No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 26: The Emperor (1)

Time passed, and it was already December, just a week before my collaboration with Han Chamber.

“Boss, are you really going to meet them?”

We were at a small unmanned café near the Seoul Arts Center. It was empty except for Ducheol and me.

“I’m considering it,” I replied.

“Aigoo! What are you thinking, Boss? The secretary’s office was established by Kim Changsik himself! It’s his scouting ground for recruiting useful people…”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still considering meeting them?”

“Shh. Lower your voice. It’s hurting my ears.”

At my words, Ducheol scratched his bald head and gulped down the strawberry smoothie in front of him. He took a deep breath and whispered in a hushed tone.

“That guy is unpredictable. Who knows what he’ll pull….”

He spoke seriously, foam clinging to his lips. I resisted the urge to laugh and answered calmly.

“Don’t worry. Who am I?”

“Well…”

Ducheol started to say something but quickly shut his mouth, a curious expression on his face.

“But how does the secretary’s office even know about you, Boss?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Could it be because of me? Maybe they think we’re close?”

“Maybe. Or it could be because of that video of me ‘educating’ those guys who were bullying Junsoo. It did make the rounds online.”

“Ah… That’s probably it, Boss.”

“Tsk.”

These days, there were too many prying eyes everywhere.

“Anyway, have you figured out the location of my safe yet?”

“Yes. It’s definitely not at the company. According to reliable information, Kim Changsik frequents three specific warehouses. Given the amount of cash moving in and out of those places lately…”

“Sounds like he’s hiding something.”

“Exactly. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not legitimate.”

Ducheol placed three business cards on the table. Each one belonged to an illegal pawn shop masquerading as a legitimate business. My gaze immediately landed on one of them—a place I had personally introduced to Kim Changsik in the past.

“Start with this one.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Take your time and be discreet. We can’t afford to leave a trail.”

“Yes, Boss.”

At that moment, an alarm went off on Ducheol’s phone. It was time for Junsoo’s academy to finish.

“You should get going.”

“I’ll head out first, then, Boss.”

“Go ahead.”

“Have a good evening!”

With a cheerful farewell, Ducheol left. The café felt much roomier after his large frame disappeared.

Alone, I stared blankly out the window. The city, now shrouded in darkness, was ablaze with dazzling lights. Below, it teemed with people—some returning home from work, others seeking an escape from their daily routines.

It was a time I found strangely comforting.

[Da-da-da-da-dan-da-da—]

The café’s speakers began to play one of my favorite classical pieces: Clair de Lune by Debussy. The piano’s lyrical melody softly caressed my ears.

I let my fingers tap lightly in the air to the music, then continued observing the world outside.

For a moment, everything felt serene.

But then, I felt someone’s gaze on me.

Looking out the window, I noticed a red SUV parked by the road. It had been there for a while, but now its window was partially rolled down. Inside, I could see a woman with pale skin and heavy eye makeup.

It was Yoon Seol, the conductor of Han Chamber.

She hesitated for a moment after meeting my gaze, then stepped out of the car and entered the café.

“Hello, Seojoon,” she greeted.

“Hello.”

Although we had met several times to prepare for the collaboration, we had never had a personal conversation. We weren’t close.

Yoon Seol walked to the kiosk and navigated the screen with practiced ease, a stark contrast to the fumbling efforts of me and Ducheol earlier. Feeling an odd sense of generational difference, I watched the beverage machine with fascination once again. The machine was impressive—I wanted one for myself.

“It feels strange to be here with someone else,” Yoon Seol remarked as she joined me.

“You must come here often.”

“Yes, I’m a regular. I like it because I don’t have to deal with people.”

“So that’s why you waited outside?”

“Oh… It’s not that I find you uncomfortable.”

“Alright.”

Having nothing more to say, I turned back to the window. The aroma of coffee soon filled the café.

Yoon Seol sat two tables away from me.

“Um… Who was that man you were with earlier?” she asked cautiously.

She must have seen me and Ducheol together. Her expression betrayed her curiosity, despite her reserved demeanor. Beneath her cool exterior, she seemed the type whose emotions often slipped through.

“He’s a close uncle of mine.”

“Oh…”

Her lips twitched as if she had more to ask. Sensing where this was going, I preempted her.

“He’s a good person. Likes exercise and meat.”

“Ah… I see…”

Silence settled once again until Yoon Seol broke it.

“Did you come here to watch FunFun perform?”

“FunFun? Oh, that’s today, isn’t it?”

Tonight, FunFun Orchestra was performing at the Seoul Arts Center, with Jo Sanghyuk as the soloist. Of course, that wasn’t why I was here.

