The Healing Life of a Music Genius - Chapter 192



Only Noblemtl

192 Forward without looking back

* * *

I can hear my heart beating in my ears.

My pulse starts to beat faster.

Goosebumps appeared on my arms.

Yankovsky stared blankly at the stage.

Everyone’s attention is drawn to the performance of a young boy who plays ⌜Petrushka⌟ more overwhelmingly than anyone else.

The boy’s performance was impeccable.

Technically, he was perfect, and his performance sounded like a hopeful re-creation of the ballet “Petrushka.”

A child who breathes artistic soul into the piano.

Yankowski clenched his left hand.

In his playing.

Because I was able to find similar parts to myself.

Although the boy’s performance was clearly different from Jankovsky’s, there were some similarities.

Yankowski realized it in a split second.

‘you also······.’

‘In the world you see······.’

The boy slams the piano down with his left hand!

A rough and bold expression.

The audience’s cheers immediately erupted at the end of the last chord of ⌜Petrushka⌟.

“bravo!!!!!!”

“Waaa …

Those sitting around Yankovsky immediately stand up from their seats.

Thanks to this, the boy’s appearance was not visible.

The boy’s figure is barely visible through the thin gap between people.

The boy was up from his seat.

He stands at the center of the stage more confidently than anyone else and looks at the audience. He greets them.

A pianist’s appearance.

Yankovsky looks at the gap between people.

“You can do it too.”

A white boy who looks three or four years younger than the boy on stage speaks to Jankowski.

Yankovsky stared at him intently, then finally opened his mouth.

“That kid put his soul into music. So then he······.”

“Can I face the soul like you?”

A boy’s mischievous question.

Yankovsky hesitates to answer.

His gaze drops to the floor.

It’s been a long time already.

It’s been such a long time since I last saw him.

then······.

Am I going crazy?

Maybe one day I’ll cut off my ear like Vincent van Gogh.

Or maybe I’ll just throw myself into the river like Robert Schumann.

Jankovsky’s left hand trembles slightly.

Regardless of Yankovsky’s serious thoughts, the boy continued to talk to him.

This time, they call Yankovsky’s name.

“Oleg. Oleg. Oleg.”

He raises his head at the boy’s call.

When Yankowski barely came to his senses.

The auditorium and stage of the Beaux-Arts concert hall were empty.

In this empty place, there was only Yankovsky and the boy.

The second day of the second preliminary round has concluded.

“Oleg. I have to go practice now. A formidable opponent has appeared. I can’t afford to sit around.”

“That boy······. He’ll definitely make it to the semi-finals, right?”

“Of course. There has never been a better performer here.”

“It was a ⌜Petrushka⌟ that ended with hope.”

“There was no tragedy in him. He was a child full of happiness.”

“Then me?”

“······.”

“The tragedy that happened to me? Can it end happily?”

“······.”

The boy closes his mouth tightly.

The boy thought for a while and then answered.

“First of all, we have to win first place in the competition. Oleg and I have nothing but music. That is our top priority.”

“······.”

“If you get first place, you never know what will happen. At Tchaikovsky, I regrettably ended up second, but at Queen Elisabeth, I can do it.”

“······.”

“You always told me that classical music is dying out, and young people don’t listen to classical music. The demand for music is decreasing. Eventually, the performers who are not the best will lose their place. We are trying to prepare for that in advance. Right?”

“······.”

“I know very well that Oleg’s desire to play the piano all his life is not a lie. So······.”

“······.”

“Just try a little harder. Okay?”

A boy reaches out his hand.

Oleg, who had been unconsciously shrinking, soon accepts his hand.

The boy said, stroking Oleg’s head.

“Good. Good. Good.”

and.

The man who was a fantasy soon disappears.

“Good. Our little brother······. Oleg······.”

* * *

The Queen Elizabeth judges sound excited.

“It was Petrushka, better than anyone else. This is not limited to the participants.”

