No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 48: The Demon King (2)

“It’s already time…”
Closing the score, I got up from the piano.

Today marked the final day of the camp, culminating in one of its key events: the weekly recital, following the masterclass.

As I exited the practice room, I found myself in a long corridor flanked by rows of doors. Each room housed a piano for individual practice.
The place was deserted, as most students had already gone down to the grand banquet hall.

“Boss~!”
Choo Minji approached me, recording the hallway on her phone.

“Why do you think a resort has a setup like this?”
“Probably built for camps like this,” I joked.

Minji gave a silent laugh, clearly knowing that wasn’t the case.

“I told you to go down first. Why are you here?”
“To give you this.”
She handed me a white shopping bag. Inside was a pair of black dress shoes.

“Shoes?”
“Ha… Even if indifference is your brand, were you seriously going to go on stage in sneakers?”
“I didn’t have much choice.”

I knew sneakers weren’t appropriate, but I hadn’t planned on being here, let alone performing. While my usual black shirt and pants were fine, I hadn’t thought to bring dress shoes.

“Hmph.”
Minji crossed her arms, raising her chin slightly.
“So, I asked for these to be delivered to your place yesterday. Out of my own pocket, of course. What would you do without me, Boss?”

“Hah.”
I bit back a retort, knowing she was likely more interested in recording her efforts than genuinely helping me.
Still, the gesture was thoughtful, so I gave her a thumbs up.

“Thanks.”
I smiled and pulled out the shoes, only to let out a sigh.

“These…”
“What? Don’t they fit?”
“I gave these to my father as a gift.”
“Eh?”

Minji’s eyes widened.
“Wait, really? Your father sent these himself?”
“…That old man.”

I’d gifted these shoes to him three months ago. He hadn’t worn them even once, opting instead to keep them pristine, only to have them debut on my feet.
He must’ve thought it fitting to send the best shoes he had when he heard I’d be performing. Not knowing I had another pair in my studio.

“Should I find another pair?”
“It’s fine. It’s just one performance.”
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to overstep.”

I lightly patted her drooping shoulder.
“It’s fine. I’ll just make sure to keep them clean.”

As I changed into the shoes, Minji slapped my arm playfully, her usual cheery self returning.

“Oh, by the way! Did you hear about the scuffle between the Poonggwang kids and the art school kids yesterday?”
“More or less.”

I’d heard bits of it while chatting with Kim Bom. From the concert to the convenience store, it seemed there had been an incident. While I naturally leaned toward Poonggwang’s side, I got the gist of what happened.

“I think it was intentional. Those art school kids were provoking them. Poonggwang showed remarkable restraint, really.”
“Hm…”
“If it weren’t for Eom Deokgu, things might’ve gotten ugly for you.”

Talking about this and that, we soon arrived at the entrance to the banquet hall.

“So, I left a little beer in your room as a treat.”
“Tsk, you’re unbelievable.”

Inside the hall, the buzz of voices was already audible.

“Anyway, just prepare as we discussed.”
“Got it. Don’t worry.”

With my hand on the door handle, I asked Minji one last thing.

“Oh, what’s that guy’s name?”
“Who?”
“The art school kid who started the fight.”
“Uh… I think it’s Lee Kitae.”

*****

In music schools and conservatories, a weekly recital, or improvement concert, is a common practice.
These small concerts allow students to perform in front of peers, professors, and seniors, showcasing their progress.

Though it might seem like a beneficial curriculum, students often see it differently.
Performing in front of fellow musicians, rather than a general audience, brought immense pressure.

On top of that, there was another challenge:
Each student was required to write and submit their impressions of the performances they watched.

These anonymous evaluations—whether praise or harsh criticism—were shared directly with the performer, unfiltered.

“Phew…”

Noh Hyeji finished her piece.
Lifting her hands gracefully from the keyboard, she opened her eyes and smiled faintly as she stood up.
Every move was deliberate, polished through rigorous practice after the feedback she’d received during the masterclass.

