No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

As soon as I peeked through the door, silence swept over the room.

The two older women stared at me in shock, their eyes wide. In the middle of them stood Choo Minji, frozen mid-gesture with her arms raised.

The women spoke first.

“Is he… a human?”
“He’s too handsome to be a grim reaper…”
“Wait a minute… where have I seen—oh!”

One of the women clapped her hands and pointed at me.

“You’re Minji’s boyfriend!”
“Yes! It’s him! He’s even better-looking in person!”

“I’m not his girlfriend!” Minji shrieked, rushing toward me and grabbing my arm.

“How did you find this place?”

“Just… asked around.”

“Agh! Get out, now!”

“Wait.”

I gently shook off her hand and stepped into the room.

The two women weren’t likely to be Minji’s mother, judging by their conversation and demeanor. That left one person—the elderly woman lying in the bed.

“Sorry for intruding at this late hour. My name is Jung Seojoon,” I said, bowing slightly.

The elderly woman didn’t reply, only nodded with a kind smile.

“I’d like to speak with your granddaughter. May I take her outside for a moment?”

The elderly woman nodded again, then waved me closer with a frail hand.

When I leaned in, she whispered softly, “Please… take good care of my Misun…”

Misun? Before I could process what she meant, the two women behind me gave me a gentle push.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of things here. Go ahead,” they said.

I bowed politely and left the room with Minji.

****

Outside the hospital, Minji and I sat in a small pavilion, each holding a can of coffee the nurse had given us. Despite the cold night, the warm cans felt comforting.

“Haa…” Minji exhaled deeply and looked up at me.

“How did you know about this place? Did Junsoo tell you?”

“Hmm, does Junsoo know?”

Minji frowned as she studied my face.

“Guess not. Then who…”

“That’s not the point right now.”

“Fair enough. By the way, you’re casually dropping honorifics again?”

“That’s not important either.”

“Fine, then. Why are you here?”

“To turn you down.”

Her already wide eyes grew even larger.

“Turn me down? For what? The channel?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

She jumped to her feet.

“Do you know how hard it is to build something like that? How many hours I’ve poured into it? The silver button is just around the corner! What about my team? They must be so disappointed in me…”

Minji’s ChooChoo TV channel was something she had nurtured for almost three years. According to Junsoo, it wasn’t the top classical music channel but was steadily gaining traction thanks to her lively presentation and skilled editing.

She claimed my contributions had played a big role in its recent growth, but I didn’t know enough about it to confirm.

“Seojoon… can’t you think about it again?” she pleaded, her eyes glistening under the streetlight.

I met her gaze steadily and said, “This is exactly why I’m not doing it.”

“What? Why? What did I do? Is it about the price? I need to at least recoup my investment!”

“It’s not about that. I’m saying you need to take responsibility for the channel you’ve nurtured. I don’t have the talent for it.”

“…Oh.”

Minji collapsed back onto the bench, her shoulders slumping.

“I told you… I’m not attached to it anymore. Besides, my team will handle operations for now.”

“I’m saying I don’t have confidence.”

“Confidence? Your piano videos doubled the channel’s size in no time. I can tell—if it’s you, you could hit a million subscribers overnight.”

“It doesn’t have to be me.”

“No, it has to be you. The subscribers will accept it only if it’s you.”

“Subscribers… Try convincing me first.”

“Convince you about what?”

“Why are you quitting? I need to know your reasons before I can decide.”

I usually avoided prying into personal matters, but this felt different.

Her decision seemed tied to something much larger—her life itself. If I could help her solve whatever it was, I would.

As Ducheol had said, this girl was practically family.

“……”

Minji fell silent, her lips trembling slightly as she blinked rapidly. After a long pause, she let out a heavy sigh.

“To be honest… I started YouTube to make money. Now I’ve saved up enough. And… I want to focus on my contrabass.”

“Minji.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me be honest, too.”

I knew I had to choose my words carefully. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I also couldn’t let her go on without understanding the truth.

