No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 27. The Emperor (2)

“One more time…”
Sitting on a bench outside the Arts Center, I fiddled with my phone.
The piece The Emperor, which had just concluded, began to play again.

Though listening on my phone wasn’t nearly as captivating as the live performance, it was enough to rekindle the emotions that had settled deep inside me.

“Hmm.”
What was Beethoven trying to express through The Emperor?
He composed this piece in 1808—the year Napoleon’s army invaded Vienna, Austria, where Beethoven lived.
Many fled the city in search of safety, including the emperor and the aristocracy.
As a result, there was no one left in the city to support Beethoven.

Not only did he endure poverty, but his life was also in danger.
It was during this time that he composed Piano Concerto No. 5.
Beethoven once said that music should ignite a spark in people’s souls.

So who was this piece meant to ignite?
Perhaps it was for those left behind in the city—those forced to face the horrors of war without their emperor.
Maybe Beethoven’s friend and publisher called him The Emperor as a gesture to recognize this spirit.

Though there’s no definitive answer, through Jo Sanghyuk’s performance, I felt I finally understood Beethoven’s Emperor.
It spoke of an emperor who stood with his people, even in the face of despair, and inspired awe.

If I hadn’t known this historical background, how would I have approached the performance?
Would I have simply thought of a cold, authoritarian emperor and focused on grandeur alone?
Would I have showcased technical prowess instead of tenderness?

“Fascinating… really fascinating.”
I closed the book Professor Han Gwangsook had given me.
Its title was Basic Knowledge of Music History for Beginners.
Although I always carried it in my bag, today was only the second time I’d opened it.
The first time, it had served as a makeshift coaster for a bowl of ramen.

Leaning against the wall, I turned my head.
The darkened Arts Center and the moon shining brightly above it came into view.
At that moment, a lyrical melody flowed through my earphones, amplifying my contemplative mood and plunging me into deep thought.

The subject? My relationship with music.

How had I treated music all this time?
‘Why am I pursuing music now?’
Had I been approaching it with shallow thoughts, merely because I liked it or because I was good at it?

One thing was certain.
I was no longer the same person as when I first heard Fate at school and rushed to join the orchestra.
The desperation was gone.

So, if I weren’t in this prodigious body and had only an ordinary one, would I have continued with music?
The answer came quickly.
No.
I pursued it simply because I was good at it.

And with that realization came disappointment in myself.
How was this any different from the time I started picking fights because I was good at it?

“I really did want to make music…”

My train of thought wandered further, landing on the subject of this body I now inhabited.
Was I gradually merging with it as I grew accustomed to it?
After all, Kevin, the original owner of this body—Jung Seojoon—did not love music as I did.
He hadn’t cherished it the way I did.

Even just looking around his room revealed the truth.
Not a single sheet of music or record could be found.
And recently, I’d discovered a carving Kevin had made on the headboard of his bed.

‘Music is dragging me into ruin.’

I guessed that Kevin despised his own talent.
It might have been due to his extraordinary hearing.

The desk drawer, filled with earplugs and broken earphones, was a testament to that.

I could somewhat understand.
The more I adapted to this body, the more prominent its auditory sensitivity became for me, too.

I checked the time on my phone.
“Time to go…”

I had been waiting for Jo Sanghyuk.
My goal was simple: to exchange information.
Topics like auditory issues and musical interpretation.
And, truthfully, I wanted to get to know him better—perhaps even become friends.

It felt like the time I first met Ducheol under that bridge.

Yoon Seol had mentioned that Jo Sanghyuk usually left the concert hall long after a performance ended.
She speculated that he avoided people, but I thought otherwise.
I believed he stayed behind to reflect on and analyze his performance.

Rising from the bench, I headed toward the Arts Center’s parking lot.

I could have asked Professor Han to arrange a meeting, sparing myself the hassle, but that wasn’t what I wanted.
I wanted to naturally forge a connection, to become friends without any formalities.

