The Prodigy's First Performance
Kim Mal-sook, Yoo Jae-won's mother and Yoo Bong-man's wife, had never felt such anticipation. The swelling hope, which needed no further explanation, came entirely from her only son, Yoo Jae-won—the child she cherished above all else. Her son had changed.
“Was it the computer that triggered this?” Buying such an expensive electronic device had been a real stretch for their modest household. Yoo Bong-man's monthly salary barely reached 300,000 won. Kim Mal-sook's own earnings peaked at around 200,000 won and often dipped into the low 100,000s; in bad months, she earned less than 50,000 won. That was the reality of her job as a door-to-door saleswoman for Daeho Electronics. Her base pay was negligible, so her income depended entirely on commissions. When sales were strong, she could out-earn the store manager. When they weren't, her pockets stayed light. Meanwhile, the computer they'd purchased on a 36-month interest-free installment plan required 100,000 won each month—one-quarter of their combined income.
Yet they had taken the risk because Kim Mal-sook hoped the machine would help Yoo Jae-won grow into a prodigy capable of mastering this new technology. She also wanted him to experience firsthand that good grades brought tangible rewards, sparking his own desire to study. Until a few days ago, however, there had been no dramatic results. She knew he had spent the entire summer vacation playing games, completely ignoring his homework and second-semester studies. Still, she had told herself that even if he only grew comfortable with computers through gaming, that would be worthwhile. Few people in town could properly handle cutting-edge devices like computers, after all. Being able to use such technology ahead of others meant staying several steps ahead.
Then, just days before school resumed, everything shifted. He finished his vacation homework in mere days—something he had never touched before—and demonstrated an astonishing mastery of the computer. His fingers flew across the keyboard without looking, and he read and understood every English word on the screen, even pronouncing them naturally. He had also stopped being picky about food. He now devoured even the anchovy stir-fry he used to avoid, scooping generous spoonfuls instead of needing constant nagging. All these changes had arrived at once, and every one of them was positive. Her only worry was whether this sudden improvement would prove fleeting. She knew her son lacked persistence—almost to the point of deficiency.
Perhaps that was why, when Yoo Jae-won approached her on Sunday morning as she prepared to go out and asked where she was headed, then declared he would come along, she did not discourage him. It was another welcome sign of change. On a Sunday morning, there were few places to go dressed neatly. Nine times out of ten, it meant church, and Yoo Jae-won was no exception. Deokjin Church—a small congregation in the neighboring village. Their own hamlet of Naeo had fewer than fifty households and no church of its own, so residents walked twenty minutes to the next village. Until recently, Yoo Jae-won would never have volunteered to go. Sunday mornings meant cartoons on television, and now there was also the computer. Besides, church only offered boring sermons and no friends his age. There were a few children around his age, but they had never spoken. Even if Kim Mal-sook had attended for years, she might have made connections, but she herself had only started going a few months earlier—not out of sudden faith, but with the somewhat worldly goal of increasing her sales.
“Mom, let's go!” Yoo Jae-won's steps were light as he put on his shoes. Though he understood his mother's situation and knew church would not be entertaining, he was willing to go for a simple reason: the church had a piano. A piano was an essential item for beginning his “Goblin Computer” project.
“—In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we bless the congregation of Deokjin Church. Amen.” At the pastor's amen from the pulpit, roughly thirty worshippers responded in chorus. Among them was Yoo Jae-won, whose face had looked bored moments earlier. Color now returned to his previously blank expression. The service had finally ended. The pastor descended from the pulpit and moved toward the entrance, while the scattered congregation rose to prepare for departure. As in most churches, the entrance stood opposite the pulpit. Mother and son had been seated in the front row, so they had to wait for those behind them to exit first. But Yoo Jae-won's true purpose for visiting church after so long was different. This was the moment to act.
“Mom.”
“Hmm? What is it, sweetheart?” Kim Mal-sook, who had been about to stand, paused and turned to meet her son's eyes. Her gaze was filled with affection. Yoo Jae-won pointed with his finger toward the right side beneath the pulpit. There stood the piano.
