The piano's melody spread like the wind. Eun-tae looked down at his hands. The melody, spread like the wind, materialized at Eun-tae's fingertips, putting everything to rest. Eun-tae raised his head. Another version of himself was moving Eun-tae's fingers. His knuckles were tied to strings, and as this other version moved, Eun-tae moved as well. It was a bizarre sight, yet beautiful. An overwhelming joy enveloped Eun-tae. Then Eun-tae opened his eyes. The ship contained only the dawn air, the grand piano, and himself. Eun-tae sat at the piano. Tracing his dream with certainty, he recreated the melody with perfect beauty. When the performance ended, Eun-tae suddenly realized he was tired. Extraordinarily tired. For a brief moment, he felt a headache. The suffocating headache was suddenly soothed by the sound of applause coming from behind.
"bravo."
Looking back, Woohyuk smiled brightly. Euntae smiled too. "That's a song I've never heard before," Woohyuk asked. "I had a dream," he answered. Woohyuk stood next to Euntae. Euntae felt a sense of security in the low, rich voice and the warmth of his friend's body. Woohyuk reached out toward the rising sun beyond the deck.
"You'll definitely succeed in Joseon. Think about it. A standing ovation in your hometown. Trust me, my friend. You're the embodiment of Mozart. You just haven't been recognized in Tokyo. And if you think about it, it's not like you haven't been recognized. A church bought your music."
Eun-tae smiled bitterly. The sun rose, shining brightly on the two men. It seemed to bless the days ahead of them. Having spent all their money on Tokyo, the two had no choice but to stay at a cheap inn. Woo-hyuk smiled sheepishly. Eun-tae opened the trunk first to show he didn't care. The autumn weather, fast approaching, was quite cool. A trumpet sounded from the gramophone Woo-hyuk had turned on. He said jazz was popular in America these days. The world where traditional musicians could exist was disappearing, a reality. Eun-tae threw himself onto the old bed in the inn. His skin felt unusually heavy. The fatigue that lingered in his stomach wouldn't easily disappear. The jazz melody became annoying. He rolled over on the rough sheets and Woo-hyuk approached him, his shirt half-unbuttoned. "Come on, come on. You can't just lie there." He helped Eun-tae up. And the two danced until the gramophone stopped.
“Hey, Eun-tae.”
"God has given you such a noble musical talent, but it doesn't seem to be your dancing talent." Woohyuk laughed out loud after finishing his words. All that remained for the penniless youth were the music, the sheet music, and each other. Euntae looked at Woohyuk, who lay on the bed across from her, a single drawer between them. Woohyuk smiled. Gyeongseong was remarkably quiet that day.
After a week of earning money from selling a few of Eun-tae's sheet music and Woo-hyuk's street performances, both of them concluded that this was no longer the way to live. Even lodging at an inn was becoming untenable. Eun-tae had ten pieces left, and Woo-hyuk's violin squeaked uncomfortably, lacking the money for rosin. Eun-tae stood up. He had to sell the sheet music to even pay the rent. The streets, unfamiliar with the weather, were freezing cold. Shivering, Eun-tae went to a sheet music store. Luckily, there was a place selling sheet music, otherwise he would have had to wander around Gyeongseong looking for a performer who wanted new music. Entering the relatively clean shop, the warmth that spread across him was so welcoming that Eun-tae almost wiped away tears. The scrawny Japanese owner looked him up and down. His ears reddened at the blatant gaze. The owner remained silent for a moment before speaking and asking for his business. Eun-tae held out the sheet music he'd brought, tucked into his wool coat. The Japanese man furrowed his eyebrows at the twenty sheets of paper before him and motioned him over to the piano. Then, with an air of arrogance, he raised his head, as if to suggest he play. Eun-tae carefully placed his fingers on the keys. He took a deep breath. Then, slowly, he began to play his melody.
“……That’s enough.”
The owner spoke. Eun-tae found the fleeting tears in his eyes strange. Truly... this is Joseon-jing music. The strength to stand drained from her. Her hands trembled, as if in convulsions. Her head ached. Just like on that ship when this piece was first performed.
“Don’t take my words as an insult.”
“…?”
“Because I’m telling you about the tragic lives of Joseon people like you.”
"Really… ...It's heartbreaking," he said lamentingly. "If I were the person in power today, I'd hire you to do propaganda music. It might be a rash decision, but your music has the power to move hearts." The owner paid ninety cents for the sheet music. It was almost the equivalent of one won. Tears welled up in Eun-tae's eyes as the nine hundred-dollar coins fell into his hands. The joy of making money intertwined with the sadness of selling his child for ninety cents. Someone's dream could be sold for ninety cents. It was less than what a rickshaw puller could earn if he went all the way to Namdaemun. Feeling his heart sink even further, Eun-tae hurriedly turned around and walked away. The owner stared at his hands, red from the cold, for a moment before asking Eun-tae's back.
