episode_0048

“Professor. I’m sorry, but she’s my friend.”

Who is your friend?

“She said she was going to meet the accompanist. Why are you suddenly asking her to play?”

You were planning to have her accompany?

Wasn’t there any intention from the professor in this blind audition?

“Oh. Professor. Why are you pretending not to know? You were the one who suggested testing Chaewon’s skills, right?”

“I didn’t mean to do it today, though?”

I thought they both had the same purpose and called me out, but it seems like that wasn’t the case.

What’s going on then? Did they join forces to call Chaewon out, but then had a change of heart?

The professor is ambitious with his students, while Yoon Jiyu is ambitious as an accompanist.

“I see.”

The professor just came to sneak a peek. If someone else listens to my performance and criticizes it, it would be awkward.

There are two people standing next to me right now, but I must not forget about Yoon Jiyu. I could secretly record it and send it to other professors.

“Instead, I have a lesson scheduled here soon. I wish you would vacate the place.”

“What? There was no reservation for the Baekjoong Hall in the schedule today.”

“I just made a reservation.”

Two people who are not backing down.

The sharp-tongued lady and the gentle charisma are sparking against each other.

“Wow. You’re really stubborn, Professor. Against privileges.”

“So what? I built this hall with my own money.”

“….Tsk.”

But no matter what, when someone asks who is the strongest at Hanyeda, Professor Baekjoong’s name always comes up.

No matter how famous Yoon Jiyu’s father is as a violinist. That’s Yoon Kwancheol’s reputation. It’s not Yoon Jiyu’s.

As the professor pushes forward with his power, Yoon Jiyu can’t resist even though she grinds her teeth.

Power and connections are truly amazing.

“Chaewon, run away.”

Yoon Jiyu whispers to me as if in my ear.

“Do you intend to make me a bad person?”

“No? Why would I do that?”

The professor notices it and blocks it off.

If it were Hitori Rock’s Hitori, she would have been helpless and hesitant in this situation.

But since earlier, I’ve been trembling, listening to the whisper of my ego.

“Can we continue the performance?”

I’m still sitting on the piano bench, frozen in the position of pressing the keys and pedals with my hands and feet.

For whatever reason, stopping the performance just now is unacceptable.

It’s like telling a dog you’re going for a walk and then staring at YouTube for over 10 minutes in the hallway with your sneakers on, just like the owner who’s all ready to go but doesn’t move.

That’s right. It’s like revving up the engine, ready to accelerate, and then suddenly a referee jumps in front of you.

“Chaewon really wants to play, right? It seems like the professor has no right to stop her.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, the professor strides forward and blocks the entrance to the Baekjoong Hall. It was a firm declaration of not allowing anyone else’s position.

“Come here, Yoon Jiyu.”

“Grr.”

“It would be awkward if you secretly recorded and sent it to another professor.”

“Yes. Yes. I understand.”

In the end, the two of them sat a little away from the piano.

Alright. Let’s try again.

“…Chaewon?”

My arms didn’t move.

I was so tense that I froze like a rock.

“Don’t be nervous. It’s okay, Chaewon.”

Why is this happening? Is it because of the professor?

Earlier, there was a possibility that he might be present, and now he’s actually watching because of that?

Because the 0th ego was completely terrified, the 1st ego stepped in to explain. It’s like a mental illness.

“Could it be… that I started watching YouTube because of this?”

The professor isn’t scary. It’s just that when two or more people are watching the performance, that’s when the pathological symptoms start.

It was a more severe form of stage fright.

“Definitely….”

Up until now, there were times when Yoon Jiyu, Yoon Jichang, or Song Seonghyuk were watching alone during the performance.

But today was the first time there were two or more people.

“Chaewon. Leave it to me and let go of your strength. It’s okay. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I’ll do my best to handle it.”

Ego 1 said.

Then, it would be completely different from when playing La Campanella.

“…Did Chaewon help you back then? I had no idea.”

When Jung Siwoo lifted his brush, everything turned black. The unique features disappeared, leaving only black.

The judges’ reactions were consistent.

There was no hint of nostalgia, heart-wrenching, passionate, gloomy, cheerful, or fresh “colors.”

It was restrained, calm, unadorned, dignified, and stable, with only black prevailing.

If black could be recognized as a unique feature, then perhaps presenting a refined elegance was the best I could show.

Most people, even famous pianists, make at least one mistake in a piece.

I could play it perfectly.

