Chapter 09
The Winter Wind
“Teacher, could you turn off the lights, please?”
Yoon Ah-young flicked off the switch. The hum of the projector filled the principal’s office as a pale blue image lit up the whiteboard.
The parents squinted at the sudden glare.
Only Yoon Ah-young recognized what she was looking at — and gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
“T-this… this can’t be….”
“…There was a car accident.”
I lifted a hand, pointing toward the glowing X-ray on the screen.
The image showed what had once been a wrist — now shattered, splintered into several broken pieces.
“A drunk driver hit me.
He didn’t just hit and run — he reversed the car. Crushed the wrist completely. Maybe he was hired by someone, who knows.”
“Wh-what did you just say…?”
“This is the X-ray from that day. You can see it clearly — the wrist bone is split in several directions.”
Even now, the memory felt like a fever dream — the blurred ceiling, the echoing shouts of doctors as my consciousness slipped in and out.
I took a medical report from an envelope and pinned it to the board.
“This is the doctor’s statement from that day.”
“Wh-what does it say?”
“Anyone read English here?”
The parents exchanged glances until Go Ye-rim quietly spoke up.
“It says… ‘Severe nerve damage in the wrist, fine motor activity permanently impaired.’ Am I right?”
“Yes. You’re right.”
I gave a small nod. So that’s where So-eun got her mother’s sharpness from.
“The doctor said if I’d arrived a few minutes later, they would’ve had to amputate. So, I was lucky.
Now, I can’t even lift a water bottle properly.”
The room fell into suffocating silence.
“A man who only knew piano… lost the piano.
And because it’s the only thing I could do, I came here. Teaching’s all I have left.”
The parents shifted uneasily, avoiding my gaze.
I had hoped that would be the end of it — but that was too much to expect from people whose pride was stronger than reason.
“That could be fake!”
“Exactly! That’s just proof you got hurt! Where’s the proof you didn’t hit the students?”
“Madam!”
Director Kang raised her voice, unable to hold back anymore. I motioned for her to calm down.
“With this hand? I’d break my wrist before I hit anyone.
And for years after the accident, I was too busy with rehab to even teach.”
My voice trembled, and something raw slipped through.
“How exactly do you prove that you didn’t do something?”
“What did you say?!”
“Then let me ask instead — who’s the student I supposedly hit?
If there’s a culprit, there should be a victim. Strange, isn’t it, that there isn’t one?”
“Ask Mr. Gong Seok-hyun about that— oh!”
One of the parents gasped and covered her mouth.
I smiled faintly.
“Gong Seok-hyun, you say?”
She stammered something incoherent.
So, that was the stench I’d been smelling all along.
<009>
Gong Seok-hyun sat with his head hanging low. His face was unwashed, his hair a bird’s nest.
Yoon Ah-young exploded before anyone else could speak — angrier than even I was.
“Even if you hate someone, how could you spread a rumor like that?!”
“I didn’t! I only said it was strange that someone from Eastman School of Music was teaching in a small academy like this! I never said anything else—”
“And you think that’s any better?!”
“Yoon, calm down,” said Director Kang, rubbing her temples.
She turned to Gong.
“Mr. Gong — no, Mr. Gong Seok-hyun. You understand this isn’t something we can just overlook, right?”
“Director!”
He suddenly dropped to his knees. The parents gasped.
“Please! Please forgive me! You know I’ll never work in this field again if this spreads!”
“Then why beg me?”
“P-Professor Kim Do-yoon, sir!”
He slammed his head to the floor.
“Please forgive me just this once! I’ll move away! I’ll never show my face again!”
“Pathetic,” someone muttered.
“Truly pitiful,” another added.
I wasn’t sure which was worse — their cruelty or their hypocrisy.
Rumors breed like mold; truth doesn’t matter once they start to grow.
At that moment, every person in that room — guilty or not — had already become a part of my wound.
To me, the man kneeling on the floor looked almost decent in comparison.
I let out a long, tired sigh.
“I’ll deal with Mr. Gong later. For now, there’s still one matter left.”
“There’s… still more?”
I walked toward the wall calendar and erased the list of my assigned students, one by one.
“Da-bin’s seeing a psychiatrist, so she’s out.
So-young needs to eat properly, so she’s out too….”
“Teacher!”
“We said we were sorry!”
I ignored them and kept erasing.
When I was done, only one name remained — Choi So-eun.
I looked up at Go Ye-rim.
“May I keep teaching So-eun?”
“Of course.”
She smiled softly.
I smiled back, put down the eraser, and bowed politely to the dumbstruck parents.
I wanted to flip the whole room upside down — but that would only hurt the academy.
This was as far as my revenge could go.
“I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused, regardless of the reason.”
