WCP 44

chapter 44

He pressed the keys and stepped on the pedal.
The fast-tempo scale muddied as the pedaling went off-beat, and the notes blurred together.
Da capo — back to the start.

The same melody in G-sharp minor began to echo again.
Same tempo, but this time he stretched the pedaling by half a beat.

The result was cleaner than before, but the melody now sounded too choppy.
Again, da capo, back to the beginning.

Half a beat faster, or half a beat slower.
Even that wasn’t enough, so he split the timing in halves again and again, adjusting the pedaling bit by bit.

Like a sculptor carving away at marble, refining every detail to reveal the perfect shape within.
Was this how Michelangelo felt while working on Pietà?
No — Michelangelo must have poured even more of his soul into it.

A pianist can simply go da capo and start over when he makes a mistake,
but once Michelangelo’s chisel struck, there was no turning back.

A slightly more polished melody filled the shop.
Still, it didn’t meet his expectations.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d gone da capo.
For two straight hours, Song Min-woo had practiced the same passage again and again until it was right —
his expression unchanged the entire time as he returned once more to the start.

Perhaps that unwavering focus was what amazed Kang Yoon,
who finally burst out in exasperation.

“You crazy bastard… You’re like a monk or something! Don’t you ever get pissed off?”
“Why would I? I keep messing up because I’m lacking.”
“Yeah, you’re nuts. You’re actually insane.”

Was that really so surprising?
Well, maybe to someone like Kang Yoon — who’d often threatened to smash his piano whenever practice didn’t go well — it was.

“Be honest. You’re a psychopath, aren’t you?”
“Don’t bother someone who’s practicing. Go before the old man catches you skipping work.”
“Skipping? I’m taking a break, thank you very much.”

That’s the same thing, isn’t it?

Min-woo ignored the nonsense and tried to refocus.

“You should rest a bit, too. You’ll be more efficient that way — in piano and in work.”
“Was that supposed to be advice for me?”
“Who else would it be for, genius?”

When would that filthy mouth ever improve?
At least he didn’t swear as much as he used to, but he was still far from polite.

‘God, he’s so distracting.’

He couldn’t concentrate with Kang Yoon jabbering next to him.
Might as well take a break since his focus was already shot.

With a hint of annoyance, Min-woo asked,

“So, did you come here just to mess with me today?”
“Yeah right. You think I’ve got time to waste?”
“Then why are you here?”
“…”

What the hell? Why’s he suddenly all hesitant? That’s weirdly creepy.
This guy usually spits out his words without a second thought.

“…I came to ask for someone’s number, okay?”
“What?”

He came all the way here just to ask for my number?
A shiver ran down his spine.

“You could’ve just asked me later. No need to come all the way—”
“You lunatic! Who said I wanted your number?! I meant Jung Da-yoon’s!”
“Ah.”

Oh. That made sense.

Of course, knowing his personality, he’d never come personally to ask another guy for his contact info.

“Why do you need Da-yoon’s number, though?”
“None of your business. Are you giving it to me or not?”
“At least tell me why. It’s not like you two ever got along.”

Got along? They were awful together.
Even now, he still got angry remembering what happened at the Korea International Music Competition.

“Wait… You’re not trying to hit on her, are you?”
“No! What the hell are you talking about, idiot? You told me to apologize to her, remember?!”

Ah, right — that conversation they’d had on the day of the first performance exam.
Min-woo was a little surprised he’d actually taken that to heart.

“…Anyway, I also had something to tell you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Might sound random, but be careful of that guy, Park Joong-hyun. I overheard my grandpa on the phone — he’s apparently planning to screw you over.”

That was… kind of touching.
Min-woo already knew, but it was nice that Kang Yoon had come all the way here just to warn him.

‘So, he hasn’t heard anything from his grandfather yet.’
Not surprising — even if he was the man’s grandson, no one would reveal sensitive internal university politics to him.
Especially not embarrassing ones about the factional conflicts within the music department.

“Thanks for the warning.”
“What, you already knew? You don’t sound surprised.”
“Something like that.”
“Tch, what a waste of time. Fine, then just give me Da-yoon’s number and I’m out.”

Kang Yoon clicked his tongue and handed over his phone.

‘He said he’d apologize — guess it’s fine to tell him.’
It seemed he was genuinely trying to change.
At least he wasn’t the same arrogant jerk he used to be.

And if both he and Da-yoon ended up at the same university, she couldn’t avoid him forever.
Maybe this was a good chance to help them clear the air.

“Here.”
“Alright, done. I’m out.”

The moment Min-woo entered the number, Kang Yoon snatched the phone back and dashed out toward the front gate —
completely unaware that Mr. Yoon Jong-soo had been watching him the whole time.

“You little brat! Where d’you think you’re going? The job’s not done yet!”
“Wha—! Let me go! I’ll report you to the labor office!”
“Report later! Move your damn hands first!”

…Now he felt kind of guilty.
His good intentions had just gotten the other guy in trouble.

