Chapter 49
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Even Calling It Evidence Now (5)
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Spring had passed, and Monday had arrived.
I was heading to the classroom with Lee Seong-hyuk, my uniform vest slung over my shoulder.
"Hey, Do-hyun."
"What."
"Don't you think you're a bit too narcissistic?"
"What did you just say...?"
I stared at him with eyes that couldn't hide my disbelief.
Me, hearing something like this? And so out of the blue.
'Where else can you find someone as self-aware as I am?'
Plus, narcissism? Wasn't that exactly what I'd said to no one other than Seol Yu-jin just the day before yesterday?
I was still far too normal to be lumped in with her.
"Cut the creepy talk, please. Let's hear the reason."
"You said you were listening to your own recording last night."
"And?"
"What else do you call someone who listens to their own playing for over four hours straight if not a narcissist?"
"Ah..."
There was a very important reason for that, but this guy didn't know it.
I'd just been wondering if I truly played with my own unique basis. After wrestling with sheet music all day, that question had arisen.
After devoting so much time to double-checking, I'd finally concluded that yes, it was.
It was definitely my own playing. Though, as my teacher said, I still lacked solid evidence.
'That's why I don't get it even more.'
I wanted to dismiss it as grasping at clouds, but it was homework from Han Yong-seong, so ignoring it felt awkward. There had to be a reason he'd assigned it—something that would benefit my playing.
Remembering it just then, I briefly explained the homework to Lee Seong-hyuk and tossed out a question.
"I still don't get it. Where do you find the basis for your playing?"
"Hmm, now that you mention it, I don't know either? Probably similar to you. Referencing recordings or lessons."
"Hm."
Was this a tougher topic than I'd thought? I stomped into the classroom a bit more roughly than intended.
The first to greet us was Kim Ju-hee. She was fiddling with her phone at the teacher's desk, spotted us out of the corner of her eye, and spoke up.
"Hi, you're a bit late today. Ha-yeon's not here yet either."
"Try waking Lee Seong-hyuk up every morning and you'll see. Starting tomorrow, I'm just leaving him."
"Aw, why be like that. At least bag him up and drag him along."
"Recycling won't cut it; volume-based fees seem better."
"Heh heh, I've heard that even after he's all burned up, only his mouth will remain."
"That's hilarious. Wanna test it now? Lend me a lighter."
"Ju-hee's got the highest odds of carrying one among us."
"You guys are so childish... Hey, is that funny? Really cracking you up?"
Her cold reaction left us awkwardly embarrassed. She had this talent for dousing our fun with cold water.
Kim Ju-hee sighed and shook her head. Her swaying hair boasted an even more vibrant color than usual. The roots near her crown, once pitch-black, had been dyed a bright yellow to match.
"Root touch-up?"
"...It's a mood changer. What about it."
"Wasn't criticizing."
"Then praise me nicely!"
As I looked at her face turned toward me, a sudden curiosity struck.
Come to think of it, I'd never had a serious music talk with Kim Ju-hee. Mostly just "hit it like this" or "do that."
"Hey, Ju-hee."
"Yeah? What."
"When you first see a piece, what do you think about while playing? Key points or how to approach certain parts."
"Me? Well..."
Kim Ju-hee crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and pondered seriously.
Soon, her bright, sparkling eyes tilted her head quizzically.
"I just play it?"
Just.
Suddenly, it felt like that summed up most arts high schoolers. Get an assigned piece? Just play it. Practice from lessons? Just play it.
Han Yong-seong suddenly seemed spiteful for giving me such a philosophical homework.
"...Kinda figured."
"Are you dissing me right now?"
"A little? Just a tiny bit."
"Ugh, Kwon Do-hyun, you piss me off!"
I brushed past the fuming Kim Ju-hee and plopped down at my seat. Lee Ha-yeon wasn't here yet. I wanted to ask her too.
"Haa..."
My head was a mess, leaving me sighing nonstop.
Before bingeing my own playing yesterday, I'd listened to Han Yong-seong's Chopin sonata album.
Honestly, it wasn't my taste. His Debussy album was the real masterpiece.