“We need a talented performer tomorrow.”
“……”
“I’ll be playing about six songs.”
“……”
“I’ll give you this much every time you play a song.”
Eun-tae had no choice but to turn around. Then, with eyes almost tearful, he asked. "One song... won't it be 1 won?" The owner looked at Eun-tae for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Come here tomorrow at 5 p.m. sharp." Eun-tae left the music shop after receiving another promise of 1 won. A lump formed in his throat. The cold weather felt unusually warm. Back at the inn, Woo-hyuk was sleeping, propped up on his arm. The cool hem of his clothes told him he hadn't been back from the streets for long. Eun-tae sat down beside Woo-hyuk and spoke softly.
“You don’t have to go out for a while now.”
Woohyuk's cough answered.
The owner led Eun-tae into a massive Japanese-style mansion. It seemed already bustling with party activity. Eun-tae, trying to match the Japanese's gait, carefully examined the mansion. The interior, decorated with all sorts of rare ceramics and other objects, was the height of opulence. The suffocating, crowded atmosphere made his head spin. The polished marble floors made even stepping on them uneasy. The owner took Eun-tae's wrist and led him up to the third floor. "Captain Ito, this is the musician I mentioned," the owner said. "Come in," a young voice said. Eun-tae stepped through the door. Standing with his back to the light, the captain's silhouette was remarkably robust. Hearing someone enter, Captain Ito turned. He was quite handsome. His impressive mustache made him look older than his age, but even that exuded the dignity of a nobleman. However, he was not a nobleman; he was the son of a wealthy man who had made a fortune. That's why I went to war and became a captain. "I'd rather tell the story myself than listen to distorted rumors from fools," Ito said, his face slightly grimacing. His concern was how well Eun-tae's performance could conceal his family background.
"I've already declared war on them. I've said I'll find and bring you a god-given musician, someone your arrogant souls will never find. Someone who can thrill your entire being and bring tears to the eyes of even the most barren of hearts. Someone whose music will tear at the heartstrings of even a soldier like me. Since Ryuichi brought you, I have some degree of trust in you, but keep in mind: you must exceed my expectations. Can you do it?"
He nodded cautiously. Ito motioned for him to leave quickly. Go ahead and have some champagne. This will be the last drink of the night, after all. Eun-tae couldn't find a proper rebuttal. As the grandfather clock struck eight o'clock, Ryuichi led Eun-tae to the piano. He couldn't even hear Ito's voice introducing himself. He could only feel the cold keys against his fingertips. Eun-tae, however, channeled the ecstasy of his dream and began to play his score. When the first performance ended, he was greeted by the tearful faces of Japanese aristocrats and deafening applause. They were ecstatic about Eun-tae. They had long since abandoned any pretense of dignity. They frantically demanded an encore in their awkward—but careful not to show it—accents, seeming to worship even the keys Eun-tae had touched. A tingling sensation pierced his fingertips, and at the same time, a suffocating pain washed over him. He couldn't even tell where the feeling was coming from. All he could do was clutch his chest and muster all his strength to keep from collapsing. But the crowd's cheers wouldn't stop. Even as their idol turned pale, the people continued to chant. Encore! Encore! Everything was terrifying. Encore! Encore! Even though his pupils were dilated and his desperate struggles to catch his breath were clearly visible, the deafening cries of encore continued. Encore! Encore! From a distance, Ryuichi walked toward Eun-tae with a satisfied smile. But his smile soon faded.
“Are you okay?”
Even opening his mouth was painful. Seeing Eun-tae, unable to speak, trembling like a sick person, Ryuichi shielded him from the screaming and applauding audience. Ito, who had been quietly wiping away tears from a distance, seemed to sense something. Ryuichi supported Eun-tae. Ito approached.
“That’s enough. Go and get some rest.”
Ito said.
“It looks like you’ve pushed yourself too hard today. Let’s take a rest.”
“Money… money is….”
"Is that the problem now? Come on. I'll take care of it."
As he spoke in a trembling voice, Ryuichi shook his head in disbelief. Then, ten one-piece coins fell into Eun-tae's hands. As they reached the threshold of the inn, the unfamiliar pain vanished.
"Oh my god, where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Woohyuk asked. Euntae handed over the money she had received. Woohyuk's eyes widened at the sight. Where on earth did he get this?
“I went to play a concert at Captain Ito’s house.”
His usually gentle voice now sounded weak. His complexion seemed even paler. Woohyuk rose from his seat and sat in the chair next to Euntae, who was perched on the edge of the bed. "I went to sell some sheet music last night, and they said they needed a musician. That's all. Really?" Woohyuk frowned.
“You look too tired to be saying that.”
“You must be tired after earning ten won overnight.”