The hall filled with applause.
Hyeji bowed toward the audience, careful not to trip on her dress, and made her way to the backstage area, where the next performer was waiting.

The next performer, another girl in an elaborate dress, greeted her. They weren’t from the same school but recognized each other.

“You were amazing, Hyeji!”
“Thanks. Good luck with your performance.”
“Thanks~!”

As the next performer took the stage, Hyeji started gathering her belongings.
She packed her sheet music into her bag and took a few selfies in the mirror, admiring the rented dress she’d worn for the recital.

“Looking good.”

As she prepared to leave, her eyes fell on some items left on the dressing table: a half-empty coffee cup, a small handbag, and a folded piece of paper sticking out of it.

It was the feedback form of the student who had just gone on stage.

“……”

Curiosity got the better of her.
She skimmed the page until she found her name.

— She’s good, but her looks are lacking. I’d recommend double eyelid surgery.

“That bitch…”

Hyeji clenched her teeth.
The anonymity of these evaluations often led to such remarks—petty insults or shallow compliments. Genuine feedback was rare.

With vengeance on her mind, Hyeji left the dressing room.

The narrow side door led into the grand banquet hall, where a piano performance was already underway.
Da−dan,da−da−dan!Da-dan, da-da-dan!
The powerful notes filled the air as Noh Hyeji stepped inside, glancing toward the stage before scanning the audience for her assigned seat.

‘Wow… there’s a ton of people.’
It seemed like not only the piano majors but students from all other disciplines had gathered here.

‘This must be because of Jung Seojoon.’

Hyeji bent slightly at the waist and made her way to her seat. She tapped the shoulder of a male student blocking her path.
“Hey, Lee Kitae, move.”
“Ah, the slave is here.”
“Shut up.”
“Your skills have improved, though.”

Hyeji sat beside Kitae.
“Slave, take a look over there.”
“At what?”

Kitae pointed, and her eyes landed on Jung Seojoon.
He was brushing his long hair back, his expression serious as he focused on the stage.

“He’s even more ridiculously good-looking now,” Hyeji muttered, her jaw slightly agape.
“That’s not what I meant. Look closer.”

As she observed him again, she noticed something peculiar—he was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.
“…Is that his feedback form?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what he’s writing, but he hasn’t put the pen down once.”
“Unbelievable… What on earth is he writing so much?”
“No idea. Seriously, though, he pisses me off more and more every time I see him. What’s he so confident about? A girlfriend? Ha!”

Kitae’s snide remark made Hyeji frown.
The idea of being linked to Jung Seojoon as a pair was infuriating.

“Get lost if you’re going to talk crap like that.”
“Alright, alright.”

Kitae stood up slowly.
“Anyway, my turn’s coming up soon. Don’t forget to give me a good review, alright?”
“Nope.”

Left alone, Hyeji glanced at Seojoon again.
He was still writing.

What’s he jotting down so much? What’s he going to do when it’s his turn?

She wasn’t the only one stealing glances at him. Many other students were doing the same.

Though the performance on stage was still ongoing, it felt like more eyes were on Jung Seojoon than on the pianist.

His image had already been tarnished by rumors about Han Gwangsook, and Hyeji worried he might be targeted with scathing feedback forms.

“Ah.”
Realizing she was wasting time, Hyeji pulled out her own feedback form and scanned for the name of the student currently performing. She gripped her pen tightly and pressed hard against the paper as she wrote:

— It’s a mess. Hard to listen to and even harder to watch.  You might as well give up on college. 

It was childish revenge.
If this had been a regular weekly recital at school, she wouldn’t have dared write something so harsh—there, someone might have tracked her down.
But here, with students from all over, anonymity was assured.

That’s why she found Seojoon’s situation so risky.

‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

The performance ended shortly after.

‘Boring…’

While daydreaming, she realized the next performer had already finished, and it was now Kitae’s turn.

“Wait, what?”

