Chapter 78: Perfect Pitch

Da-da-dan—

Ham Ah-yoon’s performance was close to perfection. Her confident, deliberate movements and precisely crafted melody left no room for doubt. It was the kind of performance that could awe anyone who heard it.

But something felt strange.

Why is that?

At that moment, Sua felt a subtle sense of unease.

It was like looking at a beautiful puzzle with one missing piece. A faint, undefinable absence. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but something small seemed to be missing.

Time passed as Sua pondered what that missing piece might be.

Meanwhile, Ham Ah-yoon’s performance came to an end. Without any sign of triumph, she stood up from her seat as though it was nothing extraordinary.

The woman in the baseball cap spoke up immediately.

“After hearing that, you can’t seriously say you won’t cast Ah-yoon, right? Her acting is stellar, and her piano playing is phenomenal. She’s practically Kim So-hee incarnate.”

Her gaze shifted to Sua and Kim Yi-seo.

“You don’t even have to respond, Director Go. I’m sure the rookie has realized where she stands.”

Sua quietly surveyed her surroundings.

Ham Ah-yoon’s piano performance had shifted the mood entirely. Even the people who had stood near Sua now seemed visibly shaken.

It was at that moment Kim Yi-seo bit her lip.

“I didn’t think it would be this impressive…”

She leaned toward Sua and whispered.

“Sua, maybe it’s better if we back off this time.”

“What?”

“There’s no point in making an enemy of Ham Ah-yoon.”

Kim Yi-seo’s explanation was straightforward.

Ham Ah-yoon, a former competition winner.

Though she belonged to a one-person agency, her case was different. She wasn’t with a small company due to a lack of influence—it was because she herself was a walking enterprise, someone who formed her agency later in her career.

“Hmm.”

“And regardless of what Director Go wants, it seems like most of the production team is already on her side. There’s nothing to gain from a direct confrontation.”

In other words, Kim Yi-seo was suggesting they step down gracefully to resolve the situation amicably.

It was a logical suggestion. Even if it meant giving up on Crescendo Begins Tomorrow, it would minimize potential conflicts.

Kim Yi-seo prioritized Sua’s safety over a gamble.

However.

That’s not how it turned out.

Because Sua didn’t back down.

“No.”

Sua hadn’t forgotten why she came here.

The 1.9-rated script. The role of Kim So-hee.

She came to claim it, and she wouldn’t leave without it.

With her decision made, Sua finally spoke.

“I want the role of Kim So-hee too.”

This resolve solidified further after Sua glanced at her system again. She had briefly considered settling for another role, but Kim So-hee was the only one marked as suitable.

She couldn’t let the 1.9-rated script slip away.

If she was going to participate, it had to be as Kim So-hee.

So, retreating wasn’t an option.

The woman in the baseball cap tilted her head slightly.

“You just heard Ah-yoon’s performance. You still think you can do it?”

“Yes. I’m just as serious about playing Kim So-hee. I’m passionate about music too. I’m confident I won’t fall short.”

“What?”

“And I haven’t had my turn yet, have I?”

All eyes in the room were now fixated solely on Sua. Her heart pounded furiously, but she mustered all her courage to continue. It was worth it—for the 1.9-rated script.

And because it was the key to graduating from the “Musician” trait.

“Only Ah-yoon has performed so far. It’s only fair that I get a turn too.”

“No…”

The manager was at a loss for words, momentarily unable to respond.

“…Does it even matter if it’s your turn right now?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Even if it’s your turn, you won’t be able to play at that level. Do you even know? Ah-yoon is a former competition winner. There’s no point in trying; it’s obvious who’s better without even comparing.”

…No wonder she played so well.

Sua had no intention of belittling Ah-yoon’s performance. Even her finely tuned ears, now hyper-sensitive, found the melody satisfying. But Sua politely requested again, refusing to back down.

“The director himself said he hasn’t made a final decision. Isn’t this just the production team’s preference? Why not compare fairly and see who’s more suitable?”

“There’s no reason to refuse. Comparing us would only make the difference even clearer. It could even garner more support for your side.”

After speaking, Sua swallowed nervously. She had tried to mimic the reasoning of Kim Yuhan’s intelligence. Was that smart enough, Sua?

Meanwhile, Ham Ah-yoon narrowed her eyes slightly.

It wasn’t out of displeasure. It was curiosity.

…Who is this rookie?

During her performance, Ah-yoon had noticed something unusual.

Until now, everyone who heard her play showed a look of awe. She had never found it strange—after all, the music she produced was internationally recognized.

But today, for the first time, there was an exception.

It was that rookie, Lee Sua, tilting her head in doubt.

What makes music so profound?

Even without understanding it fully, it can still move you. Even without technical knowledge, a melody can excite you. Music can manipulate human emotions without needing words.

But Sua was different.

Instead of being moved, she looked puzzled, as if something was missing.

Doesn’t she remind me of… my father?

The one person in the world who never acknowledged her performances. Even at the moment of her competition victory, he claimed such things didn’t matter.

Unpleasantness bubbled within Ah-yoon.

