No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Chapter 60: Student Music Festival (5)

Even though the stage was now empty, the audience remained enveloped in the lingering echoes of the music. Their hearts felt full, as if something profound had taken root within them. Baekjung’s sudden departure had done little to disrupt the emotional resonance left by the performance.

“Wow…”

Eom Jichun stroked his chin, letting out a breath.

What could he even say?

It had been an incredible experience.

Despite his wife and son both being musicians, Eom Jichun had rarely attended concerts. He had always been too busy or assumed they were nothing special.

His first impression now was simple: This was beyond anything I expected.

The music had shaken him to his core, and for a moment, he felt he could finally understand his wife and son’s passion for music. He had to admit there was an indescribable power in music.

“Honey, that man earlier… I just remembered. He’s the same one who played the organ at the church before.”

His wife gripped his wrist tightly as she spoke.

“Oh… the one from back then?”
“Wait a minute… Didn’t you say that student, Baekjung, is friends with our Deokgu?”
“Yes, I did.”
“To think our Deokgu has such an extraordinary friend…”

Eom Jichun and his wife were devout believers. They credited their faith for helping them survive the relentless threats from gangsters in the past. A few weeks ago, his wife had attended a church concert, returning overwhelmed with gratitude and going on about the organist who had moved her so profoundly. The other churchgoers had echoed her sentiments, leaving them all curious about who it could have been.

“To think it was that guy…”

Suddenly, Eom Jichun heard Jung Seojoon’s voice echo in his mind.

“Prosecutor.”
“This is a school the kids attend.”
“So what?”
“You need to consider how this affects your son. Acting like this doesn’t make you a good father.”
“What? A good father? How dare you lecture me, you little punk? What do you know?”
“Calm down.”
“Oh, so you’re the leader of this group of delinquents, huh? You damn wretch! How dare you corrupt this sacred school…!”

Eom Jichun let out a long sigh. In his anger, he had hurled far too many harsh words.

“Ugh…”

For some reason, guilt settled over him.

Meanwhile, his wife, beaming with pride, began bragging to the woman seated next to her. She was excited to announce that the vocalist about to perform was their son—and that Baekjung, their son’s close friend, was an extraordinary talent.

“Honey, I think it’s starting.”
“Oh? Right, right…”

Eom Jichun adjusted his posture, pushing aside his stray thoughts to focus on the upcoming performance featuring his son.

Clap, clap, clap, clap…

As before, the chamber ensemble members entered the stage to applause from the audience and took their seats. The only noticeable difference this time was their number—barely twenty musicians remained.

Shortly after, the atmosphere on stage grew chaotic as about thirty students in school uniforms filed out from the waiting room.

Each of them carried an instrument, but their expressions betrayed nervousness and inexperience.

Some couldn’t find their seats and looked around frantically, while others tripped over chairs or were overwhelmed by the audience, their eyes darting nervously.

It was clear this was their first time in such a setting.

-What’s this?
-Why are there suddenly students on stage?

As murmurs filled the audience, a girl seated in the first violin row suddenly yelled, “What are you all doing? Hurry up!”

It was Kim Bom.

Her outburst was met with laughter from Han Yeoreum, seated beside her, who stomped her feet in amusement.

At this, some audience members began to recognize the students.

-Isn’t that ‘No Redemption’…?
-It’s them… from Baekjung’s YouTube channel.
-I thought they disbanded…?

Subscribers to Baekjung’s channel immediately identified the students as members of the “No Redemption” orchestra, a group prominently featured in his content.

After much fumbling, the students finally found their seats. Next, Eom Deokgu walked onto the stage, receiving applause as he did so. Dressed in a formal tailcoat with his hair neatly combed back, he exuded the poise of a soloist, though his face betrayed some nervousness as he stood beside the conductor’s podium.

“Who’s son is that? He’s so handsome. And are the other students his school friends? He must’ve been thrilled to perform with his clubmates.”

“….”

Eom Jichun felt conflicted.

The same kids he had personally disbanded were now performing alongside his son. He didn’t know the full story, but there was an odd mix of unease and relief—like finally scraping off a stubborn stain.

“Jung Seojoon… Was this his doing too?”