“In my opinion,” I began, “you’re better suited to this—content creation—than to music. Whether it’s talent or just for making money.”

“Wow, straight to the bone,” she said with a dry laugh.

“Me? I don’t hit women or the elderly,” I replied evenly.

“Ugh.” Minji’s jaw dropped before she snapped it shut with an exaggerated motion.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I know I’m not exactly gifted when it comes to music. And I admit, I enjoy filming and editing way more than practicing.”

“Then I don’t get it. Why go back to music?”

Minji gave a faint smile before answering, “Because I miss my mom.”

“…Your mom?”

My surprise must have been obvious because Minji reached out and tapped my arm lightly, like she always did.

“Jeez, I tell you the weirdest things. Must be because you’re dependable, like an older brother. No, scratch that. You’re more like a dad with the way you talk.”

“Stop saying nonsense.”

“Pfft.”

Her expression relaxed a bit, though her eyes remained thoughtful.

“You’re not going to ask?” she said after a moment.

“Ask what?”

“What I mean by ‘I miss my mom.’”

“If you want to talk about it, you will. I hate prying.”

“Oooh, now I really want to tell you. Can I?”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s a bit long.”

“It’s a long winter night. Go for it.”

At my words, she downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp, only to gasp when she realized how hot it was. She blew on her tongue and tightened her scarf before starting her story.

“My mom left when I was little. I’ve never even met my dad.”

“……”

I stayed silent, letting her continue.

“Oh, and before I go on, you should know—my mom was a contrabass player. A graduate of the National Academy of Arts. Impressive, right?”

Her mom had been an outstanding student, good enough to earn scholarships. Minji explained that she had met a young businessman at a concert before graduation, fallen in love, and married young.

She gave birth to Minji soon after, and her career seemed to be heading for success. She joined a prestigious orchestra and became a part-time instructor at several music schools. Everything appeared perfect.

But tragedy was lurking behind that happiness.

Her husband turned out to be a con artist who had lied about everything. He disappeared when Minji was two, leaving her mother with crushing debt.

Unable to manage on her orchestra salary, her mother took on any odd jobs she could find, which began to take a toll on her music. A professional musician without time to practice was doomed to fail.

Eventually, the orchestra dismissed her, shattering her dreams.

“The year after that,” Minji continued, “she left me with my grandmother and disappeared.”

“……”

“I was in third grade at the time. Later, the neighbor lady told me she ran off with a rich man she’d met. My mom was really beautiful, you know. I guess she didn’t want to waste her youth on a dead-end life.”

“……”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, catching my somber gaze.

Her words were heavy with misfortune, yet she smiled brightly.

“Don’t you resent her?” I asked quietly.

“Not at all. She must’ve had such a hard time. I understand.”

I had always thought of Minji as a cheerful, carefree person. I never imagined she carried such a weighty story. Her ability to switch expressions so quickly suddenly made sense—it was a survival skill she’d learned young.

“Hmm,” I murmured, unsure how to respond. I settled for honesty.

“I’m not good at offering comfort.”

“Comfort? Forget it,” she said, giving me a light smack on the back before leaning on me slightly.

“Anyway, I barely even remember her. The clearest memory I have is of her sitting against the wall, staring at her contrabass. She’d do that every night after work. Come to think of it, she never played with me.”

“……”

“Oh, wait, I do remember one other thing. Once, while she was staring at her contrabass, I told her, ‘Mom, I’m going to become a famous bassist someday and take care of you.’ Want to know what she said?”

Minji’s lips curled into a bittersweet smile.

“She said, ‘You’re lucky. You still have a chance.’”

“……”

“Ugh, even as a kid, I was such a fool. Why’d I have to say something like that and make her feel worse?”

Her laugh was bright, but I couldn’t say a word.

Words of comfort, in any situation, are always the hardest to find.

“So that’s why you want to play the contrabass? To keep that promise?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm. Something like that,” she replied, her eyes half-closed.

“What’s with that look?” she teased. “Are you about to say I’m not practicing enough for someone with such a goal? Hey, you don’t see everything! I work hard behind the scenes. Besides, real studying starts in college.”

