CC 03

Chapter 03

## 2. The Melody Is Not Yet Over (2)

After finishing his morning exercise, he returns home past nine o’clock, and his parents have come back from work.

On the faces of his parents, who had finished their grueling night’s work, the weight of life hung bead by bead, but upon seeing their son—whom they’d cherish even if he were in their eyes—they smile brightly.

“Our Suho, where did you go since morning?”

His father’s faint smile. He looks exhausted, but it’s not a forced smile. Suho takes off his tightly wrapped hood and wipes his sweat.

“Exercise.”

“Exercise? Exercise is what our son hates most in the world.”

“I’m going to try doing some from now on.”

“Heh heh, dear. Did you hear that Suho went out to exercise?”

His mother, who had been in the kitchen, pokes her head out. But worry settles on her face.

“Suho. Did you clean your room too?”

“Yes.”

“……”

His mother seems awkward about her son’s sudden change. But she doesn’t say anything more.

Soon, a late dinner for his parents and a morning meal for Suho begins.

Kimchi stew boiled with pork and seaweed.

Kimchi, stir-fried anchovies, braised black beans, and rolled omelette.

His mother’s day contained in the warm stew.

A mother’s cooking is the fragrance of a place called home.

At the table, Suho brings up the subject of a part-time job. His parents, who know well their son has no interest in studying, tell him to go ahead without a second thought, but his mother seems unable to let go of her regret that her son isn’t studying.

It’s a parent’s heart to want their child to do what they themselves couldn’t do and regretted.

His parents in his past life were the same.

His father, who taught French in Poland, and his mother, from a noble family who played piano well, lived not affluently but comfortably by taking in noble children attending the Warsaw Conservatory as boarders.

His parents didn’t push him to study to become a pianist. Just looking at how his first teacher was a violinist, you can’t say he received professional training from a young age.

His parents simply wanted their son to receive a good education.

Just then, Suho’s brow furrows slightly.

‘The memory of my name……’

He had thought Chopin’s memories coexisted because he had entered this body, but there is a name on the far side of Suho’s memories.

Hurrying through his meal and entering his room, Suho searches the name on his phone and makes a surprised face.

‘My name is known to people nearly 200 years in the future?’

Proud and embarrassed at the same time.

After looking through some of the search results, filled with nothing but praise, Suho blushes.

‘Even my weaknesses are laid bare.’

Chopin’s weakness.

It is a lack of grounding in symphony. Because in his whole life he had written piano concertos but not a single symphony encompassing the entire orchestra.

In fact, that is largely due to his first teacher.

He had recognized his genius as a child and said this:

‘Chopin is a genius. Teach him only the basics of music, and he will awaken the rest on his own.’

He truly taught only the basics and let him express freely without any musical coercion. In this way he published the two Polonaises in G minor and B-flat major, and the world was turned upside down.

The birth of a seven-year-old genius.

The famous music journal ‘Pamiętnik Warszawski’ ran a massive feature on it.

And the following year, his first concert was held at the Radziwiłł Palace.

Scratching his temple with his index finger out of slight embarrassment, Suho smiles brightly and shrugs his shoulders.

“First, the matter at hand.”

Lose weight. That’s the most important thing.

And one more thing.

From now on, he must be quiet.

Because it’s time for his parents to rest their weary bodies.

But that’s actually good.

Silence is what he loves most.

* * *

It was near the end of vacation when Suho found a part-time job.

After a desperate diet brought his weight down to 110 kg, his facial contours emerged somewhat and his pants hang loosely.

What a good world.

A world where you can find a part-time job with a phone.

After an interview at a restaurant, the owner told him to start work tomorrow, and he was thrilled.

Though it was a dishwashing-only position rather than serving because of his still-intimidating body, Suho, filled with hope that he could buy a piano as soon as he found a job, opens his first workday with a run as well.

‘If I run now, I can run two hours before work.’

He’s still far from his target weight.

He decided to do his pre-work run at Banpo Hangang Park, close to the restaurant.

In South Korea, where running has become a trend, there are many runners. Nodding to the people running alongside him, he thinks it’s much more enjoyable than running alone in the neighborhood.

‘That restaurant. It had a piano.’

He found out after getting the job. The restaurant where he’ll work serves French cuisine and, in the evening, invites pianists or violinists to perform—a high-end establishment.

‘Maybe after work I can secretly touch it.’

He wants to play the piano.

Thirty minutes into the run, sweat pours like rain. It’s much better than the first run, but Korea’s summer is too hot. After an hour his body grows heavy, and after an hour and a half he reaches his limit.

‘Still, it’s fun.’

He ran for an hour and a half. In his past life, his body couldn’t even run for two minutes.

Thinking about it makes him laugh. Everything has been enjoyable since his reincarnation.

Just as he plans to run ten more minutes, change into clean clothes at a nearby restroom, and head to work, he pushes for a final sprint—when a sound reaches him from somewhere.

A soft melody seeping in like breath.

The footsteps of emotion walking upon a slender string.

