Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: The Prodigy's First Composition
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At first, she thought the child was simply imitating her swing.
It was impressive enough on its own, but upon closer listening, it was completely different from what she had played.
It followed swing textbook-perfectly, yet there was undoubtedly something new there.
That said, it wasn't anything extraordinary.
As mentioned, it was purely by-the-book—clichéd, straightforward, with a very simple structure.
But as the child kept playing, the melody grew richer with each repetition.
She was arranging it on the fly while playing the piano.
Was this really something a mere six-year-old could do?
It wasn't impossible.
Geniuses like that did appear from time to time, rare though they were.
So, her grandson was a genius.
A fire ignited in the heart of Heo Ok, a jazz pianist and professor of practical music at a renowned Japanese conservatory.
It was the flame of desire, burning as a teacher eager to instruct a disciple.
Was this how Segoe Gensaku felt upon meeting Cho Hun-hyeon?
Was this the emotion coursing through Chuckie Sullivan when he encountered Will Hunting in *Good Will Hunting*?
Heo Ok suppressed her surging passion for teaching and asked her grandson,
“Having fun?”
Startled by the words, Yeonwoo whipped around.
He faced a child huddled small, his face etched with fear.
It stemmed from past trauma, but in Heo Ok's eyes right now, she didn't notice.
Silently, she sat beside Yeonwoo and played exactly what he had been playing.
Yeonwoo's eyes widened into circles as he looked up at Heo Ok.
“To play piano properly, sit up straight, curve your fingers like you're holding an egg…”
Entranced, about to teach the basics, Heo Ok suddenly recalled the past.
*“Like holding an egg. Now, play. No, I told you that's not how! Again!!”*
Her own voice, bellowing.
And the boy slumped dejectedly before the piano.
That boy was her son, Jihoon.
The moment Jihoon's young face overlapped with Yeonwoo's current one, Heo Ok swallowed her words.
She remembered her son shedding thick tears, saying he hated piano under her harsh lessons.
Her son had been born with perfect pitch—a true gift for any musician.
Not the sloppy kind learned by ear at the piano, but innate, catching even the finest nuances in pitch.
Back then, she had taken that unpolished gem and turned it into dull coal instead of a jewel.
Remembering this, Heo Ok placed her hand on Yeonwoo's head.
Yeonwoo flinched but soon gazed quietly at Heo Ok.
“Fun things should be done to your heart's content. You can play whenever you want, even without my permission. Like right now.”
“…….”
Yeonwoo looked down at the keys.
His eyes sparkled.
Staring blankly at the keys, he placed his fingers back on them and began playing swing again.
His piano playing was still clumsy, but Yeonwoo's swing continued on.
Yes, this was enough.
Heo Ok emptied her mind.
Greed only brought misfortune, after all.
* * *
A few days later, one morning.
“I'm off.”
As always, Jihoon left early for work after greeting his young son.
After seeing his dad off and watching his car depart from the balcony, Yeonwoo headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
From the nearly empty fridge, stocked only occasionally with essentials that vanished just as quickly, he pulled out sliced bread, jam, and butter.
“…?”
Then Yeonwoo's eyes caught something unfamiliar.
What was that?
He took it out.
Ah…!
It was ham.
He'd forgotten, but he recalled Grandmother saying she'd buy ham so he could top his bread with it or sandwich it.
Yeonwoo's eyes lit up brightly.
It was food he could only look at longingly, never eat, at his uncle's house.
There, Yeonwoo was only allowed the couple's leftovers.
With excitement bubbling, Yeonwoo toasted the bread, spread thin layers of jam and butter, piled on two thick slices of ham, and took a bite.
His eyes went wide.
It was so delicious.
Yeonwoo devoured the toast in one go, made one for Grandmother, washed his hands meticulously, and sat at the piano.
Ever since playing that swing last time, Yeonwoo's daily routine had completely changed.
He handled his own meals and sat at the piano.
The moment he placed his hands on the keys and pressed middle C, the fairies greeted him warmly.
At their center, the Grandmother Fairy, leader of the bunch, sat primly with legs crossed, her face haughty.
*‘What today…?’*
When Yeonwoo asked in his mind, the Grandmother Fairy rose and pointed at the keys.
The fairies blankly followed her gesture, staring at the keys.
She was telling him to play exactly what she'd taught him before.
Yeonwoo nodded as if he understood and began playing.
The phrases had steadily grown; now his swing lasted about a minute.
The simple structure had become quite ornate and full.
But one minute was too short.
Now familiar, Yeonwoo flawlessly finished the minute-long piece and looked to the Grandmother Fairy with longing.
*‘Can't you teach more?’*
He pleaded with earnest eyes, but the Grandmother Fairy shook her head firmly.
