The Genius Composer Starts Again - Chapter 92

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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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I clenched my fists tightly to hide the slight trembling of my fingertips. If I showed any sign of being shaken by Mun Ah-rin’s provocation here, it would be game over.

I quietly burned with anger, making sure not to let it show.

“…I suppose so.”

“Huh?”

“Just like you said. I guess it is jealousy.”

She hadn’t expected me to respond this way, as a faint confusion clouded Mun Ah-rin’s face.

“To be precise, it’s not you I’m jealous of, but Hee-jae. How talented must he be to already receive such praise from the professors.”

The things you’re enjoying aren’t yours.

You’re just temporarily borrowing Park Hee-jae’s genius.

When I clearly pointed out this fact, Mun Ah-rin’s lips trembled.

There’s no way I’d be envious of someone who’s just pretending to be a composer while stealing someone else’s songs.

“I should have entered the Composition Department from the beginning. I shouldn’t have gone to the Piano Department. It’s a shame I missed the first-year classes. If I had taken them, I might have been even better than I am now.”

While it sounded like I was lamenting my own skills, it was also a sarcastic jab at Mun Ah-rin, who still hadn’t distinguished herself despite attending all the classes since her first year.

Having accurately caught the hidden intention, Mun Ah-rin’s expression became subtle.

‘You’re confused, aren’t you? Whether I’m doing this on purpose or not.’

Originally, I would speak directly if I had something to say – I had no talent for speaking in roundabout ways like this.

If someone else had said these things, Mun Ah-rin would have caught on immediately. But since it was me doing it, she seemed uncertain.

“Ah-rin, don’t spoil Hee-jae too much either.”

“…Huh?”

“He depends on you now because he’s young, but will he still do that in three or four years?”

People are bound to grow, and someday they will move forward.

Even a young child who trembled in fear of standing before an audience would gradually change over time.

“If you keep coddling him, he’ll develop bad habits.”

So this kind of luck is only momentary.

How do you plan to handle the consequences of doing something like this?

The unspoken question was directed at Mun Ah-rin. She hesitated for a moment, then let out a short, hollow laugh.

“…Seol, you’ve changed a lot since I last saw you.”

By this point, Mun Ah-rin seemed to realize that I was intentionally speaking in roundabout ways. Her eyes sharpened.

“Really? I don’t really notice.”

When I smiled at her, one corner of Mun Ah-rin’s mouth twisted upward.

“It’s unexpected. You used to be the first to embrace kids like Hee-jae.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. The old Seol was like that. You might not have realized it yourself.”

Mun Ah-rin shrugged her shoulders.

“When it comes to being soft-hearted, you were actually the worst.”

There was a hint of resentment in her words.

I couldn’t gauge what that emotion was, or even if I had ever been like that.

‘The old me? Even more than now?’

Was she talking about middle school or high school? That felt like ancient history to me.

“It’s okay. I’ll make sure what you’re worried about doesn’t happen.”

Mun Ah-rin soon smiled brightly again.

“You said Hee-jae won’t act spoiled forever. But will there ever come a day when Hee-jae breaks out of that mold?”

Mun Ah-rin tilted her head.

“Well~?”

Confidence sparkled between her narrowed eyes, as if she had sprinkled stardust there.

“People tend to settle for comfort easily.”

I pictured Park Hee-jae trapped in a cage.

He wouldn’t even know he was trapped, thinking he had chosen to enter it himself. Just like I had.

Mun Ah-rin just needed to stand guard in front of the cage and plant fear while pretending to worry about Park Hee-jae.

It’s dangerous out here, can you really come out? How about just leaving it to me?

The more he fell for those sweet words, the more Park Hee-jae’s feet would be bound.

“This works out perfectly.”

Mun Ah-rin pulled something out from among the pile of sheet music.

“The professor suggested it earlier. He said I should definitely participate in the upcoming school composition contest.”

Swoosh, the paper she held up contained information about a regular composition competition.

The official name was ‘competition,’ but it was commonly called the ‘composition contest’ within the school out of habit.

“This composition contest has an entertainment company backing it. They’re giving the grand prize winner a chance to debut as a professional composer.”

It was quite a groundbreaking condition.