Eun-tae, who had spoken as if making an excuse, collapsed on the floor. At some point, playing the piano had become a constant source of pain. Was he suffering from some kind of terminal illness? But why, why did he only feel this way when he played? Exhausted, he briefly expanded his thoughts before falling asleep.
“I’m sorry, but for now, what are you talking about…….”
Eun-tae woke to Woo-hyuk's voice. He was talking to a burly soldier. As he rose from the bed, Ito gestured. At the same time, Woo-hyuk said, "Come here. That arrogant soldier has something to say at 7 a.m." Woo-hyuk sneered.
"I have some personal business to attend to with His Excellency the Governor. He was at your concert last night."
“That means…….”
“His Majesty invited you to the Governor-General’s Office today.”
"He seems to have found you quite impressive." Woohyuk gazed at Euntae blankly. Their eyes met. Woohyuk turned his head first. Euntae said, "I'll go. What time should I go?" Ito smiled contently and lightly patted Euntae on the shoulder. "Good idea. I'll see you at three o'clock. Get everything ready by then." After speaking, Ito glanced around the inn and left. Woohyuk grabbed Euntae's shoulder.
“There’s no need to go.”
"know."
“Then why on earth…….”
“Just…I have to get out of here now.”
Woohyuk shrugged. Euntae could tell his pride was slightly hurt. He soothed Woohyuk in a more affectionate voice than usual.
“You also need to buy a new gramophone.”
Only then did Woohyuk reluctantly nod.
Governor-General Jiro looked Eun-tae up and down. It was hard to imagine his usual shabby appearance, since Ito had readily lent him his suit. Governor-General Jiro had been staring at him for quite some time, and Eun-tae, in turn, faced him. Governor-General Jiro was a stocky man with small eyes, a beard, and a bald head hidden by a hat. Governor-General Jiro opened his mouth.
“I was very impressed by your performance last night.”
“……”
When he didn't answer, Ito poked him in the ribs. "It's an honor," Eun-tae said hurriedly.
“You went to Tokyo to study abroad, right?”
"…yes."
“You know not only how to play, but also how to compose?”
"If I may be so bold as to say, Your Majesty, the piece played that day was also composed by this person."
Ito interjected. The governor sat down in his leather chair and clasped his hands together. "Your performance last night was quite impressive," he said slowly. Unable to predict what would come out of his dark mouth, Eun-tae made the sign of the cross inwardly. Finally, the governor spoke.
“I want to make a contract with you.”
"I'll give you a stable job," the Governor-General said. Eun-tae's eyes widened. He couldn't believe what he just heard. A job? At the Governor-General's Office, at that? But how on earth could a mere musician possibly work for the Governor-General? A cold sweat ran down his parched back. He glanced at Ito, but even he seemed oblivious to this.
"The contract is simple. You can play and compose as much as you want, just like you did back then. I'll pay you extra for each song you compose. You can also stop by this building occasionally to play and shop. I'll pay you fifty cents a month."
“I…I….”
"Why on earth are you hesitating? I'm offering you a monthly payment you'll never get to see again."
The Governor-General spoke slightly louder, as if displeased. Eun-tae tried to calm his trembling hands. The Governor-General tossed the paper and fountain pen in front of Eun-tae. It was a contract. Eun-tae carefully signed it. Governor-General Jiro finally smiled with satisfaction. It was like the expression of someone who had long desired something. The Governor-General, apparently in a good mood, launched into a lengthy speech about Eun-tae's great talent and how he could help him utilize it. He mentioned Mozart's name. "Your talent is even more brilliant than Mozart's. That's like Amadeus." "Oh, you have a look of ignorance. Listen carefully. If you just listen to me, you can become a greater musician than Beethoven," the Governor-General said with a smug air. But even after signing, Eun-tae remained confused. He was frightened by the sudden good fortune that had befallen him, but he also suspected the Governor-General had other intentions. The Governor-General first gave him the fifty won stipulated in the contract. Then, with a very arrogant air, he waved his hand. As he staggered out of the Governor-General's office, Ito placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You can do it.”
“……Thank you, Captain.”
"It's a shame I can no longer see you privately. But serving my country as a subject of the Empire of Japan is certainly a good thing."
“Volunteering…?”
"ah."
"I guess I talked too much," Ito said with a hearty laugh. Then he walked towards his mansion, leaving Eun-tae alone on the autumn streets. He walked slowly to the inn, where Woo-hyuk was sitting at an old desk. The sound of the door opening made Woo-hyuk jump to his feet. He could see in his eyes that he wanted to hear the full details of what had happened.
“…something happened.”
Woohyuk's face hardened.
“You’re not saying that you kowtowed to those Japanese people and received money, are you?”
“I didn’t bow.”
“That’s good.”
