Sponsorship Stigma
Chapter 7
After Love Ends
“Breathe here! Take a breath at the rest, that’s it.”
“…….”
“Open up your voice more when transitioning on the ‘ah-ah-ah—’. Wide open, with confidence! That’s it!”
Following Professor Lee’s guidance, the student’s high notes blended in and soared upward.
Unlike the song racing toward its climax, the sheet music before her eyes remained at the beginning.
Even without looking at the sheet music, every single note of the piece remained etched in her memory.
Vividly.
“Do you remember this piece? The first day we met, you told me I played terribly, oppa.”
The day she played the piano during her first visit to Cheongdam-dong.
‘You play the piano terribly. There’s no emotion in it. What are you supposed to convey with just technique?’
The callous words Jeheon had tossed her way when they met had lingered in her mind for a very long time.
“Did I?”
“Yes. So I practiced it tens of thousands of times more. Because I wanted to hear you say I played well.”
In truth, rather than recognition, she had simply hoped that if she became good at it, he might talk to her again.
Though their schedules never aligned, so she was never able to let him hear her play it again.
“How does it sound hearing it again? Am I good now?”
“Well. I can’t really tell.”
Before she could finish the piece, the man’s warmth brushed against her back.
“Because I can’t concentrate.”
And then, her chin lifted by his hand, their lips meeting.
Because of the intense kisses that always followed, it was a piece she had never once finished playing in front of Jeheon.
Yeonjae opened her closed eyes.
As the fingers pressing the final keys slowly drew away, the accompaniment came to an end.
A piece like that was now finished all too easily.
“Your voice opened up a lot. Let’s do it one last time.”
At Professor Lee’s words, the student nodded.
And as the cue was given, Yeonjae placed her hands upon the piano keys.
It was just as she struck the very first note.
Fingers that had been swimming freely across the keys just moments before began to stiffen.
In an instant, Yeonjae’s eyes wavered aimlessly.
It was a symptom that struck from time to time whenever she played the piano.
A sort of post-traumatic stress disorder.
Her heartbeat accelerated, and a tension so sharp it left her palms clammy washed over her.
She didn’t know why, but it had developed after Jeheon’s accident.
She thought she would get better once Jeheon woke up, but it wasn’t easily cured.
In the five years since leaving the Foundation and moving down to Daejeon, Yeonjae had tried with all her might.
Knowing how to do nothing else but play the piano, Yeonjae pressed the keys day in and day out.
Because this was her only livelihood.
Still, after tireless efforts, she had reached a point where she could at least manage accompaniments.
Yeonjae repeatedly clenched and unclenched her damp hands.
“Professor, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry to you too. My hands stiffened up……”
She apologized while looking back and forth between Professor Lee and the student standing a step away.
Confusion was written across the face of the student, who had never seen Yeonjae like this.
It was only natural.
A woman who had been accompanying just fine throughout the hour-long lesson had suddenly turned pale and broken into a cold sweat.
Professor Lee, who seemed to be saying something to the student, approached the piano.
“Ms. Jeong, are you all right? Can you play?”
Yeonjae’s gaze met Professor Lee’s as the professor bent down.
The professor’s voice, pitched low enough for only her to hear, was tinged with worry.
Professor Lee, who lectured at a university in Daejeon, gave separate entrance exam prep lessons.
She was a grateful benefactor who entrusted Yeonjae with accompaniment work despite knowing her circumstances and occasional symptoms.
Just one more piece and the lesson would be over.
Yeonjae clenched both fists.
At least the symptom wasn’t severe this time.
“I’m fine. I’ll just go to the restroom for a moment.”
“All right. Go ahead.”
Walking toward the restroom, Yeonjae bit her lip.
She shook her head to dispel the face that kept trying to invade her thoughts.
* * *
Yeonjae was gathering the sheet music scattered across the piano.
Fortunately, after visiting the restroom, her stiff hands had loosened, allowing her to finish the accompaniment.
“Professor, I’m really sorry about today. You had to extend the lesson because of me.”
“Hm? It’s fine. It was only about five minutes, anyway.”
Professor Lee waved a hand, telling her not to mind.
Even if it was only five minutes, it was hard to shake off the feeling that she had caused an inconvenience.
Because there was no shortage of accompanists to replace her, she felt even more apologetic toward Professor Lee for continuing to call on her like this.
“Still…… I’m always grateful. You’ve shown me so much consideration, Professor.”
“Oh, please. We’ve known each other for how many years now? You’re making me blush. Are you heading straight to pick up Jiwoo, Ms. Jeong?”
Seeing Professor Lee change the subject as if genuinely embarrassed, Yeonjae finally smiled.
“Yes. That’s the plan.”
The wristwatch she glanced down at was already pointing to four o’clock.
She had to go pick up the child in time for his after-school class to end at five.
