No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Chapter 19: The Unsent Letter

The orchestra dinner ended quickly, much like my time with the orchestra itself.

While everyone expressed some regret, no one seemed particularly eager to keep the group alive. Even the music majors were fine with its dissolution, happy they’d have more time for individual practice.

For them, like everyone else, college entrance exams were far more important than music.

“People lack conviction these days.”

But I wasn’t particularly upset—I had my own plans.

It wasn’t long before I arrived at Junsoo’s house. I planned to meet Ducheol here so we could visit Junsoo at the hospital together.

As I sat idly on the couch, two unwelcome guests arrived to interrupt my rest.

“You don’t like your nickname?” Choo Minji asked, sitting beside me. She explained that she assumed I approved since I hadn’t said anything.

“It’s fine.”

I didn’t particularly care. After all, that Baekjung was dead.

“Right? It’s catchy, memorable. ‘Slaughtering emotions through music.’ Amazing, right?” Minji grinned and nudged Kim Bom with her elbow.

“This was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“If you’d seen his face earlier, unnie, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“What face?”

Minji gave Bom a light punch on the arm, then pulled out her phone.

“Anyway, have you still not watched the new video featuring you?”

“No.”

“How can you not watch something you’re in?”

Minji raised her phone to my eye level and played the video.

[Dun-dun]

A screen bathed in red appeared, with the word Baekjung written in an old-fashioned script.

The scene shifted to my piano performance, filmed at the Baekjung Studio.

The video’s colors were edited to emphasize my black clothes and hair, pale face, and red lips. It felt eerily familiar, reminiscent of shots from movies or dramas.

[Dun-dun-dun, dun-da-da]

As La Campanella reached its climax, the scene switched to footage from the regular concert, showing me playing the violin. The transition was seamless, as the same piece was being performed.

The camera focused on my face and right hand, zooming in on a thin trickle of blood seeping through the tightly wound bandage.

The performance concluded amidst thunderous applause.

[Clap! Clap! Clap!]

But instead of lingering on the applause, the video cut to an impromptu solo.

Bach’s Chaconne.

The camera panned back to the stage, capturing me playing with even more intensity. The dramatic lighting and my soaked appearance created a dreamlike atmosphere.

[Daaaaan, da-raaan!]

After several minutes of furious bowing, the piece ended.

The auditorium fell silent, the air heavy with the aftermath of the storm-like performance.

Just as the cheers began to erupt, Minji abruptly darkened the screen, ending the scene.

The next shot showed me in casual clothes, sitting on a bench in the front yard, staring blankly at the sky.

The peaceful, serene atmosphere contrasted sharply with the earlier intensity, thanks to the bright colors and still camera.

“When did you even film this…”

The shot lingered for a few seconds before zooming in on my faintly smiling lips.

The video concluded with the word Baekjung appearing beside me.

“How is it? Not boring, right? It’s what sets me apart from other classical YouTubers!”

“It’s well done.”

“Of course. Our team is top-notch. We have so many subscribers for a reason.”

“Maybe you should switch to producing instead of music.”

“Hey, I still have to go to college.”

My attention shifted to the comments below the video.

They were overwhelmingly positive, filled with praises so effusive they made me feel embarrassed.

One comment stood out:

“Wow, if this guy had been born in the past, he’d be the next Beethoven.”

“Hah.”

How did they know Beethoven was my favorite?

I scrolled further down, noticing thumbnails for other videos Minji had uploaded.

One showed her reacting in shock to a child prodigy’s performance. Another featured four women in bikinis playing a string quartet on the beach.

One was titled something about a hidden-camera prank.

All of them had thumbnails designed to grab attention.

“By the way, what’s this orchestra club idea of yours? You said you had a good thought?” Minji asked.

“Ah, well…”

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.

Kim Bom, who had been sitting near the intercom, got up to check.

“Who… Ahhh!”

She screamed as soon as she saw the visitor.

“What’s wrong?”

I jumped to my feet and rushed to her side.

She pointed a trembling finger at the intercom screen.

There stood Ma Ducheol, dressed in a suit.

“Ah…”

I could see why his appearance might be… intimidating to a regular person.

