For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Discord
“Director Jean-Pierre wants me?”
Lim Hye-ra nodded briefly. It wasn’t a misunderstanding—I was utterly dumbfounded, even speechless. Jean-Pierre was a director who began his career with La Vie en Rose, a film about a Jewish prodigy, and went on to make history in French cinema. Every single one of his films was nominated for an Academy Award—there was no need to elaborate further.
“Don’t you like the story? Jean-Pierre hasn’t officially debuted yet, but he’s incredibly talented. His visual composition and aesthetic sense are extraordinary—I can vouch for that as an artist myself. You know I’m a painter, right?”
Of course, I knew. It was undeniable that Jean-Pierre would become one of France’s most iconic directors in the future. And once again, I realized how sharp Lim Hye-ra’s eye for talent was. Perhaps Son Yu-ha inherited her temperament from Lim Hye-ra rather than Chairman Wang.
“I love the story. I’m just curious why Director Jean-Pierre specifically wants me. There are many exceptional violinists in France, or he could easily work with a nearby European orchestra.”
In short, it didn’t seem cost-effective. France had plenty of renowned violinists, and while I had gained some fame in Brussels, my reputation couldn’t compare to theirs. Was it to save on fees? Hardly—they wouldn’t know how much I’d charge anyway. Moreover, they were willing to prepare post-recording sessions in Korea if needed, which seemed like an unnecessary expense.
“Isn’t the reason obvious?”
“Pardon?”
Lim Hye-ra pointed to a part of the project proposal with her slender finger:
*Jewish prodigy violinist.*
“You’re a genius violinist yourself.”
Her expression seemed to say there was no need for further explanation. I barely managed to suppress a cough as she smiled brightly and stood up from her seat.
“Well then, shall we discuss this further over brunch?”
How long had it been since she arrived at work? Yet here she was, suggesting brunch already. In my past life, I had learned that she was an unpredictable person—sometimes even reviewing reports while dipping baguettes in butter. Was it just my imagination, or did this situation remind me of my time as the deputy legal team leader at Cheil Group?
‘Her tastes haven’t changed.’
The brunch consisted of French galettes—large crepes filled with cheese, bacon, and soft-boiled eggs at the center, with the yolk serving as a sauce that added richness to every bite. Paired with lemonade, it was a perfect match. Though anyone could make this dish taste good, having it prepared by a professional chef elevated it even further.
“Did you also learn how to eat galettes from that French friend of yours?”
Caught off guard, I nodded awkwardly with bacon still in my mouth. It felt unnatural, but what else could I do? I couldn’t exactly admit that I had studied French cuisine in my past life just to please her back then.
“Ms. Lim… may I ask you for a favor?”
“Hyun-ah, just call me ‘aunt.’ Why so formal?”
Even calling her “Ms. Lim” felt awkward enough—calling her “aunt” was out of the question. Pretending not to hear her suggestion, I looked at her directly. She was someone who treated meals as an extension of business dealings and often dined with both partners and subordinates alike. This trait likely explained why she got along so well with Chinese buyers in particular.
“It’s about my middle school enrollment,” I began cautiously. “I have so many things I want to pursue moving forward, but transferring to a regular middle school might cause issues. Public schools often have complex interests at play, which could prevent me from fully focusing on what I want to do—and they might struggle to support me properly as well. Ultimately, I think attending a private school would be best.”
“You’re saying you want to transfer to Cheil Foundation’s middle school?”
“Yes. If you could help make that happen, I’d also consider participating in Director Jean-Pierre’s project for live violin recordings.”
Cheil Foundation’s middle and high schools were highly coveted institutions with virtually no open spots due to high demand. While my grandfather or Chairman Wang could easily arrange this transfer for me, ensuring Lim Hye-ra’s support early on would eliminate potential obstacles down the line—especially since she would eventually become Cheil Foundation’s de facto leader.
Some might see leveraging Jean-Pierre’s project as audacious or arrogant, but knowing Lim Hye-ra’s personality…
“You’re young but already quite business-savvy,” she remarked with amusement. “How did you know I owe Jean-Pierre a favor?”
