No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 28. The Emperor (3)

From the outside, Baek Junsoo’s house resembled a formidable fortress.
A massive, sprawling iron bastion.
Its scale was grand enough to be mistaken for something other than a residence, yet its atmosphere was desolate.

A high gray fence surrounded the property, with dense, unkempt trees standing guard.
The house’s closed-off appearance mirrored its owner’s past as a man who once ruled South Korea’s underworld.

Despite its foreboding presence, the house had recently become the subject of positive gossip among local residents.
The reason?
The sound coming from within.

[Ta-dan! Ta-da-dan! Tan!]

For several days now, piano music had echoed ceaselessly from the house.
Sometimes it was a recording, other times live playing.
The music persisted throughout the day, pausing only late at night.

Surprisingly, there were no complaints.
Instead, people had started gathering near the house to quietly listen, captivated by the melodies.

Inside the house, however, the atmosphere was far more serious.

“Uncle… shouldn’t you stop him?”
“Isn’t he your friend? You stop him.”
“You’re closer to him.”
“Nope, not close at all.”
“But you went to the same gym together.”
“That’s true.”
“And he was your student, wasn’t he?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess….”

Baek Junsoo and Ma Ducheol sat at the kitchen table, watching the scene in the living room.

[Ta-dan! Ta-da-dan! Tan!]

In the center of the living room sat Jung Seojoon, hunched over a grand piano.
His eyes were closed—not in musical immersion, but as if lost in thought.

His fingers relentlessly pounded the keys.
Since returning from Jo Sanghyuk’s concert, he had been in this state for two days straight.
He hadn’t gone to school or home, leaving the piano only to sleep.

“He looks… troubled, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it because of his father?”
“Probably.”
“His dad’s being discharged from the hospital today, right?”
“Seojoon must know that too. Anyway, you should get to your academy. You planning to get into college or not?”
“Haah…”

Baek Junsoo stood and slowly headed for the front door.
Before leaving, he glanced back at Jung Seojoon, worry etched on his face.

“At least close the window… or put on a shirt…”

Jung Seojoon was playing with the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows wide open, shirtless.
The frosty breaths escaping his nose and mouth were a clear sign of the cold.

“Looks more like training than performing…”

Baek Junsoo zipped his padded jacket up to his neck and stepped outside.

Left alone, Ma Ducheol sighed and pulled out his phone.
He opened a video on the internet.

The title read: “The Emperor’s Fall.”

It was a video of Kang Hancheol, once called the “Emperor of Korean UFC,” fighting a civilian on the street.
The footage came from a car’s dashcam, showing a confrontation in the middle of a four-lane road.

-“Get up already! What kind of bullshit is this?”
Kang Hancheol’s slurred insults could be heard right from the start, his speech heavy with drunkenness.

Though it was dark and the video quality wasn’t great, the man’s massive build and voice clearly identified him as Kang Hancheol.

-“Damn it, bastard!”
Kang Hancheol and his companion unleashed a stream of profanity at a delivery driver who had fallen by the roadside.
Ignoring the crowd of onlookers, they towered over the injured man, who dragged his bleeding leg as he wiped scuffs off a luxury car.

-“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
-“Hey! What are you doing? That’s sauce all over it!”

One of Kang Hancheol’s companions kicked the delivery driver’s shoulder with his foot.

-“Damn it! It’s blood!”

At that moment, a kick flew in from out of frame, striking the companion square in the face.

-“Gah!”

The man collapsed, unmoving.
The camera briefly caught a glimpse of the attacker’s profile.

“Phew, good thing,” Ma Ducheol muttered in relief.

Jung Seojoon’s face was barely visible in the clip.
It was hard to confirm it was him unless you were particularly familiar.
The darkness and his unusually ferocious expression played a part in the ambiguity.

-“Who the hell are you!”
Kang Hancheol yelled, charging forward. He planted his left foot and twisted his hips, extending his right leg in a classic high kick.

His leg rose higher than Jung Seojoon’s head, poised to strike down like an axe.

-“Die!”

It was Kang Hancheol’s trademark Brazilian kick, a move that had brought him many victories in the octagon.
Now, it was no different from wielding a weapon against an unarmed civilian.

But…

-“Wha—what the hell!”

The blow never reached its target, stopped dead by Seojoon’s forearm guard.
The Brazilian kick, meant to deceive guards, was blocked as if its trajectory had been predicted all along.

-“Are… are you a fighter?”
Kang Hancheol stammered, shocked.

He tried to pull back his leg, but Seojoon grabbed the hem of his pants.
Seojoon followed up by driving his right knee into Kang Hancheol’s groin.

-“Gah!”

Seojoon didn’t stop there.
He swept Kang Hancheol’s left leg out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, then delivered a clean punch to his face.

“Oof… that must’ve hurt,” Ma Ducheol muttered, wincing as he closed the video.

