Chapter 2
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Immersion
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I scrolled through various articles on my phone before setting it down with a sigh.
I had no choice but to accept it.
I had returned to the past. A rather twisted past, at that.
It wasn't a dream or delusion. This was stark reality.
'Dad looks healthy, and we've even got a new house...'
I gathered my wits and slowly looked around.
Expansive windows, light-reflecting pale marble floors, a massive dehumidifier, wooden bookshelves lining the walls, filled with stacks of sheet music.
Everything was so refined it almost didn't feel like our home.
"Do-hyun!"
As I gawked around with my mouth agape, a kindly smiling middle-aged woman I'd never seen before appeared.
She held a plate of neatly sliced apples.
"Have some of these while you practice."
"...Who are you?"
The question slipped out, laced with confusion and caution.
The housekeeper? Or maybe a stepmom? Dad still had his charms, after all.
But she didn't seem like his type, no matter how I looked at her...
"Oh, come on, don't tease. You must be tired lately, huh? With all that entrance exam prep you've been pouring yourself into."
The woman deftly sidestepped my odd question and set the plate on the table by the piano. She gave my shoulder a gentle pat.
"Silly me. You're here to play the piano, right?"
"Pardon? Oh, yeah."
"Then it needs to be wiped down nice and clean. Just a sec!"
She quickly fetched a microfiber cloth and piano disinfectant, then started meticulously cleaning the instrument.
"You know, I just love listening to you play, Do-hyun. Even someone like me who knows zilch about piano gets chills every time."
Her wiping technique was pro-level, yet her mouth never stopped chattering.
I nodded along vaguely, staring intently at the piano in front of me.
"There, sparkling clean. You'll play even better now. Go get 'em!"
She clenched her fists with a bright grin and slipped away. For some reason, it gave me a boost.
'...At least tuition isn't a worry.'
Sitting on the piano bench, I lightly traced the key cover with my index finger. Not a speck of dust.
I lifted the lid, and the keys grinned back at me.
'Piano, huh...'
Somehow, facing it felt awkward. I rolled my shoulders a few times to steady myself.
With trembling fingers, I cautiously pressed C4, a white key. The sound spread like smoke.
I pressed it again, this time with the pedal. The smooth, swirling tone vibrated against my eardrums.
The reality of being able to play piano sank into my body. My heart pounded so fiercely I could pinpoint its exact location.
Every time I pressed a key, the piano responded in kind, resonating through the air. This was a sensation I'd completely forgotten until now.
I wanted to play something—anything—right away.
'But what?'
Now that I was seated at the keys, I felt awkward with no piece in mind.
I'd heard tons of music but knew next to nothing. That was the sorry state of the pianist from my dream life, scraping by on ear alone for over a decade.
"Ah, sheet music."
My wandering eyes locked onto the wall bookshelf. Records from famous pianists and orchestras, plus sheet music collections lined up neatly.
Surely there'd be something simple. I strode over and scanned the titles.
Worn-out volumes of Hanon and Beyer like ancient tomes, sonatina collections, and books of easy pieces caught my eye.
Famous composers' collections and full orchestral scores too. Why do we even have conductor's scores?
'Start with something easy.'
I grabbed a few of varying types and sat back down. Difficulties ranged from baby steps to more advanced.
I lined up the unopened books on the music stand and closed my eyes. Deep breaths loosened my fingers, wrists, and shoulders.
'What did we start with at the music studio as a kid?'
I dredged up dusty old memories. All I could recall was fumbling randomly and getting scolded...
'Warm-up exercises first.'
Like a toddler gripping a walker, I revived my senses with simple scales and arpeggios.
Movements slow and precise.
Then I opened Hanon, running through octaves and tremolos until I had the basics down. A bit taxing, but manageable.
Focus solely on striking the keys, and my fingers could barely keep up with my brain's commands.
Ridiculous to get winded on etudes, but whatever.
"Ha."
After sufficient warm-up, sweat trickled down behind my ears.
Soaked in exhilaration? Or just from going all-out on basics?
My heart hammered like it was about to explode. Rising excitement made my fingers hard to control.
'I'm really playing piano.'
It hit me anew.
The past where I'd convinced myself piano had no place in my life anymore was gone.
Trembling fingers spoke for my emotions.
My hands—I—craved this so badly?
A involuntary chuckle lifted my cheeks.
Piano was fun, after all. Incredibly so.
Even the slightly flat pitch from irregular tuning didn't bother me.
It felt like reverting to my carefree youth; smiles spread wide. Memories of tiny hands plunking keys bubbled up like soda fizz.
'Want to play a real piece, not just exercises...'
I yearned to immerse in proper piano melody ASAP.
As if entranced, I picked up one score.
Tchaikovsky Souvenir d’un lieu cher Op.42 No.2 Scherzo.
Tchaikovsky's reminiscence of a cherished place. A piece for violin and piano.
As the title suggests, not a solo piano work. No idea why I had it.
Few annotations meant I hadn't practiced it much...
'Whatever, just play it.'
No time for second-guessing. Not like I had an audience of thousands; a few mistakes? Who cares.
This piece captured Tchaikovsky's memories of a specific place—his patron's estate, no less.
Dedicating to a place over mentor, parent, wife, or child? Odd, but understandable given his shattered mental state then.
'Some resort in Ukraine, I think...'
I stared down the score before finally placing hands on the keys.
Presto giocoso—very fast and playful. Sprightly melody welcomes the violin like new sprouts.
Biggest issue: no violin to sync with. But I didn't mind.
I pictured a masterful violinist in my head, weaving her lines with the piano. That sufficed.