“It was like watching a play called ⌜Petrushka⌟. It was like watching living dolls dancing.”

“It was perfect in terms of technique. There wasn’t a single missed touch, was there?”

“There were some keys that I hit wrong in the final chord where I slammed my fist on the piano. But that was intentional.”

“That’s right. Thanks to that, I was able to finish more powerfully than anyone else.”

“It was very impressive.”

A performer who is unanimously praised by the judges in Brussels.

Han Seo-jin, the youngest contestant on Queen Elizabeth, could be said to be the star of today’s competition.

The Polish judge points out one important point in Han Seo-jin’s performance.

“For reference, his performance was 15 minutes and 27 seconds long. He was the fastest anyone has ever played.”

“Hehehe. I didn’t feel like it was that urgent······. That was amazing.”

“The narrative was clear. Since each movement clearly defined the theme and moved on, it didn’t feel like it was ‘rushed.’”

“How is such an interpretation possible?”

“Well, it’s just amazing.”

“He was a truly amazing kid.”

The judges began to review today’s performances while looking over the judging sheets.

The evaluation is organized by summarizing each participant’s scores.

The second day of the second preliminary round, which will be held over a total of three days, has concluded.

Thanks to that, the outline has been established to some extent.

Samuel Scott, chairman of the Queen Elizabeth jury, gives an interim assessment.

“The top players are definitely Han Seo-jin. Sylvie Lucas. Oleg Jankovsky. And······.”

An American judge takes his word for him.

“Brian Turner. He deserved a top score. He did.”

Scott nods.

“Yes. Contestant Lee Hyun-joo also showed a great performance. They say that the young man is like a young master. She was worthy of being the disciple of the youngest winner of the Queen Elizabeth.”

“But didn’t you see that there were some shortcomings?”

“He is still a performer we need to watch.”

If they had competed in different years, not this year, they would have all performed so well that they could have been considered winners.

The Canadian judges look over the entries and point to one person.

“But of all the performances I’ve had so far, I was most impressed by Jankovsky’s. There was even a hint of madness in his Petrushka. I think it was the interpretation that best matched Stravinsky’s original intention.”

Several of the judges nod their heads.

Yankovsky’s Petrushka was as cold as a cold knife to the throat.

The performances of Petrushka and Yankovsky, who expressed fear, anger and sadness, were very well suited to each other.

In the finale, where Petrushka eventually loses his life, Yankovsky ends that part more terrifyingly than anyone else.

like.

“It’s like you can actually see souls.”

“Heh heh. Do you really think that’s true?”

“That means his playing was cold. It was really creepy, you know?”

“I felt that way too.”

“In some ways, it seems like he is the exact opposite of Han Seo-jin. Han Seo-jin ended ⌜Petrushka⌟ warmly, while Yankovsky ended ⌜Petrushka⌟ colder than anyone else.”

“It’s a good contrast.”

“Well, is it possible to be a passionate performer or a cool-headed performer?”

“Hahaha. If you do it well, you could come up with an interesting plot.”

The judges’ conversation continues without end.

It was quite some time later that the evaluations for the second day of the second preliminary round were concluded.

The judges leave the Palais des Beaux-Arts one by one.

These people look visibly tired.

It was quite a challenge to have to listen to each and every contestant’s performance throughout the month-long competition period.

But there was a smile on their faces.

This year, a significantly more accomplished lineup of performers than ever before has gathered in Brussels.

Because each and every one of their performances seemed like a glimpse into the future of classical music.

Samuel Scott walks the streets of Brussels.

I walk along a road lined with impressive orange streetlights.

Scott was able to spot some of the participants on the street near the Palais des Beaux-Arts.

Those who shed tears in frustration over mistakes and failures.

Those who have conversations about music with their colleagues.

Although Scott didn’t pretend to know them personally, each and every one of them was imprinted in his mind.

There was one person sitting on the bench that looked particularly dark.

He was staring blankly into space, his hands shaking slightly, his lips moving silently.

‘Yankovsky······.’

