Chapter 53
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Ironic Melody (1)
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The everyday afternoon hallways of the practice rooms were overflowing with sounds from every kind of instrument.
The one place with sparsely placed reservation tags was right here—the composition department's exclusive practice room.
'Park Gyu-ri...'
Confirming the name on the door tag, Jeong Da-eun adjusted her glasses and smiled brightly. Inside was one of the few people she could call a friend.
Peeking through the window, she spotted a petite girl sitting at the piano, holding up a staff notation notebook toward the ceiling with a troubled look on her face.
It was Park Gyu-ri's habit whenever she was pondering something.
Opening the door so quietly even the hinges didn't creak, Jeong Da-eun flashed a playful grin.
"How can someone in the major play piano worse than us comp kids... Pathetic."
Confirming Park Gyu-ri muttering to herself with the notebook draped over her face, Da-eun poked her lightly and jumped up, shouting loudly.
"Gyu-bang! Big sis is here to supervise your practice!"
"Gah—! Shit, you scared me!"
Startled, Park Gyu-ri flailed her arms and legs outward like a starfish, whipping her head around with a freaked-out expression.
Her short limbs gave her a pet-like vibe, and it wasn't just Da-eun's imagination.
"Hey, I told you not to call me that! And don't just barge into my practice room!"
"Heh heh heh, caught you doing something weird alone again, huh?"
"W-what weird stuff? And give me a heads-up if you're coming!"
Arms crossed and pouting uncomfortably, Park Gyu-ri felt Da-eun sneak up from behind and wrap her in a tight hug.
Da-eun loved the feeling of that small head nestling perfectly into her chest.
"Still no pianist lined up?"
"...Maybe I should switch to a different instrument besides piano."
The fiery outburst from moments ago was gone; Park Gyu-ri's voice softened as she spoke.
"Don't pet me like that."
"So prickly... Hee hee."
Watching Gyu-ri swat her hand away, Da-eun couldn't shake the thought that her friend was just like a cat.
"No decent ones... No decent ones..."
Gazing at the quietly grumbling Park Gyu-ri, Jeong Da-eun beamed innocently.
"There are tons of great pianists in our second-year class."
"You really think that?"
Park Gyu-ri whipped her head back, sneering sarcastically.
A brief silence enveloped them as their eyes met.
"Hmm, who knows?"
Da-eun just smiled without a word.
Glancing down at the notebook in Gyu-ri's hand, she commented.
"You've written a ton already."
"Nothing's finalized yet. All just drafts."
"Gyu-bang, you still composing on paper? Way too analog."
Park Gyu-ri scowled up at Da-eun. Her usual sharp features looked downright intimidating when she was mad.
"Don't you know pen and paper are an artist's absinthe? You think slapping notes out digitally infuses them with soul?"
"Cringe. What absinthe, you minor? Street punk?"
"Must be nice playing instruments that blast out sound with a button press!"
"What button? They have a proper name: keys. And horn's a pain to play."
It was a rare sight—Jeong Da-eun bickering like this with someone.
The light growling ended with Da-eun playfully messing with Gyu-ri's high ponytail.
"So these are all the themes you've tried so far? Don't they give you themes at school?"
"We pick for the recital. Got about five or six, but varying them feels meh. And straight-up stealing motifs from elsewhere isn't my style—you know that. Too childish."
"Lemme see."
Flipping through the notebook and scanning the short melodies, Da-eun nodded slowly.
"Yeah, kinda vague. For a piano piece, needs stronger motifs, and the voicing texture feels thin."
"...You're the first to say that."
"What? Why?"
"Everyone else went nuts saying it was great—even the teachers. Asked why I was stressing."
Park Gyu-ri gave a wry smile, spilling it out like a confession.
Da-eun brushed off the backhanded praise effortlessly.
"When's the recital?"
"Next week after midterms."
"That's plenty of time. Why worry now?"
"Other kids already snagged performers and started working... Dunno."
