For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Discord
“Nice shot—!”
Chairman Wang cheered as his golf ball vanished into the water hazard. Had the wind not interfered, it would’ve landed straight in the hole—a one-in-a-hundred miracle. The older he got, the fiercer his competitive spirit burned. This was the man who refused to relinquish control even in his twilight years, the very figure Sohn Il-seon had feared.
“You old fox, it’s my turn to win today.”
“Think I’ll go down that easy, Sohn?”
They sounded like neighborhood grandpas, but these were titans of industry. The recent chain of bankruptcies had quieted, and Chairman Wang suddenly turned to me.
“Hyun, seems you were wrong this time. The dominoes have stopped falling.”
On the surface, it appeared so. The Prime Minister had personally denied rumors of a financial crisis, and corporate defaults had mysteriously halted. Panic buying had subsided—sugar and flour were back on supermarket shelves. But—
“It’s too early to say. They’re just catching their breath.”
“Catching their breath?”
“As I mentioned before, the government will hide even the fact they’re receiving aid. They’re trying to soften the psychological blow.”
The Bank of Korea claimed foreign reserves were in the hundreds of billions, but I didn’t buy it. Stocks were collapsing, and exchange rates kept climbing—proof the dominoes still teetered. Yet most citizens blindly trusted the government. Like frogs in boiling water. A bitter truth, but history’s tide couldn’t be stopped.
“Told you I picked a good son-in-law.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“After your performance, the classical world won’t stop courting you. Art Center’s director visited multiple times, didn’t she?”
They wanted me to hold a recital. But given the timing, I had to decline. If Director Lim Hye-ra hadn’t intervened, it would’ve been awkward. No one in Korea’s classical scene, no matter how proud, could defy the daughter-in-law of Jeil Group.
“Oh, you went to the nature park with Yoo-ha?”
“Yes, she loves rides.”
“The zoo, you mean?”
Chairman Wang’s expression turned peculiar.
“Strange. Yoo-ha hates amusement rides.”
She’d ridden the Blue Dragon Coaster and Viking repeatedly—how could she hate them? Just then, it was Chairman Wang’s turn to putt. Despite his lack of golf talent, the ball’s trajectory through the pines was picturesque.
—
“Vincent’s Bowed Wheat.”
Modern art’s mechanism is simple. Some say Van Gogh’s works outsell Monet’s because they’re rarer; others claim easy maintenance drives prices. But ultimately, collectors’ whims rule. A childlike scribble can fetch billions with one phrase: “This is sponsored by the Chairman.” No wonder artists lobby collectors like Madame Tussauds.
Vincent’s Wheat was now worth tens of billions—a price that would only rise. In modern art capitalism, value eclipses all else. Which tycoon knew Vincent had been a farmer in southern France?
“Hyun, you’re early?”
“Good morning, Mi-hyun noona. Busy day?”
The gallery bustled as prized works, including Vincent’s, were relocated. Their combined worth could buy downtown Seoul buildings. In my past life, I’d been deeply interested in modern art—no wonder Director Lim ran a gallery. The ultimate legal blank check. But now? Not my concern.
“Hyung, how long are you planning to stay?”
Jeong-hoon Baek had become a permanent fixture in my studio. Even after his recital, he kept “clocking in.” Director Lim had half a mind to hire him as the gallery’s second musician.
“Hyun, those paintings they’re moving—are they really worth billions each? Where are they going?”
Nice deflection.
“No idea.”
Likely into power brokers’ hands. Chairman Wang would be especially active now. While the nation faltered, Jeil Group maintained its dominance by relentlessly oiling the gears.
“Still, I’d take your sheet music over those paintings. Maestro Hirose said listening to Iron Will made her question God’s fairness—’How can one person excel at both violin and composition?'”
“Too kind.”
“Hyun, any pieces inspired by Maestro Hirose?”
Of course. The Queen of Hyun was inspiration incarnate. But they weren’t ready for the world—still riddled with flaws to my ears.
