* * *

Seonwoo rubbed his fingertips together, then smiled faintly, as if he’d just swallowed something bitter.

“My mentor, whom I respect deeply, is attending the recital today. I really wanted to impress him… but I’m not so sure I’ll be able to.”

Seonwoo spoke solemnly, his words seeming misplaced as if he were sharing them with someone who wouldn’t understand, like Yeongdeok.

Yet, he thanked him nonetheless.

“I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Anyway, thanks for coming.”

Yeongdeok recalled the dissonant sounds and pounding that had echoed out the moment the rehearsal room door had opened in the past.

That must’ve been Seonwoo slamming the piano keys in frustration.

The muffled sobs he had caught back then were still clear in his memory.

The more he thought about it, the more a certain image began to resurface.

In that memory, Seonwoo had been shedding tears, and Yeongdeok had been watching coldly.

Just as something was about to click, a man with a staff badge emerged, calling for Seonwoo.

Slowly, Seonwoo rose to his feet.

“Looks like it’s my turn now. Cha Yeongdeok, you should come in too.”

Seonwoo opened the concert hall door and led the way.

Beyond the door, a stage illuminated by blinding lights and an expansive audience space capable of seating thousands came into view.

Yeongdeok headed to the seat noted on his ticket. It was the closest one to the stage, providing a clear view of Seonwoo’s hands as they hovered above the piano keys.

“I made sure to get the best spot just for you. What do you think?”

“The stage is certainly visible.”

Settling comfortably into the plush seat, Yeongdeok relaxed.

“Well, I’m off to rehearse now.”

Without replying, Yeongdeok checked his phone.

With the recital starting at 6, he had about three hours to kill watching rehearsals.

Feeling that the time was too precious to waste, he opened up a web novel platform.

Might as well read a novel, he thought.

Just as he began reading the first chapter of the novel that Baek Choa had recommended, the sound of applause caught his attention.

Lifting his head, he saw Seonwoo standing by the piano, bowing to the empty seats before dragging out the piano bench and sitting down.

He adjusted the distance between the pedals and his feet several times before finally resting his hands on the keys.

It seemed Seonwoo hadn’t been lying about securing the best seat.

From here, Yeongdeok could clearly see his hands trembling uncontrollably.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, showing just how shaky his breathing was.

Seonwoo pressed down a note, and it seemed like he was about to begin a calm and composed performance.

But what filled the hall was far from professional.

He made so many mistakes per bar that even someone like Yeongdeok, who wasn’t a musician, could hear them clearly.

Eventually, Seonwoo dropped his hands from the keys without finishing the piece.

A middle-aged woman, who seemed to be a staff member, approached him, and after exchanging a few words, Seonwoo suddenly disappeared backstage, as if fleeing.

Watching it all unfold, Yeongdeok stared at the now empty piano.

Seriously… such a high-maintenance guy.

With a small sigh, Yeongdeok turned off his phone and stood up.

He headed backstage, where the staff seemed to be discussing what had just happened.

“Why does Seonwoo always freak out whenever he’s on stage?”

“Didn’t he sign up for a competition last time, but then had a panic attack and couldn’t perform?”

“He used to be so good, but something’s been off with him since last year.”

Yeongdeok searched backstage, but Seonwoo was nowhere to be seen.

Even after checking the waiting room, there was no sign of him.

Normally, only authorized personnel could enter, but since Yeongdeok was poking around, a man approached him.

“What are you doing? Are you part of the staff?”

“Where did Seonwoo go?”

“Huh? Oh, are you the friend Seonwoo mentioned bringing along? He went further inside, probably hiding in the storage room…”

The man led him to the storage room, but Seonwoo wasn’t there either.

The man’s face twisted with confusion.

“What the… where did he go? Did he leave the building entirely?”

The man fumbled with his phone, trying to call Seonwoo, but after a few rings, he shook his head in frustration.

“He’s probably just cooling off somewhere. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Another man, presumably a staff member, tried to defend Seonwoo.