****

“My, Junsoo’s friends are so lovely. So pure,” Ducheol said, his face contorting into what he probably thought was a friendly smile.

It was the best he could manage.

Minji was speechless.

Bom avoided eye contact.

Both girls thought the same thing:

“He’s definitely a gangster.”
“He has to be a criminal.”

Ducheol’s massive frame, easily over two meters tall, was packed with muscles that threatened to burst through his suit.

Visible beneath his open shirt were colorful tattoos, and the handle of something poking out of his waistband—a sight no one wanted to identify.

But the scariest part was…

His perfectly manicured nails.

The thought of this hulking man getting a manicure was enough to send shivers down their spines.

If Jung Seojoon hadn’t introduced him as “Junsoo’s uncle,” they might have called the police immediately.

“You’re early, Uncle,” I said.

“Yes, Hyungnim.”

Ducheol bowed slightly, then froze mid-motion.

“…”

Realizing his mistake, he smacked his bald head with his palm and corrected himself.

“I mean, uh, call me Hyungnim, will you?”

“What? Oh, uh… yes, Hyungnim.”

Jung Seojoon nodded hesitantly, his eyes darting nervously.

“…”

Ducheol seemed to realize something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what to do.

He simply scratched his head furiously, turning it bright red.

Despite the awkwardness between the two men, the girls had no thoughts beyond terror.

They could only gape in shock at the massive figure that seemed beyond human proportions, while clicking their tongues at Jung Seojoon’s casual conversation with him.

“By the way,” Ma Ducheol said, turning to look at the two women.
“Aren’t our bright young ladies forgetting their manners in front of an elder? Are you shy?”

Ma Ducheol burst into laughter as he made the joke. However, to those standing before him, it was less of a joke and more of a threat—a looming fear. They felt an overwhelming urge to run away immediately.

“Hello…”
“My apologies…”

“That’s better, that’s better. Now, let’s see~.”

Ma Ducheol pulled a wallet out of his jacket pocket and took out four 50,000 won bills, handing two each to Kim Bom and Choo Minji.

“Buy yourselves some snacks.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine…”
“I think I’m allergic to cash…”

“Tsk! If an elder gives you something, you should take it.”

“Thank you…”
“May you live a long and prosperous life…”

Satisfied, Ma Ducheol nodded with a contented smile.

“Take good care of our Jinseong—no, Seojoon here. Please.”

He was about to say more but suddenly stopped, his gaze meeting Jung Seojoon’s over the two women’s shoulders. Beads of sweat began to form on his bald head.

“Uh, you’ll be visiting Junsoo in the hospital, right? Let me give you a ride.”

Like a man fleeing the scene, Ma Ducheol hurriedly left the house.

****

The hospital room at Shinhwa Hospital, where Baek Junsoo had been moved, was lively with chatter. It was a stark contrast to the usual quiet visits with just one person. If it weren’t for Kim Bom, the daughter of the hospital director, they might have been kicked out by now.

“Junsoo, I’ll take these ladies back home now,” said Ducheol.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Ducheol and Junsoo had already enjoyed a warm reunion earlier in the day. After hearing the full story, Ducheol had tried to rush to the detention center, but Junsoo barely managed to stop him.

As Ducheol was leaving the hospital room, he hesitated, waving awkwardly toward Seojoon.

“Seojoon, goodbye.”

It was painfully awkward. Perhaps some lessons in social interaction were in order.

“Pfft.”

Choo Minji laughed, playfully smacking Ducheol on the arm.

“Anyone would think you’re afraid of Seojoon. Hey, Kim Bom! Aren’t you coming? Big bro is giving us a ride!”

Choo Minji, with her natural sociability, was already addressing Ducheol like a close friend. Meanwhile, Kim Bom remained scared, hiding behind Seojoon.

“I’ll just go with my dad. You go ahead, unnie.”

“Okay~ Bye!”

Ducheol and Choo Minji left first. After making sure they were gone, Kim Bom also left the hospital room, her steps toward her father feeling much lighter than before.

“Wow, what chaos,” Junsoo remarked with a chuckle.

