I Need You

"Salaze Zefkin?"

The young Russian pianist Salaze Zefkin had made a name for himself by placing in the Tchaikovsky International Competition, and was now one of the most closely watched pianists in the world. People said Liszt had been reincarnated in him, so dazzling was the technique with which he played. The most famous of his performances was Liszt's La Campanella.

"Yeah! You know the one. The pianist who played that piece!"

Ji-woo hummed, mimicking a melody. They were only the brief opening notes, and yet Yeon-jae knew at once that it was La Campanella.

"Yes. La Campanella."

"La Campanella! That's right. That was the one!"

Ji-woo grinned and nodded.

"The pianist who played the La Campanella Ji-woo heard a long time ago is Zefkin, you know."

"That's right."

Zefkin's La Campanella from a concert he had given in Korea had been broadcast on television once. Ji-woo had fallen completely under the spell of that performance and become a devoted fan. He had said it until the words wore thin—that he wanted to become a pianist who could play that beautifully.

"Mom, did you know Zefkin is coming to Korea?"

"Hmm. Mom didn't know."

Yeon-jae smiled at Ji-woo and shook her head. The truth was, even though he was Ji-woo's favorite pianist, she had never been interested enough to look up how Zefkin was doing.

"Hmm, really? I guess he's giving a concert here, then."

"Is that so? For now, Ji-woo, why don't we finish the pizza first?"

Yeon-jae pressed another slice of pizza into the hands of the child who was still bouncing his feet as he talked. He was especially chatty today. Was it really that wonderful that his favorite pianist was coming to Korea?

Even after they had finished the pizza, even until he was tucked into bed, Ji-woo talked about Zefkin the entire time.

"Alright, Ji-woo. It's late, so let's sleep for now, and we can talk more tomorrow, okay?"

Even as she switched off the mood lamp beside the bed, the child would not stop chattering. Yeon-jae looked at Ji-woo with his eyes closed, then shut the bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. Only after she had cleared away the leftover pizza, tidied the table, and finished the dishes did she sit down.

The living room, emptied of the child, was silent. She leaned back in the chair for a moment and closed her eyes, then took out her phone. A search for Zefkin on a portal site brought up links related to his concert in Korea.

"He's really giving a concert here."

The concert was only two weeks away. Yeon-jae thought of Ji-woo, who had talked all evening about wanting to go.

"I wonder if there are any tickets left."

Just in case, Yeon-jae opened the ticket sales site. She selected the number of seats and checked—every last one was sold out. Of course it was. He was a world-famous pianist.

Ji-woo wanted it so badly that she considered trying to get tickets somehow. But buying them at a markup would be far too expensive.

"Can't be helped."

Yeon-jae set her phone down weakly. She had turned down the foundation, too. If he saw a pianist's concert, it would only deepen his longing for the piano. In that case, perhaps it was better not to go at all. Even as she consoled herself with that thought, a corner of her heart felt uneasy for no reason she could name.

Even after she clocked in at the café, Yeon-jae glanced at her phone now and then. The way the child's eyes had sparkled all through dinner yesterday kept weighing on her. Hoping a cancellation ticket might appear, she kept checking the site.

"What are you looking at so hard? Zefkin?"

"Ah—because of the concert."

When Yeon-jae turned around, the manager was standing there; she hadn't even noticed her coming. At Yeon-jae's words, the manager peered at the screen and asked,

"A concert?"

"It's a pianist my son likes, and I think he wants to see the performance. But it's sold out."

Yeon-jae sighed and set her phone down.

"I was hoping to grab a cancellation ticket if one came up. I guess there aren't any after all. Can't be helped."

"Is he that famous?"

"Yes. He's a pianist who's been making waves lately."

"Really? I don't know classical, so I have no idea who that is. But if Ji-woo wants to see it, of course it'd be on your mind, Yeon-jae."

Yeon-jae smiled at the manager, who offered the words as if she understood. Just having someone she could talk to like this was a comfort in itself.

