WCP 46

chapter 46

Sustain Pedal.

It’s the rightmost of the three pedals—and the one used most often.

If someone asked why this particular pedal is used more than the other two, the answer would be simple:
because the difference between using it and not using it is so noticeable that even non-musicians can tell.

The moment you press it, the dampers lift, the strings vibrate freely, and the resulting resonance fills the sound with richness—breathing life into every note.

That’s why, for any pianist, the sustain pedal is absolutely essential.
Even if the other two pedals were to break, the sustain pedal must never, ever fail.

But what if, in the middle of a performance, it did break?
How would you handle it?

You wouldn’t.

There is no way to continue playing a piece properly without the sustain pedal—unless you rewrote the entire composition itself.

[Click—]

“!!”

The instant weight that had been pressing back under his foot suddenly vanished.
In that fleeting moment, Song Min-woo instinctively realized that the sustain pedal was gone.

What do I do?

Why had the pedal suddenly snapped? Why now?
That didn’t matter.

There was only half a beat left before the quarter rest ended.
Barely enough time to blink—yet Min-woo had to make a decision.

And his choice was…

To keep playing.

[~~!!]

Staccato notes rang out—without sustain.

Normally, the sound would’ve turned rigid and dry, the dampers clamping down and killing the resonance.
But that wasn’t what reached the judges’ ears.

What they heard was light, connected, and seamlessly flowing staccato—
as if the sustain pedal were still perfectly intact.

I’ve always thought this, but maybe adding a sostenuto at the start wouldn’t be bad…

A thought he’d had countless times—ever since his days as Chopin.
Just a thought, never something he had tried in practice.

Sostenuto.
The middle pedal on a grand piano, and the least-used of the three.

It’s the polar opposite of the sustain pedal, yet it hides a secret:
it also lifts dampers—just not all of them.

Unlike the sustain pedal, which raises every damper the instant it’s pressed,
the sostenuto only holds up the dampers of the keys already being pressed down.

So, if you could predict the notes that need to resonate and press them in advance—
in theory, you could use the sostenuto to achieve a similar effect to the sustain pedal.

But that’s only in theory.

What are the chances of pulling that off flawlessly, in real time, with no practice?

Zero.

Even the world’s best pianists would fail.

But who was the one sitting at the piano now?

A genius who had revolutionized the piano of his time—
a composer who had birthed countless piano arrangements—

Frédéric François Chopin.

“This… this can’t be…”
“What in the world…?”

The judges’ shocked voices filled the examination hall.

But Song Min-woo didn’t hear a thing.
Every nerve, every thought—was focused solely on the piano.

Rewriting a piece on the spot and flawlessly performing that new arrangement…
Even for Chopin himself, that was no simple feat.

And right now, he wasn’t Chopin. He was Song Min-woo.

Yet the reason he could improvise and adapt so instinctively was simple:

Experience.

The countless performances he had given.
The wisdom he had earned through communion with the world’s great masters.
A lifetime’s worth of memories that belonged to Chopin—and now, to him.

That experience was what saved him.

Round up the note in measure 3… staccato in measure 4… then shift the pedal timing half a beat earlier—!

He deconstructed and reinterpreted Schumann’s Novelletten No. 2 in real time, measure by measure.

To make it softer.
Smoother.
Alive.

His wrists ached. His ankles burned.
The sudden reliance on the sostenuto—
and the changes in fingering that came with it—strained every tendon.

An unplanned improvisation.
Yet the sound that flowed out was so perfect it was hard to believe it was improvised at all.

[~! ~!]

Light began to bloom—
spreading through each key, bright and vibrant.

Joyful.
Radiant.
Overflowing with life.

The small happiness of everyday life—
the kind that briefly dulls the bitterness of living when remembered.

They say sorrow lingers longer in memory than joy.
And that’s true—half true.

Wounds don’t fade easily, yes.
But happiness dulls their sting.
Pain scabs over, and over that scar, happiness quietly paints itself anew.

