The Genius Composer Starts Again - Chapter 40

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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At my question, Cho Yun-je’s shoulders trembled ever so slightly. His pupils seemed to shake briefly, then he concealed his agitation without a trace as if nothing had happened.

 

“Yesterday? No.”

 

His breath followed half a beat late.

 

“I did use a practice room around here yesterday though.”

 

“Really?”

 

I shrugged my shoulders lightly.

 

“Never mind then.”

 

If he didn’t want to talk about it, there was no need to pry further.

 

Besides, Cho Yun-je was skilled at hiding his expressions in a way that didn’t suit his young age, so I didn’t want to engage in a battle of wits.

 

Even though I was mentally ten years older, given my lack of social experience, I expected my certain defeat.

 

Cho Yun-je also seemed like it wasn’t a topic he particularly wanted to discuss, so he quickly changed the subject.

 

“I reserved this room. Let’s go in.”

 

After entering the practice room, I got straight to the point.

 

“What did you want to talk about?”

 

“Professor Jeong Tae-seong gave me some advice. He said it would be good if the ‘birth’ part and ‘death’ part were connected in a circular structure.”

 

“Hmm. Not bad.”

 

The metaphor that birth and death are separated by a paper’s thickness was classic, but at the same time very popular with the public.

 

It would make listeners feel a strange catharsis, so it was quite a good device.

 

“So I thought it would be good to establish the compositional direction together. I think we should share our work to some extent until the song is completed. What do you think?”

 

“I think the same.”

 

I nodded, then asked Cho Yun-je.

 

“How did you compose ‘birth’?”

 

Cho Yun-je’s fingertips stiffened for a moment.

 

I pretended not to notice and continued speaking.

 

“I think you need to let me hear it so we can share the direction.”

 

“Well…”

 

Cho Yun-je hesitated, then hastily added.

 

“I was actually thinking of scrapping it all anyway. I’m not really satisfied with it. Once I hear your song, I’ll rewrite it to match that.”

 

“You’re going to rewrite it from the beginning?”

 

“Yeah. I got feedback from the professor too. He also said to match it with your ‘death’. I thought it might be better to bring out your tone.”

 

It was a gentle tone, but the content was strange. Wasn’t he saying he wouldn’t showcase his own song at all and would completely match mine?

 

I tilted my head.

 

“I don’t think that’s what the professor meant. He just said to match the circular structure at the beginning and end, right? Did he really tell you to tear apart your entire song to match mine?”

 

“That’s not exactly what he said.”

 

“See. He wouldn’t have meant to make the songs similar. There’s no reason to blindly follow my direction. I need to hear your song first.”

 

When I spoke firmly, Cho Yun-je gulped.

 

He looked exactly like a child about to be scolded. He was visibly tense without realizing it.

 

“…Alright.”

 

The sound of the piano cover being pushed up rang out. Fluorescent light poured over the black and white keys.

 

I silently stood in a diagonal direction out of his line of sight.

 

Cho Yun-je sat in the chair and straightened his back. As he took a deep breath in and out, his fingers began to move.

 

-♬♪♩♬

 

Clean and flowing notes, smooth phrases.

 

It was such perfect playing that you could believe he was a pianist rather than a composer.

 

However,

 

The melodies seemed familiar from somewhere.

 

‘He patched it together like a patchwork from various classical masterpieces, but it lacks harmony and feels disconnected.’

 

The original sources were good, and he had fused them appropriately so it sounded pleasant at first listen. But that was all.

 

-♩♬-!

 

Suddenly the melody collapsed. The rapidly moving pitches wavered, and he pressed two keys simultaneously.

 

Cho Yun-je’s shoulders stiffened.

 

“…That’s enough, right? This was the direction I was thinking of.”

 

He tried to put on a bright tone, but something suppressed leaked through.

 

Professor Jeong Tae-seong had probably already pointed out the problems with his song. As a fellow undergraduate, I had neither reason nor right to teach him.

 

‘Most importantly, he already looks like he’s about to break down.’

 

I didn’t want to hurt him further by talking about composition here. So I brought up a different topic.

 

“About your piano. This is the first time I’ve heard it up close. I just remembered something.”

 

I asked carefully.

