No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 21: No Redemption (2)

Choo Minji thought.

I want to punch him.

I seriously want to beat him up.

She had poured a significant amount of money into this content project. Most of it had gone into recruiting the performers, but she didn’t regret it at all. They had both the looks and the talent. Choi Woochul and Yoo Ahra were rising stars in the classical music scene, and getting them onboard was a coup.

When their appearances were confirmed, she didn’t have time to worry about finances; she was too busy celebrating the success to come.

But…

“Minji, this studio has weak soundproofing, don’t you think?” “Minji, you know I was the one who arranged for Ahra to join, right? You owe me one~.” “Minji, which university are you aiming for? Who’s accompanying your entrance audition?” “I’ll do it for you. Why don’t we grab a meal after the shoot?”

The problem was Choi Woochul.

An absolute nuisance. There was no one more obnoxious.

She should have known from the moment Yoo Ahra frowned at the mere mention of his name. Initially, Minji had thought there might be some unspeakable history between the two, given that they’d studied under the same teacher. But as it turned out, that teacher was Choi Woochul’s mother, and Yoo Ahra had been desperately trying to stay in her good graces to advance in the industry.

If she had known this earlier, she would have reconsidered inviting him.

In the end, Choi Woochul held the upper hand in this project.

Sigh… I should’ve just stayed quiet for a while…

Thanks to the recently uploaded “Baekjung” video, she wasn’t in any immediate financial trouble. Subscribers were pouring in, and she could have taken her time preparing the next project. But she had taken her grandmother’s advice too literally: “Strike while the iron is hot.”

“What exactly is the problem here?”

In the break room, Minji spoke in frustration, but Woochul simply shook his head.

“Minji, think about it. There are hundreds of piano pieces. Who could possibly have them all memorized?” 

“If we narrow it down to well-known ones, it’s not that many.” 

“What if someone plays a piece the other person absolutely doesn’t know? It’ll all end right there.” 

“Well, that’s….” 

“Minji, movies should stay in the realm of fantasy. Even if you brought in the great Jo Sanghyuk, this would still be tough.” 

“Then why did you agree in the first place…? Ugh, fine. What do you want, then?” 

“Let’s still do the live performance but rehearse ahead of time with predetermined pieces.”

It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a demand.

Minji was reminded once again: Choi Woochul was in charge of this project.

“…Fine. I’ll push the broadcast back by thirty minutes. Just finish it by then.” 

“Fifteen minutes is enough.” Always pretending to be polite, he now casually dropped into informal speech.

“I’m just giving us a buffer….” 

“No need. I’m winning anyway, so what’s the big deal?”

Minji didn’t want to talk to him anymore and left the break room first.

The studio was bustling. Staff members were gathered around someone, deep in conversation. At the center of the group was Jung Seojoon, engaging in his characteristic calm and composed manner.

He definitely seemed more at ease around adults than his fellow students.

“Wow… Look at Ahra flirting with a high schooler….”

It was understandable to some extent. Jung Seojoon was showered with affection from a renowned professor, and being close to him meant guaranteed benefits—no questions asked. That applied to Minji as well.

“Seo—”

She almost called out to him but stopped.

An excellent idea had struck her—a way to give that obnoxious man a taste of his own medicine.

****

“Oppa, the fans are begging for it. Are you really not going to do it?”

Minji spoke in a sweet, nasal tone.

Yoo Ahra, watching this, smirked knowingly. She could guess what Minji was planning.

Having known Choi Woochul since childhood, Ahra was well aware of his conceit and vanity. He had an overinflated sense of pride.

And no manners whatsoever.

She’d always wanted to put him in his place but had held back because of his famous pianist mother.

“Haha, how about Ahra instead of me?”

Woochul grinned awkwardly, motioning toward Ahra.

Ahra looked at him and suppressed a derisive laugh. It was painfully obvious he was forcing himself to smile. She was still contemplating how to reject him when Minji interjected first.

“Everyone, what are you saying? That’s impossible! Our Woochul oppa, scared? No way!”

“What?”

For the first time, Woochul’s smile vanished. Minji had hit a nerve.

Woochul knew who Jung Seojoon was. While it hadn’t been widely publicized, rumors were rampant in the music world about the return of a prodigious talent—someone they called a “devil of genius.”

Choi Woochul could never forget Jung Seojoon. After all, it was Seojoon’s performance in the lobby of Shinhwa Hospital that had launched his career.

Originally, Woochul had been scheduled to play that day.

If Seojoon were to outshine him here, that moment could resurface, bringing unwanted attention. It might even impact his upcoming solo recital.

The risk was too great. He decided to avoid it.

“Oh.”

Woochul’s expression changed again, and he forced another smile.

“Come on~ That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

He walked over to Minji to check the comments, thinking he could diffuse the situation by playing along.

