Chapter 7
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: The Outsider (2)
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The teacher's sudden demand set the classroom buzzing with whispers.
"...What?"
"Why does she have to play twice?"
"No idea. Maybe the teacher wasn't paying attention."
"That doesn't make sense."
Why was I the only one taking the test twice? I had no clue.
I adjusted my posture reluctantly.
"What piece this time?"
"Chopin Nocturne, Op.48 No.1."
It was a short time, but I'd put some serious thought into selecting it.
First off, I skipped famous pieces. If it's something everyone's heard before, any mistakes stand out like a sore thumb.
So I went with Op.48 No.1—a Chopin nocturne with a big name but kinda middling popularity.
'It's tough, but if I shift my perspective just a bit, it'll click.'
Simple. Every piece is hard for me. No need to overthink.
Plus, it sings of sorrow—the polar opposite of the love theme from the last piece—which sealed the deal.
"Chopin?"
But the teacher smirked at my choice, a faint smile lingering as he continued.
"Guess why I asked you to play another one."
"I have no idea..."
"Any tricks, and I'll spot 'em."
"Tricks?"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
He looked at me like I was some sly fox. It was the best choice within my limits—no tricks about it. Unfair.
"Play something else. I'll pick."
He drummed on the desk, thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers in front of my face.
"Liszt, Transcendental Étude No.1."
"I can't play that."
My response shot out on reflex. And this wasn't false modesty.
"Need the sheet music?"
"No, even with it, I couldn't."
He eyed me suspiciously from his slouched position, then let out a light sigh before speaking again.
"Fine, not the nocturne—how about an étude? Op.10 No.4."
"......"
My brow furrowed at the next piece he named.
I glanced sideways discreetly. Everyone in the class was glued to us, ears perked up.
'Why are they so attentive all of a sudden...'
Whatever. If I can't play it, I can't.
No point bluffing. I sat up straight and answered.
"Can't play that one either."
My words sent a ripple through the classroom. Even stifled laughs mixed in.
It felt like the most natural reaction.
And for good reason...
"A piano major at an arts high school who can't play a Chopin étude."
The two pieces the teacher mentioned were staples for piano majors—essential practice repertoire.
Chopin études especially were favorites for auditions from middle school through college.
Op.10 No.4 was the most popular among them. Even a non-major like me knew that.
"Yes, I can't."
"You're not messing with me, right?"
"...I'm serious."
The reason I couldn't play those études was simple: I hadn't listened to them much.
Études are different from regular pieces.
Practice pieces, by definition. They have inherent limits in melody and structure.
'Even the most musical études are designed to master specific techniques.'
I didn't just listen to piano music, and the world isn't short on timeless masterpieces that never get old.
Études naturally fell to the back of the line.
Plus, as practice pieces, they're trickier for someone without basics like me. Better to be honest here.
"What a character."
The teacher let out exclamations like "Huh" and "Well," eyeing me curiously.
He checked his watch, still looking puzzled, and beckoned me.
"Just play what you were gonna."
He seemed to have more to say, but time was short.
'Screwed.'
A Class was out of reach now.
Images of prodigies like Baek Ji-ho and Lee Ha-yeon flickered in my mind. Should I at least memorize the kids already slotted for B or C Class...
I sighed, placed my hands on the keys, and resigned myself.
'Still, every performance deserves my best.'
I calmed my mind, focusing on the now. A deep breath, then I played.
Thinking back to when I listened to this nocturne, it was mostly evenings—after exhausting days when body and soul needed soothing.
Alone on the living room sofa in the quiet apartment, expensive whiskey bottle open, surrounded by top-tier sound gear I'd sunk my whole paycheck into.
'That's how I got through day by day...'
Now I was performing it, not just listening. The 180-degree shift made my fingertips tingle with awkward thrill.
Yeah, simple sadness doesn't fit—I'm too happy now. This sorrow needs to feel like a funeral march.
'Sending my wretched past far away.'
Farewell, you bastard. Don't come back.
I wouldn't just listen to music anymore.
I infused the performance with raw grief killed off by refreshing resolve.
This take had its own flavor. My head started swaying to the rhythm.
All I heard was the piano hammers striking strings and the faint rustle of pants from the pedals.
The kids might've been whispering, but no time to care. Feedback could come later.
'Pause here, then build louder.'
I held for a beat, prepping the theme's emphasis. Light touches like wind for passing parts, firm accents where needed...
"Stop. That's enough."
"Ah."
My shoulders flinched, hitting a wrong key. Deep in the zone, yanked back to reality—I startled.
'Did I do well...?'
Hard to tell. No prep meant nerves were expected.
I turned to stare at the teacher. He was fiddling with his pen, eyes fixed on the attendance sheet.
