Chapter 05
Kang Mi-ryeo frowned outright.
“What’s wrong with you lately? I told you before — Mr. Kim’s wrist isn’t well.”
Gong Seok-hyeon smiled weakly.
“It’s just one piece.”
He looked around at the other instructors, as if searching for support. And suddenly, his little ploy became painfully clear.
“She’s right, Director.”
“It’s only one song, it won’t strain his wrist that much.”
“He’s been teaching So-eun just fine, hasn’t he, Mr. Kim?”
Everyone looked at me with pleading eyes.
Neutrality — that was a luxury reserved for those who had nothing to lose. In a situation like this, everyone naturally took Gong Seok-hyeon’s side.
Petty tricks, and petty people.
Even Kang Mi-ryeo looked troubled. Family or not, this was still a workplace. Ignoring the staff’s collective opinion might cause a backlash later.
The silence stretched — until Yoon Ah-young raised her hand.
“I’ll do it.”
Faces instantly brightened. It was better to have a volunteer than to force someone.
Except for one person, whose expression darkened.
Gong Seok-hyeon shifted nervously, glancing between me and Yoon Ah-young. Kang Mi-ryeo crossed her arms.
“It’d be great if you did, Yoon, but… are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Yes. I’ve been practicing a piece recently. It’s not perfect yet, but I’d like to try.”
“What piece?”
Kang Mi-ryeo’s eyes lit up with curiosity.
“Beethoven Sonata No. 17.”
“No. 17…?”
The Tempest.
So that’s what this is. She must have heard my performance — or rather, my right hand’s performance. That piece wasn’t something one could imitate after a few weeks of practice.
And yet she was offering to play it.
There was only one reason for that.
She was trying to protect my secret — the secret even she didn’t fully understand.
Before I could stop myself, my hand shot up.
“I’ll do it.”
< 005 >
Kang Mi-ryeo whispered with a worried face.
“Do-yoon, are you really sure? Maybe I should—”
“You’re the emcee today, Aunt. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Then, for everyone else’s benefit, I added lightly:
“It’s just one piece, after all.”
The instructors had at least enough shame to avert their eyes. Gong Seok-hyeon approached me looking sheepish.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause all this…”
“Is your arm broken?”
“No, no — the doctor said there’s just a small fracture near the wrist.”
He smiled awkwardly and showed me the splint.
“Mind if I take a look?”
He offered his arm, half-dubious, half-defiant.
He had no idea, of course — that I’d read hundreds of medical books on wrist rehabilitation.
That I’d tried every treatment known to man, and failed, before winding up here, teaching piano at Cantabile Academy.
I took one look and nodded.
So it was a lie after all.
Trying to fool me about an injured wrist? He might as well try deceiving a ghost.
“Will I be able to play again, you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a doctor.”
I smiled and handed his arm back. It was time to focus on the performance. His lies could wait.
As the final student’s performance entered its third movement, I leaned close and whispered to my right hand.
“Let’s play something by Franz Liszt.”
【Number 10?】
“No, not the Transcendental Etude. Something else.”
The hand paused midair. From the outside, it must have looked as though I were talking to it.
【But that’s the one we practiced.】
I didn’t answer. My gaze drifted toward the back of the hall, where Choi So-eun stood pale and trembling — as if she were awaiting execution.
“There’s someone I want to play for.”
Liszt’s Consolation No. 3.
A gentle, lyrical piece — deceptively simple, yet infinitely harder to interpret than the most virtuosic works.
Even as a student, I’d never been one for sentiment. But with this hand… maybe things would be different.
Kang Mi-ryeo’s voice broke my thoughts.
“Our final performance tonight will be by Mr. Kim Do-yoon. Please give him a big round of applause.”
Clap, clap, clap—
I walked onto the stage, bowed deeply, and took my seat.
Already, I could feel the parents’ scrutiny pressing down on me.
Let’s see if this man is really fit to teach our children.
Their eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
How must it have felt for the kids — performing under that gaze?
They’d all started out because they loved the piano.
Because they loved the tremor that ran through their fingertips when they pressed a key — the thrill of making someone’s heart tremble in return.
I, too, had once clawed for survival among prodigies.
In a world of white-skinned geniuses, I had to be twice as desperate, twice as perfect, to even be seen.
Western music — that was their world.
I had to earn my place in it.
The piece I was about to play had been my only comfort back then.
I exhaled slowly.
My right hand twitched, ready.
The opening note fell — and silence deepened around it.
Even from the first measure, the hand played not just with precision but with emotion.
And suddenly, a lump rose in my throat.
I remembered the small noodle shop in my hometown — too poor to afford tuition for an American conservatory.
The only way out was a scholarship.