Samuel Scott was a world-renowned pianist before becoming the chairman of the jury.

He had heard the story about Yankovsky from his Russian colleagues and had a rough idea of ​​the story.

So Scott considered for a moment whether to talk to him.

but.

He didn’t do that.

Scott passed him by without a second thought.

I got to talk to him after the contest was over.

That was enough.

In order to uphold the honor of the noble city of Brussels, I will not engage in any conduct that could be considered unfit for office as the chairman of the jury of the competition.

However, Scott decided to pray, at least in his heart.

Break the cycle of loss.

I hope we can move forward.

I looked at you as a human being.

At the fork in the road leading to the hotel where he was staying, Scott saw another contestant.

A boy having a pleasant conversation with a girl who appears to be about 6 or 7 years old.

A woman who appears to be their mother is looking at them happily from behind.

When discussing happiness, an ideal picture is drawn.

I felt like I knew where the boy’s music came from.

At that moment, the boy and Scott’s eyes met.

The boy bowed his head slightly as if he felt awkward, and Scott only gave a slight nod in return, without continuing to make eye contact with him.

Scott arrived at the hotel entrance.

At the entrance to the hotel, which had a splendid garden, Scott paused for a moment.

‘Is it already this season?’

The sound of crickets chirping somewhere in the garden.

Scott listened to the crickets for a while and then went inside the hotel.

The cicadas gradually raised their voices.

I sing with the moonlight as my companion and the wind as my friend.

It’s beautiful to hear from someone.

It’s sad to hear for some people.

That little sound that, when someone hears it, brings back memories without them realizing it······.

It echoes quietly in the splendid gardens of Brussels.

* * *

My mother hugged me tightly.

For a long time without saying anything.

Because of that, I had to stand there awkwardly.

Talking about my maternal grandfather was taboo in our house.

Because I hated it so much.

My whole family was watching me.

It was so bad that even Sooyeon didn’t bring up her grandfather in front of me.

It had been years since I had brought up my grandfather’s story myself.

I just said I would give it a call······.

My mother hugged me with all her might.

The mother’s heartbeat is conveyed as is.

What’s really amazing is······.

My mind is now at great ease.

Even a small object that appeared out of nowhere embraced us.

I patted the object’s head a few times.

Listening for a moment to my mother’s heartbeat······.

Spent some time.

The next day.

The final day of the second preliminary round has dawned.

After finishing the second preliminary round on the second day, I had some free time and thought about going to watch the competition······.

I decided to just practice more.

Because right now, here in Brussels, it’s overwhelming just to let out the music inside me.

After finishing piano practice, in the late afternoon, I went out to buy waffles with Suyeon and her mother.

The lady at the second regular waffle shop I visited almost screamed at me when she saw me.

He said he saw me perform Petrushka at the Beaux-Arts Concert Hall.

He said he was also looking forward to the next semi-final stage.

“······But the announcement hasn’t been made yet?”

“I’ve been a Brussels chef for years and I don’t know how many years you’ve been here. I’m just telling you this······.”

The lady said that her judging skills were no less than those of the judges.

I nodded my head repeatedly, munching on the free waffle.

“sure.”

“That is correct.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Suyeon, who was eating a free cream waffle next to me, was also nodding her head repeatedly without understanding what I was saying.

When I looked closely, it seemed like my younger brother wouldn’t go hungry either.

Brussels was getting hotter and hotter.

The sun was quite hot, although it wasn’t hot enough to make me sweat.

Could it be that it suddenly becomes midsummer like this?

Then I might have to buy something like a short-sleeved shirt and shorts.

After basking in the sun on a bench on the street, we returned to our Airbnb.

I had to go to the Beaux-Arts this evening to check the results, but before that I planned to roll around on the sofa and look at the music scores.

Time passed quickly.

I wore a suit and went to Suyeon for an examination.

“You passed. Ahem! But I think the tie is particularly pretty.”

Suyeon learned how to tie a tie from her mother over the course of several days.