Two months ago, after the orchestra club had disbanded, Eom Jichun had learned about its original purpose: it had been a framework to manage the school’s delinquents, keeping them in line through a structured hierarchy. Surprisingly, the system had been the brainchild of a single student.

At first, he hadn’t believed it. With Poonggwang High School notorious for its troubled students, the idea that one student could create such a system seemed absurd.

But it turned out to be true.

Despite the allegations of violence used to enforce the system, it had been undeniably effective. Even so, Eom Jichun hadn’t let up on the pressure against the school. He feared what might happen if a student with such capabilities suddenly changed their mind.

And, though he would never admit it aloud, he had been afraid.

In Seojoon’s piercing gaze, he had seen the shadow of his lifelong rival, Baek Jinseong.

“Of all names, he even chose Baekjung as his alias…”

Now, standing in this concert hall, Eom Jichun felt the sting of his decisions.

Jung Seojoon had revived the Poonggwang High Orchestra and brought it to a bigger stage—this time with his own son at the forefront.

It was humiliating, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Whether it was genius or malice, this kind of subtle, almost mocking maneuver felt all too familiar—reminiscent of Baek Jinseong’s own style.

“No… If it were him, he’d have taken center stage himself…”

Unlike Seojoon, Baek Jinseong would never have exited the stage first.

The hall fell silent as soft footsteps began to echo.

The audience turned toward the door where the conductor was expected to enter, waiting for them to appear.

-Huh?
-Over there…

But the sound wasn’t coming from the expected direction.

Instead, a figure emerged from the shadows between the stage and the pipe organ, stepping out from the darkened section of the seating connected by stairs.

A man in a black tailcoat with long hair slicked back.

It was Jung Seojoon.

His expression was as composed as ever as he made his way forward, passing through the seated students of “No Redemption.”

As if on cue, every member of the student group rose in unison at his approach.

The audience remained silent, watching Seojoon’s deliberate steps and his hands with questioning gazes.

“That’s…”

Eom Jichun’s eyes fixed on the thin stick in Jung Seojoon’s right hand. He wasn’t deeply knowledgeable about music, but even he knew what it was:

A conductor’s baton.

And anyone holding it was the conductor.

-What?
-Baekjung is conducting?

As the murmurs among the audience began to grow, Jung Seojoon stepped onto the conductor’s podium and immediately bowed deeply toward the audience. The student members of the Poonggwang High ensemble followed suit, bowing in perfect unison—a gesture borne of familiarity and discipline.

In contrast, the Korean University students stood still, not bowing. Traditionally, the conductor bowed on behalf of the ensemble, and they adhered to that convention.

Clap, clap, clap…

The applause was noticeably weaker than it had been at the start of the Organ Symphony. The audience was still processing what was happening.

Jung Seojoon was a pianist.

They could understand him playing the organ—it wasn’t unheard of for prodigies like him, especially one trained in Europe, to master multiple instruments. But conducting was another matter entirely. Conducting required a wholly different skill set.

-……

When Seojoon straightened from his bow, the applause dwindled to silence. He stood motionless for a moment, gazing ahead with his usual impassive expression, before turning his back to the audience.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at Eom Deokgu. A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if asking, Are you ready?

Eom Deokgu, catching his gaze, cleared his throat and gave a small nod.

Seojoon closed his eyes for a brief moment before raising the baton. Its tip trembled slightly, a barely perceptible sign of tension that only he would notice.

“Whew…”

He exhaled deeply, and the concert hall fell into complete stillness.

Every eye in the audience, every member of the ensemble, focused intently on that slim, raised baton—Seojoon’s eleventh finger.

One.

Two.

Three.

With the count in his mind, Seojoon brought the baton down, and the violins and violas began furiously bowing their strings.

[Da-da-da-da-da-da—]

The urgent and unsettling rhythm echoed through the hall, mimicking the sound of galloping hooves. The cellos and contrabasses followed with a dark, weighty harmony, while the woodwinds added a haunting melodic undercurrent.

[Da-da-dan! Da-dan! Da—]

Seojoon’s baton carved lines through the air—sometimes light, sometimes commanding. Under his precise gestures, dozens of individual sounds coalesced into one cohesive force.

“This… this is…”

Eom Jichun’s wife spoke with tear-brimmed eyes.

“It’s The Erlkönig—Deokgu’s favorite piece.”

