude is mine to express.”

Zimmermann laughed heartily.

…He probably had no idea how delighted Song Min-woo was to meet a compatriot.

But that was a greeting he could not voice.

All Song Min-woo could offer as a Korean was an awkward smile and a handshake.

“Next time, I’ll visit Poland myself.”
“Hahaha! I’m looking forward to it!”

That was enough of a farewell.

Zimmermann pocketed his wallet and quietly left the restaurant.

Likely, he had arranged this meeting by squeezing it into a busy schedule.

So leaving so abruptly was understandable.

“Oh, Mr. Yoon! And ladies, take care!”

Suddenly, Zimmermann returned briefly to offer a hurried farewell.

Everyone at the table stared in shock.

‘He’s truly unpredictable.’

Geniuses are always a bit unhinged, after all.

“Such a frantic guy. Why so rushed?”

Elder Yoon clicked his tongue, though there was a tinge of regret in his eyes.

“Now, what will you do? Kids these days stay out late, will you hang out more?”
“No, we should head home now.”

It was nearly ten o’clock.

High school students should be home by this time.

“Right, entrance exams are coming up. Don’t waste practice time—get home.”

Mid-September was already passing.

For aspiring pianists, the most crucial time of the year was approaching.

“Our apartment doesn’t allow practice at this hour…”
“Neither does ours.”

Ji-hye and Da-yoon’s reluctance to leave drew a click of the tongue from the elder.

“Tch, kids these days… just excuses!”
“True enough.”

If they can’t practice at night, they can use daytime.

Still, Ji-hye always tried to slack off.

…And Da-yoon, apparently, had picked up the habit.

“It’s not an excuse…”
“Forget it, Da-yoon. Nothing you say will get through to that young stubborn man.”

Ji-hye said, glaring like an axe.

“Oh, really?”

She seemed to have forgotten that she lived face-to-face with that young tyrant in the music room every day.

Smiling slyly, Song Min-woo shot a sharp glare at Ji-hye.

…Unwittingly, her entrance exam practice life just became more difficult.