Radiant Talent Strikes the Stage
Kim Donghu, you're insane. Brilliant talent crashes down upon the stage like lightning, refusing to let the curtain fall, denying any promise of an end. Contempt and disdain fill the performance. With every key following the score, new emotions surge forth. Even in this moment, all that's left by my side are shattered fragments.
Ijei's eyes turn toward the audience beyond the camera. Countless people stare at her in a daze. But not a single one of the people she wants is there. Her mother who shuns her, her father who built a new family and treats her like she doesn't exist—ultimately, no one has come.
What meaning does this world hold, rippling only with shards of broken jars? A sense of loss, and the rage that fills it, presses down on the keys. La Campanella. The piece renowned as difficult to play in both past and present is reborn at the fingertips of a genius nurtured on hatred.
A blatant truth anyone, even a musical layman, can grasp. Hydream can never beat Ijei. How could a mere school club-level band possibly overcome that? Arts high school? It's still just high school kids.
They're not even comparable.
Edward Park's gaze couldn't tear away from Kim Donghu—no, from Ijei.
A master. That's the realm of a true master. The ideal that those pursuing perfection must strive toward. That's arrogant talent. A dictatorship that mocks and tramples others to climb higher. A position no one could even glimpse the shadow of in a lifetime.
With every note from Ijei's keys, the story twists. After witnessing that, could anyone still call for Hydream's encore? You think that's possible?
Ijei asks Lee Min-ha. She protests, questioning if it's right to force an contrived opportunity just to show the beauty of the underdogs.
Crunch. The script in writer Lee Min-ha's hand crumples.
It's the story she stayed up nights for days to write. The script she firmly believed would succeed this time, that it had to succeed. A tale of underdogs rebelling against genius. A story where effort inevitably triumphs over talent, where hard work beats innate genius.
But.
How arrogant was I?
Now she realizes just how absurd that story is. A genius who doesn't try gets overtaken by a hardworking everyman? Then what about a genius who does try? Can you beat a genius who's lost her family, sunk into profound loss, with only the piano left? There's no light of bright hope in Ijei's eyes. It declares that such things are worthless trash not even worth playing for.
What the hell am I watching?
Writer Lee Min-ha blankly looked up at Ijei. That performance could lose? The situation could flip with just one band encore? I can't imagine it.
Thud. The script in her hand drops to the dirty floor.
Ijei won't lose. There'll be no encore calls for Hydream, and the stubborn judges won't change their minds for them. As the performance raced toward its end, Lee Min-ha's mind grew more chaotic.
For a good ending, Hydream had to win. The drama was titled Hydream from the start—Hydream losing would be ridiculous. But.
After seeing that, would everyone still think so?
Writer Lee Min-ha's eyes fell from Ijei, sweeping across the set. Faces lost in awe, plunged into shock. Some hugged themselves tight, goosebumps rising. Even the cinematographer's gaze drifted from the camera. If they lost focus for a second, their bodies leaned toward the real Ijei, not the one through the lens.
The indiscriminate violence of overflowing talent tramples the existing story, demanding they face reality.
...!
The climax of the performance. For a moment, Lee Min-ha felt the illusion of eye contact with Ijei. You made me. Is it right for this perfect version of me to lose? Tell the inferiors. Declare your defeat right now.
The meticulously woven performance clutches writer Lee Min-ha's throat like a noose. An intense presence that refuses to accept the ending. Overwhelmed, she unwittingly bowed her head.
And in that moment, she realized. I need to prepare.
She'd need a second story. The tale is going to change. They'd stick to the original script for now, couldn't alter the promised flow yet—but when Ijei was revealed to the world, everything would twist. She was certain.
"Me, beating something like that?"
Jin Su-hyeok looked up at Ijei's performance with an incredulous smile. A high school level beating that? Even for a drama, it's laughable. That skill could fill a concert hall right now, unfolding before their eyes. How could the ones below possibly win?
Hydream's theme is completely detached now. A story of inferior kids' efforts shining through. A hopeful message that if you keep going without giving up, you can do it too. And now one person was polluting it all.
Kim Donghu.