She seemed more entertained than offended by the situation.
—
The uniform fabric alone distinguished Cheil Foundation’s middle school—it was smooth and luxurious against the skin. My grandfather and parents initially expressed concerns about me not transferring to an arts-focused middle school, but they ultimately relented when I insisted it would be fine. After all, given offers from London Symphony Orchestra, Berlin Philharmonic, and even “The Queen,” pursuing music at an arts middle school seemed unnecessary.
“We’ve arrived, Kang Hyun,” said Mr. Kim as he pulled up outside the impressive school building.
Despite being the 1990s, the facilities appeared ahead of their time—like something straight out of the 21st century. It was no wonder this school attracted Korea’s elite families; connections formed here would significantly influence future opportunities.
Upon entering the school grounds after bidding farewell to Mr. Kim, a teacher greeted me warmly right from the faculty office.
“Kang Hyun! You must’ve had a long journey here,” said Principal Kim Kyu-sung of Cheil Middle School.
The reception was worlds apart from my experience at Daesung Middle School when they dismissed me outright after hearing about my background.
—
The principal’s attitude was clearly different this time. While I had won the youngest grand prize at the Queen Elisabeth Competition, it was likely Lim Hye-ra’s influence that played a more significant role in this warm welcome. Their overly accommodating demeanor felt almost burdensome, making me feel slightly apologetic.
“Alright, everyone, attention.”
When I entered the classroom with my homeroom teacher, all eyes turned toward me. Most of them were undoubtedly the children of prominent corporate families. Their gazes were anything but ordinary. Some looked at me with admiration, while others showed hints of jealousy. Among them were several girls whose eyes sparkled as they stared at me—likely the result of the media frenzy surrounding my recent achievements. Unsurprisingly, the expressions of the boys weren’t as friendly.
Suppressing a chuckle, I introduced myself to the class.
“Hyun, are you okay with taking a midterm exam on your first day of transfer?” my homeroom teacher asked with a concerned expression.
As luck would have it, my transfer coincided with midterm exams. While I could have delayed my transfer to avoid this situation, I hadn’t felt the need to resort to such measures.
“I’m fine. I’ve been studying in my spare time,” I replied calmly.
Even during my previous life, I had noticed that my mind worked more efficiently in this one. Though I had never missed being at the top of any exam in my past life, back then I had earned the nickname “grindstone” for my relentless efforts. Now, however, it felt different—like a computer with improved processing speed and capacity. While not superhuman, my abilities were enough to surprise others. Subjects like Korean, English, and math were as easy as pie for me—except for home economics and similar courses.
And since I wasn’t planning to take the bar exam in this life, academic performance mattered even less. Honestly, I wished I could grow taller a bit faster instead. While some might call this complaint ungrateful, it was how I truly felt.
Eventually, I turned the final page of my exam paper.
—
My father’s expression wasn’t great this morning—and I knew why. Last night, I had glanced at the reports scattered across his desk: all related to research on the new material “graphene.” While I couldn’t decipher chemical formulas, one thing was clear from the numbers—they reflected his deep concerns.
The research costs were likely much higher than anticipated. As the person in charge of developing this new material, my father would naturally face challenges. Even if successful, there was no guarantee that graphene would find practical applications anytime soon.
“Dad,” I said reassuringly, “you have to try until you succeed. Whatever it is you’re worried about—don’t give up. You have me to support you.”
If a man draws his sword, he should at least chop radishes with it! Besides, graphene would eventually become a cornerstone material for Dongju’s survival and growth—it was only a matter of time before its value became evident.
“Hyun,” my father said with a smile as he patted my head, “I heard you told people during a meeting that this is not just a chemical factory but a chemical company?”
Word must have spread quickly. My father nodded firmly and added, “You’re right—I can’t afford to forget something even you understand so clearly. Thank you for always teaching me something new.”
Then he asked curiously, “But Hyun, why aren’t you wearing your uniform today? Aren’t you going to school?”