She noticed Seojoon rising from his seat.
With perfect posture and all eyes on him, he walked toward the side door.

‘When is his turn?’

Hyeji checked the program.
Seojoon was up immediately after Kitae.

‘Great timing…’

Kitae, though annoying, was undeniably talented and considered a promising player.
If the rumors about Seojoon’s skills being overhyped were true, the comparison would be brutal.

As Kitae took the stage and bowed, the audience applauded enthusiastically.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and began to play.

The piece was flashy and intricate, brimming with technical prowess.

“Not bad,” Hyeji admitted, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the performance.

Da−da,dan!Da-da, dan!

After about five minutes, the piece ended, and thunderous applause erupted.

Kitae’s charisma and social popularity among the art school students only amplified the audience’s reaction.
The only silent section of the hall was the back corner, where the Poonggwang Orchestra members sat in isolation.

Kitae waved as he left the stage, and the audience fell silent again, anticipating Seojoon’s entrance.

But even after a few moments, Seojoon did not appear.

‘Where is he? Is he backstage talking to someone?’

As the murmuring in the audience grew louder, Seojoon finally emerged from the backstage entrance.

“….”
“….”

The sight was shocking—he was barefoot.

When he’d walked toward the side door earlier, he had been wearing dress shoes, but now, on stage, he was barefoot.

There was something eerie about his silent movement across the stage, as no sound accompanied his steps.

The audience, unable to comprehend the strange sight, remained quiet.

In the heavy silence, Seojoon reached the piano.

Rather than bowing to the audience to receive their applause, as was customary, he sat at the piano without a word.

The crowd, captivated by the unsettling atmosphere, didn’t even realize he had skipped the usual protocol.

‘Was his aura always this cold? He looks… a little angry.’

Hyeji couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about him.
Maybe it was the all-black attire.
Maybe it was the silent way he moved.
Or perhaps it was his long black hair and pale skin that made him seem otherworldly.

It felt like the grim reaper himself had taken a seat at the piano.

‘His vibe is insane…’

Was it because the piece he was about to play was Erlkönig (The Elf King)?
Or was this all an act—his furrowed brow and barefoot appearance carefully crafted for his image as a rising star?

In the eerie stillness of the hall, Seojoon placed his hands on the keyboard.

Every gaze locked onto his hands.

And then, without hesitation, his right wrist struck downward.

Da−da−da−da−da−da−da−da!Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da!

A rapid, piercing tremolo erupted, spreading in every direction like a storm.

The sound of the piano depicted the relentless gallop of a horse fleeing from the Demon King, its rhythm urgent, powerful, and brimming with tension.

Schubert’s original Erlkönig was notorious for demanding stamina from the accompanist, largely due to this unrelenting tremolo. From start to finish, the performer had to maintain a punishing tension in their wrists, driving the music forward.

The challenge was so daunting that Schubert himself reportedly quipped, “Ask the devil to play it,” when someone suggested tackling the accompaniment. It was even said that the publishing house initially rejected the piece, questioning its feasibility.

And now, Jung Seojoon wasn’t merely playing Schubert’s original; he was performing Liszt’s arrangement—a version that took the difficulty to an entirely new level, offering no mercy to the pianist.

Da−da−da−da−da−da−da−da−Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-
“Holy… this is insane,” Noh Hyeji whispered, her breath catching.

The piano sound wasn’t just loud—it was deafening. It felt as if microphones had been secretly installed to amplify it, the sound filling the entire banquet hall and pounding against her chest like a second heartbeat.

‘Is that even possible?’

This wasn’t just tremolo. It wasn’t mere vibration—it was a direct assault, powered by the strength of his wrists and fingers hammering down on the keys.

Da−da−da−da−da−Da-da-da-da-da-

The sound vividly painted the galloping hooves of a horse fleeing the Demon King, so lifelike that it was almost tangible.

Hyeji had heard Erlkönig performed numerous times at recitals, but nothing like this.

