For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 63

Chapter 63

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“Old man, are you planning to die tomorrow?”

Chairman Wang joked as he picked up a black stone.

“Why leave such vast wealth to Hyun already? People might think you’re evading taxes. Besides, you’ve bought all the stocks I mentioned.”

“Don’t worry, it’s legally valid gifting.”

“Isn’t it too much for a child still so young?”

It seemed more than just a grandfather’s love for his youngest grandchild. From stocks to real estate, everything except Dongju’s management rights was in Kang Hyun’s name.

“Son, how much longer do we have to live?”

Chairman Yu placed a white stone on the board and looked up.

“After I die, it’ll be Beomjin and Beomkyung’s world. I’ll be lucky if they don’t ruin Dongju, which has been like my other self for decades.”

“Can’t deny that. Your two sons give me as much headache as my third child.”

“At least you have Il-sun.”

“By that logic, you have Kang-seo. That fellow would make good timber with a little more grooming.”

Tak, stones continued to cross the board.

“Kang-seo is fundamentally smart and diligent, but too weak. Living with him made me realize he has more of a scholar’s nature than a businessman’s. Too upright. But Hyun is different.”

“Different?”

“Yes, and I don’t mean his quick wit and intelligence. I’m often surprised by Hyun’s eyes. How to put it… he has eyes that don’t match his age. Sometimes they’re pure like a child’s, other times sharp like a veteran who’s seen it all. Know what’s scariest? The determination occasionally visible in those eyes makes people tense.”

“Determination?”

“Remember when you first came down from North Korea?”

Though decades had passed, those days were as vivid as yesterday. After coming from North Korea, hadn’t he established Cheil Company in Seoul, a place he’d never been before? It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that countless hardships were overcome before today’s Cheil Group existed. Chairman Yu had witnessed and grown alongside this process. In a way, Chairman Yu might know Chairman Wang better than his deceased wife.

“The determination you once had, Hyun has it.”

Now he understood what he meant. The determination that Son Jang-won, who came down from North Korea, had kindled in Seoul’s war-torn ruins.

“I mean ambition.”

Tak―!

*

“Hyun, would you like to learn composition?”

It was an unexpected proposal. I had only focused on playing violin, never showing interest in composition. It was a musical talent I never had in my past life. I could arrange Rendezvous because it was a piece I already knew. Could I really compose too?

“And I think we should register Rendezvous as a joint composition. Of course, the arrangement is entirely your work.”

“What?”

“Why so surprised? Ah, of course, receiving royalties would be better than just arrangement fees. I am quite popular, after all.”

Suddenly, thoughts of substantial royalties flashed through my mind. Just as tigers leave their skin, legendary singers leave behind masterpieces. For example, even trot hits from the 80s still earned hundreds of millions in royalties annually decades later. Imagine international masterpieces that stirred the whole world. Especially Rendezvous, which would be counted among the century’s masterpieces.

Gulp―!

My throat bobbed unconsciously.

“Your arrangement skills are already professional level. You perfectly found aspects I hadn’t thought of. Honestly, I was surprised. I didn’t expect you to make corrections so boldly with the red pen. At that moment, I thought maybe the talk about Mozart’s reincarnation wasn’t false after all. But really, you’ve never composed anything before?” When I nodded briefly, Michel continued with regret.

“Composition is, simply put, creation. Creating harmony between rhythm, melody, and harmony. As you know, popular music and classical music walk different paths. I thought you were specialized in classical. But seeing you revise Rendezvous’s composition instantly today made me think differently.”

I didn’t know how to handle Michel’s praise. I was also worried. Worried that I might fail to meet such inflated expectations.

“Before studying composition, you’ll need to choose which field of music you want to create. It could be your country’s traditional music, jazz, or even popular songs. Though classical would probably be best for you.”

Choosing a field was crucial. I had learned this in my past life too. Even prosecutors weren’t all the same. Don’t chase two rabbits at once, they say. Selection and focus were that important. The world of music would be no different. But why? Just listening to Michel’s explanation makes my heart race violently. Like when I first played the violin.

“Wouldn’t the most beautiful music be created when crossing those boundaries?”

I wanted to sing everything.

Michel curled her lips up as if she had expected my answer.

* * *

Early morning brought a call from Korea. It was news about the Griffin experiment. Though it was just a small clue obtained after countless experiments, father’s excited voice came unfiltered through the receiver. Mother seemed unfamiliar with new material development. Thus, she probably couldn’t gauge how significant this first step was. I wanted to shout right then: Mother, the first button to save Dongju has been fastened!

“Hyun, did something good happen?”

It was Isaac, who had become quite close recently. He seemed quite comfortable with me now, coming to ask questions almost daily. Same today. Wasn’t he approaching me holding his old violin, wearing shabby prison clothes?

“Isaac, today Moses plays again after removing his finger bandages, right? With his own piece. How should the posture be?”

Isaac narrowed his brows thoughtfully before showing his posture. Indeed, a promising tree shows from its sprout – befitting a future Hollywood star. Though I had only recently taught him violin postures according to finger injuries, wasn’t he already making it his own?

“Oh, you’re holding the posture better than expected?”

“I practiced all night yesterday!”

“Still, you should bend your index and ring fingers more. And lower your left shoulder too.”

Though Isaac pouted momentarily.

“But this is really excellent.”

“Really?”

A smile bloomed in his eyes at my following words.

