No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 002: Passion

People used to whisper about my taste in music.

“A gangster, of all people?”
“It doesn’t suit him.”

What nonsense.
Since when was music bound by status or taste by circumstance?
It’s simple: you try it. If it’s sweet, you savor it; if it’s bitter, you spit it out.
Classical music was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted, so I consumed it hungrily.

“Hey, gangster.”
“Yes?”
“So, what instrument can you play?”

The female teacher’s question caught me off guard.

“Um…”

This was a problem.
I’d leapt into this situation with bold determination but hadn’t thought this far ahead.
Listening to music is easy; playing it requires training, something I’d conveniently forgotten.

“You can’t play anything, can you? Sorry, but we only take freshmen who aren’t music majors.”

Laughter rippled through the group of students.
Amid the chuckles, I caught stray comments like “He’s good-looking, though”—useless observations I ignored.

My focus stayed solely on the teacher.
Short bobbed hair, tall stature, flawless skin, and sharp features.
She didn’t seem much older than my previous self.

“Hey, are you listening to me? If you can’t play, leave.”
“I can play.”
“Oh, really? Show me.”
“Here?”
“Unless you’d prefer to wait until tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s the weekend, ma’am.”
“….”

The teacher’s frown deepened.
Around me, students stifled their laughter.

“Pfft!”
“He’s not wrong, though.”

“Fine. Show us now. Does anyone have an instrument he can borrow?”

At her words, most of the students raised their hands, holding up cheap-looking school-issued instruments.

“Go ahead and try something.”
“Yes, ma’am.”

I approached the students.
Some gazed at me with sparkling curiosity, but I ignored them.
None of the instruments they held were what I had in mind.

Thud.

I sat down, and the murmurs began.

“Wait, he’s sitting at the piano?”
“Isn’t he here to join the orchestra? Why’s he at the piano?”
“There’s no one in this group who can’t play piano already.”

I know.
But what choice do I have?
The only instrument I’ve ever touched is the piano.

Back at the orphanage, the piano was the only instrument available.

I lifted the grand piano’s lid and placed my hands on the smooth keys.
The sensation was familiar yet foreign.
The touch felt natural, as if my fingers had been waiting for this moment.

It seemed this body, Jung Seojoon’s, had some experience with the piano.

“How fortunate,” I muttered with a faint smile, closing my eyes.

What should I play?

Dozens of pieces raced through my mind before the teacher’s voice interrupted.

“Do you need sheet music?”
“No, thank you. I can’t read music.”

Laughter erupted again, louder this time.
I shut out the noise and focused inward.

After a brief moment of thought, I made my decision.
Beethoven led me here; it was only right to pay homage.

Piano Sonata No. 23.
“Appassionata.”
A message to the teacher, from me.

For Seo Sooji, life was dull.

She had graduated from music school, passed the teacher certification exam somehow, and ended up here.
After a few years on the job, she was assigned to oversee the school’s music club, hoping it would add some excitement to her routine.

Instead, it became a constant source of frustration.

“Again! Eunjung, your viola’s flat! And Tubist, can you please get your entrances right?”

It was chaos, as always.

Of the thirty-one club members, only seven had aspirations of majoring in music.

The quality was bound to be low.

With so few dedicated music majors, the orchestra club had to keep its repertoire simple. But the school had its own ideas, pushing for a regular concert to secure funding.
After that decision, nearly half the third-years quit, and it felt like the club’s closure was imminent.

“Sigh… let’s stop here for today.“

Seo Sooji placed her baton down with a deep sigh.

She was about to step off the podium when—

BANG!

The gym door slammed open, and a male student stepped inside.

What the? Was it the modeling club? But they were supposed to use the gym during lunch.

Before she could piece her thoughts together, the student strode right up to her, panting heavily, and declared:

“I don’t want to be a gangster anymore. I want to do music! Please accept me!”

She was dumbfounded.

What did he just say? Gangster?
Are delinquents these days calling themselves gangsters now?

In all her years, Seo Sooji had never encountered anyone like this. She had to clench her lips tightly to keep from laughing.

“Hey, gangster.“
“Yes?”
“So, what instrument can you play?”

She hadn’t expected the answer to be piano.

