No More Thug Life, I’m Playing Music

Episode 49: The Demon King (3)

Lee Kitae had once been a prodigy.

As a child, he learned piano with the full attention and support of his parents.
Surrounded by praise and high expectations, he had thought piano was the easiest and most enjoyable thing in the world.

But then there was Jung Seojoon, an insurmountable wall.
Kitae could never forget their first encounter at a youth competition.

Seojoon’s performance wasn’t that of a mere child. Standing before him, Kitae felt like nothing more than a kid who happened to play piano.
The emotions he felt back then—though faint now—had been closer to hatred than jealousy.

So when rumors spread that Seojoon had disappeared, Kitae hadn’t been curious; he had been relieved.

Seven years passed.

Kitae, alongside a few others, stepped into the vacuum left by Seojoon, becoming a promising young pianist.
Then came the headlines:

— The prodigy’s dazzling return shakes the classical music world!
— Kevin or Baekjung: Who is he?

Jung Seojoon was back, now with the peculiar name Baekjung.
News of his collaboration with a chamber orchestra upon his return was maddening.

Memories he had buried resurfaced, bringing with them a mix of jealousy and fear.

But oddly enough, Seojoon’s subsequent actions were baffling.
Unlike before, he wasn’t dominating competitions or hosting grand recitals.

Instead, he focused on small, casual performances on YouTube, like any ordinary pianist.
And he wasn’t even attending a music high school—just a regular one.

Kitae felt both relieved and puzzled.

Was the genius of his past truly gone?

Just as Seojoon’s presence began to fade, he suddenly appeared at this camp.

With a gang of delinquent-looking students in tow, he acted like some sort of leader, all while dragging along scandalous rumors.

Kitae was certain now: Seojoon had fallen.
He was no longer special.

“Let’s at least pretend we know each other,” Kitae said as he entered the waiting room after his performance.
His gaze settled on Seojoon, who sat in a chair with his back turned.

“Hmm, do I know you?” Seojoon asked, turning his head.
His expression was one of genuine unfamiliarity.

“What?” Kitae frowned.

Even if they had been kids, they had crossed paths multiple times. There was no way Seojoon wouldn’t remember him.
To Kitae, it felt like deliberate disrespect.

“You’re just as obnoxious as ever…” Kitae muttered.

“Ha.”

Seojoon shook his head and stood, brushing past Kitae on his way to the stage door without sparing him a glance.

“Y-you…”

Kitae bit his lip, glaring at Seojoon’s retreating back.

Still looking down on me, huh?

Even when you’re nothing now?

As his thoughts raced, Kitae’s eyes landed on a dressing table near the stage door.
There was a half-empty cup of coffee sitting on it.

Nearby lay Kitae’s sheet music and feedback form.

“……”

He didn’t think long.

Feigning to gather his belongings, Kitae nudged the coffee cup.

Splash—

The liquid spilled across the floor, soaking the shoes Seojoon had carefully prepared to wear on stage.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” Kitae exclaimed, clasping his hands together with a feigned look of regret.
“What should we do? It was a total accident.”

His mocking smirk didn’t go unnoticed, the expression blatantly intentional.

“……”

Seojoon looked down at his shoes, his face impassive.

His usual calm gaze lingered on the ruined shoes, but slowly, his brow furrowed. His lips parted slightly, and his hand moved to massage the back of his neck.

In a low, icy voice, he spoke.

“You just couldn’t let it go, could you?”

He raised his head, his cold eyes locking onto Kitae.

The fury of someone who had once ruled the shadows flared in his gaze, sharp and unyielding.

“Guh…” Kitae gulped audibly, his heart pounding as if he were watching a ghost emerge from a pitch-black screen.

Facing Seojoon’s chilling wrath, Kitae’s teenage bravado crumbled.

“You crossed the line.”

Seojoon took a deliberate step forward.

Kitae instinctively stumbled backward.

“I-I’m sorry…”

In his retreat, Kitae’s back hit the dressing table.

“It was an accident…” he stammered, his voice faltering.

Seojoon closed the distance, grabbing Kitae’s tie with one swift motion.

He wrapped the fabric tightly around his wrist and pulled Kitae forward.

“Kuh…” Kitae choked, fear clouding his eyes.

Seojoon leaned in, his voice low and menacing.

“You know…”

Seojoon’s voice dropped, low and guttural, like a beast growling.

