Chapter 11
## 4. The Night the Stars Aligned the Path (3)
Late at night, Suho, receiving a sudden visit, blinks his eyes.
“A lesson?”
Jeong Myeonghwan nods.
“I can offer up to 800,000 won per hour.”
800,000 won per hour. At first glance, one might think it’s an enormous lesson fee.
However, this is not an easy task. Because what Jeong Myeonghwan requested is a lesson for the entire 80-member orchestra. Of course, it might not be possible with just piano.
In his past life too, he made a living from lessons. At the time, he received very high lesson fees, about 20-50 francs per lesson. Chopin was receiving the highest level of compensation of his era.
Of course, he squandered most of his money on luxurious living and medicine costs, so he has no remaining assets.
Well, it didn’t matter. He never married in his lifetime and had no children anyway. He tried to play the role of stepfather, living like family with his lover’s two children, but they weren’t blood-related.
Suho taps the calculator in his head.
‘It’s before I’ve received my first paycheck, though.’
In case he might do something foolish with the piano money, he asked the owner to collect all the tips and give them to him on payday.
According to the owner, the tips collected so far exceed 2 million won. The first paycheck will include performance fees too, so it’ll probably be over 4 million won.
‘That piano.’
The day after getting information about silent pianos, he immediately ran to the piano store. The owner said there weren’t any on display and showed him a product catalog, and the piano he liked was 20 million won.
20 million won.
A sum greater than half his father’s annual salary.
For a moment he wondered if he should give this to his parents instead, but he shook his head. He needs to get a piano quickly to earn more money, and that’s how he can be filial.
‘I need to earn money.’
Assuming he saves 4 million this month, after deducting transportation and food expenses, about 3.5 million will remain. At this rate, he’ll need to save for 6 months.
“I’ll do it.”
Hyerim cheers, Lee Yeongho simply smiles, and Jeong Myeonghwan claps in welcome. Ahn Sunghoon, watching from behind, is seen smiling warmly.
Suho scratches his cheek and speaks.
“But… I’m not sure if I can bring out the other instrument parts too.”
“Haha, it’s fine. The experience Hyerim had is enough.”
“I’ve only ever given piano lessons.”
Hyerim blinks.
“You’ve given piano lessons?”
Suho covers his mouth. A mistake.
“Ah… I meant to say I’ve received them.”
Jeong Myeonghwan leans in.
“Who on earth is the teacher who produced someone like Suho? I’m so curious. Who gave you lessons?”
Chopin had exactly two teachers.
One was his first piano teacher, who taught him from age 6 to about 12 and drew out Chopin’s genius—Wojciech Żywny. The other was the teacher who taught Chopin composition and music theory during his Warsaw Philharmonic days, who recognized and encouraged Chopin’s original musical style—Józef Elsner.
Suho rolls his eyes.
“Ah… well, that person is a foreigner, so.”
Hyerim claps her hands.
“As expected! You studied abroad!”
“……”
“Where did you study? Paris? Poland? Austria? Germany?”
“……”
“I studied in Austria. We might have crossed paths!”
“……”
Ahn Sunghoon senses Suho’s expression is strange and clears the atmosphere.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to close the restaurant. If you’ve finished your discussions, may we close up now?”
Jeong Myeonghwan realizes he’s been rude and stands.
“Oh dear. I lost my mind meeting a genius. I’m truly sorry, Chef.”
“Not at all. Now then, I’ll clean up.”
Jeong Myeonghwan repeats several times to please call him, then leaves the restaurant with his companions. Ahn Sunghoon sits next to Suho with a grin.
“Was your teacher really a foreigner?”
“……”
It’s not a lie. But how is he supposed to make an excuse? With poor family circumstances, how could he have afforded lessons from a foreign pianist?
Ahn Sunghoon pats Suho’s back and speaks.
“It’s okay. It’s possible at your age.”
What misunderstanding is he having?
“During puberty, when someone praises you, your shoulders puff up and you get artist’s disease and tell lies and grow up like that. But lies eventually come back to you. So live honestly day by day. Understood?”
“…Yes.”
Only this simple answer and acknowledgment is the sole escape route from this antlion pit.
Ahn Sunghoon smiles and picks up his bag.
“Want to eat cup ramen at the convenience store before going?”
Suho shakes his head.
“I will definitely eat the dish you promised to make when I lose weight.”
“Haha, what are you now?”
“96.”
“Oh, not much left. Work hard. You’re tall, so if you manage your weight well, you’ll look handsome. You’ve got good features too.”
“Thank you.”
“But doesn’t your skin sag? If you lose weight rapidly, your skin sags.”
“It does a bit.”
“Don’t worry, sagging skin improves quickly. You’re exercising too, right?”
“Yes. I run every day.”
“Good, then you’ll get toned in a few months. Well then, I’m off?”
“You worked hard, Chef.”
—
Suho’s school.
The name of the girl who dumped Suho before summer vacation is Suyeong. She’s been used to being called the school goddess since middle school, so her nose is held high.
She receives an average of about two confessions a month, and dumping both is Suyeong’s pleasure. But lately, the connection she dumped as if it were natural months ago keeps bothering her.
The hallway of the third-year classroom.
Several female students are pressed against the classroom windows. Since they’d be chased away for disturbing studying, they can’t speak and just stare intently into the classroom. It’s a scene seen often these days.
Suyeong crosses her arms and glares at them.
“Hey.”
The four or five female students flinch and step back.
“You’re first-years, right?”
“Yes, senior.”
