For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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“I really like you—!”
Yoo-ha Son furrowed her brow. Unwanted attention was pouring her way. The rugby team captain—a mountain of a man with deep-set eyes and a sharp jaw—stood before her. Despite his intimidating build, he seemed like the type to enjoy romance movies, judging by the prepared letter and roses. She couldn’t let the mood sway her. In these situations, clarity was key to avoid misunderstandings.
“Sorry, I don’t like you.”
Her voice was colder than a Moscow winter. The rugby captain slumped to the ground as if crumbling under her words. As Yoo-ha walked away, her friend hurried after her.
“Yoo-ha, that’s the twelfth one—!”
Bystanders always made a bigger fuss than the person involved. Twelve—that was the number of confessions Yoo-ha had received since the new semester began. Rumor had it one of them was even a student actor balancing Hollywood gigs. At Phillips Academy, she was already legendary as the “Ice Rose.”
“Why do you keep rejecting them?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
Her Black friend clicked her tongue. Even she had to admit Yoo-ha was extraordinary—cat-like eyes, porcelain skin, and cherry-red lips like something out of a painting. Her regal aura made approaching her daunting. No wonder her nickname was “Ice Rose.”
“Yoo-ha, is there someone you do like?”
Girls matured faster than boys. And Yoo-ha received confessions across all grades. By now, she could’ve dated anyone, yet she recoiled at the idea of boys. Then, Yoo-ha stopped in her tracks and answered firmly.
“There is.”
“Wait, really? Who?”
Her friend’s eyes widened like lanterns, as if she’d heard the impossible. But no answer came.
“Yoo-ha, you’re going to Korea soon, right?”
“Just for a short trip.”
“During exams? That’s suspicious.”
“There’s an important classical performance.”
Her friend’s confusion deepened. Flying to Asia for a classical concert, especially during exams, made no sense. Just then, Yoo-ha’s wallet slipped from her pocket.
“Huh?”
A photo peeked out from the open wallet. Her friend picked it up, puzzled.
“Who’s this kid?”
Yoo-ha’s face twisted in a way she’d never seen before.
“He’s not a kid—!”
Cradling the wallet like a treasure, she revealed the photo inside—a young boy in a suit, playing the violin on stage. A memory preserved in time.
—
“Hah… hah…”
My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding relentlessly. Hours of nonstop playing left my arms trembling as if struck by an earthquake. Pianist Seymour once said: There’s no compromise in music—no room for excuses or cheap tricks. And here we were, living that truth.
“Let’s go again.”
With only a week left until the duet, there was no time to waste. Jeong-hoon Baek gave a short nod, his fingers sore but his eyes glued to the sheet music. Strangely, the corners of his lips kept twitching upward. I raised my bow, its sharp edge meeting the strings like a blade piercing flesh. The moment it connected, his fingers danced across the keys.
“Hyun, have you ever given private lessons like this to anyone else?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. We’re just syncing up—this isn’t a ‘lesson.’ If people heard you call it that, they’d curse me.”
“It’s not a joke. This is a lesson.”
Of course Jeong-hoon knew. A lifelong musician, he could tell I was constantly adjusting to him. And after studying abroad, his instincts had sharpened. From a teacher’s perspective, he was extraordinary. Was this how Auer felt teaching Heifetz? Like pouring water into a bottomless jar.
“If word got out you were teaching, musicians worldwide would line up with blank checks.”
“Hyung, I’m not interested in teaching. Let’s take a break.”
“Why? I’ll prove how effective it is.”
“I’ll take the sentiment, but no thanks.”
Besides, the Moscow Conservatory already had plenty of students to showcase my “effectiveness.” We stepped onto the rooftop to cool off. The night sky was a canvas of stars—soon to be erased by city lights in a decade. It felt like reuniting with a forgotten friend.
‘This calls for beer.’
I longed for a cold can and dried squid under the open sky, but my underage body protested. The growing pains reminded me adolescence wasn’t far off. Annoying, but better now than later. Then—
“Hyun, want to know why I play the piano?”
Jeong-hoon’s voice softened as he gazed at the stars.
“I wanted my family’s approval. Piano was all I had. But at some point, I started hating music—it felt like I was just using it. When I decided to quit, Maestro Hirose found me. She said, Don’t hate music. Find your answer within it. Back then, I didn’t understand. Now I do. What I hated wasn’t music—it was myself.”
It mirrored my past life. Like me chasing power, Jeong-hoon had clung to piano for validation. The difference? A mentor appeared. The “Queen of Hyun” steadied his wavering heart. Now, it was my turn to temper him—like atoning for my past mistakes.
“Let’s go. It’s time to find your answer.”
Though my arms trembled and my back was drenched, Jeong-hoon rose. It was magical—the same piece, yet electrifying every time. Above us, the stars glittered like musical notes.
—
How much time had passed?
Dawn crept in as the darkness faded. Director Hye-ra Lim arrived early at the gallery, finding the studio door ajar. Inside, the scene stopped her in her tracks.
“Did they play all night?”
One was slumped over the piano keys, using them as a pillow. The other slept hugging his violin, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Quietly, Director Lim draped blankets over them. She sensed it—these two would shape Korea’s classical future.
—
Sizzle—!
The scent of meat hit me post-shower. Towel around my neck, I headed downstairs and froze. A feast worthy of royalty was laid out—as if I were the one performing, not Jeong-hoon. For just one duet, my mother and the housekeeper had prepared a king’s banquet.
“Ha, anyone would think it’s your big day today,” Grandpa remarked, spoon in hand.
“Hyun, isn’t this too much for breakfast?”
“It’s fine, Grandpa.”
Musicians’ pre-performance rituals varied. Some performed on empty stomachs; one famed maestro insisted on eating before conducting. For me, conditioning was never an issue—the moment I held my bow, time stopped, and peace settled in.
By the way, Mom’s braised short ribs were revolutionary, just as Jean-Pierre said. Should I consider franchising them alongside soy sauce crab?
“Fighting, Kang Hyun—!”
With Mr. Kim’s help, I arrived at the Seoul Arts Center. Though just one duet, rehearsal was essential. Inside the concert hall, Jeong-hoon was already deep in practice. The venue felt increasingly familiar—proof of Korea’s growing classical audience.
“Hyun, Maestro Hirose might come today.”
A surprise. “But she’s performing with the Berlin Philharmonic.”
“She’s flying here right after. Gorosan called.”
The Queen of Hyun clearly valued Jeong-hoon. She’d attended his Tokyo recital—now she was coming from Germany?
“Shall we sync up?”
At Jeong-hoon’s words, the staff’s attention snapped to us. Most classical rehearsals were brief walkthroughs, yet here he was, already at the piano. Resigned, I drew Fantasie from its case. Security would be swarming backstage because of this guy.
As dusk fell, the hall filled. Despite turbulent times, Jeong-hoon’s tickets sold out—all proceeds going to charity. A beautiful act of giving.
Post-rehearsal, I rested in the green room.
‘Tch.’
My stomach churned. Multiple bathroom trips confirmed poor digestion. Of course this would happen today. The staffer sent for medicine was taking forever. At least there was time before the show.
Then—
“Here.”
Someone entered, handing me pills and water. Grateful, I gulped them down without looking. Relief came instantly, my eyelids drooping—until a familiar voice jolted me awake.
“See? Oppa can’t survive without me.”
I cracked my eyes open. A blue hairpin gleamed in the light.