Silence flowed through the inn. "I'm sorry," Woohyuk said quietly. Euntae nodded slightly. Woohyuk rolled over. "You can't just lie there." Euntae deliberately turned on the gramophone, even though he absolutely hated jazz. But before the first note could even begin, Woohyuk had turned it off. He also turned off the only lamp in the room. It was a nervous gesture. Euntae turned it back on. Woohyuk pulled back the blanket and glared at him. "What are you doing?" Woohyuk asked. "You, too," Euntae said. Woohyuk turned the lamp off again. And soon after, it came back on.
“No. Let’s talk.”
Woohyuk jumped up from his seat. "What on earth do you have to say?" he asked, his voice almost like a question. It was disconcerting. But Euntae maintained her composure as best she could and opened her mouth.
"You've been so irritable ever since I told you I had a job."
“Well, I said no.”
“Don’t say that, just say it.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to talk about it.”
"I just assumed you were having the same dream as me," Woohyuk said. His chest tightened. He wanted to lash out. He barely suppressed the urge to grab Woohyuk by the collar as he spoke.
“Is that all? Because I was given the governor’s job?”
"You know his behavior, don't you? He's a writer who despises art. He oppresses artists and treats them as nothing more than savages. You're being played by someone like that."
Woohyuk pointed his finger at Euntae's forehead. His eyes were filled with disappointment and anger. But Euntae couldn't understand why Woohyuk's eyes held such emotion.
“Don’t play around.”
"That's your opinion. Do you think I didn't know that? You bowing down and giving everything you had to just build a body? Hey, we're artists. We're not like those guys who churn out music like factories! Why are you trying to push yourself to the bottom?"
After Woohyuk finished speaking, he gasped in shock and covered his mouth with his hand. His heart ached, as if something had touched it. It was strange. Euntae could tell his face was blank. He hadn't been cut by anything. There was no knife, no gun, and certainly no paper.
“…Art? What good is that anyway?”
“Hey Eun-tae…”
"You live so nobly. I'll just end up at the bottom. That's my original place."
“……”
“You… you shouldn’t say things like that.”
Woohyuk shut his mouth. "Good night." He lay down on the bed and turned off the lamp. He knew he couldn't continue the conversation.
"You're so stupid, my friend." Eun-tae realized it was his "Amadeus." "Amadeus" looked remarkably similar to Eun-tae. However, Amadeus was much shorter than Eun-tae. That was all. All he could see from such a brilliant genius was himself. Eun-tae was about to speak first, but Amadeus silenced him. "Why would you throw away your chance for success? I don't understand."
“Don’t say that.”
"Then you'll spend your life wandering around inns like this and dying. But that won't happen. I'll stop you."
"You're in no position to tell me what to do. Who do you think you owe this offer to? Who owes you all that applause? You're just playing along with my music. Do you know who'll miss me the most when I'm gone? It's you," Amadeus said threateningly. He desperately wanted to refute it, but it was all true. He knew deep down that without his genius, he was incapable of anything. Amadeus, his small body showing its unusual temper, huffed and took a deep breath.
Jiro stared at his polished shoes. He was waiting for Eun-tae. He might not have much to offer, but his talent was unparalleled in the history of mankind. That's why he desperately needed it. Its mere existence was divine. Jiro believed that all power should be centralized in the Government-General. Therefore, it was only natural that he coveted Eun-tae. That's why he had personally harassed the Government-General staff to prepare the concert. He wanted to demonstrate how much he possessed, that no matter how much he ran wild in the colonies or on the mainland, they would ultimately kneel before this great god. The praise and admiration they bestowed upon Eun-tae's genius belonged to Jiro. Therefore, what he truly desired was power in all fields.
“Has the performer arrived yet?”
“I have just arrived, Your Majesty.”
Jiro glanced at the musician. As expected, the suit he wore that day was clearly borrowed. After all, how could someone of such humble origins own such fine clothing? He gave the musician a blatantly arrogant look and squeezed his shoulder tightly. The power of a seasoned soldier was difficult even for a man to endure. Especially one who had starved for days. Jiro stood there for a long moment, not batting an eyelash, before speaking.
"I'll get you a new suit, so throw those clothes away. Wearing those clothes is an insult to the name I gave you."
Eun-tae followed Jiro into a fancy-looking tailor shop. The sight was familiar. It was where he'd had his first suit tailored, after all. However, he could already sense a difference in the way they were looking at him. Jiro had only one word: make a suit that would suit this young man. A suit that wasn't too flashy, but not too plain. The staff took measurements here and there—arm length, waist measurement, things like that—and told him to come back in two weeks. Jiro slammed the table next to him. That shortened the two weeks to two days. It would take day and night, no proper meals, just sewing to finish, but that didn't elicit any sympathy from the governor-general. Eun-tae was terrified of this situation. He felt a pang of pity for those who had so freely ignored him ten years ago. He left the shop and asked Jiro.
