No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 010. On the Way to School (4)

In the waiting room, the elderly conductor with white hair turned to me, his voice dripping with irritation.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jung Seojoon,” I replied.

“Never heard of you. Professor Han says you’re her student, so I’ll let you try, but if you can’t handle it, walk off the stage yourself. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Tch. With hands like that, what do you expect to play?”

His disdainful gaze lingered on my injured hands before he turned sharply and left the waiting room.

I flexed my fingers, confirming they were fine, and turned to look at Choo Minji standing next to me.

“I came here to visit someone, and now this?”

“Listen, gangster, if you pull this off, your settlement will be handled in no time.”

Minji pulled a camera from her bag and began attaching an audio recorder. She was nothing if not resourceful.

“Manager! If I do this for free, can I keep the rights to the video?”

The orchestra manager, who had been fretting over the conductor’s mood, sighed deeply.

“Fine, just get it over with.”

Ignoring their exchange, I stepped out of the waiting room.

As soon as I entered the lobby, all eyes turned to me.

The audience scanned me from head to toe, taking in the patient gown I was wearing.
The orchestra manager had evidently spun a dramatic tale for them.

The original pianist, she had explained, couldn’t make it due to unforeseen circumstances, and a previously unknown pianist—hospitalized, no less—was stepping in as a replacement.

A last-minute substitution.

The audience’s lack of enthusiasm was clear.

The lively energy of earlier had faded, replaced by idle chatter. Few seemed interested in the upcoming performance.

I walked slowly toward the stage, ignoring the skeptical stares of the orchestra members as I took my place at the piano.

With my foot, I tested the pedal, pressing it lightly.
I ran my fingers over the smooth keys without pressing them.

“…”

A wave of intense emotion surged through me, starting from my feet.

The piano was calling to me, its allure dizzying.

I wanted nothing more than to press the keys and lose myself in the music.

Despite the unfamiliar setting—a collaboration with an orchestra in front of a large audience—I felt at home.

I couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh.

The conductor shot me a look as if I were insane.

“…A,” he said curtly.

Instinctively, I pressed the A key on the piano.

[Dun—]

The orchestra followed suit, tuning their instruments to match the pitch.

When the brief cacophony subsided, all eyes were on me.

Focused. Anticipatory.

The piece was Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2.

Though I’d never played it before, the moment I thought of the piece, the sheet music appeared vividly in my mind.

Composed by Rachmaninoff himself, a pianist with a height of 198 cm and hands large enough to span 30 cm, the concerto was notoriously challenging.

But I wasn’t worried.

My fingers moved as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times, each of the ten knowing its precise role.

I exhaled softly and prepared to begin, but then my eyes caught sight of someone in the audience.

Baek Junsoo.

My nephew.

He was slumped in a seat near the edge, looking despondent, his gaze vacant.

He didn’t seem to realize I was looking at him, lost in the crowd as if he had simply followed others there.

“Aren’t you starting?”

The conductor’s quiet voice broke my reverie.

I nodded and let out a gentle breath, pressing the first key.

[Dong—]

The sound resonated deeply, filled with emotion.

Through this music, I hoped to heal even a small part of the wounds in his heart.

…..

At the age of 24, Rachmaninoff composed his first symphony, only to face catastrophic failure.

The harsh criticism from reviewers left him traumatized, plunging him into years of depression during which he couldn’t compose a single piece.

It wasn’t until he was 27 that he emerged from the depths of despair to create one of his greatest works: Piano Concerto No. 2.

The piece was dedicated to the person who had saved him from his struggles.

[Dong—]

The music began with a deep, somber tone under Seojoon’s fingers.

Low, dark harmonies and a rich bass alternated, filling the room with a sense of weight.

[Doo-dong—]

Seojoon’s movements were slow yet impassioned, his body swaying as he poured emotion into every note.

For a moment, it was as if he were embodying Rachmaninoff’s own struggles with despair.

Then, abruptly, Seojoon leaned forward, his expression tightening.

His fingers flew across the keys, attacking them with speed and precision.

The orchestra, which had been silent until now, burst into life, producing a beautiful melody that intertwined with Seojoon’s playing.

He added ornate embellishments to every phrase, his hands moving in a blur as he played with intensity.

His hair whipped around as he struck the keys with dynamic force, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

The audience fell into a stunned silence.