But the more perfect it was, the more awkward it felt.

It felt like a machine had played it.

“It’s going to be a mess….”

Maintaining my usual 0.9x speed while reproducing Jung Siwoo’s style was possible because Chaewon was secretly adjusting the movements of my arms without my knowledge.

“Yeah. I thought it was ridiculous. It was Chaewon’s first time playing, but…. It felt like I naturally adapted as if it were my body.”

So if Chaewon isn’t here to help me now, and I play alone? The moment I strive for the perfection of Ego 111, the performance will become a mess.

The piece that I could play because Chaewon adjusted the speed to match her physical specs, adjusted the fingering, and wrist movements….

Relying on memory and playing recklessly and arbitrarily, it might become a crude and unrefined piece. Instead of a few mistakes, there might be dozens or more missteps.

“It looks like I’m showing the worst performance.”

…But even if I don’t receive good reviews, it doesn’t matter, right?

My original goal was to get closer to Yoon Jiyu by helping with the accompaniment, and my relationship with the professor was irrelevant from the start.

Let go of perfection, Ego 111.

You can’t show a 100% perfect performance with an unfamiliar body.

“Yeah, just knock down the tower you’ve built randomly!”

Ego 992 appeared as if it had been waiting.

“You’re not Jung Siwoo anymore, are you?”

Today, I had no choice but to acknowledge his words.

The tower of piano that I had built over 14 years was like a shapeless Tetris without cohesion.

Since when?

I was finding solace not in the performance itself, but in the perfect image of myself.

The pure happiness I felt while playing disappeared, leaving behind only obsessive blind obedience and a sense of purpose.

No matter how much I played, I couldn’t break through the barrier to the realm of domination, and I gradually felt bored with the repetitive practice.

The more I clung to the performance, the more the tower became a mess. There was no regularity or solidity to be found.

It swayed as if it would collapse at any moment, but it continued to endure, expressing a longing for a world that it couldn’t reach no matter how much it played, like a modern art tower.

Did the ancient humans who built the Tower of Babel to reach God feel like this?

“I didn’t enjoy any of it.”

“It wasn’t enough to make a living.”

“I should have just enjoyed it as a hobby while doing something else.”

Everything Ego 992 said was right.

Music is art, but it is also leisure and relaxation.

I was incorporating my obsession into the performance.

… People won’t like that kind of performance.

“Topple it all.”

Despite wanting to become a historical novelist and contributing significantly, the only detective novel that Arthur Conan Doyle placed among the ranks of famous novelists was a detective novel he wrote casually when he had some free time.

Perhaps that’s why Arthur Conan Doyle never acknowledged Sherlock Holmes as a work of art until his death.

From his story, I gained a realization.

Being trapped by the obsession to become the best and striving for it is to fall into the torment of never being able to truly reach the top.

“Topple it all.”

For 23 years, I couldn’t escape from the obsession.

The inferiority complex of being far behind others.

The pressure to grow and repay those who helped me.

The sense of loss that came when I realized I had become ordinary after thinking I was someone great.

The pathological obsession and perfectionism that happiness only comes from practicing, practicing, and practicing.

These things constantly tormented me.

But I became Min Chaewon.

Finally, I was able to shake off all those anxieties.

Now, I no longer need to be the best or strive for the peak. I just need to live Chaewon’s life fully.

“Build anew. From the beginning.”

I finally let go of the black me.

The perfect notes that were almost hit but missed.

The failure to adjust the tension due to the wrong fingering.

“It’s a mess.”

There is truly no greater mess.

The countless stones dropped from above irregularly hitting the tower, and the Babel tower that Jungsioo had been holding onto began to tilt.

—♪

“It’s crumbling.”

—♩!

Professor Liszt. I’m sorry.

Today, I’ll just play the full axel you set up.

—♬!

I thought I might feel a little sad.

Isn’t this act of toppling everything I’ve built denying myself, like a kind of funeral…?

“Why… does it feel enjoyable?”

Is it so exhilarating to let go of the weight of life?

Have I been living without knowing this happiness all this time?

For a whopping 23 years.

In my ears, soaked in ecstasy, the words Professor said in the past overlapped and echoed.

“放下着.”

“放下着.”

To let go of oneself and cast off anxieties, the Buddhist mantra.

The task Professor gave me to find my own color and the words he always said.

Thud—

I stopped playing, pressing my palm firmly on the keys.

“Wasn’t that something you always said to Siwoo…?”