Realizing that Seonwoo had left the concert hall, Yeongdeok opened the door leading to the emergency stairs.

“Are you going to look for Seonwoo?”

Yeongdeok didn’t answer. He simply stepped through the door.

ꔚ

[Where the hell did he go?]

[I didn’t take a day off to see you act like this. This is a breach of our deal.]

[Read your messages.]

[Still not reading? I’ll sue you for obstructing business.]

As Yeongdeok stepped out of the concert hall, he scoured the building while sending Seonwoo increasingly threatening messages, but Seonwoo didn’t read them.

With his white hair, Seonwoo should’ve stood out if he were anywhere nearby, but he was nowhere to be found inside.

Thinking he might have already gone outside, Yeongdeok stepped out into the open, where a spring breeze, carrying cherry blossom petals, brushed past him.

As if entranced, he followed the petals, only to find Seonwoo standing beneath a cherry tree.

Seonwoo, who had been blankly staring at the fully bloomed tree, turned his head towards Yeongdeok.

“How did you know I was here? Or should I be asking why you came here instead…? The Cha Yeongdeok I know wouldn’t go out of his way to find someone like this.”

“You broke your promise to me. As I recall, you said you’d play a piece so good I wouldn’t regret listening.”

“I’m sorry for making time and then not living up to it. But… I think this is just how far my mindset was.”

“…”

“I don’t know if you care, Cha Yeongdeok, but my family has high expectations for me. They’re really conservative, like people from the Joseon era, and they firmly believe the eldest son must take over the family business.”

Without being asked, Seonwoo started rambling about his situation.

“I’ve never had any interest or talent for that, but they let me keep playing the piano as long as I learned the business. Now that I’m almost thirty, they’re telling me to give up the piano and take a position at the company.”

“…”

“It’s tough to survive in the arts. The gap between those who make it and those who don’t is huge, and some younger prodigy will often sweep past everyone and rise to the top in no time.”

Yeongdeok, who had been silently listening to Seonwoo’s excuses, tilted his head and crossed his arms tightly.

“Watching those kinds of monstrous people, it’s inevitable to feel like you’re sinking into a pit. Can I really surpass them and succeed?”

“…”

“I’m not young anymore. Maybe I should accept reality and join the company before it’s too late. After all, it’s a position many would dream of having.”

A small scoff escaped from Yeongdeok’s lips.

But lost in his own emotions, Seonwoo didn’t hear it and kept talking.

“I’m tired of feeling inferior to younger, more talented juniors, of constantly worrying if I’ll ever make it in this career. More than anything…”

I don’t want to keep disappointing my father and the rest of the family.

Seonwoo’s voice faltered as tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands.

The faint sound of his sobs spread through the air.

As Yeongdeok watched him, his gaze turned icy.

He finally recalled the exact moment Seonwoo had started to hate him—when Seonwoo had said something very similar back then, too.

There was only one thing Yeongdeok could say to someone like Seonwoo, someone who fled like a cowardly deserter.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Your performance was painful enough to listen to; quitting would definitely be the right move.”

At Yeongdeok’s mocking tone, Seonwoo slowly raised his head.

Rather than looking pitiful, his expression was eerily calm, like someone whose rationality had just snapped.

“…Did you just call it pathetic?”

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have? You can’t even stand by your own music, so it must be even worse for others to hear.”

In a flash, Seonwoo’s hand shot out and grabbed Yeongdeok by the collar.

But Yeongdeok, still smiling, continued to prod at his sore spots.

“I doubt you’ll succeed at anything, to be honest. If you’re running away from what you love, you won’t do any better with something you don’t even care about.”

“Shut up…”

“You’re bound to disappoint Baek Cheongang your whole life. You know why? Because you’re utterly, fundamentally pathetic.”

Yeongdeok’s voice, once filled with amusement, grew cold toward the end.

His eyes, full of contempt, glared at Seonwoo as though he were looking at something less than an insect.

* * *