Whether they were fans of classical music or not, everyone was captivated.

Even those who had been bustling about in the lobby stopped in their tracks, their attention drawn to the music.

The expansive hospital lobby, once filled with scattered conversations, was now packed with people, all focused on a single point.

It didn’t matter why they were there or what was on their minds.

For this moment, they were united, unable to look away from the man creating this extraordinary sound.

…..

Conductor Park Myunghoon was dissatisfied with everything.

The entire day had been a disaster.

He had agreed to conduct this concert as a favor to the NSOA’s dean, but he was filled with regret.

This is exactly why I don’t work with students, he thought bitterly.

Adding to his frustration was his most hated pet peeve: tardiness.

The performance had been chaos from the start.

Just as he was about to abandon the chaotic performance, a phone call came through.

“Maestro, please add a line to my student’s résumé. I’ll compensate you separately.”

It was Professor Han, a woman who rarely bowed her head to anyone. Her unusual plea piqued his curiosity.

How exceptional must this student be for her to make such a request?

“Jung Seojoon,” he said when he asked his name.

Disappointment hit fast.

A pianist who lets their hands get into such a state? He wanted to send him away immediately.
But a promise was a promise.

Reluctantly, he went on stage with him.
As a guest conductor, he figured he had nothing to lose.

……

When he sat at the piano, he watched as he smiled—of all things.

Is he out of his mind? Smiling at a time like this?

Annoyed, he suppressed my growing irritation and ordered the tuning to begin.

When the performance finally started, he immediately frowned.

Pianissimo played as forte?
What’s he going to do when the score calls for fortissimo later?

But his doubts quickly dissipated.

[Bang! Bang-bang!]

This madman…

His eyes widened. Was he planning to destroy the piano?

He struck the keys with force and speed, yet every note was precise, every beat flawlessly timed.

Wait a second…

He glanced around, suddenly recalling something he’d forgotten: this wasn’t a concert hall.
This was a hospital lobby.

Unlike a proper venue, the sound here scattered and leaked into the open space.

But this pianist was manipulating that.

He allowed some of the sound to escape while commanding the rest, wielding the music like a weapon.

“Interesting…”

His technique wasn’t just strong—it was strategic.

When he lightly touched the soft pedal and then added unexpected accents, I couldn’t help but mutter, Go ahead. Let’s see what you’ve got. Whoever you are, show me what you can do.

Before he realized it, he was completely captivated, beads of sweat dripping from his brow, a smile creeping onto his lips.

The passion he’d put aside earlier in the day surged back.

He remembered the vow he’d made long ago: that he’d conduct anywhere, as long as there was music.

…..

Music has a way of stirring emotions.
It can shake listeners to their core.

And on stage, performers feel it most intensely.

The thrill of harmonizing your instrument with others is indescribable.
When a soloist’s extraordinary playing pushes you to match their brilliance, it’s nothing short of euphoric.

Tonight, this unknown pianist changed everything.

As the performance continued, the orchestra members were swept up in his intensity.

“Was there really someone like this in Korea?”

Musicians who’d come to phone it in and collect a paycheck now felt humbled.

The Rachmaninoff score before them seemed to rebuke their earlier indifference.

Some struggled to hold back tears, biting their lips to maintain composure.

…..

The performance reached its final movement, Allegro scherzando:
Fast, playful, and demanding—both technically and physically.

For Seojoon, it was an unrelenting barrage of rapid notes, requiring immense stamina to sustain.

For the orchestra, it was a momentary respite, as the piano took center stage.

He calmed his excitement, taking deep breaths as he waited for his cue to rejoin the music.

Turning to look at Seojoon, he froze.

The cold, indifferent demeanor he had shown before the performance was gone.

In its place was raw intensity.

He looked like a predator, his hands tearing into the keys with ferocity, every note fierce and precise.

It felt as though he wasn’t just playing the music—he was devouring it.

[Crash—]

As the piano solo concluded, Seojoon smirked and glanced at the orchestra, as if to say, Your turn now.

This little…

Gripping his baton tightly, he raised it high and urged the orchestra forward, determined to meet his challenge.

……

Thirty minutes later, the performance ended.

But Seojoon didn’t want to stop.

His hands lingered on the keys, reluctant to let go.
He wanted to keep playing, to strike the keys again, to continue the music.