“I’m patient. Very patient.”

A fist was always near. Convenient to shut someone up, to end the buzzing of pesky flies.
But just as it’s pointless to burn down a house to swat a few insects, Seojoon saw no reason to swing his fists at every irritating little brat.
That was why, despite hearing countless rumors and insults about himself, he had always stayed quiet.

“You, and those outside, how are you any different from the Poonggwang kids? Did you think striking someone with words wasn’t violence?”

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t provoke me any further. If you keep playing stupid games…” His voice trailed off, heavy with menace.
“…you’ll face serious consequences.”

With that, Seojoon let go of Kitae’s tie, smoothing out his pants and brushing off his soaked shoes.

“Hah… I’ll have to buy new ones.”

He shot Kitae one last icy glare before shoving the crumpled tie back into Kitae’s pocket.

Seojoon sat down, removed his dripping shoes and socks, tossing them aside. Rising to head for the stage, he stopped abruptly, turning just slightly to address Kitae, still frozen in place.

“Open your ears and listen. Think about the nonsense you’ve been spewing.”

With that, Seojoon ascended the stage, his fury simmering just below the surface.

“……”

Left alone, Kitae’s legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.
He swallowed hard, staring at the abandoned shoes and socks.

“Wh-what the hell…”

The look in Seojoon’s eyes was unlike anything he’d ever encountered.
It wasn’t a joke; it was a moment that had nearly made him wet himself.

“What is he…?”

The Seojoon he remembered from their youth was unrecognizable now.
Gone was the boy with the bored, indifferent expression. Instead, there was a smoldering fire within him, as if a storm was brewing just beneath the surface.

As Kitae tried to calm his pounding heart—

Da−da−da−da−da−da−Da-da-da-da-da-da-

The sound of Seojoon’s performance filled the hall.
Drawn like a moth to a flame, Kitae stumbled toward the stage door, leaning against the wall to steady himself.

From there, he could see Seojoon’s broad back, his wrists striking the keys as if to shatter them.

“Wow…”

It was a flawless introduction.
Words like amazing felt inadequate; awe-inspiring seemed more fitting.

Da−dan,da−da−Da-dan, da-da-

Each note was hammered down with deliberate force.

Was it anger? Or was it a warning?

The music carried with it an unsettling tension, bringing a wave of unease over Kitae.

“The Demon King…”

The title of the piece, Seojoon’s appearance, his playing style—it all fit perfectly.

Under the spotlight, his figure seemed like that of an enraged Demon King, rushing forward to punish the humans beneath him.

‘This is insane…’

For Kitae, who had been the closest to Seojoon in that moment, the impact was doubled.

Humiliation mixed with awe, and the weight of inferiority bore down on him.

“I-I need to get out of here…”

Kitae turned toward the exit, desperate to leave.

Just as his hand reached the doorknob, something caught his eye—a piece of paper lying on the dressing table nearby.

It was Seojoon’s feedback form, carelessly left open. The writing was so dense that the single blank section stood out starkly.

Heart racing, Kitae moved closer.

Each entry was written with care, detailing strengths and offering constructive advice for improvement.
The thought and effort Seojoon had put into them were remarkable.

Kitae’s gaze scanned downward until he found his own name.

The empty space.

The only blank spot on the entire page belonged to him.

“Ah…”

In that moment, Kitae realized just how foolish he had been.

“What have I done…”

The moment he heard Seojoon’s performance, it became painfully clear: every rumor circulating in the camp was false.

How could someone with this level of talent be anything less than extraordinary?

But instead of recognizing that, Kitae had allowed his jealousy and pettiness to blind him, trying to drag Seojoon down.

“Damn it… damn it…”

Kitae stared at the discarded shoes, realizing he had squandered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to build a connection with someone extraordinary.

“I can’t let it end like this…”

Somehow, he had to make amends.

****

At the back of the audience—

“Das ist verrückt (This is insane)…”

Eom Deokgu muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

If the seats hadn’t been packed so tightly, he might have leapt to his feet. Seojoon’s performance was nothing short of shocking.

“Who the hell is this guy… What is he even?”

Despite spending years abroad, Deokgu had never encountered a pianist like Seojoon.
His musicality, technique, and individuality—each aspect was flawless, and his style was utterly unique.

Watching Seojoon’s delicate yet ferocious figure at the piano, Deokgu felt both awe and unease.