“I have to stop by the gallery this morning,” I explained. “I’ll probably head to school in the afternoon—it’s about that music film live recording project I mentioned before.”
Cheil Foundation’s private middle school was certainly convenient—attendance policies were flexible enough to accommodate students like me. My record as the youngest winner of the Queen Elisabeth Competition likely played a significant role in their leniency. Plus, having my face plastered across newspapers and TV news helped justify their support for my extracurricular activities under the guise of fostering student potential.
Of course, Lim Hye-ra’s backing made everything even smoother.
—
“Thank you as always,” I said to Mr. Kim as he dropped me off at the gallery.
“It’s nothing,” he replied warmly. “These days, thanks to you, your grandfather has been smiling more often—it’s a relief for all of us. I’ll pick you up after lunch.”
As soon as I entered the gallery, the young female employee from before greeted me enthusiastically—likely due to our previous interaction. She was exceptionally kind now, though I continued to act oblivious.
After knocking on Lim Hye-ra’s office door and entering as usual, I found her seated across from a foreign man.
“Hyun! You’re early again,” she said with a smile. “If you keep arriving ahead of schedule like this, you’ll make me feel bad! Oh—let me introduce you: this is Director Jean-Pierre from France—he flew here just to meet you.”
I couldn’t believe Jean-Pierre himself had come all the way to Korea! Naturally, I had expected an assistant director or sound director instead. Frozen in place for a moment, I watched as Jean-Pierre stood up and greeted me in English.
“Nice to meet you—I’m Jean-Pierre,” he said warmly. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person, Violinist Hyun.”
“It’s an honor—I’m Kang Hyun,” I replied politely.
Lim Hye-ra watched us with a satisfied smile—one that reminded me more and more of Chairman Wang’s expression every day… or was that just my imagination?
“Jean-Pierre,” she said cheerfully, “have some more if you’d like—the chef’s galettes are truly exceptional.”
As expected, we started our meeting over brunch—not just any meal but one where verbal agreements regarding live recording details were exchanged freely. In essence, Lim Hye-ra acted as an intermediary during these discussions—a surreal experience considering how far things had come since my past life.
“Hyun,” Jean-Pierre began earnestly during our conversation about terms and conditions for live recording sessions, “I plan to set your guarantee at par with established violinists’ rates—and we’ll make every effort to accommodate any specific requests or needs you may have.”
It was an incredible offer—so much so that even the salty bacon on my plate tasted sweet after hearing it! While negotiating for higher pay didn’t cross my mind (as they were already offering industry-standard rates for a newcomer), their willingness to provide full accommodations made this proposal truly exceptional.
Normally such negotiations would involve subtle tension and back-and-forth bargaining—but today’s atmosphere was filled with laughter instead.
Jean-Pierre spoke passionately about his film La Vie en Rose. Since it marked his first venture into commercial filmmaking rather than independent projects (though still heavily influenced by personal taste), his affection for it was evident throughout our discussion—and rightly so; it would later be hailed as one of cinema’s masterpieces.
“I’m especially excited about Moses’ final violin performance in the concentration camp,” Jean-Pierre said enthusiastically. “I’ve been counting down the days until we can shoot that scene—the moment when Moses plays while everyone inside watches him intently through the bars… The melody of freedom blooming amidst oppression.”
Ah—that iconic scene! It had been one of my favorites too—I’d rewatched it so many times on VHS that even the tape had worn out!
“Yes!” I chimed in eagerly. “That part where Moses mimics playing violin gestures while whistling along with everyone else inside—that’s what you’re referring to?”
Jean-Pierre’s expression suddenly changed.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply.
Huh?
From his reaction alone—it became clear: La Vie en Rose’s original draft didn’t include what I thought was its most iconic scene! The vague descriptions in its storyboard had misled me into assuming otherwise…
I quickly realized that the final scene draft of La Vie en Rose was not the masterpiece I remembered. The vague descriptions in the project proposal had led me to believe it was the iconic scene I knew. My heart sank as I saw Jean-Pierre’s puzzled expression.