“Do you really have to go that far?”
“Your concert is only three days away.”
Jiro said so. And walked ahead. Eun-tae followed. What employer in the world would announce a concert three days beforehand? And in this way, at that. Jiro's strong hand grabbed her shoulder.
“I have to show off a performance that is like no other in the world.”
His gaze fell on the gun slung at his waist. Eun-tae nodded silently. It signified obedience, and Jiro reveled in the obedience of the world's only performer.
Eun-tae was handed a bottle of whiskey. He didn't think he'd drink it, so he put it in the cupboard, wondering if he really needed it. The sky was overcast, almost as if it were going to snow. Strolling down the street, looking quite tidy, Eun-tae paused when he heard a familiar violin melody. A street musician in shabby clothes was strumming, seemingly entranced. For some reason, Woo-hyuk came to mind, so Eun-tae put in a few coins. The musician stopped playing. Eun-tae turned and walked on. He hadn't expected to see Woo-hyuk there. His old friend was playing the violin, his hands red from the cold. And he looked awkward at Eun-tae. His heart pounded. The concert was at 8 p.m. He had about two hours to spare. He longed to see Amadeus. His eccentric temperament was so elusive that even he couldn't control it. Amadeus, too, had to vaguely understand the importance of this matter. Eun-tae turned to look at him. Amadeus stood there like a docile animal. He clenched his jaw like a child, a sign that today's performance would be flawless. Eun-tae nodded and walked down the long, carpeted hallway he was to walk. The piano was bathed in light. Eun-tae took a deep breath and placed his hands on the piano keys. Today's performance opened with Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 1. Some musicians claim to be completely unnerved on stage, but perhaps because of his typically shy nature, even on stage he couldn't help but tremble. The gazes he received seemed to judge him, as if to say, "If you can do it, go for it, you lowborn soul." It was terrifying. That's why he played with even greater sincerity. The music of a passionate genius could only be performed by another passionate genius. When the performance ended and he caught his breath, Eun-tae felt his entire body relax under the applause. He caught his breath and played the next piece. A smile soon formed on his face. The crowd's gazes were no longer terrifying. The cheers when the performance finally ended were probably something even Ito Hirobumi, if he were alive, wouldn't hear. Eun-tae, bathed in the bright lights, suddenly looked up at the box seats. Jiro was clapping with a satisfied expression. Only then could Eun-tae feel at ease. He politely declined Ito's offer of a drink and decided to go home. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he walked along the snow-covered streets. How long had he walked? Eun-tae knew he was already home. But at the front door, a familiar face appeared, yet one that shouldn't have been there. Woo-hyuk strode toward him. His bloodshot eyes and gaunt face revealed his past. Woo-hyuk approached like a raging bull, then tears welled up in his eyes. Eun-tae was bewildered by everything. He couldn't understand why Woo-hyuk had appeared before him. Could it be he was apologizing? Are you going to apologize for what you said that day?
“…Why did you do something like that?”
"what?"
“Why did you sell your performance to people like that?”
Woohyuk grabbed Euntae by the collar. His heart felt like it was being torn apart into a thousand pieces. Euntae, trying to keep from shedding tears like a child, pulled away from Woohyuk's grasp and glared at him. They both vaguely knew that this night was a turning point between them.
“Are you out of your mind? Why are you…!”
“…Why did you come?”
“……”
"Did you have anything else to say to me? What are you trying to say this time? 'Let's do art together and starve to death' or something like that?"
“Watch what you say.”
When Eun-tae snapped at him sharply, Woo-hyuk spoke quietly.
“…Yes, Woohyuk.”
Eun-tae dropped both arms weakly.
“I’m so tired right now.”
"I can no longer live chasing only ideals," Eun-tae said, his lips trembling slightly. Instead of answering, Woo-hyuk pulled out his gun. He was momentarily taken aback, but it was handed to Eun-tae. "It's too old," he said bitterly. "It won't kill anything. It's more of a decoration. The nobles live only to show off."
“I hope you never have to use that.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I think we should walk separately now.”
"Goodbye," Woohyuk said. Euntae wanted to hold on. She wanted to grab him and cry and demand that their time together had all been a lie. But that didn't suit his usually calm nature. Swallowing everything and sinking alone suited him. Woohyuk paused for a moment. Euntae thought this was her chance to grab him, but her feet wouldn't move.
"ah."
A voice came from Woohyuk's back.
“Your performance was good today too.”
And that was the end of it.
“No matter how much I think about it, I can’t understand.”
“Did I ask you to understand? Please just leave me alone.”
Eun-tae buried his face in his hands and muttered. Amadeus seemed momentarily flustered, but he seemed to think that if he was going to survive in Eun-tae's presence, he couldn't hesitate now.
