Chapter 51
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Handle with Care (1)
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Lunchtime.
Lee Seong-hyuk, rummaging through the chunks of braised short ribs served as a side dish with his chopsticks, finally spoke up.
"My mom made braised short ribs for me this weekend too."
"Fancy. But what's the constant complaint?"
"No, the end result was basically short rib soup. Braised short ribs aren't supposed to have clear broth, you know."
How the hell do you mess up braised short ribs that badly?
"My mom is amazing at baking! Check this out."
Ignoring my friend's bruised ego, Kim Ju-hee eagerly pulled up all sorts of photos from her phone's gallery and started bragging away.
"Bread, huh."
"Yeah, Ha-yeon, take a look. Wanna come over to my place next time? I'll make you something tasty! Well, not me—my mom."
Lee Ha-yeon tilted her head, her interest piqued by the vibrant, pretty dessert photos. It had been ages since I'd seen her eyes light up like that.
"Maybe I should swing by home sometime. Haven't shown my face since starting school."
"Isn't piano basically your parents? Every weekend, piano, piano..."
"Yeah, class rep, you're such a... total unfilial son? Or whatever."
"Ah, shut up."
I shoved away the clinging Lee Seong-hyuk and picked up my chopsticks. That's when I noticed Lee Ha-yeon glued to Kim Ju-hee's phone, swiping through photos like crazy. She looked ready to dive right into the screen and skip lunch altogether. It was a pretty novel sight.
Does she have a sweet tooth for stuff like that?
"Your mom made all these?"
"Yup, my mom. Bet they taste incredible!"
"Hey, you got a call. It's Dad."
"Oh."
Right on cue, her phone started vibrating.
I let out a smirk and quickly answered. Guess our family's not some centuries-old noble house after all.
"Yeah, Dad? What's up this time of day?"
[Hey, son. Busy? Can you talk?]
"Nah, just about to eat. You?"
I set down my spoon and pressed the phone to my ear.
Lee Seong-hyuk and Kim Ju-hee kept eating without a care, but Lee Ha-yeon was the only one staring blankly at me.
[I just ate. And you little punk—if something big went down at school, shouldn't you have given your old man a heads-up at least?]
"Huh? What'd I do? Did the school call you or something?"
His out-of-nowhere comment threw me for a loop. I mouthed what? at Lee Ha-yeon, who was staring right at me, but she stayed silent.
[Some video popped up on YouTube. Jazz busking?]
"Oh... that? It's no big deal."
[No big deal? It's got over 200k views. A client asks me, 'Isn't that the boss's kid?' You think I wanna hear it from someone else's family?]
200k... That video blew up that much? Pretty solid for our school channel.
It felt too weird watching myself on screen, so I'd checked it once and scrubbed it from memory.
"How'd the client even know I'm your son?"
[...When grown-ups chat, you think we got nothing better to talk about than our kids?]
"Dad, seriously—stop bragging about weird stuff. There are way better players here than me."
Dad could be such a sap. Even in my past life, he'd overhype my achievements everywhere, leaving me red-faced more times than I could count.
I let out a shallow sigh and hung up. Lee Ha-yeon, who'd been watching me the whole time, finally spoke.
"Hey."
"Yeah? Why were you staring? Kinda embarrassing."
"...No, I mean, yeah. You two seem close."
My spoon froze halfway to my mouth with some soup. I straightened up and met her eyes—she flicked her gaze away.
"Close... yeah. It's just me and Dad."
"Got it."
And with that, Lee Ha-yeon clammed up, saying nothing more.
Does she have a rocky thing with her parents?
There wasn't much out there on performers' personal lives, so who knew.
"That's it for today. Rest up till the bell."
No sooner had Choi Je-hun teacher spoken than the kids around us let out a chorus of weary groans, slumping like deflated balloons.
Pens half-heartedly gripped, piano keys hammered—life as an arts high schooler was relentless these days.
"Oh, almost forgot the announcement. Heads up, everyone."
The teacher rapped his desk lightly, and the zombie horde perked their heads just a smidge.
He scanned the room, sighed low, and pressed on.
"The 3rd evaluation notice is running late—internal meeting dragged on. Keep that in mind."
The classroom filled with grumbles laced with gripes.
Lee Seong-hyuk, lost in thought, blurted a dopey exclamation like it was nothing.
"Usually they drop it around now so we can prep. What's the holdup?"
Late notice should be a win, right? Arts high kids are already starved for study time—this bought us some breathing room.
"Ah, then we gotta keep grinding studies!"
"No excuse to dodge Mom now..."
Guess I still didn't fully get the arts high mindset.
"It'll be out before midterms, guaranteed. And if you're not studying, are you even a student? Put something in that head of yours."
The teacher sighed again, right as the bell rang. He snatched the attendance book and bolted from the room.
"You've got your studies squared away—why not start prepping practicals early?"
"Han Yong-seong teacher brought it up too. Gotta nail the free piece selection."
Practicals. Major performance exams...
Sounded distant, but they'd hit right around finals period.
Just thinking about practicals made my chest tighten. Mountains to prep, judged purely on my playing—no crutches. Two pieces, no less!
"Wanna hear something insane? That practical excellence recital—they do it at the start of second semester."
"Yeah?"
"They pick based solely on practical scores. Averages don't count."
"No way."
Ridiculous. So tank all prior evals, ace practical, and you're golden?
"Then why bother acing regular evals?"
"Those feed into other stuff—orchestra, year events. They average 'em."
"..."
Bottom line: to snag every stage chance, crush regulars, practicals—everything.
