WCP 35

chapter 35

• “Minwoo, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

• “A pianist! When I grow up, I want to be a magnificent pianist like Chopin!”

• “A pianist… Then you’ll have to study hard.”

When had that conversation taken place? Between Minwoo and his mother?

Six years old? Or seven?

It was a memory far back in time.

He loved the piano so much, and his parents had looked at him with nothing but affection.

At that time, young Song Minwoo didn’t understand why he had to study hard to become a pianist. He didn’t know what feelings were hidden behind his mother’s words.

[“The next stop is Korea University, Graduate School of Public Administration. The following stop is—”]

“…Already here.”

Hearing the faint announcement replace the worn voice of the bus, Song Minwoo quietly opened his eyes.

‘I’m a little tired.’

Perhaps because he had stayed up late practicing yesterday, he had dozed off for a bit. He hadn’t thought it would affect his performance, but apparently, that was a misjudgment.

‘Good thing I took a short nap yesterday.’

If he hadn’t, he might have missed the stop entirely, just like the young lady sitting right next to him.

“Hey, Ji-hye. We’re here. Time to get up.”
“Ah… just fifteen more minutes…”

Lee Ji-hye, who had transferred buses not long ago, was sound asleep with a blissfully relaxed expression. Song Minwoo shook her shoulder to wake her, but it was of no use.

‘She really won’t wake up, huh.’

It seemed he needed a stronger approach.

“Lee Ji-hye.”
“Wha—”
“I’ll mark you absent for being late.”
“Absent…?”

Hearing the word “absent,” Ji-hye instinctively furrowed her brows. She muttered the word in her sleep before suddenly opening her eyes and shouting desperately:

“No, no!!!”

She shouted so loudly that the passengers on the bus all turned to look.

‘Deja vu…’

Hadn’t this happened before, with everyone staring at her? Feeling as if their gaze even fell on him, Song Minwoo let out a quiet sigh.

“What… What time is it? Did we miss it? Where are we? Don’t tell me we passed the stop—”
“No, it’s fine. Calm down.”

Pointing out the Korea University campus beyond the window, Ji-hye finally calmed down and sighed in relief.

“I woke you because it was about time to get up.”
“You could’ve just said that…”

Now she seemed to realize everyone was staring at her. Covering her face with her bag didn’t help much.

“Stop hiding and get up.”
“…It’s embarrassing.”
“Seriously, what’s new?”

Even though she had gone through more embarrassing experiences before.

Recalling what happened at the last competition preliminaries, Song Minwoo got off the bus with Ji-hye.

Even though it was 11 a.m. and not rush hour, the stop was crowded.

Everyone carried a backpack. Judging by their age, they were all high school students.

‘All here for the practical exam, I guess.’

Korea University’s piano department admits 24 students. Since there’s more than just piano in music college entrance exams, the actual number of examinees would be higher.

“Wow, Korea University… All these people are here for the exam?”

Ji-hye looked around and remarked softly in awe. Song Minwoo felt the same internally.

It was his third time on campus, the first two being for competitions. Experiencing it as an exam candidate felt different.

‘So I’ve finally made it here.’

Before Chopin awakened—before he truly became Song Minwoo—his goal had also been Korea University. His aim was to get in by excelling on the exam and then focus entirely on his studies, even if that wasn’t truly what he wanted.

‘…What do I think of it now?’

Even if the path he wanted to take was different, he had reached the place he had once aimed for. He silently spoke to the part of him that might still be asleep inside, though no answer came. Only guilt and remorse lingered in his chest.

“Why do you look like that? Nervous?”
“No. It just feels like no matter how much I try, I’ll never be able to repay it.”
“Ah, I didn’t really do anything. Making it this far is all thanks to your skill.”

…Though it wasn’t directed at her.

Ji-hye misunderstood due to the lack of a subject, and Minwoo’s lips lifted into a small smile. He didn’t bother correcting her, as he had received plenty of help from her anyway.

Walking through campus alongside Ji-hye, Minwoo reached their destination after a while.

“That’s Building 49, the Concert Hall, right?”

Yes, that building over there. About a seven-minute walk.

During that seemingly short yet long walk, Minwoo took in everything around him:

• College students sitting outdoors, discussing assignments.

• Professors rushing somewhere, probably late for a class.

• Parents walking alongside their children, quietly encouraging them.

He felt both envy and guilt seeing these scenes.

‘Mom and Dad offered to drive me…’

He didn’t want to waste their precious leave on a weekday. That was the reason he politely refused them, though it was really just an excuse to hide his guilt.

“Guys, over here…!”