Seo Sooji was unimpressed. The orchestra didn’t need a pianist. Even when the club occasionally used piano, six of the seven music majors could already play it. There was no need for another.

Still, maybe he could read sheet music and pick up a new instrument. That would make him somewhat useful.

“I can’t read sheet music.”

Unbelievable.

A kid who can’t read music wants to play piano?
He was probably going to hammer out some random piece by Yiruma he’d memorized.

Still, her curiosity was piqued. At least it broke the monotony of her day. She decided to let him play.

Moments later, she had to rise from her seat in astonishment.

“This… this is impossible.”

The student’s hands flew over the keys, gliding with precision and confidence.
Not a single beat was off, the tempo unwavering as he performed the piece flawlessly.

This wasn’t just any random melody. It was Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 23, known as Appassionata.

Seo Sooji knew the piece well—it was her specialty. She also knew how impossibly difficult it was.
This wasn’t a piece an ordinary person could play.
Its intensity and complexity were so legendary that the nickname Appassionata was given to it after Beethoven’s death.

Yet this student wasn’t just playing it; he was owning it.
His interpretation was vivid, his expression alive, as if he were bending the piece to his will.

“Who… who is this kid?”

Around her, the other students were frozen, mouths agape.
Even the music majors looked disoriented, unable to process what they were witnessing.
This level of talent was rare, even in prestigious arts high schools.

Seo Sooji found herself walking over to him, standing by his side.
Only then did it hit her—he wasn’t using sheet music.

“What… are you?” she muttered to herself, her voice trembling.

Something is definitely strange about this body—this me.

I was never this good at piano. Sure, I’d always known I had some talent. But this? This was far beyond anything I’d ever been capable of.

It wasn’t just the ease with which my fingers moved.
Even more shocking was the way the sheet music appeared vividly in my mind.
It wasn’t as if I’d seen it before. This was the first time I’d encountered it, yet it was crystal clear, like recalling a scene from a comic I’d read countless times.

I couldn’t read sheet music in my old life. I’d never even tried to learn.
But now? It was as natural as breathing, as effortless as a Korean person reading Hangul.

What on earth was happening?

Was this part of the memories from this body?
Why now, all of a sudden?

I wanted to think deeply about it, but my fingers wouldn’t let me.
They pressed the keys with urgency, compelling me to play the next note, and the next.

“Shut up and keep playing,” they seemed to say.
“Focus on the music.”

“Fine.”

With a grin spreading across my face, I continued to play.

Lost in the music, I struck the black and white keys with abandon.
I let my body move freely, following the flow it desired.

After a few minutes, the final chords rang out:
[Ddan! Dda-dan—]

I hit the last note firmly and let out a deep breath.
Savoring the unidentifiable sense of refreshment, I opened my eyes and scanned the room.

“…”
-…

Everyone stared at me in stunned silence.

I glanced up at the teacher, standing close enough for her perfume to waft over me.

“How was it?” I asked.

She stammered, her expression bewildered.

“You… did you major in piano?”
“No, I just learned a bit when I was a kid.”
“This is more than just ‘a bit’…”
“So, am I accepted?”

Of course, I’d be accepted.
I knew my performance was exceptional. Even a fool could see that.

“Well… sorry, but no.”
“…Why not?”

“Your playing was outstanding—I’ll admit that. But unless we’re talking about a concerto, the orchestra doesn’t need a piano.”

“Ha… isn’t there any other way?”
“Well, since you can’t read sheet music—”
“That was a joke. I can read sheet music.”

I’d only just discovered this today, but it seemed true enough now.

The teacher gave me a knowing look, nodding as if to say I thought so.

“In that case, you’ll need to learn another instrument.”

She scanned the orchestra members.

“There’s no room in the winds section… The only spot left is…”

Her gaze settled on a group of instruments behind the cellos.
After a brief moment of deliberation, she turned back to me.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’ll give you homework. Practice for a week. If you can play a C major scale, you’re in.”
“A C what?”
“Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-Do.“
“Ah.”

Simple enough.

“What instrument is it?”

The teacher pointed toward the far back of the strings section.

“That’s the only spot we have open.”

Following her finger, I looked over.
Resting against a chair was a large string instrument, even taller than a person.

“A double bass?”

