WCP 36

chapter 36

“Tch, poor Song Minwoo. At this rate, he won’t even pass the first round.”

…Huh?

For a moment, Song Minwoo’s steps froze as if turned to stone, just as he was about to leave his seat.

‘What the hell is he saying?’

I won’t pass the first round?

No matter how little my skills measure up to those from my previous life, it shouldn’t be that bad.

If I were to fail, it would at least happen in the second practical evaluation. Unlike the first round, which evaluates only performance, the second round also includes document review.

Then why is that person, talking with Professor Lee Junghoon, so sure I won’t even pass the first round?

Since I was mentioned, I couldn’t just keep eavesdropping.

“Could you explain that a bit more clearly?”

“!!”

The eyes of the two people in conversation widened.

They must have never imagined that the very person they were talking about was listening.

“What… How are you here in the middle of exams…?”

“That’s not the important part right now.”

In response to Professor Lee Junghoon’s startled question, Song Minwoo asked firmly again.

Seeing this, Professor Lee shot a sharp glance at his friend beside him.

“That’s why I told you not to talk about it here, buddy.”

“No one expected anyone to be listening.”

Professor Lee’s friend replied, a bit defensively.

“By the way… who is this?”

“Oh, I should have introduced earlier. I’m Kang Seojun. You might have heard of me.”

Kang Seojun… Could it be… Kang Yoon’s grandfather?

It was a name I had heard from Elder Yoon Jongsu before.

“Judging by your expression, I suppose you’ve heard of me before.”

“Yes, a little. But I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

And certainly not under these circumstances.

“Even so, I’m an honorary professor at Korea University.”

“Honorary professor” means he’s retired.

‘Now that I think about it, I heard something about that in the conversation earlier.’

Apparently, he retired because of politics.

“Of course, that’s probably not what you’re really curious about right now.”

At Kang Seojun’s words, Song Minwoo nodded quietly.

The real question was why, between a retired Korea University professor and a current professor, there was talk that Song Minwoo wouldn’t pass the practical exam.

Until he understood the reason, Song Minwoo had no intention of returning to the waiting room.

Recognizing Song Minwoo’s stubbornness immediately, Kang Seojun subtly signaled Professor Lee.

“…Right. We can’t just leave it without explanation.”

Professor Lee sighed as if resigned.

“To explain… as I said earlier, you probably won’t pass the first practical evaluation.”

“Why?”

“Because narrow-minded fools who can’t act their age are on the judging panel.”

Do the judges plan to fail me for personal reasons?

Judging is supposed to be entirely based on skill for fairness, but reality isn’t always that simple. Ultimately, performances are judged by humans, and humans can’t entirely exclude emotion.

But evaluating emotionally is different from not intending to evaluate at all.

“I haven’t done anything to make anyone resent me.”

Well, if anyone, only Kang Yoon. In fact, he had a fair share of blame for failing the last competition.

But with Kang Yoon’s grandfather here, Kang Yoon himself is irrelevant to this matter.

Then, who exactly holds a grudge?

“It seems you don’t quite understand your current position.”

Professor Lee shook his head gently as if expecting this.

“You’re a noteworthy candidate, having appeared less than two months ago and already caught the attention of me and Zimmermann. That’s how people see you.”

An unknown boy who only ever competed in a single contest had stirred a huge wave in the previously calm piano world.

What would people think if such a boy took the Korea University entrance exam, where Professor Lee sits?

“They’d probably think: Lee Junghoon has discovered another genius, someone who will dominate the Korean classical scene again.”

“…So they try to keep me in check.”

Where there’s fame, opposition inevitably follows. The stronger the light, the darker the shadow.

It’s the same with Professor Lee.

‘Politics, huh.’

Those who don’t want Lee Junghoon’s influence to grow have been assigned as judges. People who are willing to set aside pride as a pianist to control the evaluation.

‘Some things never change, even if the times do.’

Song Minwoo couldn’t help the bitter expression that crept onto his face.

“Sorry, it’s my fault for not preparing earlier. So… how about aiming for next year instead?”

“…….”

I can’t do that. I swore I wouldn’t trouble my parents anymore.

“Who are the judges?”

“Professor Moon Ji-eun, Professor Jung Taeyoon, and Professor Park Junghyun… why do you ask?”

“Are they good?”

“Well, they’re professors, so… wait, you’re not thinking of going through the evaluation like this, are you?”

“I can’t back down now.”

Planning for next year might be better, but even next year, there’s no guarantee they won’t interfere.

‘And there’s a way, even if it’s unlikely.’

It might be worth taking the risk.

“Lee Junghoon, stop there. Looks like he won’t listen if I try to intervene.”

Kang Seojun, who had been quietly observing, stopped Professor Lee.

“You seem to have a plan?”

“For now, yes.”

