Into The Thrill-Chapter 13.1

Haewon got out of the taxi, slung his violin over his shoulder, and began walking into the school. Spring was in full bloom on campus, waves of green shimmering in the air, and the laughter and chatter of students sitting on the lawn drifted from afar on a gentle breeze.

Arriving at the music school practice room, Haewon stopped in his tracks as he passed by the mirror on the hallway wall. He turned to look at his reflection again. The dark circles under his eyes had reached down to his jawline. He looked ridiculous.

He tried smoothing out his messy hair, rubbed his face vigorously with both hands until his cheeks were flattened, but his complexion didn’t change.

Even with decent stamina from regular workouts, he felt exhausted like this—he found it incredible that Woojin could go all night grinding away, sleep for an hour or two, and still head off to work.

That man didn’t fall within the category of human beings. The fact that he could still function was nothing short of astounding.

Barely moving his body, which felt too heavy to even lift a finger, he finally reached the practice room and knocked on the door. If it had been an orchestra day, he wouldn’t have shown up under the excuse of being sick again, but he couldn’t skip lessons.

“Come in.”

At Professor Jung’s voice, Haewon opened the door. He stepped inside and bowed his head in greeting.

“Hello.”

He was about to put down his violin, but hesitated.

There was someone else sitting in the room besides Professor Jung. When Haewon’s eyes met his, he instinctively gave a small bow.

Professor Jung, who was sitting with the unfamiliar man, the windows wide open and tea in hand, placed his cup on the table and spoke.

“Come in. Haewon, do you know Professor Park Jong-hoon?”

“Pardon? I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

“Haewon... Moon Haewon? Wait, are you Moon Haewon?”

The man in the neat suit, who looked far too young and stylish to be a professor, rose awkwardly from his seat. His face lit up with delight, like someone who had run into a pleasant surprise in the most unexpected place.

“You know me?”

Haewon asked, turning to face him.

“I’m Park Jong-hoon. ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) I called you a few days ago. About the crossover performance we’re planning.”

“...Ah.”

Haewon recalled the phone call from a few days ago.

He’d asked if Haewon thought he was better than Beethoven, if he surpassed Bach, if his musicality exceeded theirs—something along those lines. Haewon rolled his eyes as if he didn’t remember the conversation.

“You two know each other?”

“There’s a project I’m planning, and I happened to hear Moon Haewon’s performance. That’s why I reached out. Got shut down pretty hard, though.”

Despite hanging up stiffly after being offended by Haewon’s sarcasm—asking whether he thought he was better than those greats—Park Jong-hoon now smiled like it was some kind of special connection they shared.

“He might look like that, but he’s a classicist. Not a fan of modern classical.”

“I see. I didn’t realize and took it to heart. It’s good to meet you.”

Park Jong-hoon reached out his hand, as if the previous rudeness had already been put behind him. His gaze, fixed intently on Haewon, didn’t waver.

Haewon had the kind of appearance that naturally attracted people, and he was well aware of that. He reached out and took the man’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Moon Haewon.”

“Yes. It’s our first... Yes, first time meeting. I’m Park Jong-hoon.”

He held Haewon’s hand firmly, not letting go. When Haewon tried to pull back, Park finally relaxed his grip.

“But what brings you here? I heard you were with the HanKyung Symphony.”

Park glanced between Professor Jung and Haewon as he asked.

“Professor is giving me a lesson. If you two have plans, I can come back another time.”

“No, it’s fine. Professor Park can wait a bit.”

“You oversee professional rehearsals?”

Park asked with genuine curiosity.

“If I didn’t force him like this, he would’ve gotten bored and quit music ages ago. He’s that fickle.”

Though Haewon had never practiced like his life depended on it, he didn’t dislike it either.

Having seen Haewon’s unreliable patience since his time as a prodigy—how quickly he gave up on things—Professor Jung had made him keep taking lessons, almost forcibly, afraid he would quit the violin altogether. That arrangement had naturally continued to this day.

“Then, would it be alright if I just watched for a bit? I’ll be quiet.”

Before Haewon could say no, Professor Jung waved Park to take a seat, telling him to make himself comfortable.

“You two seemed in the middle of a conversation, so I’ll get going. I’ll come back when you’re free, Professor.”

Haewon picked up his violin case and turned to leave, but Park Jong-hoon stood up.

“If it’s because of me, I’ll leave. I didn’t realize it would make things uncomfortable.”

“No, stay.”

Professor Jung said to Park and then gave Haewon a firm look.

“You’re a performer. If a performer doesn’t want to be seen performing, what’s that? For a performer, being watched is part of the performance. Always be conscious of your audience.”

“....”

Knowing full well how much Haewon hated being the center of attention, Professor Jung gestured for Park to sit back down. Park, looking a little awkward, returned to his seat.

Haewon sighed, opened the case, and took out his violin. He attached the shoulder rest and tightened the bow. After applying a bit of rosin to the bow hair, he placed the violin between his shoulder and chin and began tuning.

