Chapter 48
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Even Now, Calling It Evidence (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
After about five minutes of back-and-forth, I finally managed to enter the practice room where Seol Yu-jin had been.
I sat facing her, the piano at my back. She had her arms crossed and her legs folded, glaring at me sharply with a face brimming with dissatisfaction.
"You're really a weird guy, you know that?"
"Never thought I'd hear that from you..."
It was exasperating. All my accumulated common sense about people—from my past life right up to now—felt completely upended.
I lowered my head, idly stroking the back of my neck, when my gaze landed on the sheet music sitting on the piano stand.
It was Mazeppa, No. 4 from Liszt's Transcendental Études—the sworn enemy of every arts high schooler.
Fitting choice for her.
Arrogant, flashy—she lived for that stuff. Naturally, she'd gravitate toward a piece that let her flaunt her technique to the hilt. That explained why she'd just marched up to the stage at the entrance ceremony and played without a second thought.
...I was trying to rationalize it that way, but honestly, I still didn't get it.
This girl was seriously odd.
Still, it's a solid pick that plays to her strengths.
Thinking about her strengths sparked a question I'd been meaning to ask. Maybe I'd claim this curiosity as the price of her defeat.
"Hey, Ninety-Eight."
"Hmph. No clue who you mean."
I brushed off her fake clueless chuckle and pressed on.
"Do me a favor. It's no big deal—you can handle that much, right?"
Seol Yu-jin eyed me suspiciously, then leaned her upper body back.
"...You're not some creep, are you?"
She hugged her crossed arms tight to her shoulders like she was shielding herself. I let out an exaggerated sigh, as if to say bring it on.
"I couldn't care less about your dirty mind. That Liszt score—you prepping it for practicals?"
"Now you're snooping too...!"
She snatched up the sheet music in a panic and stuffed it into her chest, stealing glances at me. Then something seemed to click, and she fired back a question of her own.
"Hold on—what practicals?"
"The end-of-semester finals. Major practical exam."
"No way... you're prepping for that?"
The third evaluation details hadn't been announced yet. I'd just figured she was gearing up for the fixed practical portion.
Free pieces were part of it, after all. Made sense to mull over selections ahead of time when things were slow.
But was it that shocking that I'd take an interest?
"Why so early? You got a hundred last time..."
She was flustered, though I couldn't fathom why.
I studied her like she was some otherworldly figure from a fantasy flick and flashed a grin.
"Oh, right. I'm confident about the rest of the tests, so I figured I'd get a head start on practicals."
"Impossible..."
No clue why, but the ploy worked.
Guess deep talks require meeting the audience at their level.
"What's the matter? Not scared you'll never beat me again, are you?"
"This time, I only scored lower because...!"
"Blaming the teacher again would be pretty lame."
"Ugh..."
She squeezed her eyes shut, radiating injustice. Her over-the-top reaction was kinda entertaining.
"Admit your clean defeat this time, and I'll give you one more shot next round. Special offer."
"...Cunning jerk. So annoying."
She rolled her eyes, sneaking peeks at me, then snapped back to her usual vibe.
"Fine. There's some debate, but on paper, you could call it a win—or not. If it's your dying wish, I'll humor one request."
"Thanks for playing along."
I cleared my throat and gathered my thoughts.
Learning her exact prep process before tackling a piece would be gold.
Especially after her second-eval performance blew her usual out of the water. Even I had been blown away.
"Gonna hit you with a few questions—answer straight. Then play it once."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"...You're still weird."
Pot calling the kettle, much?
"First off—have you actually studied music theory?"
"Never lost to anyone on theory scores."
"For real? You?"
"Duh."
Surprisingly diligent type? Actually tracked when you thought about it.
With her personality, she wouldn't touch tough pieces lightly. Scores like those demand serious time to read and memorize.
So theory's key for cramming multiple works short-term.
Might even pick her brain on high-tech pieces. Bet she had tips.
"Theory higher than Myeong Woo-bin, then?"
"...Everyone but him."
She'd dodged my eyes on that one.
"Fraud. That's a lie."
"Second place—true story. One point difference. Hate that Myeong Woo-bin guy."
"...Okay, so how exactly does theory boost your playing?"
She shot me a blank look like she couldn't read my angle, then slid the score closer.
"Lemme show you."
"Perfect."
She jabbed a finger at the middle of the open score and dove in.
"Heard of Picardy third? Starts shifting to major here—track those chord changes."
Whoa, way more legit than I'd expected.
"Yeah."
"See this progression? I to IV⁴⁶ back to I. Super common in symphonies—you know it cold. Hit those keys with intent. Means nailing the tonic first."
A few terms sailed over my head, but she laid out her score analysis method with dead seriousness. Broke down the tricky bits too. Kinda made me see her in a new light.
Grinding like this behind closed doors, huh...
I shook off the flirty vibe from earlier, straightened up, and tuned in.
Her eyes locked on the score, she kept going.