“It’s a good opportunity for Hee-jae too. It’s also a stage where he can test his abilities.”

Mun Ah-rin smiled cheerfully.

“So, I’m thinking of entering.”

That was a kind of declaration of war.

She had no intention of changing, so if I wanted to try, go ahead and try.

“What about you, Seol?”

Mun Ah-rin tilted her head.

“Want to enter together? Or… are you going to forfeit this time?”

She had a cocky attitude, as if she was riding high from recently capturing the professors’ attention with Park Hee-jae’s songs.

I briefly closed my eyes, then opened them and took a short breath.

“Give it to me.”

I took the information sheet from Mun Ah-rin’s hand.

The timeline was extremely harsh.

It overlapped with the final exam period.

The workload for the Composition Department was already at a murderous level. When exam preparation was added on top, everyone dying from exhaustion was routine.

And now contest preparation too?

‘Is this even a feasible schedule?’

As if reading my thoughts, Mun Ah-rin whispered.

“You don’t need to push yourself too hard, Seol. As you can see, the timing is really awkward. Even though it’s a composition contest, not many students from our department actually participate. Or rather, they can’t.”

“…”

“Even having two bodies wouldn’t be enough, right?”

Of course, this didn’t apply to Mun Ah-rin. First-years generally finished their final exams a bit earlier than second-years.

Park Hee-jae would have at least three or four days to focus solely on composition.

“Can you do it? Of course, if you enter, it would be a good stimulus for Hee-jae, so I’d welcome it. He’s been getting nothing but praise in second-year classes lately, so he seems to be getting bored.”

Ha.

After being utterly defeated by Park Hee-jae’s songs all this time. She seemed to be asking what confidence I had to participate in the contest.

Mun Ah-rin continued with a gentle smile.

“But it would be awkward if you made excuses later about not being able to give your best effort. You are a second-year, after all.”

Right?

Mun Ah-rin asked back while shrugging her shoulders.

After going this far. It would be rude to run away now.

“I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I readjusted my grip on my bag strap.

“Hee-jae needs the experience of failure too.”

It was a declaration that I would absolutely not lose in this contest.

At that, Mun Ah-rin’s smile twisted slightly, then immediately returned to normal as if nothing had happened.

“…That’s so like you, Seol. I’ll pass it along to Hee-jae.”

“Good. We’re competing fairly.”

We looked at each other and smiled, but our eyes weren’t smiling at all.

After exchanging brief greetings, I came out of the practice room.

Walking down the corridor, I opened my tightly clenched fist. Clear nail marks remained on my palm.

***

Monday.

Two classes in the morning, lunch, then practical lessons. In between, one harmony assignment and one analysis report.

Tuesday.

Morning ensemble, afternoon ear training test prep. Evening assignment piece sketching.

Wednesday.

One class, then ear training test. Plus one more assignment piece on top of that.

The Composition Department students were literally dying under the endless cycle of assignments-tests-classes.

In the group chat, screams about collapsing from exhaustion echoed almost daily.

Even cutting down on sleep and working all night, it was barely enough to keep up.

There was only one reason I could endure this brutal schedule.

‘Skill, Creative Spark.’

As I muttered internally, bright light seemed to leak from inside my pupils. The world began flowing one beat slower.

Tick, tick, tock.

Sounds began separating clearly and distinctly.

All background faded into blur, leaving only me and the piano keys.

[ SYSTEM – V1.0 ]

> Skill ‘Creative Spark (A)’

> Description: Burns the creator’s soul to leave behind immortal melodies.

> Effects:

– Creative efficiency +200%

Creative efficiency +200%.

This absurd effect was my only lifeline.

When I came to my senses, it was already 4 AM. The assignment piece was completed before my eyes.

“Haah.”

Taking a deep breath, my sense of reality finally returned to normal.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I leaned back against the chair. The desk edge seemed to be swaying.

Extreme fatigue washed over me, but I couldn’t close my eyes just yet.

‘Starting today, I need to gradually begin preparing for the competition too.’

Just one more time.

If I used the skill just one more time, I could finish the sketch.

‘Skill, Creative Spa…’

It was the moment I muttered that internally.

Drip drip!

“…Huh?”

A nosebleed streamed down, soaking the entire sheet music.

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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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