The Healing Life of a Music Genius - Chapter 203



Only Noblemtl

203 Musician

* * *

‘Suddenly······. I’m so hungry?’

Sylvie Lucas rubbed her growling stomach and looked at her watch.

11 o’clock at night.

It was a time when I would never normally eat anything, but here in Chapelle, I strangely found myself hungry often.

Maybe it’s because I practiced a lot.

‘Because playing the piano consumes a lot of energy.’

Aren’t you still 19 years old and in the prime of your life?

In a word, it was a period of growth.

so.

‘Eating a little more now won’t make you gain weight.’

‘Of course.’

Lucas finished rationalizing himself to some extent.

Lucas put on an outer garment and left the room.

I turned my head quickly to look left and right in the hallway, but there was no one walking around.

‘It’s time for everyone to be sleeping.’

A moment closer to the perfect crime.

Although no one said anything, Lucas was the only one who felt guilty.

I tiptoed and crept down to the restaurant/kitchen on the first floor.

It was night and the kitchen lights weren’t on, but the moonlight streaming in through the window made it possible to distinguish objects.

As he opened the refrigerator, a bright orange light illuminated Lucas’ face.

The potato gratin that I ordered extra just in case is showing off its elegant appearance.

A situation where saliva just starts to flow.

Lucas held the bowl in his hand and picked up a potato.

‘It’s supposed to be the most delicious when eaten like this.’

Although it was cold because it had been in the refrigerator, the deep flavor of the potatoes and the rich cream sauce would not have lost their effect.

Lucas stuffed the potato pieces into his mouth in one go.

Let out a small exclamation that comes out very naturally······.

“If you’re going to eat it, why don’t you eat it warm?”

“Wow!!!”

Lucas almost fainted before he could even exclaim in admiration.

The Ghost of Chappelle?

Intruder of Chapel?

The thief of Chappelle?

Lucas even thought about using the gratin dish as a weapon to defeat his enemies, but fortunately he didn’t end up doing that.

It was thanks to recognizing the man’s English with a Russian accent.

Lucas, whose vision was gradually becoming accustomed to the darkness, looked toward the table and spoke softly.

“······ Yankovsky?”

“I’m glad you noticed. If I had made one wrong move, I would have been the first to be eliminated from Chapel.”

“Ha. What the hell were you doing there?”

“I was going to bed but I was thirsty and needed something to drink. But······. Could you put down that gratin dish first? I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Lucas hurriedly put the bowl down on the table, and Yankowski quickly got up, put the gratin in the microwave, and handed it back to Lucas. He also gave them each a spoon and a napkin.

Lucas greeted him as if he was bewildered.

“······Thank you. You’re good at it.”

“Because I’ve been using Chapel’s kitchen all this time.”

“Huh? I didn’t see it?”

“I usually came at night and used the kitchen alone.”

“I see. I’m not the only one who craves late-night snacks······.”

“What? I didn’t understand.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

Lucas speaks English with a French accent.

When I spoke in a mumbling manner, other people often had difficulty understanding me.

Lucas suggested that Jankowski eat gratin with him, but Jankowski shook his head.

“Apple juice is enough for me.”

“Really? Then there’s no use asking for it later?”

“as you please.”

“If it were Seojin, I would have asked for a bite first. Hmm. Should I leave some? Otherwise, she might be upset.”

Jankowski smiled faintly as he watched Lucas take out an airtight container from the kitchen and pour the gratin into it.

“That kid. He’s unknowingly influencing many musicians.”

“Seojin?”

“Yeah. I think so, even if it’s not necessarily about the musical part.”

“Well, I guess so. First of all, Seojin······.”

Lucas took a spoonful of gratin and mumbled, then spoke a beat later.

“He’s a good kid. He’s thoughtful. He’s polite. He wants to help people. So naturally, people start to pay attention to him. Should I say that he’s influenced by that kid without even realizing it?”

“That’s amazing. As a musician. And as a person.”

What Seo Jin said about Beethoven in the Chateau de Chapelle.

however.

Lucas agreed with Yankowski’s words so easily.

“That’s right. In some ways, he might be the contestant who is closest to the word ‘musician.’”

“That’s a great compliment.”

“Because he’s actually that kind of kid. Just being with him is healing, and when I listen to his music······.”

Jankowski takes Lucas’s word for him.

“Life doesn’t change.”

“That’s right. That’s the essence of art. That’s what Professor Laurent used to emphasize to me······. I learned a lot from watching Seo Jin at Chapelle.”

Yankovsky looked out the window.

The first day I entered Chapel, the moon, which was a crescent, had already passed the upper quarter and was now in the shape of a mangwan.

A moon that could not rise due to lack of time.

I thought that if I left the Chapel, I might be able to see the full moon.

Yankowski says.

“It may be fate that the child got to premiere ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟.”

“Fate? Fate. Yeah······. Maybe so. Seojin’s performance is that impressive.”

