Kim Donghu’s “Big Three” asurent video.
As anyone could tell from the reaction online—
It exploded instantly, spreading across the globe in no ti.
Within a single day, the views surpassed ten million.
Articles were a given.
“The Man of the Hour! Reviewing the God Donghu Workout Clip!”
“970 in the Big Three with a casual lift?! Watch actor Kim Donghu’s workout!”
“Apologies, I already sent the email. I need to work out with you.”
Even YouTubers with over a million subscribers rushed to review Kim Donghu’s workout footage.
They didn’t even care that they couldn’t monetize the videos due to copyright claims.
Unanimously, they all said:
“Top-tier powerlifter. Truly world-class. He doesn’t seem human. A god, maybe? Sothing like that?”
“From what I know, he’s super busy... But still, you need serious strength training for this stuff. He must’ve been born with it.”
“370kg deadlift with no straps, using an alternate grip? That’s practically a certified competition record.”
Not human.
They couldn’t understand how an actor could pull this off.
Every comnt was pure praise.
“Fake? It can’t be fake. These are all official competition plates—zero margin for weight error.”
“He’s clearly serious about training. All of this equipnt is top-shelf. That belt he’s wearing? Strictly for advanced lifters.”
“If he were using all the equipnt under local gym rules, he’d hit a thousand in the Big Three easy. He’s not even using knee wraps.”
“He honestly felt like a general from so legendary history. At this level, he might be the strongest man since the founding of the nation.”
No one suspected anything was fake.
Not because they were just riding the hype—
but because everything, from Donghu’s movents to the quality of the gym equipnt,
There wasn’t a single thing that raised suspicion.
PEDs? That wasn’t even up for debate.
He’d already cleared Olympic doping tests.
And again while preparing for the WBC heavyweight match.
Even the most rigorous anti-doping agencies in the world said he was clean.
What could an average person possibly say against that?
“He’s like a character out of a manga. Usually, if you’re that strong, you’re slow or clumsy...”
So all they could do was praise him.
[Hello, Mr. Kim Donghu. We saw your workout video and would love to propose a collaboration...]
[We’ve rewatched your workout footage countless tis. We specialize in protein supplents and...]
Companies began flooding Kim Donghu’s inbox with partnership offers.
Just two days into launching his YouTube channel.
And his stature was already growing out of control.
***
By the ti Kim Donghu’s YouTube video surpassed twenty million views—
“Donghu, Edward’s asking if the match can be postponed.”
“Huh? Out of nowhere? There’s still five months left.”
“Yeah. Says he just... feels like it.”
“Tell him no. The champ’s supposed to be the one in charge, right?”
“Exactly. I’ll pass that on.”
A sudden ssage from Edward.
Wait... did he chicken out after seeing my workout video?
“No way.”
This guy used to be the WBC heavyweight champ.
There’s no way he’d get scared over sothing like that.
“There’s been a surge of variety show offers since that video. What do you want to do?”
“Decline them all. It’s not ti to promote Musashi yet, so I don’t see the point.”
“Starting with Rush Man... and that’s just one. A lot of them are begging you to co on.”
“I’d love to, but... haha.”
In the past, I would’ve just gone on the shows.
But things are different now.
My status has shot up more than I expected.
I needed to move with more intention.
“Or more precisely... make the most out of the impact.”
Going on as just a guest for no reason—
it’d be better to appear when there’s sothing big to promote.
Especially with Musashi still facing a lot of negative public sentint.
I wanted to wipe all of that clean with a strong round of PR.
And then—
“Hm? Donghu, a script offer just ca in via email. Want to take a look?”
“What? Out of nowhere?”
“Yeah. If it were just a generic email, I wouldn’t even ntion it. But it ca to my personal inbox. Can’t really ignore it. What do you think?”
“Where’s it from?”
Out of the blue, a script showed up in my email.
Seokho hyung continued, trying (and failing) to hide sothing.
“It’s from Dezni. You know, Dezni Plus? Looks like it’s one of their original productions.”
Original content had beco the na of the ga for OTT platforms.
And lately, Netflix had been way ahead of the curve.
So it made sense that Dezni was feeling the pressure.
But... email? Don’t they usually go through a eting first?
Well, I figured I’d just check it out, so I nodded.
As soon as the script printed out—
I saw the writer’s na and instantly understood everything.
“Writer Lee Minha? Is this for real?”
“Yeah, I was just as shocked when I saw it. That’s why it ca to my personal email.”