I had simply come for dinner with Ducheol, who had recommended a nearby restaurant that served excellent frozen pork belly.

“You didn’t know?” 

“Yes, I wasn’t particularly interested.”

“You don’t seem to attend many concerts?”

“No, I usually just listen to recordings. I’ve been busy.”

I realized my current life wasn’t actually that busy. There was no longer a pressing reason to avoid public attention.

“Even so, listening to a professional’s live performance is completely different from a recording.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

I considered whether I should attend. Just then, Yoon Seol moved to the table next to mine with her coffee.

“I happen to have some extra tickets. Would you like to come?”

Extra tickets?

I’d heard that Jo Sanghyuk’s performances sold out almost instantly. My confusion was quickly addressed.

“I always book three seats because I don’t like having people sitting next to me.”

“That’s extravagant.”

“Well, I suppose it might seem that way.”

“But wouldn’t it be just as uncomfortable if I sat beside you?”

“I’ll make an exception. I really want my collaborator to experience Jo Sanghyuk’s performance.”

“In that case, I’ll accept your offer.”

I didn’t have any pressing plans, and classical music with a beautiful companion was hard to refuse.

I turned my gaze back to the window. She, too, followed my lead, looking outside. We spent some time in silence, simply watching the world pass by.

“Shall we go?” Yoon Seol asked, rising from her seat.

“Yes.”

“But Seojoon…”

“Yes?”

“You’re a high school student, right?”

“Do I look that old?”

“Well, there’s that, but also… your musical depth, your speech—it just feels different from your peers.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

****

Moments later, I was relaxing in a luxurious car seat, enjoying the smooth ride.

At the third traffic light, Yoon Seol glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“You know… you’re the first person to ride in the backseat when the passenger seat is empty.”

Ah, a habit of mine.

“I get nervous sitting next to a beautiful woman.”

“Oh… I see…”

****

I was glad I brought earplugs.

“Whew…”

The Seoul Arts Center was teeming with people. While I’d seen the building’s exterior countless times, this was my first time stepping inside.

Seeing the vast hall packed with an eager crowd underscored the immense popularity of Jo Sanghyuk.

Seated in a corner, I scanned my surroundings. Shortly after, Yoon Seol returned from the restroom, accompanied by several people.

Her expression made it clear that she hadn’t invited them willingly.

“Sorry about this. They insisted on meeting you,” she said apologetically.

The three men and women trailing behind her rushed forward to introduce themselves as conducting students.

“Wow! You’re Baek Jung, right? I’m a fan!”
“I think we met at a competition a while back. Do you remember?”
“I can’t believe I’m meeting Kevin in person. It’s such an honor.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

I spent a few minutes trapped in small talk. They gossiped about how Jo Sanghyuk recently left his international management and signed with a new domestic agency. Apparently, that agency had strong ties to the Korea National University of Arts.

Since I had no interest, I let their chatter pass through one ear and out the other.

“So, which agency will Kevin sign with?”
“It has to be an international one, right? Someone destined for world-class success should go abroad.”
“Do you think Professor Han will let him go so easily?”

I was debating how to gracefully end the conversation when Yoon Seol grabbed my wrist and gently pulled me away.

“Excuse us. We need to go in now—Professor Han Gwangsook is over there.”

“Oh!”
“You’d better hurry!”

Her mention of Professor Han prompted the students to hurriedly send us off. They, too, knew what it meant to encounter her: a flood of mandatory greetings with dozens of people.

Following Yoon Seol, I entered the concert hall. Nearly 3,000 seats surrounded the stage in a fan-shaped arrangement.

Even with only half the seats filled, the acoustics amplified the noise, making the hall quite loud.

Our seats were in the far-right corner of the second floor. Initially, I wondered why such an out-of-the-way spot had been chosen, but as soon as I sat down, I understood.

From here, we had a perfect view of the grand piano and the soloist’s seat.

“How is it? Not bad, right?”

“It’s great.”

Once all the seats were filled, the lights dimmed, leaving only the stage illuminated.

–Clap clap clap!–

Thunderous applause greeted the orchestra members as they took the stage. The ensemble was much larger than the one at Shinhwa Hospital, with twice as many musicians ascending the stage.

–Clap clap clap!–

The applause didn’t cease as the conductor entered—a pale man with long hair. I had seen him in the lobby earlier, surrounded by people exchanging pleasantries. Apparently, he was quite famous, though I wasn’t familiar with him.

After the conductor took his place on the podium, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived.

Jo Sanghyuk entered.

Tall, with a polished appearance. His lips wore a faint smile, but his furrowed brows gave him a serious demeanor.

His confident stride elicited cheers from the audience. Having recently won first place in one of the world’s top three piano competitions, his popularity was undeniable.