And that happiness isn’t some rare miracle that visits only once in a lifetime.
It’s always there—
near us, beside us, unnoticed.

Even the smallest joy.

That was the happiness Schumann captured in Novelletten No. 2.
Simple, yet profound.

[~~~!!]

The keys that had danced with happiness finally came to rest,
leaving behind a pianist who had poured out his soul—
and a panel of judges struck speechless.

It was absurd.

By all rights, Song Min-woo’s performance should have been ruined by the broken sustain pedal.
And yet, not only had he finished it flawlessly—
he had completed an entirely new arrangement on the spot.

Professor Park Jung-hyun glanced at the two professors sitting dumbfounded and smirked inwardly.

Those two were lackeys of Professor Kim Jung-tae,
who had been criticizing Park for not “handling” the situation properly.

Now look at them—staring blankly like fools.

Did you really think breaking one sustain pedal could stop that monster?

What a joke.

Neither Kim Jung-tae, nor these two idiots who schemed this stunt,
had any idea who they were dealing with.

Instead of trying to sabotage him, they should have been fighting to recruit him.

The way he instantly switched to sostenuto and applied it to the entire piece—
that courage and finesse weren’t something talent alone could explain.

That was experience, forged through effort.

If he was this skilled at performance, he was surely a genius in composition, too.
Just how many secrets were hidden in that young man’s mind?

He wasn’t a goose laying golden eggs—he was the Philosopher’s Stone itself.

Reassessing his opinion, Professor Park spoke quietly.

“How about it? I don’t think there’s anything left to evaluate.”

“Y-yes, indeed. An outstanding performance, Mr. Song.”

“Y-you did very well. You may leave now.”

The two professors stammered, unable to compose themselves.
Watching them lose their dignity despite being older,
Professor Park silently clicked his tongue.

“Thank you.”

With that, Min-woo left the room without hesitation.

The moment he was gone, the two professors turned on each other.

“What are we supposed to do now?! You told me to do it this way—look how perfectly he played!”

“How is this my fault?! How was I supposed to know he could play like that without a sustain pedal?! You could’ve done something too!”

Old fools, arguing like children.

Sick of their bickering, Park rose from his seat.

“You both did well. Don’t worry—I’ll explain everything to Professor Kim myself.”

“What?! Park, are you serious right now?!”

“Yes, perfectly serious. Goodbye.”

He had no intention of indulging their stupidity any further.

Ignoring their shouts, Park left the exam hall and followed after Song Min-woo.

He didn’t have to look far—
Min-woo hadn’t gone far at all, as if waiting for him.

Whatever the reason, Park quickly caught up, walking beside him.

“Let’s talk for a moment.”

“Planning to buy me a new sustain pedal?”

The voice was cold—icy enough to drip with disdain.
Judging by his tone, he’d already realized the sabotage had come from the faculty.

“For the record, that wasn’t me.”

“How reassuring.”

He doesn’t believe me.
And honestly, I can’t blame him—
not after what I’ve done before.

“That arrangement… it’s hard to believe you improvised it. Did you anticipate the problem beforehand?”

“Of course not. Just got lucky.”

Lucky, he says.
What nonsense.

That wasn’t luck—it was calculation.
Pure, instinctive calculation born of experience.

“Though, I doubt the professors enjoyed it much.”

His tone implied that if he wanted to, he could overturn their decision anytime.

Sensing the opportunity, Park spoke again.

“My offer still stands. If you want, I can guarantee you a full scholarship—and a spot in the final selection.”

“And if my answer still hasn’t changed?”

“Then mine hasn’t either.”

If persuasion fails, exclusion remains.
Better to bar that monster from Korea University entirely
than let him side with Professor Lee Jung-hoon.

“So it’s a threat, then.”

“You keep refusing to give me a choice. I have no other option.”

Min-woo suddenly stopped walking.
Then, wordlessly, he held out his phone.

On the screen—

“This… this is…!”

The color drained from Professor Park Jung-hyun’s face,
turning deathly pale as he read the headline displayed before him.