“She mentioned she can’t wait to see what masterpieces you’ll create once you experience love. History’s greatest composers often produced their best work after falling in love.”
“That’s a generalization. Schubert and Beethoven reportedly never had proper relationships—hence their association with solitude.”
“But Niccolò Paganini was a legendary Casanova.”
Jeong-hoon rubbed his nose awkwardly.
Then—
Huh?
A sharp sting, followed by a red pimple blooming on my flawless skin. Jeong-hoon studied my forehead with a smirk.
Why—
“Hyun, they say acne means you’ve got a crush.”
Suddenly, her face flashed in my mind.
—
“Hyun—!”
A familiar eccentric stood before me—Dr. Tikhonov, as quirky as ever, if not more. Had he been living in the mountains? His scruffy beard and tape-mended glasses suggested so. Had he traveled by ship, he’d have brought his prized motorcycle.
“Long time, Doctor. You’ve changed—grown a beard?”
“Haha, holed up in the lab too long. But you’re the same—handsome as ever. And just as short!”
Compliment or insult?
“My team missed you so much, they’re jealous I came alone! Lovely home, by the way.”
Dr. Tikhonov was among the few foreigners invited to our Ichon-dong estate. His vibe reminded me of Jean-Pierre—geniuses shared traits. The house smelled delicious—Mom and the housekeeper were in culinary overdrive, stewing chicken despite no son-in-law visiting. Grandpa and Dad hadn’t arrived yet.
Then—
“Magnificent soup—!”
The chatterbox doctor had invaded the kitchen, conversing through gestures. His exaggerated reactions nearly had him rolling up his sleeves to cook.
“You ladies are culinary goddesses! Even Lenin never ate this well. Spasibo Korea—!”
It was a one-man show. But his glistening eyes moved Mom and the housekeeper—language barriers couldn’t mask his sincerity. To me, this was nostalgia; back in Russia, such scenes were common.
“Grandpa’s here!”
As Grandpa and Dad entered, Dr. Tikhonov rushed out—wearing an apron? He seized Grandpa’s hands.
“Honored to meet you, Boss.”
Please tell me they’re not namesakes.
—
“Hyun, you’re not going to the airport?”
Dad’s subtle question referred to Yoo-ha’s departure day. I’d already said my goodbyes—no need to complicate her farewell with my presence.
“If I go, it’ll just make her homesick abroad.”
No need to unsettle a girl studying overseas. Mature for her age, Yoo-ha was still just a child. Like me in my past life, she’d surely battle nostalgia.
“Mr. Kang, what are you two discussing?”
Dr. Tikhonov joined us, now clean-shaven and groomed—only his broken glasses remained. He was staying at our estate per Grandpa’s invitation. “An honor to live with the Boss!” he’d declared—more mafioso than chemist.
“Hyun here is clueless about women’s hearts.”
“Eh?”
After Dad explained, Dr. Tikhonov adjusted his glasses judgmentally.
“Or perhaps Casanova blood runs in his veins? Making a girl cry like this—if I were her, I’d be counting the minutes until Hyun appeared at the airport. His absence will only deepen her turmoil. Did God trade his romance skills for violin genius?”
What nonsense was this?
“Dad, I’ll be right back!”
But my body was already moving—I bolted outside. Thankfully, Mr. Kim was there, sparing me another frantic taxi chase.
“We’re here.”
Mr. Kim’s expert driving got us to Gimpo Airport swiftly. I sprinted inside—only to see the departure board’s green “Boarding Complete.”
Hah… hah…
Yoo-ha was likely seated by now. Clutching my wallet, I wondered—had I overthought this with adult logic? Then—
“You’re late, dummy.”
Arms wrapped around my sweaty back. Turning, I saw the blue hairpin. My pounding heart? Must be from running. Our eyes met.
“I delayed my flight. I knew you’d come.”
In the distance, Chairman Wang gave a thumbs-up.