“It was something that had been decided from the past. That child had to become a musician. Like Beethoven. Like Mozart. Like Chopin. That child had to be that way. The ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ that Seojin played seemed to be saying that.”

Lucas pointed out something questionable in Jankowski’s words.

“Then······. Yankovsky, you’ve heard Seo Jin’s ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ yourself?”

There was no ‘no contact’ rule at Music Chapel.

However, due to the nature of the competition, which is fundamentally competitive, the performers did not show their performances to each other.

Instinctive behavior.

Moreover, at Chapel, since we practiced separately in a private room with perfect soundproofing, we never had to hear other people’s performances.

But Yankovsky spoke as if he had heard Seo Jin-i play······.

It was natural for Lucas to have questions.

Yankovsky smiled again and answered.

“I have never heard that child play Piano Sonata No. 33 in person, but I don’t think I can say I haven’t heard it either.”

“······What? What do you mean?”

A riddle.

But Yankowski was just being honest.

“Chapel is a mysterious place. So I think there are things that can only happen here.”

“······.”

“I wish that could happen to you. I wish that could happen to every musician who comes here.”

Yankowski didn’t go into detail.

He didn’t just say, “That’s all for now,” but he didn’t continue the conversation on that topic.

Lucas stared at Yankowski intently and then chuckled.

“Yankovsky, your impression of me has completely changed since the first time I saw you.”

“I think so too.”

“A mysterious place······. I hope something worthy of it happens to you too. It already seems that way.”

“Thank you. I think the memories of the time I spent here will remain in my head for a long time.”

“That too, forever.”

Lucas took one last big spoonful of gratin and put the bowl in the refrigerator.

And then he returned to his room, warning Yankovsky not to even think about stealing the remaining gratin.

Yankowski drank the apple juice that was thinly spread on the bottom of the cup he was holding in one gulp.

Then I quietly looked at the glass veranda door leading to the outside.

“Pure musicians. I think there are a lot of people like you here.”

“Ivan. Ivan. Ivan.”

“I have an older brother······.”

“I was able to become a pianist thanks to my brother being by my side.”

“That······. That fact······.”

“I just realized it now.”

The place where Oleg Yankovsky was staring silently.

Ivan Yankovsky was walking in the Chapel’s garden, smiling.

He didn’t speak to Oleg as usual.

As usual, he doesn’t even explain music to Oleg.

He just······.

He was playing like a child, just like when he left this world.

Oleg stared blankly at the moon shining down on Ivan.

While worrying that my brother might fall.

With him at the Music Chapel······.

I had a wonderful time.

* * *

Stopped playing the piano.

Since it was summer, the days were long and I didn’t really turn on the lights, but before I knew it, it was time for the moon to rise.

Blue moonlight softly illuminates the room.

The moon was already approaching full moon.

My ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ was the same.

Although there were still many shortcomings, it was getting closer to completion.

A performance that started from nothing soon begins to become full.

If I had more time, I might have made a better performance.

After studying the work thoroughly, you may have thought about every subtle breath of each touch.

The meaning contained in each note could have been honed a little more sharply.

But the world is not that leisurely.

If only I had been given just a little more time······.

There was a time when I would repeat those words, but not anymore.

Like Beethoven, who had no choice but to create unfinished music.

There are moments when you have to do that.

Satisfaction and lack.

We live somewhere in between.

‘Right? Mr. Miller.’

My performance is complete.

Of course, in the distant future, when I look at myself as a better performer than I was when I was 14, there may be some shortcomings.

But at this moment, my performance couldn’t be better than this.

I opened my mouth slowly.

And I shouted so quietly that no one could hear.

“I······. I understand you, sir.”

“I understand your music, your thoughts, and your intentions.”

“The only person in this world that I can truly understand······.”

“Because that’s you, sir.”

I no longer resent the cracks in time.

I, too, was consumed by sadness, unable to even properly understand one person’s heart.

Jankowski told me a story about his brother.

Sister Lucas told me a story about her time at the orphanage.

Sister Hyunju also told me about the hardships she faced while studying abroad.

Turner even apologized to me, saying that his words were harsh.

These people have their own thoughts and their own stories.

They, including me, have always created one and only unique music.

We were such beings.

People who have to make music.

We had no choice.

I started playing the ⌜Piano Sonata No. 33⌟ again.

Including today, there were only four days left to stay in Chapel.

A very short time.

I wanted to spend the time given to me more faithfully than anyone else.

There are times that you can never get back, even if you give us 100 million, 1 billion, or 10 billion.

There was no law that said it couldn’t happen today.

Thinking of Beethoven, who must have been desperate for a day.

Thinking of a musician who was desperate for a day.

Looking back at the day when I was desperate.

With both their will and mine.

The music we have to create······.

I create it as a representative.

Music that has continued through the ages.

A musician who has to do that.

That was our family business.

.

.

.

In a music chapel cut off from the world.

The boy looked at the world.