 Wait, is that even humanly possible?
Wouldn’t he tire himself out at this pace?

The audience was stunned as Seojoon’s left hand began weaving a somber and tragic melody.

Da−dan,da−da−Da-dan, da-da-

Schubert’s Erlkönig was based on Goethe’s poem of the same name, narrating the story of a father riding desperately to save his son from the clutches of the Demon King, who tries to entice the child.
The piano reflected the dark and haunting nature of the tale—beautiful yet unsettling, offering no respite from its unrelenting tension.

Seojoon struck each note with precision and force, amplifying the discomfort. The emotions conveyed were raw and oppressive, as if someone was pressing down on the listener’s eardrums.

“Hah…” Hyeji exhaled shakily.
The deeper she focused on Seojoon’s performance, the more breathless she felt, her entire body prickling with chills. It was as if she could feel the father’s desperation as he fled the Demon King.

Da−−Da−dan−Da– Da-dan-

As the piece reached its midpoint, the tone shifted. The forceful tension eased, and a soft melody began to flow.
This was the section where the Demon King whispered sweetly, attempting to seduce the child.

The momentary lull allowed Hyeji to relax—until Seojoon’s eyes seemed to meet hers.

“Hah!”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t looking at her specifically, but at the audience as a whole, yet it felt like he was staring right into her soul.

She wasn’t alone; many in the audience felt the same eerie sensation.

Some even found themselves shivering in fear at his gaze—a calm yet haughty expression that felt unnervingly commanding.

“Ah…”

Hyeji suddenly understood.

Seojoon’s performance wasn’t embodying the father fleeing on horseback, nor the frightened child clinging to his chest.
He was the Demon King himself—racing toward them, his presence suffocating and predatory.

‘He almost seems angry…’

Seojoon scanned the audience with an air of disdain, then closed his eyes and allowed a faint smirk to play on his lips.

It was as if he was flaunting his mastery, silently mocking those who had dared to underestimate him.

“Liszt…” Hyeji murmured, recalling her masterclass with Professor Han.
She remembered Han’s words:

“Liszt was a musician with a relentless edge—showy and narcissistic to the core.”

If Liszt himself were performing this piece, Hyeji thought, it would look exactly like this.

Da−da−da−da−da−da−Da-da-da-da-da-da-

The soft melody transitioned again, building momentum and returning to an aggressive tempo. Seojoon drove the performance forward with relentless intensity.

Despite reaching the later stages of the piece—when most performers would begin to falter due to fatigue—his power and clarity never wavered.

From start to finish, every note was precise and impactful, defying expectations of even the most skilled players.

 ….

The audience was utterly silent.
They couldn’t even gasp in astonishment; they were simply overwhelmed, transfixed by the sheer magnitude of Seojoon’s performance.

Thoughts of writing feedback on their evaluation forms had long since vanished.

His playing was beyond critique—it was untouchable, unassailable.

For those his age, fellow aspiring musicians, the performance evoked an unbearable sense of inferiority.

“Could it be…”

Hyeji recalled the moment when Professor Han first assigned Seojoon this piece.

‘Today, I’m introducing you to Schubert’s Erlkönig.’

At the time, she had thought it was simply a showpiece—a composition designed to flaunt musicality and technical skill, relatively short and easy to memorize.

But now, listening to his performance, her perspective had shifted.

“Despair…”

Professor Han’s words echoed in her mind.

‘I want you to study despair—it’s an emotion you might not fully understand.’

“Yes, that’s it…”

The despair that Professor Han wanted Seojoon to explore wasn’t for him to feel—it was for them, his peers.

It was a warning, and now, a punishment for their mockery and ridicule.

Seojoon had understood Han’s words perfectly, turning the music into a weapon to make them bow.

“None of the rumors were true…”

Seojoon had spoken not with words, but with his talent, silencing every doubt.

“He’s… incredible…”

More awe-inspiring than when he was a child prodigy.