“Phew, working moms are amazing. I respect you. I couldn’t do it, which is why I’m DINK.”
“It’s thanks to the after-school music class. If not for that, it would’ve been tough for me too.”
“Yeah. You need something like that. Oh, right, Ms. Jeong. Are you available to accompany next Saturday? The student says they’re only free on weekends.”
“Saturday…… would it be all right if Jiwoo came along?”
“Of course. It’s been a while since I last saw Jiwoo.”
Weekends were meant for dates with her son, but it was hard to refuse a request from Professor Lee, who was always so considerate of her circumstances.
And she was also in a position where every single penny counted.
Perhaps that was why, whenever she worked on weekends, she often brought Jiwoo along.
Perhaps because he had joined her often by now, the boy would quietly stay in his place while his mother worked.
Even though he was five years old—an age when one would want nothing more than to run around and throw tantrums.
Raising the child alone, Yeonjae was deeply grateful for that.
“I’ll see you on Saturday then, Professor.”
Packing her bag, Yeonjae prepared to leave. Accompanying her to the front door, Professor Lee saw her off, saying:
“I can’t believe Jiwoo is already five. Why don’t you have him learn piano? He’s talented.”
“…….”
“Nutube, was it? I heard the views there went crazy. Sponsors are offering from all over, so why aren’t you going for it?”
At the mention of the piano, a shadow fell across Yeonjae’s face. And slowly, the image of Jiwoo formed before her eyes.
A melody drifting over the master bedroom threshold while she was hanging laundry on the drying rack.
A child who had only just learned the alphabet was pressing piano keys without sheet music.
On a piano that was practically a piece of junk.
Even though it was untuned and a complete mess, the notes blooming from Jiwoo’s small fingers were precise.
Perfect pitch.
That wasn’t all. The child was instinctively mimicking the habits of performers on TV.
Could she have sight-read and played that piece at his age?
Having spent her entire life pressing piano keys, Yeonjae couldn’t help but recognize it immediately.
That her child was a born prodigy.
More so than herself. No, perhaps even more than her mentor, Pyo Myeonghee.
“That’s…… I’m still thinking it over. Music isn’t such an easy path, after all.”
“Still, while other people go through life not even knowing what they’re good at, having talent and never letting it bloom is a tragic life. At least give it a try.”
As always, whenever talk turned to Jiwoo, Yeonjae grew uncomfortable.
So, wrapping up the conversation politely, Yeonjae stepped outside with an awkward smile.
Stepping outside, she felt the autumn breeze brush against her cheek, and a bitter smile touched the corners of her lips.
The word ‘talent’ weighed heavily upon Yeonjae.
Jiwoo’s natural genius for the piano was nothing less than a poison eating away at the child.
Why had her child been cursed with such monstrous talent?
If only he had been born into an affluent family, he could have pursued his dreams to his heart’s content.
A genius born into poverty was bound to be miserable.
All those past years she spent learning the piano under sponsorship—Yeonjae had learned that lesson down to her very bones.
“Do you have any idea how horrifying it is to hear people say an idiot like you is my student?!”
“…….”
“Practice! Practice until your fingers burst! Huh? Jeong Yeonjae, do you have any idea how much money is being poured into you?!”
The ten-plus years she lived as a sponsored beneficiary of the Guil Foundation had been like hell.
A genius pianist fostered by the Foundation. A foundation of hope nurturing the dreams of underprivileged children.
All of it was a lie.
For a sponsored student, verbal abuse was a daily occurrence, and they were treated worse than a pet dog.
Yeonjae bit down on her lip as old memories surfaced sharply before her eyes.
Her son, Jeong Jiwoo, playing the piano in an after-school class.
A video of Jiwoo playing the piano had been uploaded to Nutube, and somehow it went viral.
Afterward, offers poured in from numerous foundations.
Despite the countless offers, Yeonjae had never accepted a single one.
It was all because of the memories of what she had endured growing up. She refused to let her precious son walk the same horrific path.
She had thought it would be enough to simply reject them all, but an email that arrived a few days ago plunged Yeonjae into anxiety.
[Email] Hello, this is the Guil Foundation.
The name Guil Foundation brought Myeonghee to mind.
The fear instilled by the very existence of Pyo Myeonghee remained so potent that her hands trembled violently enough to nearly drop her phone when she saw the email.
Even though five years had passed since she left the Guil Family and departed for Daejeon.
Yeonjae placed a hand over her thumping heart as Guil crossed her mind once more.
It’s fine. They won’t know anyway. That Jiwoo carries Gu Jeheon’s blood.
There was no way she and Jiwoo would ever become entangled with that family again.
This fate just needs to pass us by like this.
It was just as she muttered those words to herself and got into the driver’s seat of her parked car.
As she was about to set the navigation, she noticed a familiar phone number calling her.
