WCP 50

chapter 50

What’s the hardest piano piece in the world to practice?

An étude? A ballad? Or maybe a sonata?

No — that’s wrong.

It’s a duet.

No matter how difficult an étude, ballad, or sonata might be, if you practice patiently and repeatedly, you’ll eventually get the hang of it.

But a duet is different.

Unlike other pieces that only require individual effort, a duet needs two people to synchronize perfectly.

Which inevitably means — you end up blaming each other.

In this case, though, the blame wasn’t directed at each other — it was aimed at me, the one who brought them the piece in the first place.

“Why do you two think your timing keeps falling apart?”

Starting with a question instead of an explanation — that was one of my bad habits back when I first started teaching.

Can’t be helped. People learn better when they realize something themselves, not when it’s spoon-fed to them.

But from the listener’s point of view, that kind of talk can be pretty frustrating.

“Why can’t you just tell us straight? Why’re you acting like some kind of teacher all of a sudden?”

“There’s a reason for everything.”

As expected, the first to complain was Kang Yoon.

But unlike him, Jung Da-yoon quietly answered my question.

“Hmm… maybe because there are a lot of syncopated rhythms in the middle?”

“Wrong.”

Sure, there are quite a few syncopations, but that’s not the reason.

Those syncopations only add liveliness to the main melody — they’re not the problem.

“The real answer is that you two are too self-centered.”

“What’d you just say?”

Kang Yoon bristled at that.

Meanwhile, Jung Da-yoon looked confused — not angry, more like she couldn’t understand why I’d call her self-centered.

“I don’t mean your personalities are self-centered. I’m talking about your playing styles.”

Actions speak louder than words.

Remembering that old saying, I gently pushed Kang Yoon aside.

“Move over for a sec.”

“Hey! Don’t push me!”

After nudging him out of the way, I sat next to Jung Da-yoon at the piano.

“Let’s play from the top. I’ll take Kang Yoon’s part.”

“Ah, okay.”

At my cue, Jung Da-yoon began to play the waltz again.

And once again, the Dog Waltz began.

Even without counting in, I fell naturally into her tempo. That made her glance at me in surprise.

“Huh…?”

Her playing was smoother than before.

Noticing her surprise, I lightened my touch, making my part softer, more of a cushion.

A gentle accent, light and fleeting — supporting the main melody without swallowing it.

Just that small adjustment was enough to bring the waltz to life.

“Now you get what I mean by ‘not syncing,’ right?”

Stopping mid-piece, I looked at the two of them.

“When there’s a lead, there has to be support. But you two keep trying to play the duet like it’s a pair of solo performances.”

Can’t blame them.

Both had been too focused on competitions and entrance exam repertoires to ever spend time practicing duets.

“That’s why your duet doesn’t sound like a waltz — it sounds like a competition.”

Which is why their rhythm kept breaking apart.

“Da-yoon, you need to lead more confidently. Don’t let the accompaniment swallow your melody.”

“O-okay.”

“And Yoon, drop the competitiveness. Focus only on supporting the main melody.”

“Tch, yeah, I know.”

At least they seemed to understand what I meant.

Seeing their faces, finally a bit more thoughtful, I rose from the piano bench.

“Alright, now try again. Don’t forget what I said.”

Even if they grasped the problem, fixing it wouldn’t be that easy.

They’d need a lot more practice—

[~~~~]

Then suddenly, a perfectly flowing waltz brushed against my ears.

The melody was lively — vibrant — miles better than before.

A genuine waltz.

I was honestly shocked.

They improved this much in one go?

Even considering their talent, this was impressive.

I’d thought it would take at least two or three runs before we saw progress.

Maybe they’d finish the piece much faster than I expected.

That was my thought—

—right before a sudden discordant note broke the harmony.

“Knew it.”

Suppressing one’s own playing style is never easy.

No matter how focused you are, one lapse of concentration, and your habits resurface.

Their duet was still far from complete.

* * *

“So, the two of them are really practicing together?”

A week left until Christmas.

The music room was louder than ever when Lee Ji-hye asked that question.

It was lunchtime, as usual.

With winter break and the holidays right around the corner, the halls were noisy, but I ignored them and answered calmly.

“Yeah.”

“Da-yoon actually agreed to that guy’s request…?”

Something unimaginable just a few months ago.

Remembering what happened between them at the Korean International Music Competition, I nodded in agreement.

“How’re they getting along? Kang Yoon’s not harassing her again, is he?”

“Not at all. He’s even held back a few times when he could’ve snapped.”

Though he seemed to be taking that frustration out on me instead.

Still, he hadn’t said a single harsh word to Jung Da-yoon.

“That’s… surprising. Hard to picture him like that.”

“If you’re that curious, drop by the studio sometime.”

“No thanks. They’re probably busy enough without me distracting them.”

Ji-hye rolled her tumbler across the desk and shook her head.

“Oh, right. I decided to perform in that charity concert too.”

“What? Why?”

“I dunno. Nothing else to do during break.”

“Wow, it hasn’t even been that long since your entrance exams…”

She gave me a look of disbelief.

Then, with a teasing smirk, she asked,

“So what are you going to play?”

“That’s a secret. You’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

“Ugh, you’re so stingy. Fine, whatever, I’m not that curious.”

She turned her head away, pretending to sulk.

“If you were performing, I’d tell you right away.”

“No thanks. Unlike some people, I actually like relaxing on holidays.”

Seriously—

If she weren’t so lazy, she would’ve been one of the brightest in our year.

“There’s nothing wrong with performing. Think of it as making Christmas memories. Your parents would be happy.”

“…My parents, huh.”

That reaction was odd.

I’d met her parents once — or at least, I think I met her father — during the preliminaries of that same competition.

Middle-aged, polite — didn’t seem like there was any tension between them.

So why that strange tone now?

“Forget it. They’re both probably too busy anyway.”

“Even on Christmas?”

“Yeah. Their motto’s basically ‘no days off.’”

That was my cue to drop the subject.

Sensing that instinctively, I changed the topic.

“Well, can’t be helped. Anyway, anything you want for Christmas?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m thinking of getting small gifts for people around me.”

There weren’t that many people, really — family, Ji-hye, Da-yoon, Kang Yoon, Professors Lee Jung-hoon and Kang Seo-jun, and old man Yoon Jong-soo…

‘Wait… that’s actually a lot.’

It felt like a short list, but counting it out loud made it seem longer.

‘Come to think of it… I’ve never had this many people around me before.’

In my previous life, Christmas was a lonely time.

At best, I spent it with Liszt or Mendelssohn — and…

“Someday, I’d love to spend Christmas with you in your homeland.”

That was all.

By the end of my life, even they were gone, leaving me completely alone.

When I closed my eyes for the last time, it had been a small, quiet, lonely end.

Remembering that, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

“So yeah, just tell me anything you want.”

“Hmm, then… an iPhone 16—”

“Not that.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Maybe I was imagining it, but that silly joke sounded like her way of covering something heavier.

Her smile looked a little forced — though only for a moment.

“Nothing too small, nothing too fancy. Just something in between, okay?”

“You might as well ask for a hot iced Americano.”

Why did girls always make such impossible requests?

With a weary sigh, I remembered — somehow, I’d had the same kind of conversation in my past life too.

December 18th.

A winter afternoon, just days before Christmas.