Seeing him laugh so freely now brought Seojoon a sense of relief.

“Right? It was better when I came alone, huh?”

“Completely.”

The two continued chatting casually about various topics. It was different from before—conversations flowed easily now, and it truly felt like they had become close friends.

“Seojoon, how are you so good at fighting? Did you train or something?”

“No, I was just born with it.”

“Oh… I see. Anyway, I’m jealous. I wish I could be stronger, but it’s just not happening.”

Junsoo spoke with a hint of disappointment. He had always been bad at physical activities, preferring to read books or draw rather than play or work out.

“Junsoo.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve realized something in life. True strength isn’t in your fists.”

Seojoon tapped his head lightly and then made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s in knowledge and money.”

“……”

“No matter how good you are at fighting, you’ll have to bow to someone smarter or wealthier than you.”

Junsoo stared at Seojoon before speaking up.

“Uncle.”

“What?”

Seojoon replied instinctively, only to realize what he had said. His eyes widened in surprise.

“W-what did you just say?”

“What you said just now—it’s exactly what my uncle used to say.”

“Oh…”

Seojoon let out a small laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. There was no way Junsoo could know he was the uncle he spoke of.

“I should get going. My parents are waiting.”

Stretching, Seojoon stood up from the guardian’s sofa.

“See you.”

As he waved and walked to the door, Junsoo’s voice called out from behind him, quieter than before.

“Seojoon, the nurse told me today—it was you who saved me back then, wasn’t it?”

Damn, he’d left too many breadcrumbs. The hospital Junsoo had been taken to after his suicide attempt had been this one.

“……”

A brief silence fell.

Then Junsoo spoke again, his words dispelling Seojoon’s concerns.

“I won’t ask why. But promise me one thing. If I ever tell you I want to repay that favor, don’t refuse me.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t do it expecting…”

“We’re friends, right? Friends make promises.”

Friends.

The word brought a smile to Seojoon’s face.

“Alright. Make sure to repay me someday.”

*****

With everyone gone, the hospital room fell silent. A sense of emptiness filled Baek Junsoo’s heart. He had been used to being alone, but now he realized how comforting it was to have company—even more so when it was more than one person.

“Friends…”

He didn’t know why he had uttered such an embarrassing word, but it had been genuine.

“Sigh…”

Junsoo picked up the shopping bag left by Ma Ducheol earlier. Ducheol had come back briefly to drop it off, asking only that Junsoo call him later.

Inside the bag were two envelopes, one manila and the other white. Junsoo took out the manila envelope first, pausing when he saw the name written on it: Baek Jinseong.

It was handwriting he had seen many times before.

In a hurry, he pulled out the contents.

“……”

It was his uncle’s will. The handwriting was unmistakably his uncle’s. The date indicated it had been written just days before his death.

Though he didn’t understand why such a document had been left behind, the contents were clear.

The will stated that only a portion of his uncle’s estate, including the house, would go to his nephew, while the rest would be donated to society. Any shares in the company that would automatically transfer to him due to regulations were to be renounced.

“At last…”

Baek Junsoo let out a short breath after reading it.

Junsu felt an inexplicable lightness as he looked at the words “JS Group,” fully understanding their meaning. Despite the enormous fortune he was relinquishing, there was no trace of regret. What remained was not only sufficient but abundant.

If before he had felt burdened, as though carrying a heavy, terrifying load, now he felt like a simple, wealthy individual.

After closing the envelope of documents, he turned his attention to the white envelope. Inside was a piece of paper folded into a neat triangle.

Unfolding it revealed a sheet as large as the will itself. However, there was only a single line written on it:

“Live doing what you want.”

“Pfft.”

A cheerful laugh escaped Baek Junsu’s lips. It was so typical of his uncle to say something like that.

But the laughter was short-lived.

Sadness quickly overtook him as memories of how he had treated his uncle in the past flooded back. How he had lashed out and spoken harshly to the man. It hadn’t been his uncle’s fault that his father had met such a fate, yet Junsu had blamed him and harbored resentment every day.

In the end, it was his uncle who had taken him in.