“Ha… seriously… wouldn’t continuing with your YouTube channel be a better way to find your mom?” I asked, half-joking.

“No,” Minji replied, her expression tightening. “I’ll find her through my music.”

For a fleeting moment, a trace of resolve—almost bitterness—flickered in her eyes.

She denied it with her words, but her determination betrayed her lingering resentment toward her mother. The contrabass wasn’t just her passion—it was her way of processing that unresolved emotion. I couldn’t shake the feeling that her decision to start YouTube in the first place was, deep down, an attempt to catch her mother’s attention.

Though I still didn’t fully understand her reasons for quitting, hearing her story gave me some clarity.

“Alright,” I said, placing a hand on her slouched shoulder.

“Then I’ll buy your channel.”

“Re… really? Yes!”

“But.”

“But?”

“You have to pass your college entrance exams first.”

“Fine!”

“And.”

“…And?”

“I’ll be your accompanist for your practical exams.”

***

Accompaniment is the act of playing a supporting instrument to complement a soloist’s performance, whether vocal or instrumental.

The spotlight always shines on the soloist on stage, so the role of the accompanist often goes unnoticed. Most people don’t realize the harmony they hear is often a blend of solo and accompaniment. Instead, they dismiss accompanists as mere “supporting roles.”

But whether in instrumental or vocal performances, the skill of the accompanist is just as crucial as that of the soloist.

An accompanist must follow the soloist’s rhythm closely without overshadowing them. They must maintain the balance of sound, adjusting volume and expression to enhance the performance without interfering. A great accompanist can elevate a soloist’s performance to new heights.

In fact, top-tier accompanists are highly sought after. There’s even a joke among musicians that a soloist’s “ideal partner” isn’t a spouse—it’s a skilled accompanist.

***

Minji was stunned.

Jung Seojoon, a prodigy, an up-and-coming star in the classical music world, and a pianist many believed could reach global acclaim—was offering to be her accompanist?

She’d hit the jackpot.

***

When Minji got home, she collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Her mind buzzed with excitement. Finding an accompanist had been a huge source of stress for her, and now it was solved in an instant.

In truth, she’d considered asking Seojoon for help but had dismissed the idea, feeling it would be too presumptuous.

“Does he want to help me get into college… or… could it be he’s trying to offset the price of the channel?” she wondered aloud, flipping onto her stomach.

She sat up abruptly.

“Or… does he like me?”

Clapping her hands over her mouth, she fell backward onto the bed again. Her thoughts spiraled into wild imaginings. She even started mulling over potential names for their hypothetical second child.

But then her eyes fell on the contrabass leaning against the wall. Its case had been removed for humidity control.

“……”

Sometimes, she felt as though the instrument was watching her.

At over two meters tall and weighing 20 kilograms, its sheer size made it almost intimidating—like it might suddenly lumber over and crush her.

A childhood memory resurfaced.

***

Her mom, on one of the rare days she was in a good mood, had played the contrabass that leaned against the wall.

Little Minji had watched her in awe as her mom drew the bow across the strings, producing deep, resonant notes.

[Woo-oo-oo—]

“Minji,” her mom had said, “the contrabass sits at the back of the orchestra, where no one notices it. But it’s one of the most important instruments.”

[Woo-oo—]

“You see, by laying down the lowest notes, it gives other instruments a foundation to build on and play freely.”

[Woo-oo-oo—]

“Some people call the contrabass a ‘supporting’ instrument, but I see it differently.”

[Woo—]

“It’s the mother of the orchestra, sacrificing itself to let its children shine.”

***

Minji’s lips, which had started to curl into a smile, flattened.

“…Bullshit.”

The good mood she’d been riding vanished.

Trying to cheer herself up, she thought about Seojoon again. She knew better than anyone how extraordinary he was as a pianist, and the idea of performing with him as her accompanist filled her with excitement.

***

Three Days Later

[Bang—!]

“Choo Minji!”

“Why are you yelling at me!”