He then opened an online news article.
Given Kang Hancheol’s fame, the incident had generated a flood of headlines.

“Reformed Bad Boy Starts Second Career, Only to Fall Again!”
Reports detailed drunk driving, assault, and accusations of abusive behavior.
The comment sections were filled with criticism, calling Kang Hancheol arrogant and entitled.

Among the threads, some mentioned the civilian who had taken him down, but the mystery man wasn’t getting much attention.

“Wait, what?”
“Shock! The identity of the genius high schooler who took down Kang Hancheol?”

Clicking the article led to a video by a YouTuber.
In it, they compared footage of the mysterious individual from the viral video to other clips, tying it to none other than Jung Seojoon.

“Ah… what a mess,” muttered Ma Ducheol, looking worried.
“What’s the matter now?”

“The video… Wha!”

Ducheol jumped up in shock. Standing before him was Jung Seojoon, shirtless and chugging cold water straight from the bottle.

“Hyung!”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well… you always overwork yourself when you’re dealing with something….”
“Do I? I wasn’t doing that this time.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Practicing.”
“Uh… practicing like it’s military training…?”
“Same thing.”

“Anyway, let me handle this,” Ducheol said, showing Seojoon a few articles on his phone.

“It’s fine. It’s all been settled already. The matter’s closed, and Father said he didn’t want to escalate it further.”
“But if this keeps up, people might find out that the musical genius Jung Seojoon got into a street fight.”
“Let them. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’ll blow over.”

“Still…”
“Did my father’s face or identity get exposed?”
“No, all the focus is on Kang Hancheol.”
“Then it’s fine.”

Seojoon casually threw on some clothes that were lying around in the kitchen.
“Still no updates on the safe, huh?”

“No, Hyung. It’s like it left no trace.”
“Got it.”

“If you’re in urgent need of money, you can use mine, Hyung.”
“No need.”
“Or we could tap into the inheritance Junsoo got….”
“Not necessary.”

Pushing his damp hair back, Seojoon said firmly, “What good is pocket change like that?”

“P-Pocket change?”
Ducheol’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Even for someone like him, Baek Junsoo’s inheritance wasn’t exactly “small change.”

“What’s in that safe that’s so important…?”

****

Later That Day

“Thank you for your help.”

After settling the hospital bill, I turned to see my father talking to Kim Sungsoo, the hospital director and father of Kim Bom.

Kim Sungsoo had gone out of his way to make my father’s hospital stay as comfortable as possible.
He moved him from a shared six-person room to a private one, ensured doctors frequently checked in, and even tried to cover the medical expenses himself—an offer my father had politely declined.

I focused on their conversation, catching snippets of their words.

“Thank you so much.”
“No, no, it’s nothing. Didn’t Seojoon save my daughter’s life? Compared to that, this is nothing at all.”

Kim Sungsoo clasped my father’s hands, his tone filled with sincerity.

“I still have a long way to go to repay that debt.”
“Oh, please…”
“If you ever need anything at the hospital again, don’t hesitate to call me directly. I’ll personally take care of it.”

After Kim Sungsoo left, my father and I walked out of the hospital lobby together.
The staff’s eyes lingered on us the entire way, whispering about how they’d never seen the usually cold and stoic director act so warmly.

On the way to the parking lot, my father stopped abruptly and turned to me. His expression was unusually stern.

“How does a student like you have money to pay hospital bills?”
“It wasn’t much.”

Since the topic of money came up, I decided it was time to address something I had prepared for.
“Here, take this.”

I handed him a white envelope stuffed with 50,000-won bills, so thick the flap wouldn’t close.
It wasn’t much by my standards, but I hoped it would suffice.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of you properly until now.”

“…….”

“I’ll settle the company debts soon too. Please tell Mother to quit her restaurant job and rest at home. It’s taking a toll on her health.”

I remembered the advice I used to give to my subordinates during holidays:
“Never visit your parents empty-handed. Don’t let them see you looking weak or struggling. They’re already worried about your line of work; put their minds at ease.”

That principle stuck with me. Now, unexpectedly, I found myself in a similar position—with parents of my own.

Even if I wasn’t sure how to be filial, I knew from experience that money was a good start.

“For now, let me take responsibility…”

“Take it back.”

“What?”

My father returned the envelope, his expression stern and angrier than I’d ever seen.

“How old are you? You’re not even an adult yet, and you’re throwing money around!”

Caught off guard, I stammered, “Father, the work I’ve been doing lately has been pretty profitable.”

“Seojoon!”
He grabbed my shoulders, and his trembling hands betrayed his emotions.

“When did I ever tell you to make money for me? Where did this money even come from?”

“From YouTube…”

“And the kid who couldn’t even hurt a fly suddenly starts beating people up? Making large sums of money out of nowhere?”