The contrabass, or double bass, is the lowest-pitched string instrument.
It occupies one of the deepest ranges among all instruments.
Resembling an oversized cello, its length is roughly two meters.
Its bow is made from bleached horsehair.

Typically, the player holds the instrument upright and plays while standing, employing either the French or German bow grip for bowing techniques…

What a load of nonsense.

I turned off my phone screen and shoved it into my pocket.

Apparently, the double bass is easier to learn compared to other string instruments.
Is that why they assigned it to me?

In any case…

“…”

I feel like a zoo animal on display.

Ever since I entered the classroom, the girls have formed a circle around me, chattering nonstop.

“Where are you transferring from?”
“Where do you live?”
“Did you join a club yet?”
“Can I have your number?”

The attention from female classmates, something I’d never experienced before, was disorienting but not unpleasant.
Most of them were young enough to feel more endearing than anything else.

“Heh.”
I chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s my first time in high school, so I’m still figuring things out. Take care of me.”
“First time?”
“This guy’s good-looking and funny!”

In contrast, the boys’ stares weren’t so friendly.
Some were undoubtedly replaying my little stunt in the gym earlier, particularly my ill-chosen declaration of being a “gangster.”

Yeah, I admit it. That was a mistake.
I’d gotten a bit—no, way too excited.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was lunchtime.

With a small entourage of girls escorting me, I made my way into the cafeteria.
I grabbed a tray, found a seat, and began to eat.

“Want to go to the snack bar after we finish eating?”
“I know where to get the best—”

Suddenly, the girls stopped mid-sentence.
Their faces shifted, and without a word, they got up and hurried away.

What caught their attention?

Looking up, I saw a girl standing in front of me.
She had long, wavy hair and slightly arched eyebrows. Her appearance was strikingly pretty, but her sharp features gave off an aura of defiance.
Her uniform was adorned with accessories, hinting at her likely being a rich kid.

“Hi,” she said.
“Yeah, hi. Who are you?” I replied.

“Why do you talk like that? Is it some kind of act?”
“An act, huh…”

This wasn’t the first time someone commented on my speech and mannerisms.
I knew they made me seem older than my age, but it couldn’t be helped.

I hadn’t interacted with kids my age since middle school.
Nearly a decade spent among older hyungs in a completely different world naturally shaped me.
Even when younger recruits joined later, the age gap meant I was treated as their senior.

Breaking these habits wasn’t easy.

“Maybe so,” I shrugged.

“Anyway, don’t you remember me?”
“Nope.”
“We met earlier in the gym.”
“Did we?”
“I’m the concertmaster.”
“Oh, the first violinist?”
“Finally, you remember. Or are you just pretending not to?”
“Now I remember,” I said.

“What is it?”
I pointed to her hands.
Her slender fingers were adorned with shiny, extravagant nails.

“I was wondering why your pitch kept dropping earlier. Turns out it was your nails.”

“What?”
“Keep them trimmed if you want to play properly.”

Returning to my meal, I noticed she sat down across from me.

“Follow me for a moment,” she said.

“Why?”
“The music teacher wants to see you.”
“Ms. Seo Sooji?”
“Yeah.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”

Was she planning to teach me the instrument today? Or was it something else?
Feeling both curious and excited, I followed her.

The destination, however, turned out to be the far corner of the schoolyard, where a container storage unit stood.
The air was thick with a noxious smell and hazy with smoke. This was the school’s blind spot.

“Hah…”

Smoking on school grounds this openly?
What a disgrace.
As an adult, I couldn’t just let this slide.

Maybe I should confiscate their stash and hold onto it myself…

As I debated internally, the girl who led me here spoke.

“Don’t blame me. You brought this on yourself.”

“…What?”

Before I could process her words, a group of boys emerged from the smoke and started walking toward me.
Among them, one boy stood out.

His massive frame towered over the others, and his forearms were covered in tattoos.
His face was rough and menacing.

How was someone like this a high school student?
If someone told me he was my age in my previous life, I’d believe them.

The big guy approached with heavy steps and a gravelly voice.

“You the transfer student?”

“Oh.”

I recognized this line from countless movies. Hearing it in real life, it had its charm.

“Guess it’s my turn now, huh?” I said.

“What?”

Clearing my throat, I spoke calmly.

“I’ll keep quiet and out of trouble. Don’t bother me.”