If it were just playing piano, maybe it wouldn't count as acting. But right now, Kim Donghu was perfectly embodying 'Ijei' while performing. The boiling contempt overflowed visibly. It relentlessly pressured awe. A differentiation beyond others.
What was supposed to be a villain created just to lose in five episodes was writhing. No, calling it writhing was ridiculous. How was thoroughly crushing everyone else except himself writhing?
Tremble. His hand shook faintly. Was it Song Cheol-su shaking, or Jin Su-hyeok who had to play him? His mind was too dizzy to distinguish.
They had to practice for the encore scene right after this performance ended. But his hand wouldn't move. No matter how you struggle, it's pointless. Before Ijei's performance issuing a stern warning, his body already knew struggle was meaningless.
The performance races toward its end. The time allowed to 'me' slowly runs out. More, more, more. I wanted to trample those lowly things. To etch into their bones how towering and unattainable the wall of talent is, how meaningless it is to try breaking it.
What a shame.
Ten fingers touch the keys, signaling the end. A clean, clear bell-like tone declares the violence of talent finally over.
But it wasn't all finished. After the performance ends, I slowly look around. The judges filled with shock, the people beyond the camera in a daze. Still, no face I want to see.
"..."
Without a word, I grab the mic on the grand piano. Originally, she was supposed to sing while playing, but to show the realm of talent, everything changed—and this is the result. To display radiant genius.
"Thank you for listening."
A calm greeting to the judges and the stage. Then I pass them by, heading slowly backstage. The camera follows, and with a hollow expression, I look up at the ceiling.
"In the end, no one came today either."
A packed audience means nothing. If the one who should hear it doesn't, what's the point of the performance?
Glance. I flick my eyes toward where the Hydream members are in the distance.
"Idiots grinning without a clue."
It felt empty. I loathed myself intensely for having to be alone after the show. Feeling inferior to those things, envying and jealous of inferiors in this reality—it was.
"...Pathetic."
Excruciatingly shameful. Backstage. All that's left for me, alone, is to bury my face in my knees where no one can hear and cry quietly.
"CAAAAUT!!!"
The moment director Ji Jang-min's OK sign dropped, I snapped my head up. Ijei vanished completely from my body, not even a shred of emotion lingering.
"Donghu! How the hell did you! How did you even think of this?!"
Excited PD Kim Young-mo shouted as he rushed over, but
"Actor Kim Donghu! W-with this! Can we shoot this multiple times? Are you okay stamina-wise?!"
Even more excited people were elsewhere.
"Actor Kim Donghu! C-could you tell us how you interpreted Ijei to perform the script this way?!"
"Y-yes?"
Director Ji Jang-min and writer Lee Min-ha charged at me fiercely.
After taking a break and deciding to reshoot from various angles, I let out a deep breath while chewing fish cake.
Skipping the song was my ad-lib, and it worked. Nice.
As I sipped the fish cake broth with that thought,
"Donghu, there you are."
Kim Sujin's mother and former top actress Kim Yuryeon approached.
"Yes, they said we'd shoot after a break, so I'm resting."
"Christmas is soon—got any plans?"
"Uh..." Do I? Glance. I looked toward Seok-ho hyung, and the quick-witted hyung shook his head.
"None."
"Great. Want to grab a meal together then?"
"It'd be an honor."
"Honor? It's just eating."
Kim Yuryeon actress smiled brightly, pleased with my answer.
"Oh, by the way, if you're resting, wouldn't the classroom be better than here?"
"Classroom?"
"Yeah, it's indoors, and they even turned on the heater just in case—nice and warm. We just rested there."
"Really? Thanks for telling me."
"First floor, Class 1-1."
"Got it!"
What? There was a heated spot? Why didn't anyone tell me?
Whatever, now I know.
Nothing beats warmth in winter. I dashed straight to Class 1-1.
Why's it so dark?
Shouldn't a break room have lights on? With that thought, I flipped the switch.
"Wha—what?!"
"Heh, long time no see and your first words are 'wha-what'?!"
"Kim Donghu, you're insane?"
Grinning ear to ear for some reason, Sujin looked at me.