She needed to write the piece first, then tweak it for the performer—but no piece was clicking, and zero satisfying pianists in sight.
"And that Yoo Young-sik—chasing me around. Pissing me off."
"Young-sik? Still?"
"Yeah... Blabbing about artistic illness or whatever. Driving me nuts."
Park Gyu-ri zombie-stumbled around, staring blankly into space. Tilting her head, Da-eun followed up.
"If no luck with performers, try hiring outside?"
"Who's paying?"
"Aw, c'mon. You know I'm broke."
"No one's footing your bill!"
"Huh, true."
Park Gyu-ri eyed the giggling Da-eun with pity.
In the quiet moment, Gyu-ri pursed her lips, spun her pen like a baton, and spoke flatly.
"Oh, Da-eun. You're tight with someone in broadcasting club, right?"
"Jin-seong? Yeah, he's the president."
"You seen their YouTube edits?"
"Yeah, why?"
"They had this piano thing recently..."
"Do-hyun?!"
Grabbing Gyu-ri's shoulders and cutting her off, Da-eun's eyes sparkled. Gyu-ri looked bewildered, stumbling over her words at the overreaction.
"Uh, yeah?"
"Do-hyun, right! That jazz busking video from last week!"
"Y-yeah..."
"Isn't he amazing? Told you I had my eye on him. Plays piano like a pro! Might be the best musician in our school."
Gyu-ri watched Da-eun excitedly rattle on, then catch her breath.
"Calm down, calm."
"I-I'm not-excited, haa... at all?"
"And I'm the best musician here, duh."
She conceded everything else, but that last bit? No way—said with rock-solid conviction. Gyu-ri had ironclad faith in her own talent.
"You close with him? How good's his piano? Ear's sharp too—from that jazz vid, he's got style. Not sure about classical, though."
This time, Da-eun cocked her head.
"How'd you know Gyu-bang thinks Do-hyun has good pitch?"
"Stop calling me that... Tsk. You didn't know? He was in that new semester video."
"Was not."
"Mosaicked, maybe? End clip—movie score arrangement. Kwon Do-hyun. Passed level 10."
Da-eun gently pushed her glasses up her nose bridge.
Then grinned and tilted her head again.
"How'd you know?"
"Tone color. Recognized it instantly."
Park Gyu-ri looked at her like, ask a question that makes sense.
"...For real? Should I text Jin-seong?"
"I'd bet my life."
"Why so extreme, kid?"
"That confident. Don't trust my ears?"
She flashed a light gesture and grinned at Da-eun.
"See? Still the best musician in school."
The practice room was utterly silent, the piano's reverb swallowed by the soundproofing.
Speaking in a flat tone, as if confessing in some ritual,
"I've cried a lot listening to music since way back."
I couldn't pinpoint when I fell for classical, but it was definitely from my fragmented early childhood memories, patchy and discontinuous.
"More times than I can count."
Not as extreme as Seol Yu-jin, but even a regular aesthete shedding a few tears at art's brilliance wasn't all that rare.
Only the first one stuck with me, though.
Before I even started piano lessons.
"Dad found a recording on YouTube and played it for me."
That cry wasn't from tears while listening—it was after.
"After? What made it cry-worthy?"
"Found out it wasn't a human performance. Computer-generated."
All I remembered was the deep sadness. No grand thoughts about tech overtaking humanity—I was too young for that.
Just scary and sad.
Clinging to my flustered dad's comforting hand, I thought:
Art only truly exists as the resonance humans give each other.
It tied right into the 'empathy' I'd stressed to Teacher Han Yong-seong.
Of course, at that age, I didn't think anything so profound.
Probably just whined, 'Waaah, I wanna hear a person play!' or something.
"That's why I think people go to all the hassle of concert halls."
"To confirm a human's playing it live?"
"Yeah. Subconsciously, that reassurance hits. Music's for the ears, but performance is a total visual art too."
Like amplified empathy. Immersion's just a byproduct of it anyway.