Although there were a few failures, this tie was also tied by Sooyeon.

“I also thought your tie was particularly pretty today. Your eye for things is similar. Do siblings have something in common?”

“Hehehe. I see, there’s something like that.”

I gently pinched Suyeon’s cheek.

We decided to go together to the entrance of the Palais des Beaux-Arts.

I wish I could hear the results together, but today I was the only one who could enter.

“Fighting, oppa!”

“My son! I’m sure everything will be fine!”

You two give me energy.

I don’t know if it really worked, but it did help me get a chuckle out of it.

“I’ll be back soon. I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

I entered the concert hall guided by the contest officials.

Unlike last time, there seemed to be quite a few reporters.

They kept flashing their cameras.

The 48 contestants took their seats in the audience, and the head judge himself stood on stage in front of the microphone.

“I am Samuel Scott, the head judge in Brussels this year. To all the contestants, thank you for your hard work in the second round. Queen Elizabeth, who is now halfway through the schedule, is every year······.”

A famous pianist from England.

This is someone I briefly ran into on the street yesterday.

After a somewhat lengthy explanation, it was time to announce the semi-finalists.

“······So, the 24 people whose names have been called, please come up on stage. By the way, the order in which your names are called has nothing to do with the score. It also has nothing to do with the lottery numbers.”

“The first semi-finalist is······.”

One by one, each person’s name is called.

Without any time to relax or enjoy the afterglow, your name is called out as if you were reading a book.

Number 40.

Number 24.

Number 1.

Number 9.

Judge Scott’s roll call was plain.

When more than 10 people were called.

A somewhat welcome name came out.

“Number 15. Republic of Korea. Contestant Lee Hyun-joo. Congratulations.”

A dolphin’s sound came from somewhere in the audience.

“Whoa!”

I turned my head and saw that it was Hyun-joo herself.

Last time I saw you, you seemed very calm.

Certainly, it seems that no one can help it in a concours.

The number of people who can be called quickly decreases.

12 people.

10 people.

8 people.

“Number 17. United States. Contestant Brian Turner. Congratulations.”

5 people.

I felt like I was going to get nervous for no reason.

I briefly recalled the time when I participated in a contest as a child.

Actually, it didn’t matter if I was eliminated from this contest.

I will keep challenging myself, because I have the time.

Four years, eight years, twelve years from now.

I had no intention of giving up on the contest easily.

“Number 3. France. Sylvie Lucas. Congratulations.”

Now only two of the 24 remain.

The atmosphere in the Beaux-Arts Hall suddenly became tense.

Those who went up on stage after their names were called were whispering to each other, even if only quietly.

The 26 people who remained here silently just watched the splendid stage.

Judge Samuel Scott, who had been quickly calling out names, takes a deep breath.

The sound of him breathing is amplified through the microphone, making it sound a little louder.

He quickly looks away.

Somewhere in the audience.

And he······.

“Number 8. Russia. Yankovsky. Congratulations.”

Our eyes met again.

“Number 19. Republic of Korea. Han Seo-jin. Congratulations.”

I went straight up on stage.

There is a tension between the audience and the stage.

There is a distinction between those who can go on stage and those who cannot.

It’s a cruel and annoying thing.

One place where this kind of thing happens over and over again is classical music competitions.

The reporters’ cameras flash incessantly.

The dark auditorium, obscured by the bright lights and flashes, loses its sound for a moment.

This is something I have experienced countless times.

I only looked at the chairman of the jury and did not turn my head toward the audience.

Of the 721 global preliminary contestants, only 24 remained.

Now, just one competition will determine which 12 contestants will advance to the final round.

One more time.

If I could just get selected as one of the 12 with just one performance.

At the same time, you will be eligible to stand on the final stage where you can receive the attention of the world’s classic artists.

You will be able to enter the Music Chapel Palace.

All while being kept in strict secrecy under Belgian security.

To a place where you have to create your own music without anyone’s help······.