Sponsorship Stigma
Chapter 18
Sick of It
The lobby doors slid open as Yeonjae stepped inside.
Walking along the sleek marble floor, she glanced down at her wristwatch. There were about thirty minutes left until rehearsal ended.
She had arrived a bit early today.
Feeling no need to rush, Yeonjae slowed her pace.
As she headed toward the elevators, Yeonjae scanned her surroundings.
It had become a habit to look around whenever she entered this place. Just in case that man might be there.
Her thoughts naturally drifted to Jeheon, and she bit her lower lip.
Jeheon hadn’t shown up once since that first rehearsal.
A man with such immense pride would surely have taken offense at the disrespect she had shown that day.
Of course, she knew she ought to apologize since it stemmed from a misunderstanding, but…
‘It isn’t easy.’
Facing Jeheon in this situation—and bringing herself to utter an apology—felt like something she could never do, even if it killed her.
Reminded of her suffocating predicament, Yeonjae let out a sigh.
In fact, it felt like a relief that he hadn’t been visiting the Arts Center.
Yeonjae, too, had been making a point to arrive right around when rehearsal wrapped up, just to minimize any chance of running into him.
Keep her distance like this for the time being, then talk to him when the right moment comes.
Yeonjae continued walking toward the elevator.
“Jiwoo’s mom! What brings you here so early?”
“My earlier shift wrapped up a little early today.”
While she exchanged greetings, Seoha’s mother, Hyekyung, approached.
Her hands were full of drinks, having likely just returned from a cafe.
“Perfect timing. Do you want to watch the kids practice today?”
“……”
“Honestly, Elgar’s Salut d’Amour isn’t that difficult of a piece, but Jiwoo is still doing so well. They said this is his first time playing it.”
“Is that so?”
Watching Hyekyung pull out her phone to play a video, Yeonjae forced an awkward smile.
“You really don’t have to show me……”
“What do you mean, ‘don’t have to’? Jiwoo’s mom, you only say that because you’re not familiar with this world. This is an incredible opportunity.”
Yeonjae waved her hand in polite refusal, but Hyekyung was unyielding.
“Our Seoha is preparing for a competition, you know. And the orchestra teacher working with the kids right now is incredibly famous.”
Hyekyung was buzzing with excitement, practically snorting as she spoke.
Yeonjae parted her lips as Hyekyung searched on her phone, reciting Teacher Tami’s credentials.
It was something Yeonjae already knew.
The classical music world was remarkably small, and Yeonjae had looked her up separately on the day she gave Jiwoo permission to practice.
She was a teacher far too distinguished to be teaching young children learning merely as a hobby.
“And that’s not all. Five-year-olds participating in an ensemble concert—do you know what kind of credential that is?”
“……”
“Later on, this will look amazing on his early college admissions profile, you know? Other parents are desperate for this kind of experience and couldn’t buy it even if they had the money.”
College admissions—it was a future so unfathomably distant that it didn’t resonate with Yeonjae at all.
Even more so because she had no intention of having Jiwoo major in classical music.
“By the way, does Jiwoo take private lessons? Or go to an academy? Where does he study?”
Unaware of Yeonjae’s thoughts, Hyekyung continued in the same excited tone.
As a barrage of questions rained down, Yeonjae waved her hands with an awkward expression.
“No… Jiwoo only takes the after-school class at the kindergarten.”
Hyekyung’s eyes went wide. Even as she gave that answer, Yeonjae clenched her hands tightly.
The astonished face, the twitch of Hyekyung’s lips—she could already picture what words would follow.
“Why aren’t you teaching him? When he’s overflowing with that much talent?”
Hyekyung’s high-pitched voice rang in Yeonjae’s ears.
Whenever the subject of the piano came up, the reaction was identical without exception.
Even Professor Lee, with whom she was close, asked her every single time why she wasn’t having him taught.
“Since things have come to this, you should properly train him. Or at least send him to an academy.”
Faced with the familiar refrain about to repeat, Yeonjae shook her head.
“I know, even without you telling me.”
A bitter smile touched the faint droop of Yeonjae’s lips.
“Just go in and see for yourself first. Honey, I’m not just saying this—Jiwoo seriously needs to play the piano.”
Having stepped out of the elevator, the two women walked toward the hall.
Soon, they stopped in front of the doors. Hyekyung pushed open the door with one hand while pressing a hand against Yeonjae’s back with the other.
Pushed from behind, Yeonjae stepped inside the hall.
Rehearsal was in full swing, a dazzling violin solo ringing out.
Her gaze shifted from Seoha, who was playing the violin with brilliant technique, toward the piano—and that was when she saw him.