“But Isaac, there seem to be more cameras than usual today?”

“That’s because today…”

“We’re filming making-of footage, Hyun.”

Jean-Pierre suddenly appeared and finished Isaac’s sentence. Isaac nodded repeatedly as if just remembering. Speaking of making-of film, it’s footage documenting the production process, isn’t it? No wonder 6mm cameras were roaming the set.

“Your arrangement skills are already professional level. You perfectly found aspects I hadn’t thought of. Honestly, I was surprised. I didn’t expect you to make corrections so boldly with the red pen. At that moment, I thought maybe the talk about Mozart’s reincarnation wasn’t false after all. But really, you’ve never composed anything before?” When I nodded briefly, Michel continued with regret.

“Composition is, simply put, creation. Creating harmony between rhythm, melody, and harmony. As you know, popular music and classical music walk different paths. I thought you were specialized in classical. But seeing you revise Rendezvous’s composition instantly today made me think differently.”

I didn’t know how to handle Michel’s praise. I was also worried. Worried that I might fail to meet such inflated expectations.

“Before studying composition, you’ll need to choose which field of music you want to create. It could be your country’s traditional music, jazz, or even popular songs. Though classical would probably be best for you.”

Choosing a field was crucial. I had learned this in my past life too. Even prosecutors weren’t all the same. Don’t chase two rabbits at once, they say. Selection and focus were that important. The world of music would be no different. But why? Just listening to Michel’s explanation makes my heart race violently. Like when I first played the violin.

“Wouldn’t the most beautiful music be created when crossing those boundaries?”

I wanted to sing everything.

Michel curled her lips up as if she had expected my answer.

* * *

Early morning brought a call from Korea. It was news about the Griffin experiment. Though it was just a small clue obtained after countless experiments, father’s excited voice came unfiltered through the receiver. Mother seemed unfamiliar with new material development. Thus, she probably couldn’t gauge how significant this first step was. I wanted to shout right then: Mother, the first button to save Dongju has been fastened!

“Hyun, did something good happen?”

It was Isaac, who had become quite close recently. He seemed quite comfortable with me now, coming to ask questions almost daily. Same today. Wasn’t he approaching me holding his old violin, wearing shabby prison clothes?

“Isaac, today Moses plays again after removing his finger bandages, right? With his own piece. How should the posture be?”

Isaac narrowed his brows thoughtfully before showing his posture. Indeed, a promising tree shows from its sprout – befitting a future Hollywood star. Though I had only recently taught him violin postures according to finger injuries, wasn’t he already making it his own?

“Oh, you’re holding the posture better than expected?”

“I practiced all night yesterday!”

“Still, you should bend your index and ring fingers more. And lower your left shoulder too.”

Though Isaac pouted momentarily.

“But this is really excellent.”

“Really?”

A smile bloomed in his eyes at my following words.

“But Isaac, there seem to be more cameras than usual today?”

“That’s because today…”

“We’re filming making-of footage, Hyun.”

Jean-Pierre suddenly appeared and finished Isaac’s sentence. Isaac nodded repeatedly as if just remembering. Speaking of making-of film, it’s footage documenting the production process, isn’t it? No wonder 6mm cameras were roaming the set.

There was no need to look at the score while playing – it was already packed densely in my head. As I positioned the violin on my shoulder on the hill, the bow naturally rose toward the sky. The making-of camera captured that moment without missing it.

It started lyrically, reminiscent of Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise. The sorrowful, plaintive melody instantly drew everyone’s attention. I moved my left hand on the strings very slowly. Flashy technique wasn’t necessary. I just concentrated all my attention on the bow’s movement.

Pressing harder doesn’t make the sound louder, nor does fancy bowing add to the tone color. I heightened my senses as if not to miss any vibration traveling through the strings. Each step was precarious like walking a tightrope. My fingers moved freely between strings as if there were no gaps, and the finger pressure and fast-tempo trills were different from usual. It was quite paradoxical technique, expressing diminuendo rather than crescendo.

That’s when it happened.

Zing―!

A strong melody like a woman’s scream began to ring out. The end of the incomplete score was in sight. But like the bow and strings meeting endlessly, the performance showed no sign of ending. I projected the inspiration in my head directly onto the gleaming strings. Wasn’t the old violin producing melody as if it might break at any moment?

Kwadeuk―!

Then I put even more strength into my bow hand. The previously gentle bowing became as intense as the thick sweat drops rolling down my chin. As my breathing became heavier than when playing Paganini’s Caprice.

Rustle rustle rustle.

The sound of falling leaves, and

Thump thump thump.

The heartbeat seemed to sound as one. Now the notes on the staff were no longer needed. The inspiration in my head became the score itself, ringing out as melody.

Everyone at the filming location, including Jean-Pierre and Isaac, witnessed the scene with mouths agape. Sorrowful melody and sharp screams rang out endlessly. Was it an illusion that the sight of the concentration camp beyond and the boy’s melody seemed to match so perfectly? The violin seemed to be crying as if expressing Moses’s heart. When the bow tip that had soothed the strings plaintively pointed to the ground, everyone released their held breath.

“Hyun, what on earth was that piece?”

Jean-Pierre asked carefully, still tense. His hands were already full of nervous sweat. The others were probably no different. I hadn’t thought about the title of the piece. I had just turned the inspiration in my head into melody. But this was surely the feeling:

“la belle vie (beautiful life).”

It was the moment my first composition was completed.