The Healing Life of a Music Genius - Chapter 196



Only Noblemtl

196 still

* * *

The suffocating silence of a concert hall.

The silence that lasted only a few seconds is slowly broken.

As if everyone in the concert hall understood the boy’s performance, only a small applause could be heard.

There were no cheers or shouts of bravo.

There was no one stomping their feet or whistling.

People just······.

To the pianist who showed me such beautiful and warm melodies that it made my heart ache······.

I was just expressing my own manners.

There was someone who was trying hard to look up at the ceiling of the concert hall.

Some people closed their eyes and recalled the performance from just a moment ago.

and.

There were also people who shed sad tears.

How people perceive this music will vary.

If there are 100 people, there are 100 stories.

There are many different stories in the world that are similar but not the same.

If you have been dumped by someone you love.

Or you got fired from a company you had been working for for a long time.

Have suffered a loss.

Or even until now.

You may be experiencing loss alone.

The boy’s “Strict Variations” brought them comfort and consolation.

It gave a brief moment of respite to everyone living in this strict and difficult world.

The voice that the musician is trying to produce.

It was conveyed through the melody of the piano.

No detailed explanation was needed.

There was no need to explain what was good about this music or how to listen to it.

The boy’s music was noble as it was, and all the more poignant because it had already flowed away.

People kept the boy’s music engraved in a corner of their hearts.

The boy says hello.

He looks at the audience calmly.

A very young boy for a pianist who presents amazing music.

His appearance······.

People feel more affection for his performance······.

They applauded more consistently than ever.

In one of the seats on the second floor, a woman was crying loudly.

He looks at the stage with an expression filled with complex emotions.

‘I wish it was a little more······. I wish it was a little more······.’

The mother shed tears as she watched the boy grow up so quickly, regardless of his appearance.

The man sitting next to her hugs her to comfort her.

A little girl also hugs her mother.

At that moment, the boy on the stage looks at this place.

I didn’t see the woman crying or the man trying to comfort her.

The little girl definitely made eye contact with him.

The girl laughs brightly.

The boy smiles accordingly.

When it comes to communication between people, conversation isn’t always necessary.

All the audience members, including boys and girls, men and women, had already had a lot of conversation.

The boy returns to the waiting room.

Even during that time, people continued to applaud until the end.

The judges began to ponder, clicking their pens.

The Queen Elisabeth Competition has a policy of disclosing all judges’ scores from the semi-finals onwards.

so······.

I just wonder how many points I should give to the boy’s performance.

That was the hesitation.

“It was a unique interpretation.”

“Yes. The level was amazing.”

“A radical beginning. The pianist’s gradual change of heart······. It was an incredible variation.”

“I think I have a perfect understanding of the characteristics of variations.”

“It was the first time I realized that Mendelssohn’s piano pieces could be so touching.”

“I think it was a performance that will be remembered forever in Brussels.”

This year’s evaluation was especially important compared to previous years.

This semi-final is a competition where you can premiere an unpublished Beethoven score.

The moment the judge made a slightly less objective evaluation, it was obvious that he or she would become the subject of gossip.

The judges, who had been pondering for a long time, finally picked up their pens.

‘I have to finish it before the next contestant comes out······.’

‘I wish I had seen it at a concert.’

‘However, there may be some differences in interpretation. After all, it was a performance that broke the existing mold. In that case······.’

After listening to the beautiful performance, they had no time to enjoy the afterglow, but they regained their composure and started scoring.

* * *

The waiting room of the Beaux-Arts Concert Hall.

Contestant number 11 went out on stage, leaving only number 12, who would perform for the last time today.

Oleg Yankovsky.

He looked at me for a moment, then looked away, and I started gathering my belongings, including my sheet music.

On stage, contestant number 11 has just started playing.

Through the gap in the door between the waiting room and the stage, the powerful melody of Chopin that he is playing can be heard.

“What a wonderful Chopin.”

Then, Yankovsky spoke up.

I nodded.

“Everyone in Brussels is a great performer.”

“That’s right. But not everyone can play like you.”

“······.”

“⌜Strict Variations⌟. Anger and resentment. Frustration and despair. Peace and joy. Comfort and consolation. Your playing revealed all of that. It was the first time I knew there was someone in this world who could play like that.”

Jankovsky seemed to be listening to my performance attentively.

“I wanted to express that through my performance. However, I am not the only one in the world who can play like this.”

“Well. To me, it sounded like a great performance. It was a performance that reflected your ‘experience’ and thoughts. So. There probably aren’t many people in the world who can have all those experiences.”

“······.”

“Seojin, you told me last time that you wanted to play happiness, but you must have experienced a terrible loss. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have played such a resentful variation in ⌜Strictness⌟.”

Even as he spoke to me, Yankovsky’s gaze was elsewhere.

weirdo.

That’s what he asks me.

“But how can you express beauty? How can you create such happy melodies that come from the heart? ······ I wonder about that.”

It wasn’t an easy question to answer.

A question that runs through my life.

You can’t define it in one sentence.

but.

It seemed like it might shed some light on his doubts.

“There are many things in the world that are unclean and sad, but there are far more things that are beautiful and full of hope. So there is no need to focus on one thing. That’s what I learned.”

“······.”

That’s what Mr. Miller told me.

I tried to answer Yankovsky’s question with the words of the old man engraved in my heart.

Yankovsky stares at me.

I saw his eyes shake for a moment.

“I······. I just couldn’t get over the loss······. Even now······.”

At that moment, cheers were heard from outside.