“That’s an interesting idea, Hyun,” Jean-Pierre said after a moment, his tone shifting. “What exactly do you mean by mimicking violin gestures and whistling?”
I hesitated, but there was no turning back now. “I imagined Moses playing an ‘invisible violin’ with his hands, creating a melody of freedom. The people inside the camp would join in by whistling, symbolizing their shared yearning for liberty.”
Jean-Pierre’s eyes widened as if struck by inspiration. He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought, before suddenly springing to his feet.
“That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s so much more powerful than using an old violin. The invisible violin represents the collective longing for freedom—something intangible yet deeply resonant. And the whistling! Yes, it’s perfect!”
Before I could process what was happening, Jean-Pierre grabbed me in a tight embrace, his face glowing with excitement.
“This changes everything!” he declared. “The final scene will be even more moving than I had envisioned. Thank you, Hyun—you’ve given me a new perspective.”
I stood there, stunned. What had just happened? All I did was describe a scene from my past life’s memory of the film, and now it had become part of its creation.
Lim Hye-ra watched the exchange with an amused smile. “Hyun, you’re full of surprises,” she said warmly. “Jean-Pierre seems to have found a kindred spirit in you.”
Jean-Pierre nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! Hyun has an incredible sense of storytelling—it’s as if he understands the soul of this film better than anyone else.”
The rest of the meeting went smoothly, with Jean-Pierre enthusiastically discussing how to incorporate the new idea into the film’s production. He also confirmed that all terms and conditions for my involvement would be finalized soon.
As we wrapped up, Jean-Pierre extended his hand to me. “Thank you again, Hyun. I can’t wait to see how your music brings this story to life.”
“It’s an honor to be part of this project,” I replied sincerely.
After Jean-Pierre left, Lim Hye-ra turned to me with a knowing look. “You’ve made quite an impression on him—and on me as well.”
She paused before adding with a teasing smile, “You’re not just a genius violinist; you might have a future as a filmmaker too.”
I chuckled nervously, unsure how to respond.
—
The following days were a whirlwind of preparation for both school and the film project. My transfer to Cheil Foundation’s middle school had been seamless thanks to Lim Hye-ra’s influence, and I quickly settled into my new routine.
At school, my classmates continued to regard me with a mix of admiration and curiosity. While some boys still seemed resentful—likely due to the attention I received from female students—I paid them little mind. Instead, I focused on balancing my studies with my musical commitments.
The midterm exams turned out to be easier than expected. My enhanced cognitive abilities made subjects like math and science feel almost trivial compared to my past life. Even so, I remained humble and avoided drawing unnecessary attention to myself.
Outside of school, my involvement in La Vie en Rose progressed steadily. Jean-Pierre frequently sent updates on the film’s development, and our collaboration felt increasingly natural as we worked toward bringing his vision to life.
—
One morning, as I prepared for another busy day, my father approached me with an unusually serious expression.
“Hyun,” he began cautiously, “I’ve been thinking about something you said recently.”
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
“You told people during a meeting that this isn’t just a chemical factory but a chemical company,” he said with a faint smile. “Those words have stuck with me—they reminded me of why I started this journey in the first place.”
I nodded encouragingly. “That’s right, Dad. You’re not just running a factory—you’re building something bigger than that.”
He patted my shoulder affectionately. “Thank you for reminding me of that perspective. It means more than you know.”
As he left for work, I couldn’t help but feel proud of the small role I played in supporting him during such a challenging time.
—
Later that day, I returned to the gallery for another meeting with Jean-Pierre and Lim Hye-ra. This time, we finalized key details regarding the live recording sessions and discussed plans for integrating my music into the film’s narrative.
Jean-Pierre remained as passionate as ever about La Vie en Rose, frequently expressing his gratitude for my contributions. His enthusiasm was infectious—it was clear that this project meant everything to him.
By the end of our meeting, I felt both excited and humbled by the opportunity to work alongside such talented individuals. As I left the gallery that evening, I couldn’t help but wonder what other unexpected twists and turns lay ahead on this journey.