Chapter 11
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Conviction (2)
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I slowly swept my gaze across the classroom. A variety of expressions flashed into view.
Suddenly, my eyes met Lee Seong-hyuk's as he gave me a thumbs-up, and I couldn't help but chuckle softly.
With that, I walked toward the piano.
Sitting down on the bench, I stared clearly at the sheet music and steadied my mind.
"Start whenever you're ready."
"Yes."
I thought to myself.
What were those kids with their dubious looks expecting from me? And what about the teacher?
And what kind of performance should I give?
Not a self-indulgent one like on my first day after regressing, nor one tailored to someone else's standards...
'At the very least, it has to live up to the meaning of what I said earlier.'
If I talked a big game only to deliver a disappointing show, I'd have no face left.
'First off, erase Myeong Woo-bin's performance from my head.'
Thinking back, that guy really did play incredibly well. But right now, I needed to focus solely on my own playing.
I locked eyes with the sheet music again.
Mozart Piano Sonata No.16 in C major.
A simple, lighthearted piece. It starts with a lively melody that almost evokes the sound of a school bell ringing.
As I scanned the short score, I reminded myself.
Why had the teacher asked us to play? To highlight the difference between Myeong Woo-bin and my opposing interpretations.
'So, I need to focus as much as possible on the shift I bring to the performance starting at the repeat sign.'
The score remained silent.
Allowing the freedom to create the music.
In my mind's library shelf, stacks of recordings flipped through rapidly. Haebler, Pires, Schiff, Gould... the voices of countless performers swirled in my ears.
Among them, the theme I chose for my interpretation was gentleness.
I regulated my breathing and lightly touched the keys.
'A touch slower than allegro.'
This piece was subtitled "For Beginners," after all. Like welcoming someone at the door, I proceeded through the opening with a kind, rounded touch.
'Pay extra attention to the slurs.'
The score was dotted with long, curving lines here and there—instructions to connect the notes smoothly.
One thing to keep in mind: pedal use wasn't common when Mozart composed this.
'No pedal markings, of course, and it wasn't factored in.'
For example, Myeong Woo-bin had omitted the pedal entirely, preserving the sonata's dainty feel perfectly.
But I would use the pedal.
Expressing slurs naturally without it requires advanced technique I didn't yet possess.
So, I simply pressed it.
'Just avoid letting the sound get too muddy.'
Soon came sections demanding nimble fingerwork: block chords broken into arpeggios, notes spread out one by one.
Even in a simple piece, it wasn't entirely easy. This was where Myeong Woo-bin had seamlessly woven in years of honed basics.
My left hand felt stiff and awkward, sending a chill up my neck. A moment where my deficient fundamentals hit home hard.
'Damn, no helping it.'
Miss a note? Push through anyway. Hiding weak basics wouldn't fool anyone for long.
'Next measure is the repeat sign.'
I'd reached the end of the first playing.
Now, how would I change the music from here?
I wrestled with every note and finally arrived at an answer.
'Faster and more lively than before.'
To show a noticeable yet logical variation, amplifying the first playing's direction seemed most effective.
The instant I returned to the beginning and positioned my hands over the keys—
♬~
Suddenly, a piano sound—not mine—blasted through the classroom. Dry and stuffy, like a recorded track.
'...What the hell?'
Recorder? Phone? No idea. It wasn't from the room speakers either.
But as my attention half-shifted there, I noticed something.
'That's the exact same piece I'm playing.'
Mozart Piano Sonata No.16, first movement. Even at a similar spot to mine.
The classroom erupted into chaos, murmurs mixing with clattering as something rolled across the hardwood floor.
The recording kept flowing unbroken from somewhere near the floor.
'What the heck is going on...'
Irritation stabbed at my chest.
I furrowed my brow, hesitated with my fingers hovering over the keys, then lifted them again.
Then I slammed down hard enough to make a thud! Like shouting, "Focus here!"
It sounded more like striking wood than strings, but I didn't care.
Instantly, the noisy classroom fell silent. Except for the ongoing recording.
'I didn't ask to be here, but when I'm playing, at least pay attention.'
The persistent recording neared the repeat sign.
If I let it go, my performance would be overshadowed by that stiff sound.
'Can't have that.'
My head naturally dropped toward the keys. Fluorescent lights and peripheral vision blurred and distorted; everything but the piano felt distant.
I showed no protest, no displeasure. I just waited for the recording to hit the repeat and layered my playing over it.
More intensely than planned, yet without struggling awkwardly.
'Might as well play like I'm competing with it.'
An amusing idea struck me.
But my performance had to dominate that bland drone.
I deliberately broke slurs, dramatized wave-like phrasing for maximum contrast.
'One step further here...'
I could even infuse some humorous bravado.
In a measure linking three notes, I cheekily added an extra one, making the sound spike playfully.
No deeper reason. Just a silent demand: focus on my playing.
The best my limited technique could muster.
'It's starting to gel.'
Now, the recording from the floor felt like accompaniment.
Supporting my playing comfortably, with clear upper and lower registers divided.
'Finally, the close.'
The recording, reduced to mere bass, no longer bothered me. Only my piano filled my ears.
How to end most naturally? With lingering resonance? A crisp bounce?
'Nah, since I'm going bold, see it through.'
Letting the notes flow as they were fit the context best.
Coolly, like this hiccup was no big deal.