'Gotta look up his others later and ask.'
If only he'd assigned a practice piece... I had confidence I'd nail it.
Lunchtime.
I was picking up trash near the main building and sweeping scattered petals into a pile.
My gift certificates had run out, and with exams coming, I figured there'd be openings for campus volunteer spots. Logged into the site, but anything remotely interesting was full.
'Did everyone else think the same?'
So here I was, doing the easiest campus cleanup. Lee Seong-hyuk had bailed with some excuse about studying.
Being alone let me focus solely on myself. Mechanically picking trash, my feet wandered aimlessly.
'Cigarette smell...'
The scent, so out of place for a high school, made me snap my head up. If I spotted a gang of scary seniors, I'd bolt.
"Huh?"
"Kid, what're you doing here."
But no delinquents—just a smoking area.
A few teachers clustered together, and there was Han Yong-seong, lounging alone on a bench.
"School's got a smoking lounge?"
"Well, Ye-rim gets lots of outsiders. Board chair had a fit installing this—can't have folks smoking on the street."
He acknowledged me and stood.
"You smoke?"
Flustered.
That assumption was way off-base.
"No way... Even if I did, I wouldn't come here."
"Fair."
"Teacher, you smoke milds?"
He quickly stubbed out his cigarette and approached with a troubled look.
"Hey, spry 17-year-old. Talk like a student. 'Mild' what? Feels like chatting with a colleague."
"...A smoker, huh."
"Drop it. What's with the tongs and bag?"
"Campus volunteer gig. Earn school gift certificates—like local vouchers."
He rolled his eyes, then nodded like he got it. But that wistful gaze suggested a misunderstanding. Our dad's loaded...
Before I could clarify, he cut in.
"Homework going well?"
"Trying hard, but... tough. Asked the kids, no real insights."
"It's for pondering. Awkward chatting here with students around—wanna walk? Eaten?"
"Yeah, stuffed."
We strolled under the warm sun.
Perfect weather; playing outdoors wouldn't suck today.
"Oh, did you listen to my album? Chopin sonatas."
"Was gonna mention—yeah, yesterday."
"Thoughts?"
"...Not my taste."
His eyes widened in disbelief, then he chuckled wryly.
"Kid, you try playing it. Unbelievable."
"No... Separate student from listener perspectives."
"'Listener'—haven't heard that in ages. So, specifics? What didn't click for this listener."
I gathered my thoughts, tension rising, cleared my throat, and explained calmly.
"Per movement—or worse, per section—the emotional swings feel extreme. Rubato could've been stickier. And No. 3's da capo? Recitals usually repeat it. Even competitions do, but skipping on an album? First time hearing that—why..."
I trailed off mid-sentence. Shock etched his face.
Chatting with someone who'd get my gripes after so long, I'd spilled too much without thinking. Should've softened it since it's him...
"That album? Came out during my divorce drama."
"...Had no idea. Sorry for the discomfort."
He waved it off with a small laugh.
"Got a handsome son who takes after me now. All good—no need to apologize. Just means it was unstable times."
"Couldn't you have delayed release?"
"Adult stuff. Contracts matter. Yours—avoid mandatory release clauses."
Agency deals? Too far off.
"Skipped the da capo 'cause it annoyed me. You're a ghost."
Flustered, he cleared his throat loudly and shifted gears.
"Maybe tricking you with music's harder than a simple lie. Keeps surprising me lately. Embarrassing as a teacher."
I scratched my head awkwardly with a sheepish grin.
"So, best album of mine?"
"Yeah. 'Moonlight'—your Debussy suite."
"Knew it. Recorded in Warsaw, just me and my mentor on Debussy."
"No wonder—Debussy for me was Pires or you. That simple, natural delicacy..."
"Hey, comparing me to Madame Pires? Still, flattered—even if empty praise. Thanks."
"Not empty."
"Not empty's casual talk, kid."
He flicked my forehead lightly, smiling softly.
"Do-hyun, what makes good music to you?"
Good music... He loved tough questions.
I pondered briefly, then answered.