My regular scores top the charts... but practical's the wildcard.
Not locked in first yet—too many neck-and-neck. Couldn't slack remaining evals for 'practical prep.'
"Hmm."
Han Yong-seong had touched on practical format once.
Free pieces should max out the player's unique strengths, he'd said.
My edge, my signature weapon...
Wonder if it tied into that homework—finding your basis in performance.
The more I mulled, the murkier it got. Daily basics alone ate all my time. Even Ballade No. 4 was still that nagging 'too tough to play' piece.
"Let's bounce."
"The others?"
"Already dipped."
"No loyalty..."
The teachers' lounge hummed as the meeting wound down, stragglers thinning out.
"How's he doing?"
Choi Je-hun, neatly stacking papers on the desk amid the sparse crowd, tossed the question at Han Yong-seong.
"How's what?"
"The kid you're teaching."
"Ah, Kwon Do-hyun. He's..."
Han Yong-seong groaned long, scratched his nape, and cracked a goofy grin.
"Tricky."
"Told you teaching him might kill the fun."
"Fun's there. Feels like charting unknown territory."
He sipped his gone-cold coffee, brow twitching faintly as he went on.
"...But don't you think Kwon Do-hyun knows way too much? Like, freakishly?"
Choi Je-hun pondered, then nodded agreement.
Semester start flashed back—kid shooting up mid-class to spar verbally with Myeong Woo-bin.
And that was just the tip. His class answers alone screamed knowledge beyond any first-year, especially on composers and performers.
"Happens in lessons too?"
"Sometimes he acts like he beamed in from a classical-only planet."
"Ha, wanna hear something hilarious?"
Han Yong-seong spilled their recent smoke-break chat.
He hit hard on the kid's take of his Chopin sonata recording.
"Nuts."
Choi Je-hun chuckled dryly, scrubbing his face over and over.
"Kid floored me. Reading context straight from the score."
"Plays on instinct, mostly... So that homework I assigned? He'll struggle."
"Bet. Probably frying his brain. Got another angle I'm plotting—might finally click after."
Their chat deepened when a familiar name drifted from across the room.
"Kwon Do-hyun?"
"Yeah, you know the kid too, Director?"
Both heads snapped toward the voice at the name.
"Piano dept first eval, right? Saw him then. Sharp instincts, solid all-around."
"Haven't caught a performance... Check this out?"
The music department director stood with the theory teacher, who looked puzzled.
"When'd you get this?"
"Yesterday. Graded their performance evals."
"Damn... Explains why I flagged him. Kid's got finesse."
Director clutched the single sheet, admiration plain. His eyes landed on Choi Je-hun across the way.
"Choi teacher, what'd I tell you? Kwon Do-hyun's gifts aren't for piano—they're for something else."
"Meaning?"
"Take a look."
Beaming ear-to-ear, the director hustled over and thrust the paper forward.
A performance eval sheet crammed with text. Top right: 1st Year Class 8, No. 4: Kwon Do-hyun.
"What's this?"
"What else? Pure proof of the kid's talent."
"This?"
"Not just killer ears. Analyzes sound perception on another level."
"That's penmanship, not analysis."
"Call it whatever. Point is, he's wired to tune dozens of instruments at once—not play one."
The director pressed on firmly.
"First eval... this performance work. Solid basis for judgment."
"So?"
"Kwon Do-hyun—let's snag him for Conducting."
Choi Je-hun gazed up evenly. From behind, Han Yong-seong fired back.
"No way, Director. Why poach a solid piano kid?"
"You know Kwon Do-hyun too, Han?"
"Damn right—I'm his lesson teacher."
"You've seen him up close. That ear? Not your average gift."
"Nope. He needs to play piano."
Arms crossed tight, Han Yong-seong radiated disapproval.
"Don't just shut it down—look at this."
"What now?"
His eyes zipped side to side over the paper.
Overview of Mozart's compositional traits, then bar-by-bar breakdown.
Strikingly, zero jargon. Expression over technique, flow over dissection.
...Kid wrote this?
Hand-sketched staves with notes plugged in. Main theme here, variations unfolding in those bars...
Even a classical newbie could grasp the piece's approach—painstakingly clear.
A touch rattled, Han Yong-seong turned.
"So what?"
"Admit it—you're impressed. Told Choi: kid's got rock-solid sound judgment."
"Means he'll play even better."
"Agree to disagree. Leading a full orchestra to peak sound trumps solo shine, right?"
Han Yong-seong ruffled his hair wildly, heaving a deep sigh.
Director barreled ahead undaunted.
"Piano's got four hot prospects now. Two we're lucky to have at Ye-rim."
"Five'd be better."
"Spare one? And maybe Conducting fires him up more. This screams it."
He recalled his brief chat with Kwon Do-hyun.
Piano hunger obvious, but direct ask might flip the script.
Less a hunch, more a gnawing worry.
"How about I pitch it to Kwon Do-hyun myself?"
Han Yong-seong flicked a glance at Choi Je-hun, chin in hand, stone-faced.
Bro, step up and shut this down—what're you doing?
Snagging his coat from the chair back, Han Yong-seong roughly smoothed it.
"Ugh, my kid's a pianist."
"Why snap? Conducting majors play piano too, y'know. Core skill."
"I'm out."
"We aren't done..."
"Gonna ask the kid straight. No whining after."
Fear the director might sway him had Han Yong-seong's steps quickening.
"If he greenlights, you hand him over no fuss!"
"Won't happen. Chill."
Bam. The meeting room door slammed shut.
The quiet hallway swallowed Han Yong-seong whole.