“Mom, I want to try playing the piano.”
Kim Mal-sook, who had seemed ready to grant any request, hesitated at her son's words. The piano—an instrument she had never taught him. Moreover, the piano was not empty. The pastor's wife was already playing a gentle hymn as the congregation filed out. She was the only one in the church who could play, and she had done so since the congregation began. Though called “the pastor's wife,” she was the same age as Kim Mal-sook. They shared one more thing: the pastor and his wife also had a son named Yeong-jun, who was the same age as Yoo Jae-won. In many ways, the situation invited comparison—and indeed, people did compare them. Yeong-jun excelled in school and played two instruments: violin and piano. He was exactly the kind of son a mother's friend would boast about.
“Oh? The piano?” Kim Mal-sook was taken aback. Until this moment, her son had never shown the slightest interest in the piano. Still, this too seemed like a positive curiosity, so she decided to ask.
“Excuse me, ma'am?” Once the accompaniment ended, Kim Mal-sook took her son's hand and approached the pastor's wife.
“Ah, Jae-won's mother? It's been a while since we've seen Jae-won too.” The pastor's wife, rising from the bench, greeted them warmly and even ruffled Yoo Jae-won's hair. She seemed genuinely kind. Yet her tone and manner carried a subtle sense of superiority—as though an adult ten years older were addressing subordinates. Kim Mal-sook appeared to sense this posture, but there was little she could do about it. Yoo Jae-won, however, felt a sharp pang of irritation. At the same age, one child was addressed as “ma'am” while the other was merely “Jae-won's mom.” Still, he knew that in just a few years, everything would be different.
“Well, Jae-won says he wants to try playing the piano. Would that be all right?”
“The piano? Of course. He's one of our church members, after all.” Seeing Kim Mal-sook's cautious tone, the pastor's wife readily offered the seat, clearly intending to compare skills with her own son, Yeong-jun, who was also learning piano.
“Thank you!”
Yoo Jae-won took the bench in an unusual posture—perched on the very edge of the seat with his legs fully extended, hands resting on the keys. It was a secondhand upright piano from Samik Instruments. Though slightly out of tune, only someone with perfect pitch would notice. His seating looked precarious, but his feet could reach the pedals without issue. After checking the instrument's condition, Yoo Jae-won closed his eyes briefly. His original plan had been to demonstrate his newfound talent to his mother with something simple like “Chopsticks.” But the pastor's wife's demeanor suggested that would not be enough.
Then this it is!
Having made his decision, Yoo Jae-won's fingers began to dance across the keys. Clear piano notes filled the sanctuary. At that moment, the pastor's wife's expression—arms crossed as she watched to see how well he would do—changed completely. His fingers moved with the precision of proper training. He even used the pedal flawlessly, something beginners rarely managed.
“Pachelbel's Canon?”
The piece Yoo Jae-won had chosen was the popular piano variation of Pachelbel's Canon—a melody familiar to anyone who played piano or violin, and a steady seller even among those with little musical interest. It was beloved by performers, and countless variations had been created over the years. The version flowing from Yoo Jae-won's small hands was not Pachelbel's original, but George Winston's variation. From the gentle opening through the memorable melody of the middle section to the rapid, driving finale—every note was perfect. His small fingers moved brilliantly across the black and white keys without a single mistake. More than that, he was not merely following the score mechanically; genuine emotion infused every phrase.
“Wow!”
When the performance ended, applause and gasps of admiration erupted. Yoo Jae-won stood and bowed with exaggerated flair, like a true pianist. Among the audience were the pastor himself and several worshippers who had turned back at the sound of the piano. They clapped even harder at the boy's charming display. The most astonished of all was the pastor's wife, her face frozen in shock. In his previous life, Yoo Jae-won had played many instruments, but the piano for over twenty years. Even showing only a fraction of that experience produced a reaction far beyond what he had expected.
Huh? Did I overdo it?
A twinge of self-reproach rose, but Yoo Jae-won quickly dismissed it. The demonstration was already done. There was no taking it back. So he might as well collect a handsome payment for the show.