“…Well, that doesn’t mean I’m going to completely control you.”
Amadeus handed him another sheet of music. The notes on the sheet had a somewhat unpleasant red hue. He even seemed to smell something fishy. The moment he realized what it was, he said, "Fortunately, geniuses all risk their lives to demonstrate their genius. Are you out of your mind?" Eun-tae shouted, but Amadeus didn't even blink.
“So you should be thankful that you don’t owe me everything.”
Eun-tae retched. Amadeus wouldn't let Eun-tae die. He wouldn't let Eun-tae live in poverty. He would only destroy him completely, slowly but surely. Eun-tae rushed at Amadeus. Amadeus willingly offered his neck. Even though he felt a hand strangling him, Amadeus chuckled. If I disappear now, will you be able to live properly? As a Joseon-jin, the only thing you can do is play the piano... ... Now, if even that disappears, I'll see what you'll look like. Eun-tae withdrew his hand in shock. At the same time, his eyes opened. The clock showed 5 a.m. The bedding was damp with cold sweat.
The piano lid opened. The people gazed at the performer with awe, as if they were expecting him to perform something truly remarkable. When Bach began to play, the people's gazes cooled slightly, but perceptibly. The Bach piece soon ended. Eun-tae sighed faintly and listened to the courteous applause of the nobles. It felt somehow annoying. He just wanted to finish and rest. At some point, the people stopped paying much attention to Eun-tae's performance itself. They were only interested in his incredible talent. They didn't care what he was playing. All they wanted was a concert they could go home and show off to their friends and family. After the performance and the formal applause, that's when the most frightening part began. People wouldn't leave Eun-tae alone. They pushed and pulled, pulling and tugging at him like foolish children, yearning for him. To be precise, it was his genius, his talent that held the most power in Joseon's art world. Amadeus remained silent, yet the presence of humanity weighed heavily on him.
“Excuse me. I think I should go now.”
Eun-tae stood up, holding a glass of champagne. As he stood, people crowded around him. Fear was palpable. Countless hands were pinning him down. Eun-tae ran away, trying to push through the crowd to find the exit. But he was pushed back, unable to get out. As he stumbled out the door, someone tripped and fell. What saw him sprawled on the dirty, snow-covered street were not the upper class in the building, but the impoverished. "That's how you get treated when you work for the Japanese," someone said. Eun-tae slowly stood up. He had arranged to record his performance the next day.
Ito's influence was significant in the visit to the recording studio. Recognizing Governor-General Minami, everyone was embarrassed and at a loss. The Governor-General instructed Eun-tae, who had followed him, to play anything. Ito, standing next to him, personally opened the piano lid and became even more enthusiastic than usual. The music recorded that day was a composition Eun-tae had never given a title to. Ito named it and recorded it. The piano piece, with the unfamiliar title "Naisen Ilche," quickly spread throughout Gyeongseong, and its astonishing performance spurred foolish young men, ignorant of the situation, to march to the battlefield. At the terrifying parade that sent Korean soldiers off to war, Eun-tae had to play the piece over and over again as the soldiers were called out to board ships bound for Japan. Despite the certainty of being cannon fodder, the Korean youths boarded the ships without batting an eye. A bitter taste welled up in their throats. Far away, outside the venue, parents must be wailing over the loss of their children. Eun-tae felt like cutting off both of his own hands. He figured he'd have to see a counselor tomorrow.
This cycle continued for three years: suffering and running from those who indulged in him. People wanted to know everything about Eun-tae, to understand where his genius lay. They watched him with lustful eyes, hoping to one day possess him, like a decoration in Jiro's glass cabinet. Every step he took within the mansion was a source of information they sought, so he became untrustworthy: not the mansion's employees, not the people he encountered, not even his counselor. And the governor-general still expected him to devote all his energy to composing for Japan. Despite his struggles, Eun-tae could only swallow the lump in his throat and bow his head as he held him captive by money and guilt. Occasionally, he would succumb to depression. Amadeus hated it terribly. So whenever he felt down, Amadeus would pick up a bottle of wine and pour it down Eun-tae's throat until he lost consciousness. Even as he struggled, choking, Amadeus wouldn't let him go. After losing consciousness, consumed by something he couldn't tell if it was part of his death or simply the effects of alcohol, he found a sheet of music he hadn't seen before. And Eun-tae, his hands shaking, wrote his name. After writing his own name, not Amadeus, on the unfamiliar sheet, he clasped his hands and prayed frantically. He wished only for death.
"Lord, I want to rest. My future is so certain it frightens me. I am the only one who must endure it, but I am so worn out that even I am overwhelmed. Lord, take away this trial. I am so weak...I know nothing, I can endure nothing."
