Minji, a piano prodigy who has always dominated competitions and earned the admiration of her school, begins to lose her focus when Haerin, a talented and ambitious pianist, challenges her at every turn. Haerin, determined to surpass Minji, subtly m...
It was another Saturday—another day spent locked in the confines of her practice room. The grand piano before her seemed both a sanctuary and a prison, its keys calling to her like a relentless taskmaster. Haerin's hands moved across the keys mechanically, every note, every chord, pushed out with precision, but without any joy. There was no room for joy in her music. There was only perfection.
Her mother sat nearby, perched on a sleek chair, her eyes sharp and calculating as she watched Haerin's every move. Mrs. Jeong's gaze was cold, always expecting, always waiting for something more. She had no interest in hearing Haerin's interpretation or emotions. It was the technical execution that mattered. Nothing else.
"Faster," her mother's voice cut through the air. "Your fingers are too slow on that passage. Again."
Haerin complied, pushing herself harder, faster. She could feel the sweat beading at the back of her neck, but she didn't dare pause. Her mother's gaze was unwavering.
After another hour of intense practice, Haerin's fingers ached. Her body felt stiff, but still, her mother insisted on more. She had become used to this, the endless rehearsals, the perfection demanded in every note. There was never any rest, never any time to breathe.
Finally, her mother rose from her chair, breaking the silence. "Good. Now, come. We're taking a picture."
Haerin blinked, the suggestion taking her by surprise. But she had learned long ago not to question her mother's requests. She stood and followed her mother to the center of the room, where her mother positioned herself in front of the grand piano. With a camera in hand, Mrs. Jeong made sure Haerin stood in just the right place, framing her daughter's face perfectly.
"Smile, Haerin. Like you mean it," her mother instructed, her voice sharp.
Haerin forced a smile, her lips curving up in a practiced, charming way. She'd done this countless times before, posing for the camera with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. It was the same routine—the same performance.
Smile like a perfect daughter, a perfect pianist, a perfect little reflection of me.
Her mother snapped the photo with quick efficiency. The smile Haerin wore was flawless, though hollow, and it was quickly followed by another command. "Good. I'll post this online. The world needs to see how talented you are. How much you're growing, following in my footsteps."
As her mother typed the caption, Haerin couldn't help but roll her eyes, though she quickly wiped the expression from her face when Mrs. Jeong turned to her, holding up her phone to show Haerin the result.
The photo was polished to perfection, just like everything else. Mrs. Jeong's caption read,
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"My mini-me, pianist Haerin. So proud to watch you follow in my steps, my talented daughter."
Beneath it, the comments began to flood in—praise, admiration, comparisons to Mrs. Jeong's own illustrious career.
Haerin's heart sank as she read the comments. "Just like your mother." "You're going to be just as great as her." "You'll be the next world-renowned pianist." The words stung, but she had long learned how to suppress her feelings. Her mother's praise was always empty, always tied to her performance, her results.
Haerin forced herself to smile again when her mother looked up. "Isn't it great?" Mrs. Jeong asked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Everyone will know what a prodigy you are."
"Yeah," Haerin murmured, though the word tasted bitter. "It's great."
After what felt like an eternity, her mother finally let her go. Haerin was free to leave the practice room, but as she made her way toward the living room, she could still feel the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. "Will I ever be good enough?" The question seemed to haunt her, though she never voiced it out loud.
As she entered the living room, she noticed Hanni sitting on the couch, laughing at her phone, her eyes sparkling with excitement. There was something in Hanni's expression that Haerin hadn't seen in a long time—genuine joy, something Haerin herself couldn't remember the last time she felt.
"Who are you talking to?" Haerin asked, curious but slightly envious of the carefree happiness Hanni radiated.
Hanni glanced up and grinned. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Just a friend."
"Who?" Haerin pressed, her eyebrows raising. It was rare for Hanni to act so secretive, especially when it came to something as trivial as texting.
"Minji," Hanni said, and then, seeing the surprised look on Haerin's face, she added, "Yeah, we've been chatting a lot recently. She's really nice."
Haerin froze, her heart skipping a beat. "Minji?" The name echoed in her head, and suddenly, everything else seemed to fade into the background. She had known that Hanni and Minji had gotten closer over the past few weeks, but this? Talking regularly? Haerin's chest tightened as she processed the information. She hadn't expected this.
For a moment, Haerin felt a mix of confusion and jealousy, though she didn't show it. She had always felt somewhat distant from Hanni. As twins, they were supposed to share a special connection, but lately, it seemed like Hanni had been gravitating more toward Minji.
"Since when have you two been talking so much?" Haerin asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Oh, for a while now," Hanni said, looking up from her phone, her face lighting up with excitement. "She's so easy to talk to, Haerin. You should text her sometime, too."
Haerin didn't respond immediately. Her mind raced as the reality of the situation set in. Minji—her competition, the one person who had always been one step ahead of her—was now also someone Hanni was connecting with on a deeper level. "This could complicate things."
For a split second, Haerin considered the possibility of telling Hanni about the true weight of the competition, about her mother's relentless expectations and her own pressure to be perfect. But then, Haerin swallowed the thought down. "No," she told herself, "It's not Hanni's problem. She wouldn't understand." Hanni was the free spirit, the one who never seemed to feel the weight of their family's legacy. Haerin could never burden her with the truth.
Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and said, "Yeah, maybe I'll reach out. Minji's a good person."
But inside, something sharp twisted in Haerin's chest. The thought of Minji becoming closer to Hanni, of them bonding over shared interests, made Haerin feel like she was losing something. She had spent so much time focused on her own perfection, on the image her mother had built for her, that she had never truly allowed herself to connect with others in a meaningful way. And now, with Minji and Hanni forming their own bond, Haerin couldn't help but feel like she was losing out on something valuable.
For the first time in a long while, Haerin found herself questioning her own choices. "Am I pushing everyone away in my quest for perfection?" She had wanted to win, to please her mother, to be the best. But at what cost?
As she left the living room, heading toward her own space to continue her practice, Haerin couldn't shake the feeling that something in her life was slipping through her fingers—and she wasn't sure how to stop it.