At that moment, a familiar voice called from afar. It was barely audible—Jeong Da-yoon. Seeing her waving in front of the concert hall, Ji-hye ran straight toward her.

“Da-yoon! How have you been?”

Even though they had just met, she greeted her as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Unsure how to respond, Minwoo simply greeted her as normally as possible.

“Hi, you came early.”
“Yeah, I live nearby…”

Conversations with Jeong Da-yoon always felt like this. They didn’t flow naturally; he had to lead the conversation. But over time, he’d grown accustomed to it.

“But why were you outside? You should’ve gone in.”
“Ah… well…”

Da-yoon’s gaze turned toward the concert hall entrance. Inside, students were seated according to their exam numbers. Kang Yoon was among them.

It was strange that he, Ji-hye, and Da-yoon all had the same practical exam date and time—and Kang Yoon too. It felt almost like a prank from fate.

“What, did Kang Yoon pick a fight with you again?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just felt uncomfortable since he went in first…”

Da-yoon stopped Ji-hye from getting angry on her behalf. With Yoon’s personality, avoiding him was probably wise.

[Glance—]
“?”

Did he just look at them? Through the glass, it seemed Minwoo met Kang Yoon’s gaze briefly. He didn’t provoke anyone, merely looked away at the sheet music in his hands.

‘Interesting.’

Had he matured? Or was he simply too busy to cause trouble?

‘Either way, it’s worth observing.’

A smile unconsciously appeared on Minwoo’s face, his anxiety about the practical exam momentarily forgotten.

What’s the difference between a competition and a practical exam?

Both involve evaluation by judges, but fundamentally, they are completely different.

Competitions judge a pianist’s “perfection.” Talent and effort aside, only the result matters. Even an untalented person could possibly win if they perform exceptionally.

Practical exams, however, judge “potential.” No matter how much effort or improvement is shown, if the examiner deems there’s no room for further growth, the candidate fails.

[—-]

In the waiting room, a performance ended abruptly.

A student’s playing stopped midway. Silence followed, almost suffocating. No one knew what conversation occurred behind the closed door. Only the student’s expression upon leaving could hint at it.

‘Brutal.’

Watching a student leave while holding back tears, Minwoo smiled bitterly. What do these students think of as they leave? Chopin never knew—it had never been his place to experience such competition.

But now, Minwoo was in the same position as a student, facing the cruel wall of the practical exam.

“I’m nervous.”

His hands trembled. Hand tremors before playing weren’t new, but this long-lasting tremor was unusual.

‘The student before me was in the second seat… so my turn isn’t too far.’

Minwoo’s seat was number 8, out of 10.

‘And Ji-hye, Da-yoon, even Kang Yoon… all in the same group.’

With around 200 applicants for Korea University’s piano department, they divided students into 20 groups of 10. Minwoo and three familiar students were in the same group, which was curious.

‘But everyone’s too busy memorizing sheet music to notice.’

Minwoo, too, focused on his sheet music for Scriabin, feeling parched and getting up from his seat.

“Where are you going?”
“My throat’s dry.”

Ji-hye asked, and Minwoo rubbed his neck in response.

“Be quick, just in case.”
“I’ll be back soon.”

Ji-hye immediately resumed staring at her sheet music. Minwoo approached a supervisor and spoke carefully:

“Excuse me, may I get some water?”
“Yes, the vending machine is at the end of the left corridor. Hurry back.”

Thankfully, the supervisor wasn’t strict, though his tone suggested mild annoyance.

“Thank you.”

Minwoo thanked him and quickly left the waiting room. The air in the corridor seemed lighter.

Noisy sounds—footsteps, elevator doors, conversations—aren’t always bad; without them, only loneliness remains.

‘Vending machine’s there.’

He felt good, quenching his thirst and enjoying the fresh air. As he reached the vending machine and prepared to get water, a strange voice called out.

“Lee Jung-hoon, are you serious or not?”

An unfamiliar, authoritative voice, but the important part was the name.

‘Professor Lee Jung-hoon…?’

He wasn’t listed among the judging professors for today. Who could be speaking so boldly to him?

“Even if you came in strong, you can’t let Kim Jeong-tae fill all the judge seats, can you?”
“I couldn’t help it! Professor Park kept complaining about monopolizing judging at the last competition. What could I do?”
“Stop being so indecisive! That’s why people like Kim Jeong-tae ruin piano!”
“Who ignored me when I asked for help because of politics and retired?”

It sounded like a conversation he shouldn’t overhear. Feeling guilty, Minwoo tried to leave.

Then came a final remark:

“Tch, only Song Minwoo ends up unlucky. At this rate, he’ll fail the first round.”

“…Excuse me?”