“Then somehow get through the first practical evaluation. After that, he and I will see what we can do.”

“Thank you. But shouldn’t you be more concerned about your grandson than me?”

If they try to restrain me, there’s no guarantee they won’t do the same to Kang Yoon.

“If it’s Yoon, he’ll be fine. Unless Professors Park are idiots, they won’t give me a reason to team up with him.”

Honorary professor… even retired, his influence hasn’t disappeared.

‘Quite different from what I imagined.’

I was a little worried since Elder Yoon said Kang Yoon resembles him. That worry seems needless.

I wonder what it would have been like if Kang Yoon had his grandfather’s temperament.

With that thought, Song Minwoo moved toward the waiting room.

“Then, I’ll be going now. It’s almost my turn.”

“…Alright, if you’re confident, I won’t stop you. But be careful.”

Professor Lee still seemed concerned.

Of course. I’m walking into the lion’s den myself. No wonder he’s worried.

So I just need to ease that worry as soon as possible.

‘I’ve really changed a lot.’

In the past, I would have been consumed by pessimistic thoughts.

After living once, dying, and returning as Song Minwoo, something has changed. Instead of anxiety, a quiet confidence sticks with me.

Holding onto that good feeling, Song Minwoo quietly moved toward the waiting room. To prove himself.

-You just couldn’t let go of your pride.

Those words from Song Minwoo echoed in Kang Yoon’s ear.

‘…Damn, I can’t focus.’

The line had shortened, and the sixth student had just entered the room. Realizing his turn was next, Kang Yoon obsessively skimmed the sheet music.

But not a single note registered.

Only Song Minwoo’s voice kept ringing in his ears.

-You failed because you were arrogant, and you can’t rise because you’re prideful.

What did those words at the hospital really mean?

For the past week, he had been tormented by them, still without answers.

Instead, his hands only trembled more clearly.

At this rate, he was no different from the losers he had despised.

The tension and impatience pressed heavily on his chest, twisting together.

With that thought, Kang Yoon quietly turned his head, crumpling the sheet music.

His gaze fell on Song Minwoo’s seat, which had been empty for a few minutes while he went out.

But the seat was empty only briefly.

The quiet waiting room door opened, and Song Minwoo appeared as if he had been waiting.

-You must have always thought your performance was always right.

The moment his gaze met Song Minwoo’s, those words echoed again.

Did he mean my performance was wrong?

…No, my performance was not wrong.

Everything I built following my grandfather’s footsteps couldn’t be wrong.

Every keystroke, every pedal movement—I learned from my grandfather.

Everything I had respected since childhood, everything inherited from pianist Kang Seojun.

‘So my performance is wrong? Ridiculous.’

I must prove it.

That my performance was right. That Kang Seojun was never wrong.

By doing so, I will overcome that detestable La Campanella I heard that day and reclaim my place at the top.

Not a resolution, but obsession.

With that obsession, Kang Yoon tightly gripped his trembling hands.

“Next, Kang Yoon, please enter.”

“…!”

Finally, it’s my turn.

Kang Yoon rose, gripping the crumpled sheet music.

‘Number five’s expression looks bright. He must have gone through successfully.’

Even that novice came out confidently; I won’t fall behind.

With that self-reassurance, Kang Yoon entered the room where the professors awaited.

The air inside was suffocatingly heavy, unlike the waiting room.

It felt as if it would crush him at any moment.

‘Damn, why am I scared…! How hard can this practical evaluation be!’

Pushing himself mentally, his stiff legs finally creaked forward.

It was no different from the Korea International Music Competition finals.

The piano still felt far away, just as that day when La Campanella consumed my mind.

The only difference now is the unyielding obsession.

Relying on that obsession, Kang Yoon finally reached the piano.

“Kang Yoon, don’t hesitate. Start.”

The professors urged him with cold sighs.

Normally, Kang Yoon would have snapped at them for not knowing who his grandfather is, but now he had no time for that.

All he could do was comply.

‘Damn…’

No amount of self-hypnosis would help.

If he performed like this, the same thing as the previous competition would happen.

The moment his fingers hit the keys, that cursed La Campanella would torment him again.

Every technique, every expression of that perfect piece—it seemed to negate everything he had built. Could he even overcome it?

-You must have always thought your performance was right.

Shut up. Yeah, you’re right. So what?

You want to say my performance is wrong, that I was just a frog in a well?

After pretending to be all virtuous, you’re no different from me.

Laughing at me for being a loser…

-You’ll have a hard time for a while, it seems.

…Was that really a taunt?

If memory serves, he had a slight smirk then.

Then why does his voice ring in my ears now, as if expecting something?

Perhaps what Song Minwoo wanted to say that day…

The unforgettable melody of La Campanella still lingered in his ears.

His hands cold, his legs stiff—but still, Kang Yoon played the piano.

To prove himself.