“Sigh…”

He set the letter down and gazed out the window at the night sky. The moon hung high above, reminding him of the times his uncle, after a few drinks, would sit on the veranda and look up at the heavens.

Baek Junsu picked up his phone and dialed a number—his art academy.

“Hello, Director.”
-“Oh, Junsu! How are you feeling? Are you better now?”

“I’m… quitting art.”

-“W-what? Why? You’re so talented! Is this because of a slump? That’s just temporary….”

“I need strength.”

-“…What?”

“Thank you for everything until now.”

Click.

The director tried calling back, but Junsu rejected the call. His uncle had always said that if you’re going to end something, do it decisively to avoid regrets.

Junsu dialed another number—Ma Ducheol.

-“Hey.”
“Uncle Ducheol.”
-“So, did you read everything?”
“Yes, but where did you find this?”

****

Ma Ducheol, seated in the driver’s seat, rubbed his forehead with his hand. Every time that boy made a move like this, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“Well…”

Ducheol cupped his phone and turned to look at me, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Where should I say I found the will, boss?”

“In the guest room on the second floor, behind the folding screen.”

“Yes, boss.”

Ducheol spoke into the phone again.

“Behind the folding screen in the guest room on the second floor.”

Phew.

Thankfully, the conversation continued without issue, though Ducheol tapped his head a few more times in frustration.

“Alright, Junsu. Send the will to Attorney Yoo Jungyeol, the one we met last time. Got it? Yeah, good, good.”

After hanging up, Ducheol turned to look at me.

“Ha… That kid Junsu talks a lot more these days.”

“Good. What was he talking about earlier?”

“He asked me to buy him some workbooks. Says he wants to study. Tsk, tsk.”

“That kid should focus on working out instead. He’s so scrawny it’s worrying.”

“By the way, boss.”

“What is it?”

“Earlier, while eating with Junsu, I noticed something odd. When he saw kids around his age passing by, he seemed to shrink back.”

“…….”

“Is there something I should keep an eye on?”

Ducheol didn’t know the details. He was only aware that Kim Changsik had used students from the same school to ambush Junsu.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Understood, boss.”

Ducheol never questioned my conclusions.

After a brief silence, Ma Ducheol glanced at the rearview mirror and made a subtle twisting motion with his wrist, as if tilting a soju glass.

“Boss, how about a drink tonight? I’ve got a good spot lined up.”

“No, just take me home. My parents are worried.”

“You mean Mr. Jung? If he keeps pestering you, I can arrange a meeting…”

“…….”

“Apologies, boss.”

Ducheol started driving, the streetlights outside speeding past the window.

“Let’s listen to some music.”

“Sure, boss. What genre today?”

“Piano.”

Ducheol opened the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat. A folded piece of white paper tumbled out, along with a pile of others. All were drafts of letters I had started writing to Junsu but abandoned.

“Ah…”

Ducheol turned to look at me, clearly flustered. His eyes darted nervously.

“Why do you have those?”

“Well… your feelings for Junsu are so valuable that…”

“Throw them all away. Burn them.”

“Yes, boss.”

From the pile of papers, Ducheol pulled out a CD. It was an album by composer Kim Kwangmin. With practiced ease, he slipped it into the car’s audio system. Soon, a beautiful piano melody filled the car—the piece titled ‘The Letter I Couldn’t Send.’

“But, boss,” Ducheol began.

“What?”

“Don’t you feel any regret?”

“About what?”

“Your shares in the company. The company wouldn’t have grown so large without you, so isn’t it right for you to keep them? I can serve as Junsu’s guardian and stay by his side. Wouldn’t you consider amending things?”

“Ducheol, money can always be earned again. But life is different. I don’t want you or Junsu to end up in danger. My family matters more to me than money.”

“But, boss…”

“And Kim Changsik has already crossed the line. If he dared once, who knows what he might do next.”

“That bastard… I’ll take care of him myself!”

Ducheol clenched his fists and shouted, unable to hold back anymore.

“I told you before—acting rashly will get us all killed. Be patient. I’ll make sure to finish him myself.”

“Understood…”

“But Ducheol.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Being Junsu’s guardian is a good idea. I’ve been uneasy about it for a while.”