When I played on stage myself, it seemed like it took longer, but other people’s performances ended faster than I thought.

A contest official enters the waiting room and informs Jankowski that time is running out.

Yankovsky stopped talking to me and got up from his seat.

Contestant number 11 returned to the waiting room here, and Jankowski hesitated before going out on stage and spoke to me.

“I wish I could overcome loss like you······. Really.”

Through the words in his speech, I vaguely got an idea of ​​what he was thinking about.

Yankowski trudged toward the door.

To a very bright place, contrary to his feelings.

I walked towards a place that was so dazzling that it was unbelievable.

I answered him in a small voice, looking behind me.

“I couldn’t overcome it either. I just······. I just smiled and endured it. As if nothing happened. I forced myself to be relaxed. And before I knew it, I was able to laugh sincerely. That’s how I gradually adapted to this strict world.”

Jankowski looks back as he stands at the border between the waiting room and the stage.

I made eye contact with him.

A few seconds passed slowly like that.

I turned around first.

And then he strode out of the waiting room.

I learned a lot from this contest.

I cried and laughed while preparing for a long time.

Playing in Brussels was both refreshing and more poignant.

In the lobby, there were many people who were unable to get tickets to the competition and were watching the performance on monitors.

They found me and came to me one by one.

He told me that he cried and was so touched after listening to my variations.

I laughed.

He expressed his gratitude by signing autographs and taking pictures with them.

I did it because I knew that somewhere in this world, there was someone who wanted me to do this.

I stood in a corner of the lobby and watched Jankovsky’s performance on a monitor.

His playing······.

It was sad, painful, and somehow off.

Suddenly he plays a song that seems like it will bring tears to your eyes.

It’s not that his music was lacking in artistic aspects.

Because there must be people in this world who make music like that.

That piano was also a great work of art.

The people gave Jankowski a huge cheer.

His playing was equally outstanding.

Today’s competitions are all over.

As I waited in the lobby for a moment, I saw the faces of my loved ones.

Suyeon hugged me and said excitedly, “Oppa! I saw you looking at me on stage after the performance! Our siblings made eye contact!”

My mother’s eyes were swollen, as if she hadn’t slept well the night before. She slightly avoided my gaze.

My father told me that he became like that after hearing me play······.

You brought that up and got a slap on the back for no reason.

It makes me laugh.

There was no lie in this.

Professor Kang Yoo-han and several other masters came to me and said a few words to me.

That was a great performance.

They sent their support, saying they were looking forward to more in the future.

I also met Professor Richter and Conductor Hoffmann.

Mr. Richter gave me a light hug.

European style greetings.

His little pats reminded me of Mr. Miller.

“It was a really great performance.”

“······ thank you.”

We came out of the Palais des Beaux-Arts.

The weather in Brussels, which has become warmer than we expected, embraces us.

I smiled again.

* * *

The next evening.

A large crowd gathered in the lobby of the Palais des Beaux-Arts.

Queen Elisabeth Competition participants and their families.

Teachers and colleagues.

The place was packed with reporters from news agencies and music magazines.

People continued to stare at the antique marble staircase that led from the lobby to the second floor.

At that moment, people in suits began walking down from the second floor to the lobby.

17 members of the Queen Elisabeth Competition jury.

They looked at the people with sharp eyes and climbed up to the stage prepared in the lobby.

Judge Scott takes the mic.

The reporters’ cameras all turn in that direction.

“As you all know, the contestant who receives the highest score from the jury in the semi-finals will be given the opportunity to premiere the score of the Music Saint. This is a great honor and one of the most important events in the history of Brussels······.”

The judge’s words began to fill the space.

The reactions of the contestants varied.

Those who are already shedding tears.

Those who bow their heads while being held in the arms of their family.

Those who are praying to someone.

The small object standing next to me, staring at them, asks me.

“Brother. Should I hold your hand? It’s free.”

He willingly extends his soft-looking hand to me.

I laughed out loud and then grabbed his hand.

“It’s as soft as you expected?”

“Ahem. By the way, there are a lot of people who covet my house.”

While I was chatting lightly with my younger brother, Judge Scott called out my name.

Today, only 12 out of 24 people are selected.

At that moment, voices of all kinds began to exclaim in this place.

He called me.

“Number 10. Republic of Korea. Contestant Han Seo-jin.”

“The average score, excluding the scores of the two judges who gave the highest and lowest scores, is······.”

“With a score of 9.61, she is ranked first in the semifinals. Therefore, pianist Han Seo-jin will premiere the score of the musical masterpiece. I sincerely congratulate her.”

I received the highest score in the history of the Queen Elisabeth Competition······.

I was the first to perform Beethoven’s music on the final stage.

The Music Chapel is the first to offer access to Beethoven’s unpublished scores.

.

.

.

The camera flashes go off so fast that I can’t open my eyes.

The reporters’ shouts of questions, so loud that it almost makes your ears ring, continue without pause.

The masters whispered expectantly with their colleagues.

The participants congratulated the boy.

Performing Beethoven’s unpublished scores meant forever etching his name in the history of classical music.

It wouldn’t be strange if it were included in a music textbook.

It was only natural that they reacted this way to the boy.

In the middle of it all, where it seems impossible to come to one’s senses.

Still a young boy.

I looked at them calmly without any particular agitation or shaking······.

Just for a moment.

For such a short time that no one noticed.

Alone, quietly, I close my eyes······.

Think of one person for a moment.

The boy could still hear the gentle sound of waves in his ears.