I lightly tapped the final key.
"Hoo..."
The performance ended.
My mind, tangled in notes and notations, cleared in an instant.
The perfectly timed recording was just entering the next measure.
I exhaled deeply and half-closed my eyes.
Turning my head, I saw a girl student jump up with a crumbling, tearful face.
"Ah... S-sorry...!"
She frantically picked up her phone from the floor and fumbled to stop the recording.
...A phone? Why play it suddenly?
Anyway, performance done—time to bow. The tense classroom made even scraping chairs thunderous.
As I rose to bow—
'...Baek Ji-ho?'
Baek Ji-ho, in the front row, smiled faintly and clapped loudly for me.
Choi Je-hun belatedly realized his mistake.
He should have stopped Kwon Do-hyun's performance just now. It was an accident.
But he couldn't.
'No... better to say he hadn't.'
It happened too fast for such a simple excuse.
Musical curiosity had overridden his teacherly duty.
How had he planned to continue playing in that situation? Curiosity overwhelmed him, so Choi Je-hun did nothing.
A complete blunder as a teacher. Yet he didn't regret letting it play out.
Choi Je-hun steeled himself. Time to reclaim his role.
"Lee Ji-eun."
"Y-yes...!"
She trembled at his call. She was the culprit behind the incident.
Choi Je-hun gazed at her teary face and sighed lightly. Scolding could wait.
"What was that you played?"
"A MIDI of the piece you chose, sir."
MIDI performance—essentially a computer outputting the score as inputted.
Why play it mid-Kwon Do-hyun? Probably to compare. Choi Je-hun could understand that much.
"That was MIDI?"
"No way."
"Didn't the tempo match perfectly at the end?"
"Insane..."
The classroom buzzed instantly.
Kwon Do-hyun had overlaid his playing on the MIDI without faltering or rushing... meaning he'd matched the computer's tempo exactly.
'Even stuffing in all sorts of flourishes per beat.'
Choi Je-hun inhaled sharply and coughed awkwardly.
Beside him, Kwon Do-hyun nodded casually, murmuring, "Makes sense, it was MIDI."
Choi Je-hun rubbed his face and continued.
"Quiet. There was a brief commotion, but both students have finished. Time for your thoughts."
After some hesitation, students shared impressions freely. First up: Myeong Woo-bin.
"It was just perfect. No missed notes."
"Great legato."
"Nothing to say—too good."
"He's been learning from his dad since he was little, so yeah."
As they said, flawless. Like a solidly built spire: no gaps, the epitome of a model student.
He'd blended his sturdy build and large hands into a masculine tone effectively.
"Right, tough and upright like the guy himself. Good playing."
Students smiled at the light joke.
"Now, what about Kwon Do-hyun's?"
Silence fell abruptly at Choi Je-hun's question.
Students mumbled, struggling to articulate. They had thoughts but couldn't express them well.
"Excellent improvisation."
Baek Ji-ho broke the quiet, raising his hand slowly.
"The MIDI interruption actually helped. The playing felt more relaxed from then on."
Choi Je-hun asked with an amused look.
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he could hear everything—his own sound."
Baek Ji-ho continued with a calm smile.
"He focused on performing while catching every detail between the MIDI and his piano. Tough for most."
"Hm."
"It even kept tempo for him... made varying freely easier. Fun variations too."
Murmurs rippled as Baek Ji-ho finished. Some nodded with quiet admiration.
'Sharp ears, as expected.'
Choi Je-hun agreed.
Detecting even tiny sound shifts enabled boldly layering over MIDI.
Confident to correct any deviation instantly.
In other words, the MIDI was just a metronome to Kwon Do-hyun.
Realizing that, Choi Je-hun let out a wry chuckle.
Could he sum up the kid's skill with "good ears"?
'Still hard to pin down.'
An utterly unfamiliar type of student.
Teacher Choi Je-hun thought he'd grasped student Kwon Do-hyun's ability fully.
...Maybe that was just an illusion.
"We'll continue class comparing your evaluations to Myeong Woo-bin's performance."
He still needed to observe more.
Choi Je-hun dismissed it simply.
While the teacher explained, Baek Ji-ho stared blankly into space, lost in thought.
The voice from the front barely registered. Kwon Do-hyun's recent display lingered vividly.
Baek Ji-ho calmly replayed the performance from the start.
Sharp and bright, yet not harsh—ornate tone unfolding. Seemingly burdensome, but no major errors until the repeat.
'Then... the sudden MIDI playback.'
Frankly, it was outside Baek Ji-ho's interest.
Myeong Woo-bin's playing was no different from what he'd heard at Ye-won Arts Middle School. No real thrill—boring, in short. He wasn't particularly interested in schoolmates' performances anyway.
The key was from when Kwon Do-hyun flinched then slammed the keys.
Deciding to play along with MIDI was baffling, but beyond simple "overlaying sound."
Match tempo perfectly, differentiate with expression and improvisation, avoid dissonance.
Calculate every possibility in split seconds, execute flawlessly—a complex process hard to describe.
All naturally, even emphasizing the repeat's meaning.
Baek Ji-ho wondered.
If he were there, could he match Kwon Do-hyun's playing?
Even think to continue over the MIDI without stopping it?
'Hm, doubtful.'
Tapping his desk, Baek Ji-ho smiled faintly.
'Looks tricky.'