 

“Are you by any chance pianist Oh Su-yeon’s son?”

 

Cho Yun-je’s eyes widened.

 

With a face that looked exactly like the legendary representative Korean pianist, Oh Su-yeon.

 

“Right? It was hard to recognize because of your hair color. But if your hair were black, you’d be the spitting image of your mother! I wonder why I only realized it now.”

 

Since I personally quite liked pianist Oh Su-yeon, an excited voice naturally came out.

 

Some might say she was a has-been, now forgotten pianist. But hearing Oh Su-yeon’s piano performance in person was one of my few dreams.

 

“Is that clear, refreshing sound genetic? Did your mother teach you from when you were young?”

 

“…Why?”

 

Cho Yun-je’s voice had sunk low.

 

Only then could I calm my excitement and look at him properly.

 

I had brought up the topic for small talk, but the atmosphere had become even darker than before.

 

The moment I met Cho Yun-je’s eyes, I realized I had made the wrong choice.

 

His eyes were sharp and ready to hurt not only himself but anyone who approached, fully prepared.

 

“So in your opinion, my composition is terrible, but this piano skill my mother passed down is at least tolerable?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why. That’s what you just said means.”

 

“Wait. I didn’t mean it that way…”

 

“You wanted to say I should be a pianist instead of a composer. That’s what you want to say right now.”

 

“I said no!”

 

Cho Yun-je stood up abruptly and slowly approached me.

 

Our faces came so close that our noses might touch. Cho Yun-je blocked the light, so only his shadowed face was clearly visible.

 

“Or maybe. Is this face that resembles my mother the only useful thing about me?”

 

This bastard, really.

 

Where does this wet-behind-the-ears kid get off being so arrogant.

 

I was dumbfounded by his behavior, as if he thought he was the world’s most unfortunate male protagonist.

 

I was about to take a deep breath to let out a roar from my core that would burst his eardrums.

 

At that moment.

 

Click!

 

The sound of the door opening rang out.

 

When I quickly turned my head, Kang Se-a was standing at the door. Looking back and forth between me and Cho Yun-je.

 

A cold silence flowed.

 

“Oh, did I interrupt something?”

 

Kang Se-a grinned broadly.

 

“I just came to get this file folder. I’ll leave right away. Sorry~.”

 

“No.”

 

Cho Yun-je stepped back slightly.

 

“I’ll be leaving. Well then.”

 

Before anyone could stop him, Cho Yun-je quickly left the practice room. Kang Se-a whistled and strode inside.

 

“What about our junior? Are you staying? I don’t use the piano anyway since I play guitar.”

 

“Senior, about what you saw earlier…”

 

“Huh? Oh~. Don’t worry about it! You’re in the prime of youth! Haha. Good times.”

 

Kang Se-a casually patted my shoulder. Of course, since I was much taller, Kang Se-a had to stand on her tiptoes slightly.

 

“No. I was worried you might misunderstand. We’re nothing to each other.”

 

“Uh-huh. Right. Nothing to each other. I know, I know.”

 

She didn’t look like she understood at all.

 

I let out a deep sigh.

 

“Professor Jeong Tae-seong suggested we share compositional directions, but somehow emotions got a bit heated. That situation just came out of it.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

After I explained in detail, Kang Se-a finally nodded with an “Ah~” of understanding.

 

“Did you mention pianist Oh Su-yeon by any chance?”

 

“…!”

 

“You did. You went and did it~.”

 

Kang Se-a clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

 

“That’s a taboo topic in front of her. Everyone in the Composition Department knows, but our junior probably didn’t know since you transferred in.”

 

“Yes….”

 

“Don’t worry about it! She’ll act like nothing happened tomorrow, you’ll see.”

 

Kang Se-a then told me about how a 4th-year senior who had already graduated made a similar mistake before.

 

It seemed to be a sensitive spot for her. Of course, I had no way of knowing, so I felt completely wronged.

 

“…Yes. Thank you for the advice.”

 

“Don’t mention it!”

 

Kang Se-a grinned as she picked up her guitar. I was thinking I should clear out and was lifting my bag when it happened.

 

“Oh right, junior. Do you happen to know a 2nd-year named Mun Ah-rin?”

 

At the sudden question, I whipped my head around.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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