As usual, he started with scales created by Carl Flesch. If one didn’t begin with scales, even the most sensitive ear would be thrown off—the violin, an instrument that relied solely on the human ear and fingers, would inevitably produce off-pitch sounds without exact fingering. After warming up for five minutes, he moved on to interpreting the actual piece.

Park Jong-hoon watched with an intrigued gaze as Haewon received his lesson with unexpected seriousness under Professor Jung’s guidance.

“Have you heard this piece before?”

“Long ago. I barely remember it.”

“Then let’s begin with sight-reading.”

Haewon looked at the score Professor Jung laid out on the stand and began reading it more slowly than usual. While Haewon interpreted the piece, Professor Jung didn’t interfere. As he adjusted bowing, rhythm, and tempo, gradually shaping the piece, Haewon focused fully on the sight-reading, paying no attention to Park.

He barely fumbled, yet managed a near-perfect performance.

“This part needs a more delicate phrasing.”

At Professor Jung’s direction, Haewon shifted the position of his fingers along the fingerboard and drew the bow across the E string.

After the lesson, Haewon walked out of the practice room and turned to see Park Jong-hoon following behind.

Haewon had little interest in anyone besides a few favorite violinists, so he hadn’t known who Park Jong-hoon was, even if he was a young and skilled professor at the arts university.

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“Now I understand why Professor Jung is so invested. That was an excellent performance.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Sorry?”

“I said I’m not doing it.”

Like someone brushing off a street vendor pushing a hard sell, Haewon made his way past the confused Park and down the stairs.

He exited campus and hailed a taxi at the front gate. He’d had no choice but to come out since it was a lesson day, but his whole body ached like it had been beaten, and he didn’t want to take another step. He felt like he needed a massage.

He was about to tell the driver his destination when the car door suddenly opened. Park Jong-hoon gestured for Haewon to slide over. Haewon instinctively shifted seats, and Park climbed in beside him, flashing a friendly smile.

“...What are you doing?”

Since he was Professor Jung’s acquaintance, Haewon couldn’t speak harshly. He asked as politely as possible.

“There’s a rehearsal today. Just listen once. If your opinion doesn’t change after that, I won’t say another word.”

“...”

“I’m not trying to brag, but it shouldn’t be unpleasant to hear.”

“Our genres are different.”

“This might sound sudden, but the classical world needs someone like you, Haewon. Someone who can bring fresh energy.”

“...”

“Classical music became a festival only for the specialists, and that’s why the public is bored with it.”

He didn’t seem like one of those idiots who hit on him just because of his looks. Park Jong-hoon had only listened to one of Jaemin’s albums and reached out—he’d been moved by Haewon’s performance.

After experiencing the possibility that he might no longer be able to play the violin—something he'd always taken for granted, like breathing—Haewon had become more serious in his mindset as a violinist. His playing had ripened, gaining depth. Perhaps it was because he had turned thirty, but more than that, it was because of Hyun Woojin.

By genuinely liking and loving someone, Haewon had matured as a person, and unknowingly, it showed in his playing. He was in the midst of discovering a new sense of identity as a performer.

“If today’s schedule doesn’t work out, there’s another rehearsal tomorrow, so you can come then.”

Park Jong-hoon took a notebook out of his pocket. If he wanted to share information, he could’ve just sent it by phone, but instead he opened an old, worn planner and scribbled down his number, the concert hall address, time, and handed the note to Haewon.

Haewon declined the slip of paper and said, “I’m free today.”

The small theater at the National Theater was bustling with people preparing for rehearsal.

Janggu, haegeum, piri, gayageum, kkwaenggwari as the lead of a percussion troupe, piano, electric keyboard, cello, and violin—his students and the invited musicians moved about the stage in casual clothes, organizing their positions.

“Professor, you’re here?”

Someone who looked like a staff member greeted Park Jong-hoon, and the musicians on stage, spotting him, ran over. Some greeted him, some shoved sheet music at him with questions, some even started playing their instruments for him in the middle of the commotion...

It was like a marketplace. Haewon's brow furrowed faintly as he looked at Park Jong-hoon’s back surrounded by people.

Should I just leave?

Haewon turned to glance back at the entrance. No one was blocking the way in or watching who went out. Just as he glanced at Park Jong-hoon and was about to turn around, the man looked back at Haewon and gestured for him to come over.

With no choice, Haewon walked over and sat in the empty seat he pointed to.

“Ah-ah, mic test. Mic test. Can everyone hear me?”

A youthful voice flowed through the speaker, and people answered, “Yes.”

This noisy and energetic atmosphere was the first he had encountered since graduating. Even though the orchestra rehearsed daily during the week, the mood wasn’t like this. Usually, they ran through pieces once or twice and called it done. Moments requiring real passion only came once or twice a year.

Haewon sat alone in the middle of the auditorium, watching them.

“Everyone, please return to your positions. Since the professor is here, bring him his violin. Yeondu, bring the professor his violin. We’ll start rehearsal in five minutes.”

So she majored in violin, then.

A bob-haired student brought Park Jong-hoon a violin case.

The crossover of gugak and classical music resembled gypsy music.