If I ever lost it, I’d be sent home.
I’d practiced until I collapsed.
I’d burned out and broken down.
And somewhere along the way, I’d begun to ask myself:
Why am I playing the piano?
I’d never found the answer.
Not until the first time I heard this piece — not with my ears, but with my heart.
The music had whispered to me then:
“It’s all right. Everything will be okay.”
And I had cried — cried until my chest emptied out.
Now, as I pressed the final notes, I felt that same voice — gentle, forgiving — echo through me again.
The last chord lingered like a prayer.
Silence.
No applause.
No movement.
Just that vast, resonant quiet —
louder than any ovation.
* * *
Outside the hall, Go Ye-rim wiped her eyes in disbelief.
She’d never thought she’d cry at a piano recital. But Kim Do-yoon’s Consolation — it had reached a place she hadn’t known existed.
“M-Mom…”
She turned.
Choi So-eun stood beside her, red-eyed and trembling.
“That was your teacher?”
“Yes.”
Ye-rim approached, and So-eun ducked her head.
“I’ll… I’ll practice harder. You said I could play like him if I worked hard enough…”
“You’ve done well.”
Ye-rim gently pulled the girl into a hug.
So-eun froze, bewildered.
“He was right, you know.”
Ye-rim smiled softly.
“Today’s not a day for criticism. It’s a day for comfort.”
After the performance, I headed not for the waiting room but for the rooftop.
The right hand had comforted more than just So-eun tonight.
“…Thank you.”
It slipped shyly back into my pocket.
Once I’d calmed down, I descended again.
The moment I entered the corridor, every eye turned to me — instructors, parents, all staring.
For a split second, I considered going right back upstairs.
Go Ye-rim stepped forward first, So-eun trailing behind her with swollen eyes.
I waved my hands quickly.
“Mrs. Go! So-eun usually doesn’t make mistakes like that—”
“Thank you.”
I froze.
Even the parents nearby did a double take.
Ye-rim bowed gracefully.
“Mr. Kim Do-yoon, was it?”
“Ah—yes.”
“You didn’t learn all that here in Korea, did you? If you don’t mind me asking, where did you study?”
“I—uh—Eastman School of Music.”
The moment I said it, I regretted it.
“Eastman?!”
“That’s one of the top conservatories in the U.S.!”
“No wonder the performance was on another level!”
“Why would someone like him be teaching here?”
I smiled awkwardly as they surrounded me. Even Ye-rim looked startled by the reaction.
She handed me a card.
“Please call me when you have time. I’d like to discuss So-eun’s future lessons.”
“Of course.”
She gave a polite nod and left.
By the time I escaped the crowd, I was exhausted.
In the waiting room, the instructors were quietly packing up.
Something about the atmosphere felt off.
I caught Yoon Ah-young’s eye.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you think? They’re all shaken after your performance.”
“Shaken?”
She shrugged lightly.
“They thought you were one of us. Then they heard… that.”
Ah. That kind of silence.
“I got my shot early, so I’m fine.”
“Shot?”
“I heard your Tempest during that drinking party, remember? I looked just like them afterward.”
I chuckled softly. So that’s what this was — the wall of talent.
In the arts, that wall was everything. No matter how hard you tried, some heights were unreachable.
And my right hand… was hardly ordinary.
Yoon sighed quietly.
“How could a sparrow understand what it means to be a phoenix?”
You’re looking at another sparrow, I wanted to say.
Before I could, a grating voice cut in.
“I thought it was kind of… dull, actually.”
I turned.
Gong Seok-hyun, of course.
“Those pieces are meant for masters. I think Mr. Kim overreached himself.”
“Really? I thought it was beautiful,” another teacher murmured.
“Ha! You should train your ear a little better.”
I picked up his phone from the table.
“Mr. Gong!”
He turned.
“This is your phone, right?”
“Yeah, hand it over.”
“Catch.”
“W-wait—!”
I threw it high. Gong Seok-hyun jumped and caught it neatly in his supposedly injured hand.
I clapped once.
“Nice catch. Used to play baseball, did you?”
The room froze.
Gong Seok-hyun glared at me.
“Why’d you throw my phone like that?”
“I figured you could handle it.”
I smiled faintly.
Kang Mi-ryeo’s tone turned icy.
“Mr. Gong.”
“Y-yes, Director?”
Everyone was staring at him now — faces twisted in disbelief.
“W-what’s wrong?”
“Your hand,” one instructor said flatly.
“Wasn’t it injured?”
The color drained from his face. He looked down at his unbandaged wrist, realizing too late what he’d done.
I folded my arms and murmured,
“That’s quite the recovery speed, Mr. Gong.”