“Well, I—”

He didn’t give me a chance to explain, instead pointing toward the parking lot where Ducheol stood grinning and waving at me.

“Do you even know who that man is?”

“Yes, he’s an uncle from my gym. He runs a small guesthouse nearby…”

My words trailed off.
I had stupidly forgotten that my father and Ducheol had crossed paths on the day I died.

He must have remembered Ducheol’s distinctive appearance and connected him to the JS Group.

Realizing this, I felt a wave of frustration toward Ducheol, who was now bouncing around cheerfully in the distance, making it abundantly clear we were close.

“Father, about that uncle… he used to be involved in… um…”

“Seojoon!”

Once again, he cut me off, gripping my shoulders tighter.

“What exactly are you doing? You said you were going back to music, but now you’re associating with people like that! Why, Seojoon?!”

“Yes, I’m really doing music. I’m just working out with Uncle Ducheol, that’s all.”
My father shook his head.
“Don’t lie to me. I overheard the nurses talking about you yesterday.”

“What about?”

“Why were they calling you Baekjung? Is that some gangster nickname or something?”

“Gangster? No, that’s just my stage name.”

It seemed my father had seriously misunderstood.
It made sense—he hadn’t attended the school concert because he’d been stuck outside talking to the police, and he probably hadn’t seen the videos of me performing either.

Instead of explaining repeatedly, I decided to show him.
I pulled out my phone and played the video Choo Minji had uploaded recently.

After watching it intently, my father cleared his throat awkwardly and shook his head.
“…Whatever it is, I still can’t take this money.”

He shoved the envelope of cash back into my arms.
As his trembling hands pushed it toward me, I suddenly understood something: shame.

I hadn’t realized it before.
He wasn’t just a man, but the head of a household—a father and husband.
Showing such vulnerability to his child must have been unbearable.

For someone who always wanted to appear strong, this moment of weakness likely gnawed at him.
And here I was, offering him money he had no idea where I’d gotten, adding to his frustration.

I had acted too rashly.
Having never been a father myself, nor had one in my previous life, I hadn’t considered this.

“Understood,” I said.

And I made a decision.
This wasn’t something money could solve.
I needed to save his company.

****

“Why are there so many reporters here?”

Backstage in the dimly lit performance hall, I stood with Professor Han Gwangsook.
Despite the thick walls, the powerful sound of music reverberated through the air, almost deafeningly.

Professor Han smiled as she turned to me.
“By the way, care to explain why you suddenly decided to change your concerto at the last minute?”

I had switched to a different piece just days before the performance.
After Jo Sanghyuk’s recital, I had called Professor Han to inform her of the change.
She initially tried to dissuade me, and so did Yoon Seol and the rest of the ensemble, calling it reckless.

But after seeing the results of my practice, everyone was stunned into silence.

As for the reason?
“To grab attention.”

“Honestly, I’m not even surprised anymore. What happened to make you this bold?”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Of course,” she replied, holding up the program pamphlet.
“And is that why you also changed the name printed here?”

“Yes, and to make a little money too.”

“At least you’re honest about it.”

Professor Han glanced at Choo Minji, who was off to the side, filming me with a camcorder.
“Hey, you over there.”

“Yes?”

“You’re in your senior year, right? College admissions are in two weeks, and you’re doing this instead?”

“Uh… probably not the best idea?”

Professor Han shook her head, clearly disapproving of my association with someone like Minji.
“If you’re doing this because of family issues, have you considered sponsorships? With your talent, sponsors would be lining up.”

“No need. Having you as my professor is more than enough.”

“Wow, listen to this kid.”

She laughed, clearly pleased, before glancing back at the pamphlet, particularly at the spot where my name and photo were printed.

“It’s a shame, though. I really liked the name Kevin.”

I did too, at first.

But after I decided to take music seriously, that name began to feel like a cage—something low yet restrictive, like a fence around me.

It wasn’t something I had to overcome, but it became a nagging presence I couldn’t ignore.
That’s when I decided to shed it.

I also resolved not to use the name Jung Seojoon while performing.

Why?
Because while I had decided to live as Jung Seojoon, I wanted to approach this talent from a different perspective.

So I chose “Baekjung.”
Originally a nickname Minji came up with to grab attention, it grew on me.
Not only did it combine Baek Jinsung and Jung Seojoon—two parts of myself—but it also felt familiar, like an old friend.

“It may sound rough, but it’s better than an English name. It suits me better as a native Korean.”

“If that’s the case, then I approve,” Professor Han said with a wide smile, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Alright, it’s time.”

With her signal, one of the doors slid open.
A flood of light and thunderous applause poured in.

I braced myself against the overwhelming noise and walked toward the light.
Today was the final day of the year I had taken over this body—the day I officially announced my presence.

[Next up,] the announcer’s voice echoed in my ears,
[Pianist Baekjung performing The Emperor.]

Woooaaaah!