Yeon-jae turned toward an incoming order and approached the coffee machine. She fitted the portafilter with the ground beans and began extracting a shot. Behind her, a bright chime of a bell rang out, and then the manager's flushed voice reached her.

"Oh my, you come here often."

Must be a regular. Thinking that to herself, Yeon-jae was pouring the extracted shot into a plastic cup.

"This is the only place I can find it."

"We don't have those beans. Like I told you last time, that's something Yeon-jae made."

The finished cup was in her hand when a familiar voice slipped into her ear, and Yeon-jae whirled around.

"I know."

At the end of Yeon-jae's gaze stood a man. Je-heon, looking at her with eyes that did not waver in the slightest.

"That's why I came looking for the person herself today."

"......"

"Jeong Yeon-jae."

At the shameless way he stood there, as if he had reserved the hour in advance, Yeon-jae swallowed a dry laugh. Then, seeing the customer waiting, she set the cup down on the pickup counter.

Hadn't he gone back to Seoul? The Daejeon trip should have ended when the concert finished. Je-heon stood in front of the register, gazing quietly at her. At the look that seemed to protest—aren't you going to take my order?—she swallowed a sigh.

When she approached the register, the manager stepped aside for her. Yeon-jae looked at Je-heon, then shifted her gaze to the monitor.

"I'm working right now. I don't have time to talk."

"....."

"And if it's about the foundation, I especially don't. You know that, right?"

Afraid he might bring up the foundation again, Yeon-jae got there first. As if the words had caught in his throat, Je-heon, who had been standing still, held out a card.

"Iced americano."

Yeon-jae's brow furrowed. He wasn't even going to drink it, so why order it? She muttered the thought inwardly, then took the card anyway. After finishing the payment, she returned the card along with the vibrating pager.

Je-heon sat down at a window seat not far from the counter. Watching him, Yeon-jae turned and started pulling a shot.

"What's it about this time?"

"I don't know. I thought he'd gone back to Seoul."

"The way he's settled in, it looks like he's going to wait. Oh—he's looking at me."

The manager flinched and hid behind Yeon-jae.

"Your ex came to the café last time, too. He didn't know you'd left early that day."

There had been a day when there were so few customers that she had left an hour early.

"Ah. That day."

Yeon-jae let out a small sigh. And that was also the day Je-heon had come looking for her at the academy. He must have come to the café, found she wasn't there, and gone to the academy instead.

Having pulled the shot, Yeon-jae frowned slightly. Then that meant he had already known she made the beans herself. She poured the finished espresso into a cup filled with ice, set it on the pickup counter, and was about to press the vibrating pager—then didn't, and went out herself.

If it was Je-heon, he was the kind of man who would find a way to make time to talk with her no matter what. Lunch hour was coming. If he sat there like that, staging a sit-in through the rush, it would be a problem for both Yeon-jae and the manager.

Yeon-jae approached the table where Je-heon sat and set the cup down. He had seemed to be looking at a tablet; he lifted his gaze.

"I'll say it again—I turned down the foundation. If that's what this is about, I have nothing to say......."

"Not that."

He set the tablet down on the table.

"I need coffee."

Coffee had just been placed in front of him. But seeing that he showed not the slightest interest in it, that was not what he meant.

"I already gave you the beans."

"I drank them all."

At the reflexive answer—as if a product dropping from a vending machine the moment you pressed the button—Yeon-jae frowned. She had given him the beans last week. Even for a portioned amount, it was not a quantity anyone could finish in that short a time.

"That's not an amount you could finish. And I told you that was the last time."

When he had come to the academy, she had made it perfectly clear there would be no more giving him beans. She was about to tell him to just make something similar and drink that. That was the moment.

"They say they can't copy those beans even in Seoul. Only you can make them, so what am I supposed to do."

Je-heon, who had been leaning back in his chair, sat up straight, turning toward her.

And the eyes that had drawn even closer held her there, gazing into her.