"I think this is good enough."
My eyes widened in surprise at Won Sungmin's words. I stopped playing the piano and looked at him.
It was the first time those words had ever come out of his mouth.
"Really?"
"Yes. You've improved a lot compared to the beginning."
"Ah, thank you."
Won Sungmin is stingy with praise—or rather, his passing standard is extremely high. He often says things like, "You're doing well," or "If you keep this up, it'll turn out fine," but those are always future-oriented comments. As in, "If you keep going like this, it'll be good someday."
But now, for the first time, he was giving me an actual passing mark.
"Of course, there are still areas to work on. As you know, if you're a composition major at Seolwon Arts, guitar and piano are considered basic skills."
"Right."
"But at your current level, I don't think you're behind the other students. Honestly, you're above average. Well, based on the standards when I attended."
He scratched his cheek and laughed awkwardly. I also laughed.
All those hours I spent practicing instead of studying felt worth it.
"As I said before, you'll be performing twice for the major exam: once on your main instrument, and once on piano. So from now on, don't practice any other songs—only your exam submission."
"Yes."
"And whatever you do, don't mess up the chord chart."
I nodded. He had emphasized this several times.
Don't try to show off with unnecessary tricks—just maintain the basics without mistakes. Not making mistakes is the most important thing.
"Oh, right. What did you say the title was?"
"…'Return to Sender.'"
"I think that's a great title."
He smiled.
But I couldn't.
§ §
Final exams began.
Seolwon Arts' finals run for five days. The first three days are general written exams, and days four and five are major practical exams, divided by class group.
Day 4: odd-numbered classes.
Day 5: even-numbered classes.
But to someone who had already given up on written tests, those first three days meant nothing. To me, they were just "days where school ends early."
Instead, I borrowed a practice room using Han Goyo's privileges and practiced guitar and piano nonstop.
"Oh? You're actually getting decent at piano now."
"You mocking me?"
"No. Why do you always think I'm mocking you whenever I open my mouth?"
Taeyoung grumbled.
But I couldn't help it—a guy who swept piano competition awards since childhood saying "You're pretty good" just didn't sound sincere.
Still, I didn't actually think he was mocking me. He probably meant it. After all, my piano really had improved.
And so, for three full days, Taeyoung and I practically lived in the practice room.
However, Goyo didn't come even once after exams started. I texted her just in case—she said she was studying.
Three days passed in a flash.
Day 4.
The major exam for the odd-numbered classes began.
The Practical Music major exam is held in front of two department heads and two major instructors. You go in one at a time. Naturally, it takes a long time. Still, composition major has few students, so it ends relatively quickly.
The highest praise went, unsurprisingly, to Kang Sunghoon.
After seeing my stage at the Freshman Concert, Sunghoon scrapped everything he had prepared and started over—because he felt real danger. He refused to lose again. He refined his secret song he had been saving.
As a result, the department head gave him glowing praise.
'I won't lose this time.'
He was confident. And honestly, it really was that good—good enough to release as-is.
While Sunghoon burned with rivalry toward me… I was still practicing. Even more perfectly. Not a single mistake allowed.
I don't need to surpass perfection. I'm not aiming for flashy techniques. I don't have the talent or instinct for that anyway. So I just sharpen the fundamentals. That's enough.
Finally—the last day of finals arrived.
The even-numbered class major exam began.
The department heads and instructors chatted as they waited.
"Hopefully there are good students in the even classes too."
"Sunghoon was excellent yesterday."
"He's very clear about his goal—being a mainstream composer. I respect that."
"What do you think, Teacher Hyoju?"
The department head looked at Ha Hyoju.
She hummed lightly.
CM—Ha Hyoju—was known as the center of Korean pop composition. She had an extensive career and stellar results. Even from her perspective, Sunghoon's song was very good. Considering his age, it was incredible.
But… she didn't particularly like him. He once came to her lesson acting extremely arrogant. Still, she couldn't show personal feelings as a teacher.
"I think he was pretty good."
"Oh? Then is there someone you're looking forward to in the even classes?"
"Yes."
She nodded. One student naturally came to mind—Yoon Hajun. She didn't know about him in other classes, but in major class, he was unquestionably the top student. Actively engaged in class, every song he brought was excellent, and she could never forget the stage he showed at the concert.
That level of completeness…
Of course she was expecting his exam piece.