Franz Schubert’s The Erlkönig, originally a lied, had been arranged for orchestra.

-……

Hearing the name, Eom Jichun recalled a video he had seen on the “No Redemption” channel. The piano piece Jung Seojoon had performed in that video had been The Erlkönig. He remembered it clearly, but he hadn’t known it was his son’s favorite.

[Da-da-da-da—]

As the fast but ominous prelude filled the air, Eom Deokgu opened his eyes. Extending one hand slowly, he began to sing.

[Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?]
(Who rides so late through the night and wind?)

His voice was familiar yet transformed. A baritone, Eom Deokgu possessed a vocal range that combined the depth of a bass with the brilliance of a tenor.

[Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind.]
(It is the father with his child.)

The song was performed in its original German, with subtitles projected on large screens on either side of the stage.

[The father cradles his child warmly as they ride.]

Lowering his outstretched hand, Eom Deokgu paused his singing.

The orchestra surged forward, its sound growing louder and more urgent. The violins raced like wild horses, and Seojoon’s baton cracked through the air like a whip, driving the ensemble forward.

“Deokgu’s doing well, right?” Eom Jichun asked nervously.

His wife, her voice thick with emotion, nodded. “Yes… he’s improved so much already.”

[Da-da-da-da…]

Seojoon motioned with his left hand, signaling the orchestra to soften. The volume dropped, and Deokgu pressed a hand to his chest, singing in a deeper, bass-like tone.

[My son, why do you hide your face in fear?]

Then, reaching forward with an outstretched hand, his voice shifted higher, closer to that of a tenor.

[Father, do you not see the Erlking over there?]
(The Erlking cloaked and crowned?)

As Deokgu pointed to the darkened rear of the stage, a small light flickered on, illuminating a figure seated at the organ.

Shrouded in black with a hood drawn low, the figure’s slender silhouette revealed it to be a woman.

[My son, it is only mist drifting through the air.]

As Deokgu’s voice resonated, the figure stood, extending pale, delicate hands from the folds of the cloak. Her long, crimson-painted nails gleamed under the light, and she began to sing in a voice both chilling and ethereal.

[Dear child, come with me now.]
[Let us play games of delight.]

Swaying her hands gently, she continued.

[At my palace, colorful flowers bloom in abundance.]
[I have golden garments to gift you.]

As her haunting song ended, the light over her dimmed.

Deokgu reclaimed the audience’s attention, raising his face with a look of terror as he extended a trembling hand toward them.

[Father! My father! Do you not hear it?]
[The Erlking whispering softly to me?]

His performance had transformed into a masterful dual role, switching between father and child with variations in tone and expression.

Once more, the light on the organ chair flickered on, but this time it revealed more figures. Three women in matching cloaks and hoods stood behind the singer.

[Dear child, won’t you come with us?]

The first woman’s voice was even softer and sweeter than before.

[My daughters wait for you.]

The three women swayed gracefully, their movements elegant and restrained, adding a visual rhythm to their haunting words.

[They will dance for you every night.]
[They will sing to you until you sleep.]

As the light over them dimmed once again, the orchestra’s sound swelled dramatically under Seojoon’s expanded gestures. He demanded even more urgency and intensity from the ensemble, and they responded in kind.

Deokgu, now emboldened, sang with even greater power to match the rising intensity of the music.

[Father! My father! Can you not see them?]
[The Erlking’s daughters lurking in the shadows?]

As Eom Deokgu’s voice resonated through the hall, his eyes shimmered with exhilaration, reflecting not just his passion for the performance but also the subtle guidance of Jung Seojoon and his baton.

“Our Deokgu… he looks so happy, doesn’t he?” Eom Jichun’s wife whispered, clasping her hands tightly as tears welled in her eyes.

It had been so long since she’d seen such a radiant expression on her son’s face. Since he had gone abroad to study, even his smiles had grown rare.

“You haven’t seen him like this in a long time either, have you?”

When no response came, she turned to her husband.

“…Honey?”

Eom Jichun sat motionless, staring intently at the stage, his face drawn into a serious expression. It was as though he believed the father his son sang of—the one trembling in fear—was him.

‘Dad… I’m scared. Some men came to my school, and they’re…’
‘It’s fine. Nothing will happen. Just focus on going to school; I’ll take care of everything.’