While not quite luxurious, the mansion's floor was quite different from its exterior, despite its neatness. With bloodshot eyes, Eun-tae wrote, "With the grace of His Majesty the Emperor," on the first page of the sheet music he had printed. His lips were dry, and his hand, weakly moving from his fountain pen, looked like it was about to die. The people in the mansion paid little attention to their employer. At the sight of the familiar suit, Eun-tae chuckled and muttered.
“Take it.”
“The Governor-General has instructed me to compose the next song to show the majesty and glory of the Government-General of Korea.”
“Please, please, please! Can you stop saying that now?”
Eun-tae heard it clearly. The low laughter that ignored his screams, the whispers of the people in the mansion, calling him a lunatic. He just wanted to sink into the swamp. Another group of people, banging on the door and barging in without permission, were impatient to see how the musician they had once admired, and who had been jealous and nagging behind his back, had been ruined. Eun-tae hustled everyone out of the mansion. Even as they did, they had been tugging at him, grabbing his wrists, and his appearance was horribly disfigured. Without even a moment to smooth his tangled hair and tangled clothes, he locked the door and rummaged deep in a drawer, where he found an old gun. Woo-hyuk had said it was so old and decorative that it wouldn't kill anyone. Eun-tae picked it up and aimed it at his chin. It was an impulsive act, but it was also the moment he had been longing for for three years. When he lifted his head helplessly to the ceiling, he saw a painting of a shepherd in sandals, illuminated by a bright halo. He roared at the painting. God had given him such a cruel talent, so this death would be his too.
“Okay, I’ll die. But remember, you’re the one killing me!”
Eun-tae pulled the trigger without hesitation. His body fell to the floor. All he could do was laugh. Oh, my friend, did you even think this through? He laughed at himself to his heart's content. The sight was so brutal that people thought he was planning to kill him mercilessly. Eun-tae threw the gun far away. Woo-hyuk said it was too old and more decorative than effective, so it wouldn't kill anyone. Eun-tae drew the curtains to cover all the windows in the mansion. People, not seeing the mad genius they'd been waiting for, went their separate ways one by one. Soon after, a telegram arrived. The two letters "critically ill" were clearly printed on it.
Eun-tae immediately called a rickshaw man. Contrary to his heart, already drawn to his poor old colleague, the rickshaw man's brisk pace was slow. By the time they reached the inn, Woo-hyuk had already passed away. Pneumonia, perhaps? The doctor, recognizing Eun-tae, feigned pomp and circumstance, using a flurry of difficult terms. But Eun-tae couldn't even see Woo-hyuk off. He stormed out of the inn and ran home. Musical notes danced wildly in his head. It felt like his head was going to burst. Eun-tae clutched his head and began scribbling notes on the staff. He pushed himself so hard that he couldn't even think of breathing. He didn't close his eyes, didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't even shed tears. He simply continued to write music, then play the piano, then pick up the fountain pen, as if he'd sold his soul to the devil. It felt like electricity was coursing through his brain. The more he pushed himself to the limit, the greater the thrill he experienced with each note. Requiem. He muttered, chewing the name in his mouth. What he was writing was a requiem for Woohyuk. No. Or was it not? As the notes flew around, Euntae had to wonder who this requiem was for. Was it a requiem for me? His hands slowed for a moment. Then they quickly quickened again. Oddly enough, he felt at ease. At least at this moment, he couldn't see anything that would strangle him.
“What on earth were you doing?”
Jiro took a quick look around the genius musician's home. It was tidy, except for his room. The musician was lying on the floor with countless sheet music. Jiro let out a hollow laugh. Huddled in the corner, he seemed a truly pitiful person. Jiro decided to observe him from a distance. It would be amusing to wonder when this unruly young man would wake up. Only then did Eun-tae finally get up. "When did you get home?" his voice was hoarse. Jiro looked Eun-tae up and down. He hadn't eaten in a week, and his face and body were emaciated. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled. What Jiro couldn't stand most of all was the way Eun-tae's two dark eyes, though he looked exhausted, shone fiercely in his pale face. Jiro hated that look. It was exactly like the rebellious people who refused to be subjects of the Empire of Japan and ran wild.
“I was writing sheet music.”
“Without my permission?”
"It's a fate that musicians have to follow when they feel a thrill. I've only just realized that no one can force that moment, nor can I control it."
So, from now on, I will not write songs for Your Excellency the Governor-General. Eun-tae looked straight at the Governor-General. The Governor-General gazed intently at the young man standing before him, then kicked him in the shin. The man, hit squarely in the leg, groaned and fell to the ground. The Governor-General retorted quietly, "Be thankful for being an orphan." Eun-tae's face paled.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Your Excellency the Governor-”
“You’re full for an artist!”
Eun-tae crouched to avoid the relentless flying shoe. It was pathetic to be in this state at this age. No. He was holding back. If I unleashed all the anger within me, wouldn't I be able to kill this bastard right now? How much I'd suffered. If I'd aimed the gun at my chin, wouldn't he be dead by now? Eun-tae staggered to his feet and faced the governor again.