No more lessons—that much was clear.
*‘Just a little more… please?’*
She shook her head again and pointed at the keys.
Then pointed at Yeonwoo.
*‘Play it again?’*
Seeing her shake her head, Yeonwoo asked cautiously.
*‘Maybe… make my own and play?’*
Only then did the Grandmother Fairy nod.
The minute-plus piece she'd taught was apparently a guide for him to create on his own.
Guessing as much, Yeonwoo stared at the keys.
How should he do it?
Yeonwoo recalled the Grandmother Fairy's performances.
Truth be told, even to his ears, swing had a somewhat dated vibe.
He loved the fairies' flashy dances and bright energy, but the swing itself felt old-fashioned to young Yeonwoo.
And rightly so—authentic swing had boomed in the 1930s.
He wished it were more exciting and faster.
As Yeonwoo envisioned the notes in his head, the fairies leaped onto the keys as if waiting.
Yeonwoo chased the glowing keys, moving his fingers furiously.
And he realized.
With his small, short hands and limited skill, he couldn't realize the swing in his mind.
Yeonwoo despaired.
He could create it, but not play it.
Looking at the Grandmother Fairy with injustice, she sighed deeply as if helpless, then gestured to the other fairies.
They jumped down again.
In that instant, Yeonwoo alone heard the music he'd envisioned playing from his ears.
The fairies busily hopped onto the keys to realize his vision.
Yeonwoo listened, refining any lacking or additive parts, and the fairies jumped back in from his revisions, crafting the music.
Before long, a faster, more rhythmic swing emerged—one that didn't sound dated to Yeonwoo's ears.
Yeonwoo created about two minutes of music and memorized it by sound.
The problem was… when could he play it?
He wanted to play it for real, not just this phantom sound only he could hear—or at least hear it played properly.
Lost in thought, Yeonwoo's eyes fell on the Grandmother Fairy.
Ah, right.
Maybe ask her?
But how?
If only he could make a sound. But Yeonwoo couldn't even do that.
As he pondered,
“I wondered what was up since I couldn't hear any piano, and here you are sitting quietly doing nothing?”
Grandmother emerged from her room just then.
Seeing her with bedhead, no glasses, still half-asleep, Yeonwoo's eyes lit up.
Maybe if he asked her somehow, she could fix it?
To Yeonwoo, Grandmother was the world's best pianist—no one played better, or anything she couldn't play.
Yeonwoo grabbed her hand and pulled her to the piano bench.
Even as she was led by her grandson's hand, Heo Ok looked at him curiously.
“What is it? Want me to play piano?”
With Grandmother seated beside him, Yeonwoo played his composition for her very slowly.
Very slowly, so she could memorize it.
“Hmm… You made this?”
Nod nod.
Yeonwoo nodded.
Seeing this, Grandmother tried playing what he'd taught her.
Yeonwoo shook his head and tapped the keys.
Spotting the consistent tempo, Heo Ok realized it was the speed—the beat—he wanted.
When she played it at his requested tempo, Yeonwoo showed immense satisfaction and began teaching her the rest.
Heo Ok smiled at him.
“You're using me like an instrument, huh?”
Any disciple under Professor Heo Ok would have chilled at those words, stammering they dared not, but Yeonwoo didn't care.
Neither did Heo Ok.
Instead of just playing as requested, Heo Ok fetched sheet music and began notating.
When Yeonwoo looked puzzled, she explained,
“This is sheet music. Think of it as letters for playing music. With this, you don't have to memorize—just read and play.”
Yeonwoo, illiterate but understanding, got it.
Heo Ok notated swiftly as he played.
As the music took shape, her expression grew grave.
“Done now?”
Nod nod.
“Alright, let me play it once.”
Heo Ok spread the hastily scrawled sheet and began performing Yeonwoo's first piece in life, her face serious.
It was swing, unmistakably.
But utterly different from before—faster, bouncier than classic swing, with a childlike whimsy.
What was it? Like turning a nursery rhyme into swing?
Yet the music wasn't frivolous.
It wasn't something you could play from memory alone.
Finishing the over-two-minute piece in one breath, Heo Ok gazed at Yeonwoo, entranced.
Yeonwoo, listening intently, placed his hands on the keys and pressed one phrase.
When Heo Ok identified the section, he recomposed it.
She revised the sheet and played.
The once-flat phrase now bounced with vibrant energy.
Even now, he was revising the piece.
*‘This child…’*
Not some run-of-the-mill prodigy or genius people tossed around.
A genius any musician—no, any great from history—would acknowledge.
One that might appear once every few decades, maybe centuries.
A genius of geniuses.
Heo Ok shivered from head to toe.