Jazz-like cadenzas—those fierce, passionate improvisations that could only emerge from perfect mutual trust—lasted over five minutes.

It was a performance full of complex tempo changes, dynamic contrasts, and brilliant technique.

Even the cadenzas, which Haewon had usually approached with the aid of sheet music composed by others in later generations, now appeared with unbelievable spontaneity and focus. The wild yet sorrowful and melodramatic gypsy music had become joyful when mixed with gugak. Without realizing it, Haewon became absorbed, fully focused on the music.

Haewon, turning away with his headphones on, flinched.

At some point, Woojin had returned and was taking off his jacket.

Haewon, who had been listening to an album by the gugak group working with Park Jong-hoon, removed his headphones and turned off the loudly playing sound.

“You’re just getting home? You said you'd be late.”

“Thanks to everyone cooperating without complaints, things wrapped up early.”

Woojin took off his outerwear, went into the bathroom, washed his hands, and came back out. His cold hands, fresh from icy water, grabbed Haewon’s nape as he scrolled through music.

“Did your lesson go well? Today was your lesson day, right?”

“I worked on a new piece. Oh, and today...”

Haewon had encountered a new world.

The reason he had disregarded genres other than classical was because he’d never heard anything better. But today, he’d experienced something on another level—something that couldn’t even be compared. His heart pounded and his breath quickened; it was an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Haewon had told Park Jong-hoon honestly that he wanted to participate in the performance. Park, wearing a confident smile like he’d expected that, suggested they sign a contract.

It was the experience of a narrow world expanding.

To put it dramatically—it felt like breaking out of a shell. The overwhelming excitement, the new challenge as a musician, and a little fear too... Just imagining himself performing that kind of piece in front of an audience made it impossible to contain his thrill.

Haewon was so stirred he could hardly wait to tell Woojin what had happened today. Just as he opened his mouth, still high from the experience, Woojin spoke first.

“When should we go?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted to go on a trip. I took vacation. That vacation you kept begging me for.”

“...Vacation?”

“Yeah. The vacation our Haewon kept singing about. You have no idea how hard it was to get it.”

“Ah...”

Now that he thought about it, he had begged Woojin to go somewhere with him not long ago—just the two of them. Woojin, reluctantly giving in to his nagging, had said okay. And now, as always, Woojin had suddenly acted on that promise and taken leave.

Woojin’s eyebrow arched slightly.

“What, you don’t want to go?”

“Huh?”

The performance with Park Jong-hoon was coming up soon, and as long as Haewon agreed, they’d use him from this very show. Park had suggested meeting tomorrow or the next day to formally sign the contract.

“You said you wanted to go. Was that just something you said?”

Woojin asked, looking puzzled.

“No, that’s not it. It’s not like that...”

“Then what is it? I thought you’d be happy. You were practically singing about it. For me to take vacation.”

He gently asked Haewon, who now seemed hesitant even though he had been the one to bring it up first. His tone was soft, generous—like a man six years older, showing the tolerance of age.

“When do we leave?”

“Day after tomorrow, through the weekend.”

“That long? Did you get fired?”

It was only four days, but for Woojin, that was a monumental amount of time.

He usually spent nights at the office, only swinging by the officetel to change clothes—taking a vacation like this was unthinkable unless he quit his job. And both of them knew that.

“Well, a bit of this and that. Since I managed to get time off, let’s go far. Sound good? Doesn’t look like you’ve got any orchestra performances scheduled anyway.”

“...”

He’d have to start rehearsals for the crossover concert soon, and if he left with Woojin, he wouldn’t be able to rehearse or perform at all.

“Should I have asked you before taking the vacation? Do you have something going on?”

Woojin pulled Haewon into a side hug and gently reassured him that it was okay to say no if needed. He could go or not go—either way was fine. It was the kind of considerate tone that revealed his maturity.

Haewon looked at his face in silence. Woojin, with his eyes, asked again—Why? If there’s something you want to say, don’t hesitate.

If Haewon said he couldn’t go, Woojin would just say okay and spend that time working. If anyone would be disappointed, it would be Haewon, not Woojin.

As if erasing the music still playing in his head through his headphones, Haewon shook his head.

“No, no. Let’s go on the trip.”

“If something came up, take care of that first. We can always travel later.”

“No. Who knows when we’ll get time again. I want to be with you.”

“Alright, do whatever you want. But if you change your mind, tell me. I’m okay either way.”

“Don’t you be the one to change your mind. Don’t pull anything later like you can’t go, or something urgent came up.”

“It’s official vacation, so nothing like that will happen. I didn’t eat much dinner, so I’m a little hungry—should I whip something up?”

Woojin asked sweetly, heading toward the kitchen. As he tied on an apron and began cooking, Haewon wrapped his arms around him from behind and rubbed his cheek against Woojin’s broad back.

While Woojin went into the bathroom to wash up, Haewon took out his phone.

He called Park Jong-hoon. He was planning to decline—saying he appreciated the offer, the music was wonderful, but he wouldn’t be able to do it.