If I had to pick the moment when my life reached its peak,
it would probably be the winter of 1831.

At the time, I thought otherwise.

[Take off your hats, gentlemen — a genius has arrived!]

I had just arrived in Paris and begun my career as a musician.
I was still unknown back then, while my contemporaries Schumann and Liszt were already celebrated — one as a critic, the other as a performer.

Maybe that’s why…
their praise felt less like admiration and more like pity.

Schumann’s turning me into a fool.

Looking back, I was such a foolish young man.
Talented and ambitious, yes — but introverted, stubborn, and full of pride.
I viewed the world through a warped lens and met kindness with suspicion.

That was who Frédéric Chopin was in 1831.

Had I not met Liszt the following year,
I might’ve stayed that way all my life.

Frédéric, why not spend time with Schumann too? I rather like that fellow’s character.

Liszt had tried several times to introduce us,
but our meeting never came to pass.

There was no particular reason I avoided Schumann —
I just wasn’t interested in making unnecessary acquaintances.

Our “relationship,” if you could call it that, was limited to him praising my work
and me dedicating Ballade No. 2 to him in gratitude.

Who could have guessed I’d one day regret never truly connecting with him?

We were born the same year,
and died only seven years apart.

If we’d had more time,
perhaps we could’ve been good friends.

But “if” doesn’t exist.
Time never stops.
Schumann ran out of it.
And I was left only with unfulfilled regret —
to remember him through music,
to etch his works into my melodies,
to long for a chance that would never come again.

The melody in D major painted scenes of bright, lively days —
days that never came,
that could only exist in imagination.

“You were the genius, not I.”

Novelette in D Major, Op. 21 No. 2.
Composed the same year I left Paris.

It was a great comfort to me during the time I lost everything.
Even in my later years, when my health failed and I could no longer play properly,
this was the one piece I still performed occasionally.

‘I remember every detail by heart.’

The subtle staccatos that follow the opening legato,
the lonely triplets when the key shifts midsection—
I remember them all perfectly.

“I’ve always thought it might be nice to add a sostenuto to the opening…”

He’d never tried it,
but it was an idea he often entertained.

I should try arranging it with a sostenuto pedal someday, thought Song Min-woo as he glanced around the music room.

There, next to him, was a girl fast asleep with her face buried in her arms —
Lee Ji-hye, who’d recently taken to using the music room as a nap spot.

‘Does she only practice at night or something?’

If she could sleep through piano playing like this,
she must’ve been really exhausted.

“Hey, Ji-hye. Lunch break’s almost over. Wake up.”
“Uuugh…”

That didn’t sound human.
Where’d the energetic high schooler go?
She looked half-dead.

‘At least she’s been practicing seriously.’
That was good, though she could’ve done it during the day.

“Lunch is already over…?”
“Yeah. Five minutes left till the bell.”
“Ah, damn it.”

Had she picked that habit up from Kang Yoon too?

He’d noticed recently — the less sleep Ji-hye got, the rougher her language became.
At least she didn’t swear at people like he did.

“You look exhausted. Practiced late last night?”
“Yeah. I let my guard down ‘cause there wasn’t any Chopin on the list, then he betrayed me.”
“…”

Still hates me, I see.

“You know what I realized? Chopin and Schumann are both jerks.”
“Uh… yeah?”
“I mean, if you’re gonna compose something, at least make it playable! Why twist the staff lines like that?! Everything’s syncopated, the tempo’s fast, and they sprinkle octaves around like ketchup on fries!”
“Hmm…”

He had no words.
After all, he was one of those jerks.

“…Sorry, I got carried away. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“It’s fine. I totally get it.”

It was that stressful season — preparing for the next performance exam.
Even if he became her verbal punching bag, he’d endure it.

Thinking so, Min-woo offered her his hand.

“Thanks.”

With a short word of gratitude, Ji-hye took his hand and stood up.
The two of them left the classroom together,
walking leisurely down the hall since there was still some time left.

“Hey, doesn’t this second exam feel… off to you?”
“What do you mean?”

The second practical exam pieces were by Schumann and Scriabin.
Difficult, expressive works — nothing strange about them as test pieces.

“It’s just… both the Novelette and the Sonata rely a lot on pedaling. Almost like they’re targeting someone.”

Now that she mentioned it, she had a point.
Both pieces focused more on pedal technique than fingerwork.

‘Are they trying to mess with me?’

No, that couldn’t be it.
The exam pieces were announced at the same time as the first-round results.
Unless they’d changed the entire repertoire, there couldn’t be any hidden traps.

“Maybe that’s just the theme this time.”
“Hmm… yeah, maybe.”

She brushed it off, but her face still looked dissatisfied.

“Ji-hye, don’t tell me you’re spinning conspiracy theories just ‘cause your pedaling practice isn’t going well.”
“…”

She averted her eyes without replying.

…So this was how the performance exams broke perfectly normal students.
Song Min-woo had come to understand the cruel reality of Korean entrance exams.