“But… is showing up like this really natural?”

After all, I had made friends with Ducheol and a few others in a similar manner.
Though, in that case, fists had been exchanged at the start.

The underground parking lot was desolate.
Only three cars were parked near the Arts Center’s entrance.

Two black sedans and a white van that appeared to belong to Jo Sanghyuk.
The positioning of the sedans around the van seemed unsettling.

Sure enough, as I approached, people began stepping out of the black sedans.

Two burly men in black suits stepped out. Their attire felt strangely familiar.

“Hey! Who are you?”
One of them shouted at me.

The other man smacked the back of his head.
“Hey, you idiot. Can’t you be polite? Did you forget what the boss said?”
“Sorry, hyung!”

Damn it.
I had a pretty good idea who these guys were—leeches drawn to Jo Sanghyuk.
Were they planning a kidnapping?
Or just some petty robbery?
It was hard to say, given how the underworld was full of unpredictable scumbags.

“What are you guys doing?”
At my question, the man who had smacked his partner now glared at me.
“Look at this punk’s short tongue. Kid, why don’t you just leave while you still can?”

“Where’s Jo Sanghyuk?”

“Ah, for fuck’s sake… you another one of those crazy fanboys?”
The man spat on the ground as he slowly approached me.
“There’s been a whole truckload of idiots like you today. If you’ve got anything to give, hand it over and get lost.”

I sighed and glanced around, checking the locations of the CCTV cameras.
The blinking red lights confirmed they were working.

Now, what to do?
Was Jo Sanghyuk even inside the van?

“Are you gonna leave, or what?”
The man reached out toward me.

At that moment, the door leading to the Arts Center flew open.
Two people walked out.

One of them was Jo Sanghyuk, staggering as if drunk, supported by a tall, slender man also dressed in a black suit.

Sensing danger, I was about to move closer but froze mid-step when I saw the face of the man helping Sanghyuk.

Park Deuksu.

One of my old associates.

“You… you….”
Words failed me as Park Deuksu approached.

“Who the hell are you?”
Hearing his voice sent a wave of anger coursing through me.

These bastards… they’d sunk so low as to become kidnappers?
What happened to all the legitimate businesses I’d built? How could they be resorting to this filth?

“Are you mute or something?”

Forget slowly dismantling the JS Group.
They weren’t worth the wait.
No redemption.
I’d destroy them, every one of my former associates who followed me, in a single blow.

Clenching my fist, I glared at Park Deuksu.

Just then, Jo Sanghyuk let out a loud scream.

“Ahhh!”

Startled, I rushed over to him.
“Jo Sanghyuk! Are you okay?”

“Get your hands off him!”
Park Deuksu reached for me, but I grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and shoved him aside.

“Urgh!”
Caught off guard, Park Deuksu stumbled and fell.

“Are you okay?”
I shook Jo Sanghyuk, trying to snap him out of it.

“Stop shaking me, damn it… I’m gonna puke….”

“What?”
Was he drunk? Or drugged?

Could these bastards have slipped him something?

“Hey! Grab that guy!”

“Yes, boss!”

At Park Deuksu’s shout, the two men began advancing on me.

I placed one hand on Jo Sanghyuk’s shoulder and clenched my other fist.

But the fight ended before it even began, thanks to Jo Sanghyuk’s sudden outburst.

“Hey! Representative Park!”

Park Deuksu got up and answered him.
“Huh, now what….”

“Who the hell is this guy?”
Jo Sanghyuk grabbed the back of my head and yanked it.

Startled, I quickly pulled away from him.
“What the hell are you doing?”

Jo Sanghyuk steadied his swaying body and furrowed his brows.
“What’s going on….”

I scrutinized his eyes, lips, and the skin around his nose and face.
At least, for now, there were no visible signs of drugs I recognized.

