For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 81

Chapter 81

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The difference between a lecture and a speech is simple. A lecture can be defined as spreading professional knowledge, while a speech is about sharing your own genuine story. Of course, in a broader sense, a lecture is a more comprehensive concept than a speech. Here, “genuine” doesn’t just mean a voice full of appeal. It’s about giving the audience trust and belief—that’s the key.

“Please play something.”

A young man, who looked like a guinea pig, sat down at the piano. His face showed clear signs of nervousness. And for good reason—there were countless eyes watching him from the audience. Moreover, these weren’t just ordinary spectators but fellow students and seniors who also studied music. It was as if the entire student body of the Moscow Conservatory had gathered. If he wasn’t feeling the pressure, he must have had a heart made of iron or been a born liar.

“Should I really play?”

“It’s okay, relax and give it a try.”

The young man played Mozart’s Piano Sonata. It was Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 17 in B-flat major, with its impressive Adagio that felt like a premiere. As expected of a student from the Moscow Conservatory, the moment his long fingers touched the keys, the tense atmosphere vanished as if it were a lie. However, as he moved into the third movement, the devices Mozart had arranged didn’t seem to work. At that moment, the young man’s brow furrowed. There had been a momentary mistake.

“Hmm.”

Just like the brown-haired young man I had met a few days ago, there was a problem. The 20th-century pianist Arthur Schnabel once said that Mozart’s piano sonatas are too easy for children but too difficult for adults. The mysterious scores mostly lacked dynamics and pedal markings, and there were many abstract musical symbols. It was the complete opposite of Beethoven’s temperament.

“From now on, I’ll play with you. Place your right hand on mine. Keep your left hand’s breathing as usual, and I’ll handle the pedaling. Press your leg close to my thigh. Think of it as drawing. Scatter the notes on the staff and then sketch them again.”

It wasn’t for nothing that I had called the pianist onto the stage. The audience at a speech values visual effects. Moreover, in front of such a large crowd, a single impactful moment is more important than any well-spoken words. I straightened the nervous young man’s back and met his gaze. The audience still looked uncertain. I smiled faintly and placed my right hand on the keys.

“Let’s begin.”

If someone asked me how to interpret Mozart’s abstract musical imagery, I wouldn’t have an answer. It just seemed that way. It didn’t take long for the curious glances to turn into astonishment. The little ghost, who had only been a rumor, had now become a reality.

“Did you study piano for a long time before learning the violin?”

Someone asked. Everyone nodded in agreement. To them, it must have been a strange sight—a violinist catching and correcting a pianist’s mistakes in an instant.

“No, I started studying various instruments while learning composition. I found it more appealing to express the tones by playing them myself rather than using a synthesizer. In fact, I’d love to play an entire orchestra with my own hands. Isn’t that something anyone studying music would imagine?”

The gazes continued as if they were watching an extraordinary creature.

“What were your thoughts during the competition in Brussels?”

The freckled friend asking this was probably a violinist. You could tell just by looking at the calluses on his palms. Everyone seemed to be expecting some kind of answer.

“In the endless dawn, we explored the scores. The Chapel, known as the dawn of melody, gave us great inspiration and helped us gain new insights. We wished that time would never end. I think Anna, the violinist sitting in front, felt the same. That day, we took a step forward as musicians.”

Of course, I couldn’t say it was to avoid military service.

*

“What do you think of him?”

Her green eyes fluttered.

“At first, I didn’t feel anything. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy to care about him because I hated the idea of competing in a competition. I was struggling with the idea of competing with others through music. Most violinists probably felt the same. Why else would the winners of international competitions all say, ‘I’m glad I don’t have to compete anymore’?”

If Beethoven’s scores feel like reading essays, Mozart’s scores feel like reading mystery novels. Violinists rely on their strings and bows to navigate through the labyrinth of centuries-old scores. The pressure they feel while competing in such an inharmonious setting is indescribable.

“Everyone hated competing through music, but paradoxically, they still tried their best to win. But he was different. He said it was his first competition, but he handled it as if he had been through it a hundred times. He was the youngest among us, but his thoughts were the deepest. As for his skill?”

Anna recalled feeling like she was standing before a maestro when she first met him. The aura emanating from his small body was so intense that it’s still vivid in her memory. Moreover, the young talents from around the world were left in awe after hearing him play. There’s no need to say more.

“He helped us selflessly. It was as if he was rescuing lambs crying out in the dissonance of music and competition. He even made funny faces to help me relax when I was too nervous to step onto the stage in my heels.”

It was the first time in all the competitions she had participated in. He was the only one who was truly making music in a paradoxical situation where everyone else was only focused on winning. When the competition ended, everyone was sad. Not because they didn’t achieve satisfying results, but because it was time to part with him.

“The days in Brussels were too short to fully understand him. In fact, I even prayed that the competition wouldn’t end because I wanted to spend more time with him. Even the prickly William from England probably felt the same. You saw the video of him crying, right? What’s certain is that everyone, regardless of gender, was captivated by him. As for me?”