But the reaction was more intense than he’d expected.

The comments section was ablaze with demands for a piano battle between Woochul and Seojoon. Even though the rapid pace of the chat made it hard to track the dominant opinion, one thing was clear: most people were betting on Seojoon to win.

Some were outright accusing Woochul of being scared of a high school student.

Especially two people were causing chaos in the comments section: users with the IDs “Bom-i Princess” and “Hot Summer.”

– Bom-i Princess: “Totally chickened out. I mean, who could even compare?” – Hot Summer: “He is god! F*** you, Woochul!”

The two spammed the chat to the point they were muted, but not before completely derailing Choi Woochul’s composure.

“…Fine.”

“Sorry? What did you say, oppa?”

“I said fine.”

Choi Woochul’s smile vanished as he fixed his gaze on Jung Seojoon, who had been sitting calmly on the sofa the whole time, expressionless.

“You’re doing this, right?”

At Woochul’s words, all eyes in the studio turned to Seojoon. Scratching his head, Seojoon stood up with the air of someone heading to a convenience store, casually walked to the piano, and looked at Woochul.

“Can I pick the piano first?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Seojoon turned to look at Choo Minji, who was visibly thrilled, her expression practically shouting how much fun she was having.

“Which one’s the more expensive piano?”

“The one on the right.”

Seojoon took a seat at the piano on the left.

The comment section exploded at the scene.

“Pfft,” Yoo Ahra bit her lower lip to hold back laughter.

In truth, both pianos were the same brand and model. There might be a slight price difference, but an average person wouldn’t be able to tell them apart by sound alone. It was obvious that Seojoon and Minji had exchanged that banter just to mess with Woochul.

‘Why are they both so cute?’ Yoo Ahra smirked and stepped out of the camera frame.

“……”

Choi Woochul’s brow twitched as he grudgingly sat down at the piano on the right, glaring at Seojoon with a hardened expression. Seojoon, unfazed, lightly ran his fingers over the keys.

“Alright, alright!”

Choo Minji stood between the two grand pianos.

“Is this really happening? For real?”

She swayed her body playfully, exuding her usual liveliness.

“Okay, okay, I won’t drag this out. Why are you all so mad? You didn’t come to see me today? Wait, wait! Don’t leave!”

Minji was buying time for Seojoon, giving him a chance to decide on a piece for the battle.

Choi Woochul, raised as an elite pianist from a young age, might have the advantage in terms of repertoire memorization. Seojoon’s genius was undeniable, but the experience gap was likely significant.

“Minji.”

Woochul called her.

“I’m short on time. Can we get started?”

“Oh, oppa, my apologies!” Minji bowed slightly, a forced smile on her face. As she backed away, she silently cursed him under her breath.

Now, the studio lighting illuminated only the two pianos and their performers.

Choi Woochul smirked as he looked at Seojoon.

“I’ll start. You seem a bit nervous.”

“Go ahead.”

“Let’s take it easy at first.”

Woochul exhaled deeply and closed his eyes before starting to play.

Liszt’s Tarantella.

It was one of Woochul’s signature pieces, one he was most confident in. Clearly, he intended to crush Seojoon right from the start.

“Wow, that’s harsh,” Yoo Ahra muttered with a scoff.

Tarantella, an Italian dance piece, was named after the uncontrollable movement that supposedly occurs after a tarantula bite. Known for its rapid tempo and relentless hammering of the keys, it was an incredibly challenging piece. It was easy to lose control of the rhythm in the heat of the moment.

Woochul had even previously agreed to intentionally make a minor mistake, knowing the difficulty would excuse it.

[Da-dan! Da-dan! Da-da-da-dan!]

This time, Woochul executed the piece flawlessly, his fingers flying across the keys like a tarantula spinning its web.

Moments later, he pressed the final note. [Da-dan—]

With a smug smile, Woochul looked at Minji.

“Well, well.”

His tone and expression were smug.

“Maybe I played something too difficult. Minji, should we call this an NG and start over?”

Even though it was a live broadcast, his shamelessness knew no bounds.

Minji clenched her fists in irritation, trying to ignore him as she turned toward Seojoon.

Her annoyance quickly turned into disbelief.

“…What the…?”

Seojoon was casually peeling a sticker off the piano lid. He didn’t look tense at all—in fact, he seemed bored.

Minji approached him and tapped his shoulder.

“What are you doing? It’s your turn.”

“Oh, sorry. It was bothering me.”

Seojoon’s indifference made Woochul’s composed façade falter again, his face twisting in irritation. Seojoon, unconcerned, placed his hands on the keys.

He exhaled briefly and began to play.