“Damn it….”
Jo Sanghyuk muttered to himself, clutching his head.

“Everyone shut up… Someone give me a sedative, quick…”
“Jo Pro, you can’t have any more!”
“Just do it! Call your vice president now!”

Jo Sanghyuk shouted furiously and pulled a portable whiskey flask from his pocket.
“Shit… This is such a fucking nightmare…”

He unscrewed the cap and downed the contents in one go. His eyes unfocused, he pressed both hands against his ears.
“Get out! All of you, get the hell out! Damn it!”

He screamed like a madman. This was nothing like the composed image I had of Jo Sanghyuk.

While I stood frozen, Park Deuksu walked over and lightly patted my shoulder.
“Hey, young man.”

“…….”

“You look pretty shaken. Maybe it’s best if you leave.”

“Why is Jo Sanghyuk like this…?”

Meanwhile, Jo Sanghyuk was practically dragged into the van by the two men. Judging by their careful handling, it didn’t seem like a kidnapping.

“Well…”
Park Deuksu let out a deep sigh before continuing.
“He’s overdosed on sedatives. Don’t misunderstand. Whatever you think you saw here today, forget about it. We’re rough people, so you’d do well to remember that.”

He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me.

‘JS Art Management.’

****

JS Art

This was one of the businesses I had planned before I died. A professional management company for artists, musicians, and painters.
I had explained it as a means for laundering money, but truthfully, it was born from my simple passion for music.

But I died before I could even get it off the ground, so I assumed it had been abandoned.
And yet… it was operating right before my eyes.

“Damn…”

I suddenly recalled the conversation I had overheard earlier at the Arts Center with Yoon Seol’s acquaintances.
They had mentioned how Jo Sanghyuk had unexpectedly signed a contract with a Korean management company.
They also said this management company was closely tied to the National University of Arts.
And it turned out to be my company.

Why would a world-renowned pianist sign with a fledgling company that barely had any foundation?
Could it have something to do with Jo Sanghyuk’s current condition?

Burdened by the complicated thoughts swirling in my mind, I called Ducheol.
After a brief call, I confirmed he didn’t know anything either.

“What the hell is Kim Changsik up to…?”

I walked for what felt like ages, lost in thought, until I realized I was already back in my neighborhood.

Just one more major road to cross before reaching home.
As I approached, my steps instinctively halted.

Honk! Honk!

Unlike usual, the four-lane road ahead was completely jammed.
I craned my neck to get a better look.

In the middle of the road, an expensive foreign car was parked sideways.
In front of it lay a toppled delivery motorcycle.
A man wearing a helmet was sprawled on the ground, chicken pieces scattered around him.

Two large young men were yelling at the fallen man.
I could piece together the situation with just a glance.

“Click.”
I clicked my tongue and was about to move on when something caught my attention.

The man’s leg. His old, worn sneakers.
They were the same ones I saw every day in our shoe rack.

“…….”

As if possessed, I pulled the earbuds from my ears. The gentle classical music faded, replaced by the blaring car horns and murmuring voices around me.

Beyond that, I heard a familiar voice.

“Sorry… I’m sorry, young men… I’m still not used to these streets…”

It was my father’s voice.

Then came the voices of the two young men, slurred as if they were drunk.

“What the hell, you old geezer… Get up already! What kind of nonsense is this?”
Their insults stung like poison.
“Mister, this is why your life’s like this at your age. What were you doing when you were younger, huh?”
Their mockery crushed his dignity.
They had crossed the line. They weren’t just berating him—they were trampling his humanity.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
My father kept apologizing as he wiped the car’s bumper with his sleeve, oblivious to the blood dripping from his knee.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
He repeated his apology over and over.

“Hey, old man! Damn it, get up already!”
One of the young men kicked my father’s shoulder with his foot.

In that instant, all the turmoil in my mind vanished.
My head cleared completely.
Rationality slipped away, leaving nothing but clarity of action.