"Get that granular, and the notes start whispering to me. Mazeppa's got a character motif and literary roots—gotta revisit what the melody really means."
"Huh?"
"Expression marks and chords? They grab your heart and wrench it. This scale's no ordinary run. This figure? Can't just finger the notes like a robot..."
Theory jargon?
"That's when I sync with the score. Soul-deep."
"Bull. No way! Still scamming?"
She slammed the score in protest, face all aggrieved at my snap-back.
"Explain till I'm blue, and you still don't get it? Waste of breath."
"Heart? Soul? Come on."
"Check these four bars."
"Saw 'em."
"Score's begging: make that descending scale burn with passion."
Obviously no such marking.
"Haa."
I pinched my brow and shook my head.
Spewing cryptic nonsense...
At the start, I'd planned to memorize and mimic. Now? Motivation tanked.
Abstract drivel like that? No path to relate.
Hold up.
She might have real backing for the 'score talking' bit.
Even if it sounded loony, cross-referencing her playing could unearth logic.
Why amp this bar? Why spotlight this figure over others?
"Fine. Play these two pages now. I'll match it to your spiel."
"Bossy much."
"Your words..."
No fight left in her. I sat back as she prepped to play.
Love how she flips serious the second she sits down.
No hesitation—she hammered the keys.
Her playing screamed unshakeable faith: bold, commanding. Fingers danced over racing figures with crisp precision.
Any dumb crushy vibes? Poof—gone. Pure immersion in the sound.
Pretty tone, hits hard... but...
Seol Yu-jin's music was beautiful. A rare, pristine nobility to it.
The aesthetic ripples? Untouchable, even here at Ye-rim Arts.
So I couldn't connect.
Felt like staring into a vast blue canvas crammed with faceless crowds—no expressions, no features.
Mesmerizing, atmosphere-crushing... but the beauty stayed trapped on the surface.
Not grounded in reality.
Strayed too far from music's core.
Beauty you can't grasp or share? Human instinct screams to reject it.
Music's born for ears beyond your own, right?
Self-satisfied echo in an empty room? Might as well not exist.
I replayed her analysis in my head. Matched it to the playing—inferring why she'd punch up certain figures.
No dice.
Her clip—under a minute—wrapped.
She exhaled short, turned, eyebrows twitching. Fishing for feedback.
"You..."
"Satisfied?"
"Narcissism much?"
"..."
Silence hung heavy.
She propped her feet on the piano chair, knees hugged, and let out a low chuckle.
Tension spiked—like a bombshell incoming. I gulped.
"Me? Nah."
"..."
God, infuriating.
"Owning your skill? Leaning into your strengths? If that's narcissism, guilty."
"Starting to admire you."
"Can't blame you."
"Impressive."
A circus of the incomprehensible. Her playing, her "evidence"—all of it.
Worst? How this firecracker morphed into a timid shell of a performer down the line. All shaky, zero conviction.
Not a doppelgänger. Seol's no common name, looks one-of-a-kind.
What was she...?
"So? Verdict?"
"On?"
She jutted her chin, smug as ever.
"You said compare."
"Just wanna map your brain."
"Lifelong mystery."
"That's your comeback? Duh. Walk me through—from score to that take, step one."
"Demanding prick."
"Mad? Win next time."
"...Last one."
I nodded. She grabbed the score, set it on the side table.
"Theory breakdowns? Not 'cause I love it."
"Then why?"
"Hunt the real peaks—the hidden highlights."
Isn't that obvious? Melodrama subtitles screaming cry here.
"Theory for that?"
"Everyone spots the obvious peaks. I'm rigging the spotlight. Like pre-coda in Ballade No. 4."
"Ah."
Clicked.
Picnic's sweetest at kickoff. Buildup sells the climax.
"Shobal" for Ballade 4 sounds trashy, though.
Spot-on, though: those pre-explosion droplets of quiet make the coda explode.
Nail the twist, birth art.
"That's where I dig for composer intent. Tweaked themes, motif chords—they're clues."
"Theory's side dish, then."
"Why?"
"What if gut finds the clues?"
"No one's pulled that off."
She stared, then grinned—pure mischief.
"Next bet: theory scores."
"...Nope."
"Do it."
"No."
"Do."
"Back off. Eyes less psycho."
Tussle over, I sighed soft.
Unlock her "true highlights," and you're left with delivery. Convincing, crowd-pleasing—unlike her show.
Theory suddenly feels crucial.
Her random wager, but payoff sweet. Lessons in reverse, self-upgrades.
Myeong Woo-bin stonewalled...
Post-weekend, quiz Lee Ha-yeon and Baek Ji-ho on interpretation sources.
Ha-yeon's open book; Ji-ho? Jury's out.
Exam crunch—grind Han Yong-seong's homework till third-eval drop.
Anyway, this chat? Sense gained.
"Heading out?"
I stood; she looked up.
"Practice calls."
"...Got tons to grill you on too."
All pout and plea.
Her pulling this face. Wild times lately.
I chuckled.
"After I smoke you in third eval."