[Da-dan—Da-dan—Da-da-da-dan—]

The opening rhythm was identical to Woochul’s performance, with the same intensity and emphasis. It was so similar that it sounded like a copy-and-paste of Woochul’s rendition.

“Whoa.”

Yoo Ahra’s eyes widened in amazement.

She had thought Woochul’s performance was intense, but for Seojoon to replicate it so effortlessly—it was clear.

A genius is a genius.

“…Huh?”

What started as amazement quickly turned into shock.

It was at that moment they realized that Jung Seojoon had been gradually increasing the tempo.

“No… freaking… way…”

Before anyone noticed, the tempo had become noticeably faster. Playing such a rapid piece at this speed was astounding, but even more incredible was how each note remained crisp and precise, without a single mistake.

“No way… how’s he going to handle the next part…?”

The most challenging section was coming up. At this speed, it seemed utterly impossible to play it cleanly. But that assumption was shattered.

“This… this is insane!”

Yoo Ahra unconsciously stood up from her seat.

[Da-dan! Da-dan! Da-da-da-da-dan!]

Playing Tarantella at that tempo was nothing short of madness. Seojoon’s fingers moved so quickly that it was nearly impossible to follow them with the naked eye. His wrists and shoulders moved with such force and precision that it seemed as if he were locked in combat with the piano itself. Yet, the sound was neither harsh nor messy; it was both rich and delicate, utterly captivating.

“Ah…”

At that moment, a memory from her music theory professor’s lecture resurfaced in Yoo Ahra’s mind.

“In recent studies, it’s been revealed that Tarantella originated as a sword dance in Italy and Spain. It wasn’t just a simple dance piece—it was performed while wielding swords.”

The long-forgotten trivia gave her a new perspective. If Choi Woochul had resembled a tarantula spinning its web, Jung Seojoon was a swordsman slicing through a giant spider with a blade.

“It’s over… it’s completely over…”

Yoo Ahra shook her head. The comparison was almost cruel. While Woochul was skilled, Seojoon’s finesse and artistry were on an entirely different level. Woochul, despite his reputation as an accomplished pianist, was being thoroughly overshadowed. It was like watching a kindergartener compete against a prodigy.

[Da-dan—]

With the final note, Seojoon exhaled the breath he’d been holding. He looked at Woochul, a satisfied expression on his face, as if admiring his defeated prey.

“Unbelievable, seriously!”
“He absolutely crushed it!”

The staff erupted into cheers. Even though this was a competition of skill, not a formal performance, they openly applauded Seojoon alone. The viewers watching the live broadcast were just as ecstatic. Despite the limitations of hearing through speakers, Seojoon’s performance had a visual impact that left everyone stunned. The comment section was in chaos.

“This… this can’t…”

For Woochul, who had experienced it firsthand, the shock was beyond words.

How was this even possible?

He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It was as if he’d been struck over the head, leaving him utterly dazed. The only thought in his mind was to escape—to flee from this overwhelming talent that seemed impossible to overcome.

“I-I…”

Woochul, his face pale, began looking around the studio in desperation. His gaze landed on the clock hanging on the wall.

“My appointment… it’s time. Let’s call it a day here.”

“What a shame. I was having fun.”

Seojoon stood and approached Woochul, extending his hand for a handshake. He smiled politely and added another remark.

“Thank you for the excellent performance.”

“Y-yeah…”

“And for the advice earlier.”

“A-advice?”

“Yes, about how I should choose the Korea National University of Arts over Korea University. You said we’d make great seniors and juniors together.”

“…I said that?”

Woochul looked utterly dumbfounded, but Seojoon simply bowed.

“Thank you for your guidance. I’ll consider it.”

Yoo Ahra’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

The entire studio was being broadcast live on Choo Minji’s channel, one of the most popular channels among music students. There was no doubt that many students from Korea University were watching this.

“They’re going to riot…”

The two schools—Korea University and the Korea National University of Arts—were fierce rivals, with each fiercely proud of their institution. They had an unspoken rule to avoid comparisons. Yet Seojoon had just shattered that rule, using Woochul’s name to do so, and poked directly at their pride.

“You… you… what are you even saying…?”

“What do you mean?”

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

In the Korean music world, there were several powerful networks, and one of the most untouchable belonged to Professor Han Gwangsook of Korea University. She was known for her deep affection and unwavering support for Jung Seojoon.

“Choi Woochul… you’re finished…”

Yoo Ahra clicked her tongue as she glanced at Seojoon. He was still smiling faintly, his hand extended toward Woochul.

“I hope we can meet again.”

For a moment, Yoo Ahra thought she saw something sharp in Seojoon’s expression. Could it be…? Had he calculated every word and action?

If so, it was terrifying. He had just wielded social and professional pressure like a weapon.

“No way…”

Surely not. That warm face couldn’t possibly conceal such a devilish intent… could it?