“…Hah.”

It was the conductor, Park Myunghoon, who finally brought him back.

Placing a hand on Seojoon’s shoulder, he spoke.

“What are you doing? Aren’t the audience waiting?”

With those words, Jung Seojoon returned to reality.
The connection he’d felt with the piano faded, and the thunderous sound of applause filled his ears.

Clap clap clap clap clap!
Clap clap clap clap clap!
Clap clap clap clap clap!

…….

Hundreds of people in the hospital lobby clapped so loudly it seemed as if the building would shake apart.
They cheered until their voices cracked.

Jung Seojoon slowly opened his eyes.

Before him stood conductor Park Myunghoon and the orchestra members, their eyes red with emotion.

Using their bows, the musicians tapped rhythmically on their music stands—a traditional gesture of respect and gratitude toward a soloist.

“Come now, stand up,” Park Myunghoon said warmly.

Seojoon finally rose, facing the front of the stage.

Having never experienced anything like this before, he wasn’t sure how to respond.
After a moment’s hesitation, he bent at the waist, bowing deeply.

With a strong voice, he shouted, “Thank you!”

“Waaaah!”

The applause and cheers grew even louder.

Seojoon stiffly made his way off the stage and into the waiting room.

…….

“…Phew.”

Inside, the chamber orchestra’s manager was sobbing uncontrollably.

“I really thought I was going to lose my job! Thank you so much!” she wailed.

“Uh… sure,” Seojoon replied awkwardly, scratching his head.

As the applause outside continued, the manager wiped her tears and said with a shaky voice, “Aren’t you going back out?”

“I’ll wait until the clapping stops.”

“What? You have to perform an encore!”

“…What?”

Seojoon blinked, confused. He had no idea what the manager was talking about.

Without explaining, the manager gave him a firm push.

“Go on!”

The moment Seojoon stepped back into the lobby, the cheers reached a deafening volume.

“Waaaah!”
“Bravo!”

For the first time, Seojoon realized just how massive the space was.

The lobby extended upward for five floors, with every balcony and railing packed with people.

“Over here!”

Park Myunghoon stood on stage, grinning and beckoning him over.

Seojoon cleared his throat and climbed back onto the stage.

“What will you play for the encore?” Myunghoon asked.

“Uh… Can I play anything?”

“Of course! Even Chopsticks March would be fine!”

“Haha,” Seojoon chuckled nervously and sat at the piano again.

The spotlight shifted to him, bathing him in light.

The room fell silent.

The audience collectively held its breath, their attention fixed on Seojoon’s hands.

Even Baek Junsoo, sitting slumped in the corner of the audience, stared at him with wide eyes.

After a brief pause, a familiar melody began to fill the room.

Kim Kwangmin’s On the Way to School.

The bright, cheerful notes resonated throughout the vast space.

“Ah…”

Baek Junsoo was spellbound.

The music didn’t just reach his ears—it seemed to touch his very soul.

It was warm and gentle, like a comforting embrace.

For a fleeting moment, it felt as if his late father had returned to hold him again.

Junsoo’s vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes.

…….

The lobby was quiet and dimly lit.

The once-crowded audience seats were now empty, save for Baek Junsoo, who remained seated, lost in thought as he stared at the empty space.

“Baek Junsoo.”

A voice broke the silence.

Junsoo looked up slowly to see a man standing before him. The lighting made it hard to discern his face.

“Who… are you? Do you know me?” Junsoo asked hesitantly, his shoulders hunching slightly.

“I’m Jung Seojoon.”

“Jung Seojoon…?”

The name sounded familiar.

Earlier that day, Kim Bom had visited his class out of nowhere, spilling every detail.

“That guy took down Choi Pilwook and his gang. Left them all half-crippled.”

“Oh… that…”

Junsoo wanted to thank him, but the words caught in his throat.

As he hesitated, Seojoon pulled something from his bag and handed it over—a rectangular piece of drawing paper.

“What’s this for?” Junsoo asked.

“I need a favor.”

“A favor? What is it?”

Scratching his head, Seojoon replied, “I need help with my art assignment.”

“…What?”

“Haha, I’m hopeless when it comes to art.”

For a brief moment, Junsoo saw a shadow of his uncle in Seojoon’s sheepish grin.

“Haha, I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking.”