CHAPTER 22
A faint smile spread across Professor Baek Ga-hee’s lips.
Clap, clap, clap!
“Excellent. Very well done.”
The students still looked stunned. Praise from Baek Ga-hee, who was famous for being strict, left them frozen.
They stared at me with their mouths slightly open, as if they couldn’t believe what they had just seen.
“You may return to your seat.”
I bowed politely and walked toward the back of the classroom. Behind me, Professor Baek’s voice rang out.
“As you all saw, a student with that level of skill may be late to class. After all, it’s material she already knows.”
On the way back, I passed Lee Hyun-ji and her group.
When I gave them a small nod, Hyun-ji looked startled. Han So-yeon clicked her tongue and sharply turned her head away.
Yoo Da-yeon waved lightly at me, and Choi Dong-hyuk gave a crooked grin.
“Who is she?”
“She’s the transfer student.”
“I heard she’s from the piano department?”
“She must have perfect pitch. But even among those with perfect pitch, I’ve never seen someone like that.”
Whispers spread like wildfire.
I ignored the commotion and sat down next to Moon Ah-rin.
Only then did Ah-rin seem to come back to her senses. She looked apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Seol. It’s because of me.”
“…No. It’s my fault for being late.”
Whether she really confused the professors or not—that was something only Moon Ah-rin knew.
“You were amazing earlier. I knew you had perfect pitch, but I didn’t think it was to that extent.”
Ah-rin blushed as she praised me. But her softly curved eyes held a strange light.
“Did you practice separately? While preparing for the transfer exam?”
The burning emotion in her eyes couldn’t be hidden. She was jealous of my talent.
“No. I didn’t practice.”
I smiled briefly and opened my textbook.
“My ears have always been good.”
“Oh… really?”
I pretended not to notice anything.
“It’s not that impressive. Having good ears doesn’t mean you’re good at composing.”
“Y-Yeah. That’s true.”
She forced a smile.
Soon, Professor Baek resumed the lecture, and we both faced forward and focused.
But somehow, Ah-rin’s face seemed subtly stiff compared to before.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
***
“Did you find them?”
Jung Do-hyun’s voice was low, but suppressed impatience lingered beneath it. On the other end of the phone, Jung Tae-sung chuckled.
“Hm. I wonder?”
Do-hyun’s gaze turned cold.
“I always tell you, don’t I? Get to know your students. Show your face more often. I told you it would bring a little vitality into your bleak life!”
“….”
“You avoid them like you’re running away, and then only when you’re desperate do you come looking for me? That’s not a good habit.”
When Tae-sung’s teasing dragged on, Do-hyun spoke firmly again.
“Did you find them, or not?”
If it were anyone else, they would have frozen under his tone.
Even experienced professionals felt tense when Jung Do-hyun spoke like that.
But it didn’t work on Jung Tae-sung.
“Hehe. Even if I did, if the student doesn’t want it, should I just leak their information?”
So he had found them.
Do-hyun knew immediately.
Tae-sung was playful, but not someone who bluffed without reason.
‘So he has someone in mind, but that person doesn’t want to meet me. That’s why he’s speaking indirectly.’
Despite everything, Tae-sung clearly cared about his nephew. He knew Do-hyun would understand what he meant.
“Young people these days are sensitive about personal information leaks. If I mess up, I could lose my department chair position.”
Do-hyun suppressed a sigh and spoke bluntly.
“Professor Jung. Do you know how valuable my time is? Even this conversation feels like a waste.”
“Oh my.”
“You know how much I donate in scholarships to Korea University every year.”
If you take money, you should give something in return. That was how the world worked.
For Do-hyun, now was the time to use that.
The enormous amount he had poured into scholarships at Korea University—if it meant finding one composer who met his standards, it was a fair deal.
“Haha. My dear nephew. Even so, no means no.”
“….”
“My brother clearly raised his child wrong. You think money solves everything!”
Do-hyun pressed his fingers to his forehead.
“Come and find them yourself.”
“…Are you serious?”
Even now, Do-hyun barely slept.
His days were scheduled down to the minute. To tell him to come personally—it was irresponsible.
“There’s nothing I can do. I can’t force a student to meet someone they don’t want to meet. And I can’t hand over a student’s information to an outsider.”
There was amusement in Tae-sung’s voice.
“But it wouldn’t be strange for the director of a scholarship foundation to attend a student recital and have a private meeting with a particularly talented student, right?”
In other words, he would arrange a chance for them to meet somehow.
Do-hyun quickly checked his schedule. Even an hour would do.
“…I think I can manage in a month.”
That was the earliest possible time.
And only if everything went smoothly.
“Good. Honestly, it’s faster to coordinate with Secretary Kim than with you. But you’re coming, right?”
“…Understood.”
“Sigh. Your face is ridiculously expensive to see. Fine. Let’s meet at the recital in a month. I’ll arrange a spot backstage.”
“Please do.”
Click.
Do-hyun immediately ended the call. There was no point in prolonging it.
With one hand flipping through documents, he restarted the music he had paused earlier.
♪♪♬♪
< Mercury > began playing through the speakers.
A soft humming brushed against his ears.
He slowly closed his eyes. The sharpness in his expression softened.
Even after listening again, it was beautiful.
Layered melodies intertwined in a strangely captivating way. Without realizing it, he tapped the rhythm with his fingers.
When he first heard the song, it had sent chills down his spine.
He knew immediately.
This was what he had been searching for.
He had finally found the one who could quench his long thirst.
Do-hyun slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze was still cold, but a faint light flickered within it.
‘I won’t let this slip away.’
His eyes were like a predator tracking its prey.
***
[ SYSTEM – V1.0 ]
Congratulations!
You have secured a connection with an Important Figure (□□□).
Return to original trajectory: 8%
‘What?’
I blinked.
I hadn’t done anything, yet the return-to-track percentage had risen from 7% to 8%. It wasn’t a huge number, but the sudden increase was strange.
“Seol, what are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just for a second.”
I had been staring blankly into space while packing. Ah-rin nudged me. I hurriedly put my books into my bag.
“I’m heading to my part-time job now. What about you?”
“I’m going home. I have a lot of assignments.”
I also needed to finalize the contract with Min Chan-hyuk. And somehow, every professor loved giving homework.
Did they think students only took their class?
“Right? There’s so much homework! The professors are too much—”
“Ah-rin!”
A few students approached, calling Ah-rin’s name excitedly. Were they her friends?
I looked at their faces, but they weren’t familiar.
“Looks like we’re in the same class!”
“How was your break?”
“Did you lose weight? Or dye your hair?”
They chatted loudly.
I quietly stepped back.
It had often been like this before I regressed. No matter where she went, Ah-rin attracted attention, and I would end up standing a few steps behind, watching her shine.
I was used to it.
Just as I was about to take another step back—
“By the way, is this your friend?”
“Your ear training earlier was amazing.”
“Nice to meet you!”
Huh?
Suddenly, their attention shifted to me.
That had never happened before…