'Julia Fischer's recording, I listened to that one most.'
Harmony started clicking satisfyingly. The fulfillment only a performer feels washed over me.
Head, hunched back, neck—twisting wildly. No desire to rein it in.
"Hmm─."
A hum escaped unbidden; I'd stopped fixating on the score.
Flashback to the studio days, scolded for ignoring the music. My smile deepened.
Piano and violin tangled fiercely, brain melting. Like rivals vying for the spotlight.
Fingers swam freely over keys like streams.
"Ugh...!"
The violin surged to chase the piano's gallop, igniting passion; performance intensified.
Deceptively simple, relentless notes dazed the mind. Cascading ascents felt like stairs to hell.
Occasional tangled runs, tempo pushing me to death's door—but smiles wouldn't quit.
Body heating from note-chasing? Not a bad feeling.
'A piece filled with memories...'
Mid-performance, realization dawned.
If that place healed Tchaikovsky's mind and soul, then for me, the piano bench was my haven of memories and peace.
I wasn't here to mend a broken spirit. I'd simply returned to my rightful place.
This chair facing the piano—not the gray office jungle—was where I belonged. Keys pinched in declaration.
'Happy.'
Head dipped deeper into the score.
All distractions vanished; nerves and senses stood firm on the keys.
Final bars: light rest, thick low bass, high octave fermata.
I sent reverb soaring, snapping my head up.
"Whoa...!"
Finished, I shook my hands and shook my head in disbelief.
'Unbelievable.'
A total mess. Not just failing—disastrous.
Yet no disappointment. Slower tempo might've cut errors, but no mood for that.
Mistakes? So what?
'Gonna listen to Julia Fischer later.'
Quick thanks to my mental violinist, I calmed my quaking chest.
Appreciation later. Now, sample more pieces. Every minute, every second precious.
"Next, next..."
Like treasure hunting amid scattered scores, I sought the next one.
Knock knock. A short rap echoed.
Kwon Jae-ik, Do-hyun's father, replied without looking up from his laptop.
"Yes?"
"Sir, dinner's ready."
"Be right there. Wait for me."
He wrapped up his work, closed the laptop, and rose with a stretch.
"Where's Do-hyun?"
"Not sure. Hasn't come out at all."
"That kid, skipping meals."
"Shall I call him?"
"No need. Just save some food for him."
Lately, Kwon Jae-ik savored truly joyful days.
Lottery win letting him quit fishing? Business revival? Minor bonuses.
The real joy: his son hadn't quit piano.
Acing entrance to Ye-rim Arts High School? He'd failed to send him even to regular arts middle school, dragging him to the fishing village instead—no piano in sight.
Back in Seoul, a few months' practice, and boom—top arts high school.
Kwon Jae-ik was convinced: his son was a genius.
'His late mom wasn't musical at all.'
So, hidden talent from him?
...But after plunking keys alongside his son a few times, Kwon Jae-ik knew.
His son was one of a kind.
"Join us, ma'am."
"Shall I?"
Mid-dinner, the housekeeper's words made Kwon Jae-ik's eyes bulge.
"Really?"
His son hadn't emerged once from the room.
No bathroom in the piano room; she'd sliced apples, but not a sip of water.
"I was gonna bring him some water at least..."
More shocking followed: weird laughter while playing piano.
Kwon Jae-ik paused eating, arms crossed, sighing deeply.
"Asked who I was too. Is he sick?"
Today, his son was off.
Confused Dad's age, forgot the entrance he craved.
Entrance ceremony stress? Not unusual.
"Probably just practicing hard. He'd speak up if it was bad."
"Right? Do-hyun's such a straight kid. No worries."
Post-dinner, Kwon Jae-ik finished work, caught 8 PM news.
Clock past 9 toward 10. Still no sign of son.
'Has he ever focused this long?'
On the living room sofa, stray worries swirled.
Such marathon practice? Stamina drained. No water? Dehydration risk.
'...Passed out?'
Horror crossed his face. He bolted down the hall, eyes wide.
"Sir?"
The housekeeper slipped on her mopping but he ignored it.
At the door, he caught his breath and eased it open.
"...Son?"
Soundproof door swung wide; piano melody assaulted his ears.
Moonlight reflected off piano and marble dazzled his eyes. Floor glittered amid scattered scores—bookshelf toppled, storm-ravaged chaos.
Stepping forward, sheets crunched underfoot.
'What?'
Brow furrowed. Sounded nothing like his usual playing.
Skill seemed clumsier. Even he, no classical buff, caught off notes.
But that wasn't all.
'Was my son's piano... always this beautiful?'
Sloppy technique, yet somehow more pleasing.
No bias as blood. He craved more.
Fragile beauty, like glass; flowing melody arrogant toward mistakes.
Key: son was enjoying it. Love for music pierced his heart.
Questions piled, but stop the frenzy first.
"Son."
Gathering sheets, he called softly.
Son ignored, lost in music.
Sliced apples on table, browned and spoiled.
Hunched, head bobbing wildly on pedals—like possessed.
Fingers danced ceaselessly; humming wove through melody.
"Phew..."
No dehydration or collapse—relief. Kwon Jae-ik felt silly rushing over.
Still, one worry down. Mental issues? Maybe, but...
He grabbed his son's shoulder.
"Son! What're you doing?"
"Hmm... Huh, Dad?"
Sweat-soaked entirely. Intense playing matted his hair.
"Wha, what...?"
Flustered, son patted himself, glanced around.
Then locked eyes with Kwon Jae-ik. Son's pupils shimmered like moonlit magic.
"...What time is it?"