The doorbell jingled.
I stepped into the little snack shop. My mother peeked from the kitchen, wearing her usual calm smile.
“Do-yoon, you’re home?”
“Uh… yeah.”
Didn’t Auntie tell her?
I’d braced myself for tears and scolding, but she looked so normal it was disarming.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Sit for a bit.”
“Okay.”
The faucet hissed in the kitchen.
After a while, I stood and walked toward her quietly.
If Director Kang hadn’t told her, then I had to.
“Mom, there’s something I need to—”
But the words froze in my throat.
She was wiping her eyes with trembling hands.
So she did know.
And she’d pretended not to.
“I told you to sit down,” she murmured.
“I’m okay, Mom. I can play again now—”
“Did it hurt a lot?”
Her voice broke.
I didn’t know how to answer.
To me, the question was always Can I play again?
To her, it was Did it hurt my son?
I stammered before managing a whisper.
“Not at all. American hospitals are… really good, you know.”
She smiled faintly.
“Then that’s enough.”
I bowed my head, my throat tight.
She patted my shoulder gently.
“As long as it didn’t hurt, that’s enough.”
They say the ground hardens after rain.
After the storm, the days flowed in a strange, peaceful quiet.
“Lesson’s over.”
“Thank you, teacher.”
So-eun bowed with surprising maturity. I couldn’t help ruffling her hair with a smile.
“You staying to practice more?”
“Yes. I have to start preparing for entrance exams soon.”
“Good. If anything confuses you, call me. Your teacher’s got plenty of free time these days.”
“Really?”
I grinned. It wasn’t even a joke — she was my only student now.
Stretching my arms, I turned toward the hallway — and saw Yoon Ah-young waving.
“Mr. Kim!”
“All done teaching?”
“Yes! Director Kang told me to give you this.”
She handed me a printed sheet.
[The 50th Korean Music Competition – Schedule & Assigned Pieces]
I scanned it.
“Are you entering?” Yoon asked playfully. “Ready to conquer every pianist in the nation?”
“Come on. I’m not that crazy.”
I laughed awkwardly and shook my head.
“This year’s preliminary piece is Chopin.”
“Mozart’s on the list too.”
I nodded, thinking.
“You have a favorite?”
“Hm…”
Yoon Ah-young tilted her head, pretending to think deeply. Her round eyes sparkled like cherry tomatoes.
“Mozart Sonata No.16!”
“That one?”
It was unexpected — Sonata 16 was easy, even elementary students practiced it.
“It’s so simple,” she said, smiling. “That’s what makes it so hard.”
“…Right.”
Easy, and therefore hard.
The words lingered strangely in my head.
That evening, after everyone had gone home, I stayed behind in the academy — staring at the piano.
None of the pieces felt right.
My right hand reached for a pen.
【Got anything in mind?】
“I was thinking Chopin.”
【Which one?】
I hesitated. This time, the right hand’s role would be crucial.
“The Winter Wind.”
The pen stopped midair. Then the hand slid toward the keys — and without a word, began playing.
Just a few bars, tossed off casually — yet flawless.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
The hand wrote quickly:
【You know the left hand carries the melody, right? Not the right?】
“Of course. I didn’t graduate Eastman for nothing.”
Étude Op.25 No.11 — Winter Wind.
Among Chopin’s etudes, it’s one of the hardest — and one of the rare few where the left hand holds the melody.
The left hand isn’t accompaniment here. It’s the pillar, the spine — and the star of the storm.
If the left hand collapses, the entire piece falls apart.
No matter how perfect my right hand was, there’s no dancing gracefully on a stage with a broken floor.
Still, I set my fingers on the keys.
“Let’s try it.”
The right hand followed quietly.
I drew a deep breath and began.
Dan— da-da-dan— dan—
The prelude rippled out, cautious, trembling.
Then—
Daradadadadada—!
A cascade of ice, like glass shattering across a frozen lake.
The right hand — flawless as always.
The left — painfully clumsy.
What was wrong?
The notes were right. The rhythm was right.
And yet… it was wrong.
The more I tried to keep up with my right hand, the more I felt like chasing a ghost’s shadow.
Frustrated, I pulled my hands away.
The right hand lingered, reluctant to stop, before sliding down from the keys.
【Want me to tell you what’s wrong?】
“No.”
I shook my head sharply. The hand paused, then dropped the pen.
“This time, I’ll figure it out myself.”
This wasn’t just about mastering Winter Wind.
It was about taking back ownership of my music.
The right hand could be a friend, a muse, even a teacher —
but never the master of my performance.
If I was ever to play again, it had to be me — all of me.
I glared lightly at my own hand.
“You’re just a tenant, you know that? Don’t get cheeky.”