She examined Sua again.

Her appearance was flawless.

Sharp features, an intense gaze, impeccable proportions, and a composed demeanor that didn’t waver under pressure—an unusual quality for a rookie.

If she were an ordinary rookie, she would’ve backed down by now.

The entertainment industry, like any other, is full of power dynamics. People like Sua wouldn’t gain anything by opposing someone like Ah-yoon or a major agency.

What’s the source of that confidence? Does she know how to play music?

Just as Ah-yoon’s curiosity began to deepen, Sua spoke again.

“I really want to play Kim So-hee. I mean it.”

“You…”

The manager began raising her voice, but she didn’t finish. Ah-yoon, for the first time, grabbed her arm to stop her.

Instead, Ah-yoon spoke herself.

“Fine.”

She nodded calmly.

“Let’s do it this way.”

In an instant, all eyes turned to Ah-yoon. She stared at Sua with a neutral expression before continuing.

“There are two things an actor playing Kim So-hee needs.”

“What are they?”

“First, the director’s approval. If you don’t have that, you need extraordinary skill to convince everyone else. What do you think?”

Sua nodded.

Unlike her manager, Ah-yoon seemed to prioritize the director’s opinion above all else. In that moment, Sua saw Ah-yoon in a different light.

“I didn’t receive the director’s approval. That’s why I convinced the production team with my skills. But you have the director’s approval. If you can also prove you have the skills, I’ll step aside.”

Without waiting for a response, Ah-yoon’s fingers moved naturally over the piano keys.

Her slender fingers pressed one key.

Dahn—

She didn’t stop at one.

She pressed two more keys in sequence.

Dahn—

Dahn—

Crossing her arms, Ah-yoon looked at Sua.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I… don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“It’s unreasonable for us to compete through a performance.”

Ah-yoon spoke slowly.

“I’m a competition winner. There’s no way you could play better than me. So let’s do a perfect pitch test instead. Something simple—just identify the notes you hear. If you can even manage that, I’ll acknowledge your skills.”

Sua blinked quietly.

Although it was sudden, there seemed to be no reason to refuse.

Ham Ah-yoon’s reasoning was sound, and this was a perfect opportunity to prove her legitimacy as Kim So-hee in front of everyone.

The problem was, Sua couldn’t recall the notes that had just been played.

For Sua, this was only natural. If it was going to be a test, shouldn’t they have announced it as such? She had listened absentmindedly, letting the notes pass in one ear and out the other. How could they now declare it a test?

The silence stretched. Sua felt wronged.

“…Is even this difficult for you?”

Ham Ah-yoon furrowed her brows.

“The filming for Crescendo Begins Tomorrow isn’t far off. Musical ability is either innate or developed at a young age. If this much is challenging, learning from now won’t suffice to play Kim So-hee.”

In truth, Ham Ah-yoon’s focus wasn’t solely on Kim So-hee.

While the role was important, what Ah-yoon truly wanted to confirm was the meaning behind Sua’s earlier expression.

Why had she made that face?

Why did she look so much like Ah-yoon’s father in that moment?

Was it confusion, born of ignorance about music?

Or had she recognized something similar to what her father had seen?

If she didn’t find out, it would drive her mad.

Meanwhile, a stubborn determination began to stir within Sua.

No, I can identify the notes if I hear them again. This isn’t fair!

But alongside her frustration was a tinge of curiosity. How much had her hearing improved?

This was the perfect opportunity to find out.

Sua’s soft lips parted.

“I’ll try. Play it again.”

“Okay.”

Ah-yoon reached toward the keys to press them again.

It happened in an instant.

“…Ah!”

Her fuzzy slippers slipped, and her body wobbled precariously.

Her hands flailed, seeking anything to grab for support, but there was nothing around except the piano keys.

Bang!

In the end, Ah-yoon braced herself against the keys, preventing a full fall to the ground.

Still, it might have been better to hit the floor. Her fingers—her life’s most valuable asset—had narrowly avoided injury. Just imagining the hands that had built her career being harmed made her shudder.

Ah-yoon’s expression soured.

“…I slipped for a moment. Don’t mind me.”

She let out a deep sigh and shook her hands loose.

“Now, let’s start again.”

Ah-yoon muttered the notes she planned to play to herself.

As her fingers were halfway to pressing the keys—

Suddenly.

Out of nowhere.

Sua’s voice echoed through the room.

“…G sharp?”

Ah-yoon’s fingers froze mid-air.

Everyone around them seemed to freeze in place as well.

“I heard an A and an F too, but…”

“…?”

Ah-yoon turned to look at the girl before her.

The sharp, blank gaze from earlier was gone. Now, her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, as if she was carefully deliberating something.

“And the last one… was it a D?”

Then.

With an inquisitive gaze, her jewel-like eyes looked directly at Ah-yoon.

Ah-yoon snapped back to her senses. Replaying the events in her mind, she began to grasp what the girl was implying.

She distinguished every note layered in that chaotic sound?

No, that couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be possible.

Ah-yoon’s eyes shifted toward the spot where she had braced herself after slipping.