“Ha…”

“You’re going to dislocate your jaw,” Choo Minji teased with a cheerful grin, nudging Deokgu’s chin upward.

He frowned, glancing sideways at Minji.

“Why is someone like him wasting his time here?”
“Here?”
“In Korea.”
“Oh~ Apparently, he enjoys the laid-back and carefree life. Something about savoring life or whatever.”
“Hah…”

Eom Deokgu turned his incredulous gaze back to the stage.

Schubert’s Erlkönig held special significance for him, which made Seojoon’s performance hit even harder.

“You’re lucky, you know?”
“…….”
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
“…What?”
“You’re completely smitten, huh? First time seeing someone like him, I get it.”
“What nonsense are you spouting now?”
“I’m saying you’re lucky. That genius actually likes you.”
“Stop with the crap.”
“Come on, tell me your secret. Just a hint?”

Minji’s teasing words triggered a memory in Deokgu.

It was the fourth day of the camp.
Seojoon had shown up at Deokgu’s room with a bag containing a packed lunch. Just like the day before, he didn’t ring the bell; he hung the bag on the doorknob and turned to leave.

That day, Deokgu had reached his limit. He flung the door open and stepped out, snapping at Seojoon, who greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Why the hell are you doing this? Can’t you just leave me alone? What’s your deal?!“
“Who knows?” Seojoon had smirked.
“Maybe because you remind me of my younger self.“
“What?“
“I’m guessing you think you’re the most miserable person in the world, that everyone’s out to get you.“
“What do you even know about me?“
“Me? You’re right—I don’t know much about you. But I do know one thing. Sulking and brooding like this won’t change a damn thing.“
“…….”
“Stop acting like a kid, whining about everything. Look forward. Keep this up, and you’ll just end up a thug.“

Seojoon’s words were blunt, but his gaze carried a weight of regret, as if he were speaking from hard-earned experience.

What kind of life has he lived?
Deokgu couldn’t help but wonder.

Only a year separated them in age, yet Seojoon carried himself like someone who had weathered lifetimes more.

“Deokgu, you’re still young,” Seojoon had said, tapping the door to Deokgu’s room.
“Stop locking yourself up in your room, singing to the walls. Open the door. You’re wasting your youth.“

Furious, Deokgu had clenched his fists, grinding his teeth. At the time, he’d dismissed it as condescending nonsense from a guy who didn’t understand.

But watching Seojoon’s extraordinary performance now, he realized it wasn’t mockery.
It had been genuine advice, laced with pity.

“Mind your own business… Look at you now…“

Deokgu felt both relief and reassurance that he had made the right choice since then.

****

Da−dan−Da-dan-

Seojoon’s performance ended.

No applause.

Until he had almost left the stage, the audience remained frozen, unable to recover from the aftershock of his playing.

Finally, the Poonggwang orchestra broke the silence, erupting into cheers. Only then did the rest of the audience respond.

But the cheers were more like screams.
The admiration felt like a collective gasp for air.

“So noisy,” Seojoon muttered as he entered the waiting room.

He casually inserted earplugs and tucked the feedback forms he was carrying under his arm.

“Do you still need something from me?” he asked, turning his head.

Standing nearby was Kitae, clutching a polished pair of shoes in one hand. A tissue box and wet wipes sat beside him, evidence of his efforts to clean them.

“These…” Kitae began hesitantly.
“Leave them in my room,” Seojoon interrupted.

As Seojoon started to leave barefoot, Kitae hurriedly called after him.

“W-wait!”
“What?”
“I-I cleaned the insides too, so they should be fine…”
“Forget it.”

Seojoon reached for the door handle, but Kitae spoke again, his words rushed.

“Seojoon, hold on! I-I heard something… about you…”

Breathing heavily, Kitae continued.
“Someone’s spreading rumors about you. I’m not sure, but it might be a Korea University student…”

“I know.”

“…What?”
“I know who it is.”

Without another word, Seojoon pushed open the door and walked out.

Kitae stood there, stunned, staring after him.

His sweat-drenched black hair, his all-black attire, and the way he moved through the dim hallway—silent and imposing—felt eerily similar to how he had ascended the stage.

But this time, there was no sense of solemnity or courtesy. Only cold detachment, as if he were a furious Demon King set on taking someone’s life.

“What on earth happened to him to make him like this…” Kitae muttered, swallowing hard.