He’s a prodigy, no doubt about it.

His confidence was evident in every move.

After shaking hands with the conductor, Jo Sanghyuk took his seat at the piano. The conductor turned to the audience, gesturing for silence.

As if on cue, the hall fell completely still.

[……]

I finally felt some relief as I removed the small earplugs I had been wearing. Seeing this, Yoon Seol leaned in close and whispered.

“Geniuses must share similarities.”

“Sorry?”

“Over there.”

She gestured subtly toward the stage. Turning my gaze, I noticed Jo Sanghyuk removing something from his ears, his furrowed brow deepening.

“He has hypersensitive hearing,” she explained.

“I see.”

Her face was so close that I only moved my eyes to look at her. She wore the same expression I had seen earlier at the café—like she wanted to ask if I had the same condition.

Since I didn’t know myself, I ignored the question.

[……]

The concert hall fell silent. Jo Sanghyuk took a deep breath and glanced at the conductor. With his brows still furrowed, he gave a small nod.

The conductor raised his baton high and then swung it forward.

[Baam!]

A powerful harmony from the strings and winds burst forth. The fanfare of ascending thirds in fortissimo announced the start of the piece.

As the conductor gestured for the sound to subside, the piano’s melody emerged—an arpeggio rising smoothly from low to high notes.

With that soft and lively melody, Jo Sanghyuk’s furrowed brows relaxed into a serene expression.

–Hyaaa…
–Wow…

Murmurs of admiration spread throughout the audience.

The piece flowing from his fingertips was Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5, known as The Emperor.

Jo Sanghyuk closed his eyes lightly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His performance exuded a relaxed confidence, as if he were merely practicing. Watching him, I felt an unexpected calm.

[Ta-dan, ta-da-dan, dan-]

I had always thought the title Emperor didn’t quite fit this piece.

Though large in scale, it wasn’t overwhelmingly grandiose, nor was it filled with flashy, intricate passages. Could a concerto like this truly embody the word emperor?

To me, an emperor is a ruler. Someone who wields towering authority and power, commanding the people beneath them. Strength and majesty are essential.

In contrast, this piano concerto felt too clear, too bright. It was lyrical and beautiful.

“Amazing…”

But my rigid notion was shattered today.

Jo Sanghyuk’s Emperor was different. While the framework was the same as any other performance of the piece, the emotion it conveyed was unique.

Within its clarity and brightness lay an exuberance. Beneath its lyrical beauty was a hidden dignity and pride. And it was sublime.

If my idea of an emperor was someone who ruled above others, Sanghyuk’s emperor seemed to embrace the people, sharing their laughter and tears.

Yet, it didn’t forget elegance and nobility—a benevolent monarch in every sense.

“……”

If I were to perform The Emperor, how would it sound?

Could I deliver a performance as commanding as this young man’s, proclaiming himself the piano emperor to the audience?

Would I be better?

I honestly didn’t know.

For the first time in a while, I felt a surge of competitiveness.

***

Yoon Seol glanced at Jung Seojoon, seated next to her, and thought:

Bringing him here was a good decision.

Whenever she encountered this young genius, she always felt a peculiar sense of dissatisfaction.

Musically and technically, he was flawless. Yet, there was always a strange, lingering feeling that something was missing.

Recently, she had pondered what that might be.

Experience?

No, the more he played, the more a certain maturity seemed to surface.

Emotion?

No, his expression of emotion was rich—almost unbelievably so for a high schooler.

Then what could it be that made this genius feel incomplete?

The answer came to her just now.

Passion.

He lacked the hunger for music. The fiery desire to immerse oneself completely in music, to let it consume every part of you.

Though he was already a dragon soaring in the sky with his innate talent, he seemed content to wander lazily among the clouds, showing no desire to ascend further.

But what about now?

His previously indifferent eyes burned with intensity. The corners of his mouth, which usually drooped in apathy, were raised high with excitement.

If before he had seemed like a hiker resting after reaching the summit, now he looked like a mountaineer with the peak within sight.

It seemed the live passion and ambition of the performer on stage had ignited something in him.

“Seojoon,” she called softly.

He turned slightly, irritation evident on his face at having his concentration broken.

Undeterred, Yoon Seol spoke cautiously.

“I’m in pain.”

“What?”

“This isn’t an armrest.”

Confused, Seojoon followed her small gesture, pointing toward his tightly clenched hand gripping his knee.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He immediately let go and returned his gaze to Jo Sanghyuk, his eyes burning with the same intensity as before.

Hmph.

Yoon Seol smiled inwardly.

For some reason, this man…

It felt like he might finally start confronting music with true seriousness.

She found herself looking forward even more to their collaboration next week.