"Kwon Do-hyun."
"Yes."
Without looking up, he spoke calmly.
"Result on hold for now. Back to your seat."
"...On hold?"
"Go on, hurry."
On hold? Why?
The other students buzzed in surprise, just like me.
I had a mountain of questions, but bowed my head and stood.
Stinging stares followed every step. No positive vibes.
"Hey, hey."
Back at my seat, Lee Seong-hyuk whispered with a weird look, like he'd been waiting.
"What."
"You play pretty damn good, actually."
"Yeah?"
Good is good—no need for "pretty damn."
"I mean, technique's lacking... but tone and expression? Insane. Could call it good. Weird."
Basics and techniques weren't ingrained yet, so no wonder it didn't satisfy kids who'd hammered piano forever.
'Come to think of it, this is my first real performance for others.'
The improv at the gate with Jin-seong sunbae didn't count. First full piece.
The thought sparked curiosity. Lee Seong-hyuk looked amused, so I pressed him.
"Hey, how was my playing? Details."
"No idea? Just good?"
"......"
Yeah, typical.
Describing impressions in detail isn't easy. Lacking study and experience across the board.
"Fingering sloppy, posture mess, missed notes nonstop... but sound was killer. Gets why teacher's stumped."
Standard critique. Even in B or C Class, I'd get flak.
Bitter taste in my mouth. A few more days prep before enrollment might've changed things...
"But c'mon, you can't play Chopin études? Lie, right? Left hand still rusty?"
I was tuning out for others' turns when Lee Seong-hyuk probed with curious eyes.
"Chopin études?"
"Yeah, the one teacher picked."
"Oh."
Never thought how to explain. Any answer'd make me sound like a parachute kid dropped into Ye-rim.
"Tell you later."
"How many times today? At least gave your name—thanks. Real one, right?"
"Shh, shh, focus."
Dodge is best.
I patted his shoulder twice and faced forward.
Class placement tests flew by. After a few more students, the name I'd been waiting for was called.
"Next, Lee Ha-yeon. Come forward."
Time to solve the mystery. Was that auditorium performance just bad acoustics?
'Chopin, Étude Op.25 No.9.'
Lee Ha-yeon's pick: an étude.
Big hands eat half the difficulty, so easy mode for her.
"Feels like she's practiced a ton. How's she so steady?"
Lee Seong-hyuk marveled purely from the first phrase.
Definitely better than before. Sharp attacks, rock-solid posture—impressive visually.
'Up close, that future vibe peeks through.'
Lee Ha-yeon had musicality, sure, but killer technique and basics too. Great at everything, with one field shining extra.
'All good, but...'
Ears pleased, but the nagging doubt from the auditorium lingered. Vaguely unsatisfying.
Even this close, can't pin it.
What's wrong? Experience gap? Nah, feels different.
And she got A Class. Expected.
'Chat her up later?'
Rumors said she'd been icy since middle school, no warmth.
If she remembered me, easy talk... but even Baek Ji-ho didn't. Guts lacking.
"Next, Seo Ye-ri."
Baek Ji-ho was A Class ages ago. Heard Lee Ha-yeon's too.
I stopped caring who was called.
Just as impatience grew over my result...
"Ye-ri, fighting!"
"Do great!"
"A Class together—don't mess up!"
Cheers erupted here and there with the teacher's call.
Seo Ye-ri. No clue who.
"Who's she, all the fuss?"
I whipped around and asked. For student info, Lee Seong-hyuk's quickest.
"Her? Three-year class rep at Ye-won Middle. Super popular."
"Just girls cheering?"
"Girls love her especially."
"Piano good?"
"Eh, good-ish?"
Half a day in, one takeaway: Lee Seong-hyuk's assessments nail it.
Seo Ye-ri's playing: solid, no rough edges. Not bad, room to grow.
"You're A Class."
By now, even I could guess the A/B/C line. Lee Seong-hyuk fit it soon after, snagging A.
"Do-hyun, no big bro in A Class? You'll be lonely."
"Not my bro."
"What if they diss you for public school?"
"Worse in A Class, probably."
"Huh, true."
I chuckled, stretching my sore back and shoulders. One last student left.
'Result after her, right?'
Two genius outliers and my sole friend in A—me in another? Hell for the next half-year.
The final kid—name already forgotten—finished. She'd scrape B, maybe...
Teacher Choi Je-hun hesitated, deliberating long.
Finally, he looked up.
"You're B Class. And Kwon Do-hyun."
"Uh, yes."
My name hit out of nowhere—I raised my hand on instinct.
"You're A Class. Dismissed. Back to your classes."
His blunt drop silenced the room.
For a moment.
"Wait, teacher!"
The student at the piano shot up, shouting loud.