Memories from years ago resurfaced, of moments when he had brushed aside his son’s concerns with empty reassurances. Back then, he’d convinced himself that being a good father meant throwing himself into work and providing, nothing more.

“Deokgu…” he murmured.

On stage, Jung Seojoon’s baton moved ceaselessly, slicing the air as he led the orchestra. His energy never waned as he worked to spotlight Eom Deokgu’s performance.

When musicians rushed ahead, he calmed them with a gesture; when others lagged, he encouraged them forward. His baton seemed to plant countless ears and eyes across the stage, ensuring no sound went astray.

The ensemble, in turn, poured their efforts into their playing, following the cues they had practiced tirelessly under Seojoon’s direction. While their performance lacked the polish of the earlier Organ Symphony, the raw passion radiating from the stage was unmatched.

[—–!]
[—–!]

The haunting accompaniment continued as the cloaked woman descended from the shadowed audience and crossed the stage. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she weaved through the orchestra, finally stopping to stand to Seojoon’s left.

[I truly adore you.]

She reached out and lightly touched Seojoon’s shoulder.

[Your beauty captivates me. If you won’t come to me willingly…]

Her voice softened to a whisper before erupting into a piercing scream:

[I’ll take you by force!]

Her menacing song brought the orchestra to a fever pitch. Seojoon’s baton painted invisible shapes in the air, while the ensemble responded, molding sound into those shapes with precision and intensity.

[—–!]
[—–!]

As the orchestra’s crescendo reached its peak, Seojoon swung his baton in a sharp, decisive arc.

Silence.

All the music stopped abruptly, plunging the hall into an eerie stillness.

Seojoon extended his baton high and pointed it toward the rear of the stage.

Flash!

Lights illuminated the darkened seating area behind the stage, revealing a choir of fifty men and women standing in perfect formation.

Draped in black cloaks with their hoods drawn, they stretched their arms forward as their voices erupted like thunder:

[Father! Oh, Father!]
[The Erlking is dragging me away! He’s hurting me!]

Their cries, harmonized to perfection, reverberated through the concert hall like a storm.

[Aahhhh—-!]
[Aahhhh—-!]

Amid the choir’s flawless harmony, Deokgu struck his chest with his fist and opened his mouth wide to sing:

[Father! Oh, Father!]
[The Erlking is dragging me away! He’s hurting me!]
[Save me! Save me!]

As Deokgu’s solo ended, the choir echoed his words with their thunderous refrain.

[Father! Oh, Father!]
[The Erlking is dragging me away! He’s hurting me!]

The mournful, tragic tone of the piece earned its reputation as a terrifying song. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavy on the audience, who sat frozen in silence, captivated by the unfolding drama.

The choir’s voices reached a shattering climax, their volume and intensity threatening to overwhelm the hall.

[Mein Vater! Mein Vater!]
[Jetzt faßt er mich an! Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!]

Just as the fifty voices seemed poised to burst the audience’s hearts, Seojoon swept his baton forcefully.

The choir fell silent, and the orchestra’s accompaniment ceased.

The only figure moving on stage was Eom Deokgu. Slowly, he raised his bowed head and extended a hand forward. Without accompaniment, his unadorned voice rang out, tender and sorrowful:

[The father, seized by fear, spurred his horse forward faster…]

His gaze turned to the audience, landing on one person—his father, Eom Jichun.

His voice trembled as though pleading:

[But when he reached home, cradling the child’s lifeless body in his arms…]

Seojoon thrust his right arm into the air, slicing downward with authority.

Deokgu and the choir erupted into a gut-wrenching cry:

“Kind war tot!” (The child was dead!)
[Kind war tot!]
[Kind war tot!]

Even as the performance ended, the echoes of the final phrase reverberated throughout the concert hall, lingering like a shadow.

Then the spell broke.

The audience erupted into cheers and applause, rising to their feet in an overwhelming ovation.

Amid the standing crowd, Eom Jichun remained seated, staring blankly at the words displayed on the screen at the back of the stage:

“The child was already dead.”

His eyes reddened, and a single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek.

The weight of the guilt he had hidden behind excuses of doing his best broke through, falling like the tear on his face:

The guilt of a father.