“I will not compose any song for Your Majesty.”
“……”
“Now I want to be recognized for myself.”
He didn't bother to mention that he was going crazy. It was obvious the Governor-General already knew. He seemed to be in close contact with Eun-tae's counselor. The Governor-General snorted, and a puff of strong cigarette smoke billowed out. He suppressed a cough. The Governor-General chuckled. Eun-tae imagined firing a nonexistent gun, contemplating the quickest way to kill him. The Governor-General, laughing maniacally, grabbed Eun-tae's hair. A "Ah!" burst out.
“Young musician, now remember this.”
Everything about you is mine. That great music, these hands that transcribe the score, even this little head, gleaming with brilliant inspiration—the Governor gripped Eun-tae's head as if to burst it open—everything, everything. It's mine.
Eun-tae, free from the Governor-General's grasp, turned around and walked toward the door of the Governor-General's office. The Governor-General spoke.
“Once you leave that door, no one will ever pay you for your music again.”
Eun-tae left the Government-General building. Every step he took, people's eyes followed him. Was this what it felt like to be cursed? He tightened his coat and walked forward, step by step. People whispered, some rough men spat behind him, and women whispered, "Don't become like that!" to their children. Eun-tae couldn't understand. Why? I simply loved music, why? I simply composed music, why? I simply did what I was told, why?
I just wanted to live, so why?
He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to scream, to beg them to stop, to stop burning with the wrongful justice directed at him. He wanted to demand that who wasn't working for the Japanese at this time? But his mouth wouldn't open. He just trudged home like a criminal. A small pebble, perhaps thrown by some ignorant neighborhood kid, struck him in the head. He felt hot blood flowing. He thought he could hear the voices of children somewhere singing, "He's crazy..." He realized that he had let go of the means to kill himself, as well as his last means of protecting himself. Eun-tae slowly entered his room and locked the door. The clock ticked.
The next day, Ryuichi came to visit. He seemed much wealthier than the last time I saw him. He confessed how much effort he had put into introducing Eun-tae to Japanese high society and asked why he had made that choice.
"The Governor-General issued an order, so your sheet music can no longer be sold. At first glance, it looks like they're being burned. What on earth did they do?"
“…I just…want to be free.”
"Did you really have to do it that way? The Government-General is trying to erase your very existence. For a genius composer like you to disappear like that would be a tremendous loss to the history of art."
“……”
Ryuichi turned away, disappointed. Eun-tae buried his face in his hands. He was frustrated at what this innate talent was, something that was nothing more or less than a gift from God, and why it was suffocating him so much. If he could, he wanted to pass it on to someone else. The hands of the clock turned. Ito, who had said he would stop by in the evening, did not come. Neither did the people who had praised Eun-tae's talent. He was desperately lonely. The mansion had been taken away, so he was busy wandering from inn to inn. The people he met were initially impressed by his talent for playing and composing, but their faces hardened when they heard his name.Suddenly, she felt a yearning to see Woohyuk. Euntae staggered to her feet and went to find Woohyuk's grave.
“…Woohyuk.”
He stroked the clean gravestone.
“I guess the day I will be with you soon is not far off.”
He finally burst into tears. He was determined to die beside Woohyuk's grave. Yes, he couldn't think about the future. That was terrifying. But what he feared more than that was Amadeus. His first friend, the one who had finally grabbed his leash. As he walked back from the cemetery, he agonized over whether to hang himself, drink poison, shoot himself, or fall to his death. Back home, he stared helplessly up at the ceiling, and there it was again: the gentle-faced god. Eun-tae went to find Ryuichi. He bought all the sheet music he had left behind and returned home. He also brought matches. Eun-tae spread the sheets densely on the floor. The ones he had saved and bought back from Ryuichi. And finally, he laid out his Requiem. He lit one with a match, releasing a pungent burning smell. Eun-tae lay down among the sheets, his hands clasped together. His eyes met the painting on the ceiling. Eun-tae was the first to close his eyes.
You see, I'm just so exhausted now. I don't have the energy left to write sheet music or play the piano.
You see, I've had such a hard life. The power you gave me wasn't right for me. I thought you knew everything. I guess you were just like me. I was so scared. I never imagined my talent would hold so much meaning, that it would be converted into money and power. I guess I wasn't worthy of a gold star. But when I played music, I loved it. Even if I'm poor, I wish I could live happily like I did then. I accepted the governor's offer to save myself, so I shouldn't be saying that now, right? I'm sorry.
Lord, I need to rest now. My future is so certain it frightens me. I'm the only one who has to endure it, but I'm so exhausted that even I can't handle it.
Lord.
So, is this a good job?
With this, I lived well… … .