Catching Yeonjae’s attention even more than the children was a familiar silhouette from behind.
A single seat located not far from the stage.
A detached gaze resting deeply against the back of the chair, watching the children on stage.
It was Jeheon.
Right at that moment, the softly begun melody of the piano gradually swelled, resonating alongside the violin.
Even amid the children’s ensemble, Yeonjae’s gaze remained fixed on Jeheon.
Just then, Jeheon shifted his posture and turned around.
The moment their eyes locked, Yeonjae turned right back around.
“Jiwoo’s mom, where are you going?”
“Something urgent came up… Please call me when it’s over. I’ll come pick him up in the lobby.”
Leaving behind Hyekyung, who was watching her with a bewildered look, Yeonjae walked straight out of the hall.
She didn’t know why she was reacting like this over nothing more than meeting his eyes.
Having fled the hall, Yeonjae ducked into an adjacent room without even realizing it.
When she flipped on the light, she saw it was a practice room.
Taking in the moderately sized practice space, Yeonjae walked across it.
Deciding she would sit for a moment and leave when rehearsal finished, she sank onto the piano bench.
“Why did I do that? He definitely saw me.”
Since their eyes had met, he must have noticed her blatantly avoiding him.
A wave of belated embarrassment washed over her, and Yeonjae dragged a hand over her face.
After rubbing her dry face, Yeonjae took out her phone.
The screen showed that there were about twenty minutes left.
She shouldn’t have come early. If only she had known that man was here.
Yeonjae chewed over her pointless regrets.
“Jung Yeonjae.”
Along with the heavy sound of the door opening, a low voice drifted down to her ears.
Yeonjae’s shoulders flinched involuntarily.
Even without looking back, the owner of that voice formed vividly in her mind.
How did he know she was in here?
Yeonjae pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead.
“What are you doing in here?”
Perhaps frustrated by her silence, the man’s footsteps drew nearer.
With each thudding step closing the distance, a dry, scratchy feeling spread through Yeonjae’s mouth.
She wished he wouldn’t come, but Jeheon stepped right up to the piano and came to a stop.
“Are you avoiding me?”
“Me?”
She was avoiding him, but unable to admit it, Yeonjae feigned ignorance.
“Why would I?”
With a soft scoff, his hand came to rest on the piano.
Jeheon shifted his center of gravity forward, leaning down close to Yeonjae.
“Then what are you doing in here?”
Their gazes locked in a heavy, lingering stillness.
Knowing everything, the man’s eyes looked as amused as the upward curl of his lips.
“You’re not going to tell me you came in here to play the piano, are you?”
‘When you said you were sick to death of it.’
It felt as though the unspoken words echoed clearly.
Jeheon’s lips parted as if he were about to say something.
Watching him, Yeonjae pressed down on a key.
Whether born of some strange defiance,
or the thought that playing the piano was preferable to talking to him, she didn’t know.
Before she knew it, her fingers were pressing the keys.
Jeheon’s brow, which had twitched in displeasure at first, smoothed out once more.
His gaze seemed to challenge her: go ahead, let’s see it.
Looking at Jeheon, Yeonjae turned her eyes back toward the piano.
The finger resting on the key lifted, then moved smoothly once again.
Yeonjae let her hands move as they wished.
Sheet music forgotten for years began surfacing one piece after another in her mind.
She had believed she could never play the piano like she used to.
She had thought it was meaningless if she couldn’t play brilliantly.
That was why, unless her very livelihood depended on it, she had never touched a keyboard.
Yet this man made it so easy.
Both making her overturn that resolve, and shaking her heart to its core.
Just as the piece reached its midpoint, Yeonjae’s middle finger began to stiffen.
It was a sudden onset of paralysis.
Starting with a faint stiffness, the paralysis crept from her middle finger to her ring finger, then to her index finger—freezing one by one until her hand stopped completely.
Yeonjae looked down.
She exerted force, trying to move, but her hand remained frozen on the keys, refusing to budge.
A trail of cold sweat ran down her spine as she bit her lip.
Not in front of this person. Please.
Move, please.
It was right when she was desperately trying to force strength into her hand.
With the warmth of a body pressing against Yeonjae’s back, a pair of arms reached out from behind her.
Ten long fingers settled lightly onto the keys, then began pressing them in her stead.
“……I still remember this.”
A breath-laced voice dropped against Yeonjae’s ear.
“This is why I hate it.”
A voice sunk deep, like a note marked with a flat.
“Because even when I’m sick to death of it, you keep making me remember.”
Every murmured word lingered in the shell of her ear, reverberating deep inside.