“What are you doing while third-year seniors are studying? Get lost.”
“S-sorry!”
The first-years dash away.
A female student friendly with Suyeong, sitting by the window, leans against the window and laughs.
“These days there are tons of kids like that every day. Must be about twenty.”
“……”
Suyeong stands at the window and looks inside.
Among the students quietly studying, she sees a student lying face down and sleeping as if he has no interest in studying at all.
“Kang Suho?”
Her friend turns around, looks at the sleeping Suho, and speaks.
“Yeah, since he lost weight and became a dragon, lower-grade girls who want to see Suho come every break and camp out like that.”
“Giving letters, gifts, stuff like that?”
“Yeah, but Suho doesn’t accept them.”
Suyeong’s mood suddenly improves.
“Why? Is his standards high?”
Her friend snorts.
“No, Suho is always sleeping. Kikiki.”
“……”
“He has to wake up for them to give him anything. The lower-grade kids don’t have the courage to enter the third-year classroom anyway. In the end, they have to wait after school to give things, but Suho disappears right after school.”
At that moment, Suho, who was sleeping face down, turns his head toward Suyeong. Of course he didn’t wake up—it seems he turned his head because his neck hurt. Her friend looks at Suho’s face and speaks.
“He really is handsome now that he’s lost weight. I guess unclaimed lottery tickets really do exist. But why does he just sleep like that every day at school? What does he do at night?”
“To lose that much weight, he must exercise a ton.”
“Ah, is that why?”
Suyeong looks at Suho’s face, then turns her body and speaks quietly.
“Annoying.”
If a guy confesses and gets rejected, shouldn’t he try at least once more, if not ten times? Avoiding eyes even when passing in the hallway just because he failed once is too much.
In Suyeong’s mind, there’s no memory of what harsh words she said when she dumped Suho. People are beings who don’t remember the wounds they gave but only remember the wounds they received.
—
A little later, after school.
Of course, only lower grades go home. Third-years mostly do evening self-study, and this is the time when friends going to academies instead of self-study and some who have no interest in studying at all go home.
Suyeong’s eyes catch Suho crossing the playground.
Suho, running as if he’s busy with something. Two female students grab such Suho and hand him something. Suho, looking slightly embarrassed, receives a small gift, bows, and runs off again.
Suyeong, who was watching Suho from the window, lies down on the windowsill and mutters.
“Annoying.”
It’s not because of the stormy adolescent period—he’s just an incomplete human being.
—
Banpo Art Hall, where the Banpo Orchestra uses as a practice room.
Chairman Myeong Jaeman, visiting this place for the first time in a while, is reading a report given by the hall’s center director.
“Hmm, labor costs are being consumed quite a lot.”
The center director breaks out in a cold sweat.
“Well, the salary of regular members is around 30-40 million won, and there are also non-permanent members at around 1.5 million won per month… Orchestras have a lot of personnel, Chairman.”
If it were the Myeong Jaeman of the past, he would have said this.
’80 people is a small-to-medium enterprise level, and with that many people, not earning a single penny and only spending—that’s not human.’
But Myeong Jaeman has changed. What changed him was Suho. Myeong Jaeman pictures Suho’s face in his mind and smiles.
“From the Christmas performance revenue, after deducting venue rental and operating costs, pay the remainder as incentives to the members.”
The center director’s face brightens.
“Thank you!”
“Are the members practicing now?”
“Ah, today there’s a lesson from an external invited instructor.”
“Hmm?”
The finance department reported it, but the group’s chairman doesn’t pay attention to such trivial matters. As Myeong Jaeman shows he doesn’t know, the center director quickly adds an explanation.
“It’s a pianist, and this was arranged at the request of Conductor Jeong Myeonghwan, who wants to upgrade the orchestra’s level through a concerto.”
“Can a pianist upgrade an orchestra’s level? The instruments are different.”
“Even with different instruments, such a phenomenon can occur through collaboration. That’s why many orchestra members want to collaborate with high-level performers.”
Myeong Jaeman’s eyes sharpen.
Myeong Jaeman, who hates spending even 100 won wastefully, speaks.
“How amazing must this pianist be for that? Let me see the resume.”
“Ah, th-that is.”
Sweat explodes like a fountain from the center director’s crown.
‘If the Chairman finds out that members are receiving lessons from a high school student, there’ll be chaos.’
The center director had rejected this request. But Conductor Jeong Myeonghwan insisted strongly, so it was carried out.
He was going to lump the cost under facility repair expenses and gloss over it if possible. But with the Chairman’s unexpected visit, everything is about to be exposed.
“Th-the resume is somewhere here…”
The center director rummages through the drawer, stalling for time. He thought the Chairman, being a busy person, would leave if he stalled appropriately. But Myeong Jaeman seems to have a lot of time today and is sitting comfortably on the sofa waiting.
‘Damn it!’
Eventually, the center director holds out the resume with trembling hands. It’s an empty resume with just elementary, middle, and high school names and no driver’s license.
“W-well, Chairman. Let me explain.”
Myeong Jaeman snatches the resume from the center director’s hand. Then, as soon as he sees it, he springs up from his seat. The center director squeezes his eyes shut. Soon, thunder will fall on the art hall.
After a while, finding it strangely quiet with his eyes closed, the center director cautiously opens his eyes. But Chairman Myeong Jaeman is already gone from the office.
“Ch-Chairman!”
Surely he’s not going to the practice room to smash everything? That can’t happen.
“Chairman! Chairman!”