Her platinum blonde hair swayed as if expressing her emotions.

“Of course, I fell for him.”

* * *

Clink—!

The sound of the teacup being set down was louder than usual.

“He should be at the airport by now, right?”

Alexei’s raised eyebrows twitched with regret. Anton, the department head sitting across from him, watched with a peculiar smile.

“Alexei, are you really that regretful?”

“Regretful? What’s there to regret!”

“Don’t try to hide it. Your face clearly shows how regretful you are.”

It was the kind of story that would have surprised others. The subtle changes in Alexei’s expression were hard to detect unless you had known him for a long time. For example, if his cheek twitched downward, he was clearly angry, but if it twitched upward, he was intrigued. Someone once said that Alexei, the Russian maestro, should have been a politician rather than a musician. However, even his poker-faced eyes were filled with regret. The reason was simple.

“While watching his speech, I wanted to get up and join him on stage more than once. Even Professor Auer, who taught Jascha Heifetz, probably couldn’t command the stage so masterfully. Didn’t the entire audience fall under the spell of his gestures? I wanted to hire him as a full professor on the spot using my authority as the department head.

But it would be a sin to have such a talented musician teaching in a classroom. In the past, musicians taught because they were starving. There’s even a saying that if Mozart had spent less time teaching nobles, the history of music would have advanced by a step.”

As long as a musician’s strong shoulders and fingers remain, their performance should continue. But his speech was so outstanding that it was already being talked about within the Moscow Conservatory. The legend of the little ghost was transforming into the legend of the little genius. So much so that petitions for a repeat performance were flooding in.

“By the way, isn’t it almost time for Anna’s lesson? Every time I see you, I’m amazed by your passion. It’s rare for a conservatory director to personally teach undergraduates since Tchaikovsky. Honestly, I was surprised. I didn’t know you were so dedicated to nurturing the next generation. But are you still feeling regretful?”

Alexei silently picked up his teacup. He was regretful, but what could he do? The bus had already left, and there was no way to catch it. Moreover, even if he tried, the person he wanted to catch wouldn’t have stayed. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Anna must be here.”

But contrary to expectations, it wasn’t Anna who entered.

*

“Doctor—!”

I didn’t realize my voice had risen. I almost collided with an oncoming car while crossing the center line. Dr. Tikhonov waved his hand, smiling as if to say, “Don’t worry.” Riding his beloved car was no joke. It was as old as a Cuban classic car, and his driving skills matched the fury of a speed demon. I couldn’t tell if I was in a car or on a roller coaster. Oh, don’t look back, look ahead! My shirt was soaked with cold sweat, making it look like I had been caught in a downpour.

“Good job, Black Martin!”

As soon as we arrived at the airport, Dr. Tikhonov patted his beloved car and praised it. My father immediately rushed to the restroom, probably feeling nauseous. Even if the chatty doctor were to be scouted by Dongju, I would never ride in his car again.

“Mr. Kang, I know a restaurant that serves amazing borscht and pelmeni. Would you like to go?”

It was a traditional Russian home-cooked meal, similar to Korean soybean paste stew and handmade dumplings. My father, who had just returned from the restroom, politely declined, still forcing a smile. His pale face suggested he hadn’t yet recovered from the aftermath of Black Martin. So, we ended up waiting for our tickets while having some toast and coffee.

“By the way, Hyun, you already have a knack for stirring women’s hearts, don’t you?”

What was this about? “When the staff at our research institute heard that Hyun was returning to Korea, they all looked upset. They had just started to feel a fresh energy and were full of vitality. They were so regretful that if they hadn’t been stopped, a few doctors would have boarded the plane to Korea with him.”

Contrary to the chatty doctor’s words, I had only been constantly asking the research institute staff questions. They probably just found the young boy’s intelligence endearing. By the time the orange juice was almost gone, it was time to check in.

“I look forward to seeing you again in Korea, Mr. Kang.”

Just before checking in, Dr. Tikhonov shook hands with my father and looked at me warmly.

“Hyun—!”

A familiar voice called out from afar. Not only I, but also the doctor and my father turned their heads.

Huh?

A platinum blonde, out of breath, was approaching. Her doll-like white skin and green eyes could rival a movie star’s.

“Anna?”

“Hyun, I came in such a hurry that I didn’t have time to prepare a gift. I really didn’t know you’d be leaving so soon…”

Her tender heart hadn’t changed. I smiled and thanked her for coming to see me off, holding her cold hands. Her heart was beating so fast that I could almost hear it from here. It reminded me of our last moment in Brussels. We had said goodbye just like this. Then, suddenly.

“Thank you for coming to Moscow, Hyun.”

Peck.

Anna suddenly kissed me lightly on the cheek. It happened in an instant. Why did cold sweat run down my back? My father, who had been watching, said something in Korean.

“Hyun, let’s keep this a secret.”

I think I know who he meant by “secret.”