It’s the sound of a violin.

About 40 meters ahead, a woman is playing the violin. Suho perks up his ears at the sound of an instrument he hasn’t heard in a long time.

A melody like a beam of light blooming from the tip of the bow.

A timbre like wind scattering stars across the night sky.

A transparent sound that makes you close your eyes.

This is no ordinary skill.

She may not be at the level of performing in Poland, Austria, or Paris, but it’s the skill of someone who has received professional training—quite high level.

‘What kind of person is she?’

There are quite a few onlookers.

Suho maintains his running pace, then slowly stops among the onlookers. Thanks to his height, he can see the performer even from behind.

A beautiful woman who looks to be in her mid-thirties.

As the woman, who had been telling small stories dancing on the strings with her eyes closed, finishes one piece, the onlookers applaud.

The woman greets them with a bright smile. She is beautiful enough, but Suho’s eyes are fixed not on her but on the object behind her.

‘A piano?’

Why is there a piano on the Hangang riverside?

He’s curious. Why is there a piano outdoors like this?

A black piano beneath a roof that serves as an outdoor rest area. A violinist performing beside it. It’s an ideal space that a musician absolutely cannot pass by.

Seeing a small sign standing next to the piano, Suho approaches, narrows his eyes, and reads the writing on the sign.

‘Piano Seoul Project—a street piano anyone can freely play.’

His eyes snap open. Anyone can play?

An open space for music harmonizing with the night view of the Banpo Bridge Moonlight Rainbow Fountain. He hadn’t known such a place existed.

Seeing the piano, his whole body tingles.

He wants to play right now. But now is another’s time to perform. He must not interfere with her time.

The violinist, receiving the crowd’s applause, speaks while looking at the piano.

“There’s a piano here. Who comes to mind for you when you see a piano?”

The onlookers hesitate, then say names.

“Liszt.”

“Rachmaninoff?”

“Schubert!”

“Chopin!”

His own name came from someone’s mouth. Proud and embarrassed.

The violinist nods emphatically.

“Yes, Chopin. My favorite composer. Today I thought I’d play Chopin’s music.”

Suho’s eyes snap wide open.

‘My music?’

His own music played by the hands of someone 200 years later. What would his music sound like played on violin rather than piano?

Suho suddenly lifts his wristwatch and checks the time.

‘To not be late for work, I can only watch for five more minutes.’

He hopes the performance starts soon.

The violinist raises her bow and says.

“The piece I’ll play for you now is Chopin Etudes Op. 25 No. 11. The Winter Wind.”

A heavy chord beginning from a low note.

The feeling of the sky darkening before a storm arrives.

The omen of a vast power slowly approaching.

The beginning of this piece depicts the moment cold winter air pierces the skin.

And then the confusion and resistance seeping into the fierce wind that begins.

The feeling of walking through a blizzard that strikes the face.

Fast figurations are played like a storm, laden with pain.

And then a brief respite section again.

Volume and density lower for a moment, and the emotion moves from the outer storm to inner suffering.

‘Wrong.’

The first sprint section was a very good performance, but as she enters the middle section, the violinist shows a softened performance as if briefly looking up at the sky within the storm. But Suho doesn’t like it.

‘There’s no sorrow and resolve.’

There is technique but no emotion.

Of course he understands. This piece was not originally written for violin.

If one were to play this on violin, at minimum two violins would be needed for a perfect performance.

‘A shame.’

She’s a violinist of quite decent skill, and a grateful person for playing his piece.

Suho looks around. This piece is quite fast and requires more technique than one might think, so it’s flashy. Perhaps because of that, the audience is focused on her fast left hand.

‘No one is looking at the emotion.’

Music is emotion. It is not an art of ‘watching’ someone play fast and flashily, but of listening to emotion. Music that is watched is merely a circus.

Suho wanted to help the violinist.

He has no intention of rudely interrupting another’s performance.

He hoped that violinist of considerable skill could understand the thoughts he had put into this piece. So that she could become a slightly better musician.

Suho’s body moves.

Circling around the onlookers, he ducks into a blind spot the performing violinist can’t perceive and sits before the piano.

Of course, he can’t deceive everyone’s eyes.

The onlookers seem to think this is an event the violinist prepared, and quietly watch Suho’s appearance.

A hood pulled over his head because he was exercising.

Even for a street performance, a careless training-suit appearance is a bit odd.

The brief respite section passes, and the re-eruption section begins again. A storm stronger than the first whips into a vast vortex of sound announcing conflict with fate, despair, and fury.

Rougher and more aggressive than before. The emotion reaches its peak, the blizzard reaches its climax, and at the very moment it swallows everything—

Into the ear of the violinist focused on her performance comes a piano sound that is foreign yet blends so perfectly.

A vast wave of overwhelming resonance.

The feeling of fate approaching.

A melody that stings like an electric shock, touching the depths of the heart.

The violinist unwittingly holds her breath.

And the same was true of the audience who had been watching.

The Hangang on a midsummer night.

A biting winter wind is blowing there.