"In short, it's about how deeply you draw the audience in. Cheers aren't some absolute standard—it's all about empathy."
Performers must convey the piece's mood and emotion lossless.
Hence, always top mimics. 'Expression' isn't trivial for nothing.
"Some might disagree, but I get you. Good talk."
"...Whatever."
"But how's that connect to blowing your homework?"
Staring into Teacher Han Yong-seong's blank eyes, I flailed my hands desperately.
"Ah... Well, see."
This was his favorite lesson room—mine too.
I'd just played the coda of Ballade No. 4 in three interpretations for him. No hard evidence, sure, but the distinct differences were clear.
"Different interpretations mean varying accents or tempos on the same piece—audience won't question that, right?"
"They might."
"Then let them resolve it themselves—perfect total art with listener participation... Ow!"
Hurts. Hit the same spot from yesterday.
"Sophistry. You still didn't find grounding."
"...Yes."
"Fine. If you'd nailed it in this short time, I'd let you early-grad and teach me—no complaints."
"Huh? Then why assign it?"
"Hoping my own teacher was here somewhere."
Arms crossed, he chuckled.
I shot him a grumpy look, and a question came.
"You asked the kids about this homework too?"
"Yeah, they all drew blanks."
"Nah, they know. Just can't articulate."
He pulled out his phone, fiddled, and showed me.
Chopin's works list.
"Any you haven't heard here?"
"Psh, Chopin's old news. Been through it ages ago."
"'Ages ago' at your age means what?"
"..."
Grunting, I dodged with a vague excuse.
"Anyway, heard 'em all."
"Played any?"
"Few etudes, a nocturne or two, and that waltz from first eval."
"See? Tons of knowledge and listens, zero performance. You just seriously started piano recently, right?"
"Yes..."
Performance experience. He emphasized it.
Knowing vs. having played—the gap between knowledge and body.
"Your friends? At least ten years grinding piano each."
"Most started as kids."
"Yep. But ever think something's off?"
"Like...?"
"They've trained ten years, yet same piece as me, and that's all they muster? Weird, right? Like that music theory project last time."
From first eval song picks to orchestra clashes in second.
Memories of my differing views from others surfaced.
...All where I was right. Or near-optimal, anyway.
Hand on my shoulder, head close, teacher lowered his voice.
"That's the difference between your proud listener-performer self."
A bit flustered, I replied,
"Difference?"
"For them, music's strictly 'performing.' Always has been, always will."
Performing. What to perform. Listener vs. performer divide.
Words spun in my head.
"For you, it's 'appreciating'—just art to consume. For now."
Déjà vu froze me briefly. Undeterred, he pointed.
"Either extreme's bad, but you're still audience-minded. Haven't shed old habits. Time to embrace it as performer."
Da-eun sunbae had said similar.
Viewing from seats, missing solo instrument facets.
"So, to shift mindsets and catch up on their experience fast?"
"Stack performance reps... compressed, efficient. Double-time for lost years."
"Right. You said you've never seen composing firsthand."
"Yes."
He grinned.
"Not like Kim Ji-yu's genre-preplanned influences, or those Austria imports with fixed motifs from the start. Something pure—you playing that'd be ideal."
"What're you saying?"
"Team up with comp department. Second-years are prepping a recital."
I need performance miles. Better than solo practice-room banging.
Got that... but why comp collab?
Seeing my puzzled face, he furrowed his brow.
"Dummy, your head's too full—can't train taking unfamiliar pieces. Or rather, can't."
"Why not?"
"Personal grounding starts with tackling random scores your way. But you're too familiar—know most composers inside out. Every piece feels 'kinda like that.' Homework was hell, huh."
"...Ah."
"Your friends built theirs unknowingly since kid days."
Can't erase knowledge. So, tackle stuff where it won't help.
"Comp kids are high schoolers too. Seniors or not, fumbling like you. That raw purity? Gold for you."
Smiling softly, he looked down at me.
"So, in or out?"
"In, obviously."
I grinned back.
Sounds fun, anyway.