"No idea."
"Why?"
"I spot bad music easy, but good? Not sure."
Silence fits the ineffable. 'Good music' defies easy definition.
"Reverse—what's good music to you, teacher?"
"Me? Music that stirs my soul."
"You don't know either."
"Brat, sassing me?"
"Hey, assault these days gets you arrested."
I stepped back giggling, then a spark hit. A firm answer for vague questions.
Felt it again Saturday with Seol Yu-jin.
"Just thought—music audiences can empathize with? Definitely good."
"Empathize?"
"Barring outright botched playing, overly perfect beauty hinders it. Music beautiful enough for full empathy and shared breath—that's good, right?"
He exhaled softly, nodding: "Exactly."
"...Yeah."
"For real."
"I believe you."
Strolling, we'd reached the main building.
Hardly cleaned—faking completion would prick my conscience... Cheat just today?
"Good talk. Teacher's got his own dilemma, so homework check first."
"Dilemma?"
"You don't know how pieces are made, right?"
"Never seen composing firsthand."
"Figured. Result depends on your homework—keep at it. I'm off."
"Bye."
"Class well."
I stared at his bowing, retreating back.
'Dilemma? Why ask about composing?'
Lesson direction review? I shrugged it off and headed inside.
7th period capped the day, Mozart's Piano Sonata playing on loop in the classroom.
I threw myself into music theory like no one else. Even as lazy middle-school arts kids half-listened.
"Five minutes left."
But performance assessments? Different story.
Finished kids' work vs. my catching-up? Worlds apart.
Today's: Analyze one piece.
Mozart Piano Sonata No.10, 1st movement. Listen, analyze score, submit handwritten report. 45 minutes.
'Screwed...'
Mozart wasn't brutally complex like Bach or Schoenberg—teacher's mercy?
'I got nothing.'
Me, only spotting local techniques? Report? Disaster. Scribble whatever—volume shows effort.
"Stop! Pens down. Back row, collect 'em."
"Done. Where to eat?"
"Dinner sucks today? What is it?"
"Yaaawn... Boring. Slept like a rock."
My despair ignored, arts kids lounged chatting.
I sighed deeply, head down. Edge of vision: Lee Ha-yeon.
"Ha-yeon, Lee Ha-yeon."
She'd filled her paper generously, now blinking dazedly. I called.
She snapped to, turning.
"Huh, yeah?"
Sleepy? Slow response. Recall: hadn't properly asked earlier.
"After class, practice with me. You're helping anyway—I'll teach you studies separate, okay?"
"Studies... Got it. But studying with you so far? Learned zilch."
She stared blankly, then nodded.
Subtle barb. Unfair to me.
Blame those two thugs sabotaging studies.
"What're you two up to? Flirting?"
"Studying without you and Ju-hee."
"Hey, discrimination."
"Quiet, study mercenary... No, study thug."
"What?"
Teacher, with all papers, scanned quickly. Catching blanks or scribbles.
"Kwon Do-hyun? Raise hand."
"Here."
Why me... Theory teacher's scary. Plus guilty—tense.
Gulped.
"Told to analyze theoretically with class concepts—why a review? Next is Myeong Woo-bin—stark contrast."
...Busted early. At least read in office.
'And publicly comparing? As a teacher?'
Even to an effort-making student. Against elite like Myeong Woo-bin? Dirty.
"Review? Hilarious."
"What's it say?"
"Teacher, show us?"
Laughter rippled.
Why no split classes? A-class aside, B and C kids mocking. Mortified, wanna die.
Already zoned out, said weird stuff...
'What, you too?'
Front-row Myeong Woo-bin turned, gazing intently.
Not his usual stoic face—oddly pleased...
Like 'winner's smile, loser.' Irritating. Can't we get friendly?
"Expression's good though. I'll read closely later."
Teacher didn't drop my paper.
Leaning casually, reading. Eyes shifted gradually.
"You've heard a lot of Mozart? Here... see..."
Her tone softened. Words trailed.
Mouthing my lines silently, inaudible.
Her smile flattened soon enough.