She looked down at the paper in her hand—the student order. Hajun was fourth. She couldn't wait to hear his song. Her heart swelled with anticipation.
"Then let's begin."
The exam started.
The first student entered. Their expression was casual. Entrance exams are similar, so most students weren't nervous. The first student's piece wasn't bad. A bit lacking in mainstream appeal, but great artistry.
The second student, and the next… all similar.
"Just like yesterday, everyone feels kind of similar."
"Is this style trending lately?"
"I don't think so…"
The two department heads whispered.
Ha Hyoju and Kim Jingyu—both major instructors—looked at each other. They knew the reason.
Yoon Hajun.
The students were influenced by the stage he showed at the Freshman Concert. They were trying to imitate "Blame." And poorly at that.
'They should have kept their own style…'
"Blame" isn't a song you can imitate halfway. It's soaked with Hajun's own story. Copying it half-heartedly just dilutes everything.
'I don't blame them though…'
Honestly, she understood. If she were a student and saw a stage like that, she'd be influenced too. She'd want to make something like that.
'That's why Sunghoon is impressive.'
He didn't imitate Hajun. He stuck to his own style. And with extremely high quality.
"Bring in the next student."
"Okay."
As soon as the words ended, the door opened. A student walked in.
Messy hair that made you want to sigh, sleepy eyes as usual—Yoon Hajun.
He handed the teachers his work summary. The teachers let out something between a sigh and a groan.
'What is this…?'
Ha Hyoju was no exception. She read it once. Then again. And again. The content didn't change.
It was bluntly straightforward:
From childhood, he bled his family dry. To chase his dream, he stole their dreams and youth. He sacrificed his family solely for himself. He knew it deep down, but pretended not to. By the time he faced it, they were already gone.
He regrets it—past and present. So from now on, he will return everything to them. Their dreams. Their youth. Everything he stole.
That was it.
Ha Hyoju frowned slightly. What was this? Do high schoolers usually think like this? Musicians are sensitive, sure—but this level?
Was I like this in high school? No. Back then I just sang songs without a care.
'He's… excessively honest.'
Usually, students gloss over this kind of content. At most they write: "I'll succeed and repay my family." But Hajun's work summary was painfully candid—almost embarrassingly so.
"Let's listen to the piece first."
"Yes."
"Your major instrument is guitar, right?"
There was plenty she wanted to ask about the summary, but the summary isn't the point. The song is.
Hajun nodded and took out a guitar. A practice guitar borrowed from Won Sungmin. And he began to play.
His fingers moved lightly. The performance wasn't flashy, but his fundamentals were solid.
More important than technique—the melody.
'This kid…'
Just like at the Freshman Concert, just like from what she sensed in the summary, Hajun did not feel like a typical student. His song structure was meticulous. Every melody note was calculated. He knew exactly how to build a song to move people.
Not just experimental or artsy—he also considered mainstream appeal. That was the decisive difference between Hajun and the students who tried to imitate him.
The song started quietly, then gradually intensified. As if it had no intention of holding back its emotions. Somehow, the music itself sounded like it was on the verge of tears.
Hajun gritted his teeth as he played.
This song was his.
A mother working twelve-hour days. A sister who gave up her dream. He knew it, and pretended not to. His selfishness ruined his family. He had always known that he had no talent, that all of this was just trouble.
But he couldn't give up—because his family had sacrificed everything for him. He desperately wanted to succeed. To prove their sacrifices weren't in vain. Stubbornness, or arrogance.
And in the end—he failed.
His mother died. It was as good as killing her himself. His sister left. He was the reason she left. Everything was his fault. They invested everything in him, and he returned nothing.
He had simply taken, believing it was his right.
For Hajun, those memories could never be erased. He regretted everything. He was sorry for everything. At the very least, he wanted to apologize.
But the people who could hear that apology were already gone.
"Return to Sender."
The title of the song. Family who had already left. People he could no longer reach. A message for them.
But it didn't end there.
The trembling, tearful performance changed. The emotions were restrained, like someone stopping their tears. Instead, the melody grew slightly brighter.
If the first part was the story of the past, then this part was the story of the future.
He didn't know why, but he had been given another chance. He didn't know how someone like him deserved it. But he had it now.
So this time, he would use it only for them. He would take back everything he stole.
For his gifted sister, for his exhausted mother—he would use everything he had.
Hajun was speaking through music.
And that is why this song was undeniably his.
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