“So that’s why you looked like you were hiding sothing.”
“It showed?”
“Big ti.”
“See, this is why I never beca an actor.”
The title was The Pianist.
A simple title.
One that told you exactly what to expect.
“Writer Lee Minha didn’t say much, but she’s a huge fan of your piano playing.”
“I really appreciate her kind words.”
“No, seriously. She thinks you’re on the sa level as Chairman Edward Park.”
“...”
The mont he ntioned Chairman Edward Park, I lowered my head.
“The ET music video... When it hit a hundred million views, they put up a banner for at Daejong High, didn’t they.”
He even said one went up at Sinbit Middle School.
I really appreciated the gesture.
But the embarrassnt? Off the charts.
Anyway—
I shoved down the flurry of emotions rising in
and grabbed the script.
Imrsion.
It had been a while since I touched a piano.
I was curious what kind of world would welco this ti.
***
Those who do not understand beauty deserve to die.
What is beauty? What is classical music?
There are far too many ambiguous things in this world.
Ambiguous talent. Ambiguous beauty. Ambiguous lives.
Things that exist with no understandable reason.
Whenever I see such things breathing—
truly—
"I want to rip out their throats and hang them up."
A wave of disgust surged up.
So I killed them.
Thud!
To offer salvation to a pitiful creature living a life devoid of nobility.
How horrifying would it be if such a life continued and even reproduced?
That would surely spread like so senseless plague.
"Poor but cheerful... do you know how utterly aningless that is?"
A streetlight shining in a dark alley holds no real value.
It rely draws in insects.
Nothing more.
"So I had no choice but to kill."
Those germs on the verge of leaving the orphanage.
Those preparing to step into adulthood.
If not , who else would kill them?
But I wasn’t lonely.
"Thank you all for attending my recital today."
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
Because I had company. Companions to share food and enjoy classical music with.
Ten in total.
We don’t know each other’s faces.
We don’t know each other’s identities.
They simply wear masks and eat once my performance begins.
The music must always be clean and composed.
Tonight, perhaps I’ll play Schubert’s Erlkönig.
As the Erlking descends,
as he tries to steal the child away—
The performance begins for those who lead noble lives.
To snatch away life from the filthy.
To kill the foul idea of clinging to poverty /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ from within poverty.
And to the rhythm of that performance—
Clatter, clatter.
A dark and spacious room.
A long dining table in the center, utensils clinking as people eat.
I can feel their eyes occasionally landing on .
I wonder how they see through their gaze.
A millionaire.
A pianist of the century.
An eccentric plagued by countless obsessions.
A chef cooking with poverty.
All of these make up who I am.
But I wished to define myself differently.
"A man who values desire..."
Ah, when the recital ends, I can no longer contain my lust.
My boiling urges crawl like insects, gnawing away at my reason.
I don’t kill the holess,
those rotting away on drugs, who’ve already failed at life—
Because I know they have no future.
I don’t bother with germs whose expiration date has already passed.
My fingers press harder into the keys.
"But."
Young ones about to shine brightly—
those dreaming of a future—
I cannot stand the sight of wings growing on such unworthy souls.
"I have to break them... Only by breaking them—can my desire, my mind—"
Only then can I find relief. I have no choice but to snap their wings.
The feel of the pedal beneath my foot is like stomping on soone’s dreams.
Worthless, pitiful lives.
Suddenly, I understand the words of that religion which said life is suffering.
To them, life must be no different from pain.
A life clinging on only because they can’t die. A chain soone has to cut.
Maybe I’m the angel who gladly severs that chain.
♬!
The sound marks the end of the performance.
It’s essentially a dinner show.
Naturally, applause follows—as it should.
Everyone hastily stops eating,
swallowing whatever they were chewing as they rise to clap.
This applause—
is the only fitting price for an angel’s performance.
And just as my thoughts reach that point—
Clang!
The world shatters.
And inside it is a small child, raised on abuse...
"...Huff!"
The imrsion breaks.
The mont I entered the script, I realized what character this was based on.
"You read the script? They said it’s basically an homage, right? You got that bam feeling of who it is?"
"Yeah. Hit right away."
So they’re adapting that character into a pianist?
"Writer Lee Minha actually wrote this?"
The sa person who wrote High Dream suddenly ca up with this?
Are we sure it’s the sa Lee Minha?
As that thought crossed my mind, I checked the rating on the script.
The Pianist – S
No doubt about it.
It was top-tier.
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