Chapter 29

029. Each One's (1)

A few days later.

M&ACT office.

Director Park Dongjin turned his laptop toward Han Seoho and explained.

“This is what the stage looks like.”

Han Seoho, his eyes shining, examined the photo on the screen.

The grand concert hall, with its semi-circular stage illuminated by soft lighting that rippled down from the white ceiling, was truly impressive.

Han Seoho couldn't hide the smile that spread across his lips.

“It's amazing, isn't it?”

“Of course. I worked hard to find this place.”

Director Park Dongjin, who answered confidently, then added a twist by interlocking his fingers.

“However, the schedules of the actors are so tight that we might not have enough time for rehearsals. We're even considering not having separate rehearsals for the performance. In some ways, that might actually be better.”

The reason Director Park Dongjin had this thought wasn't just because of the tight schedule.

Since the film's artistic quality was more important to him, if it were purely a matter of time, he would have tried to secure the venue for an extra day.

But as he recalled Han Seoho's previous performances, he couldn't help but feel hopeful.

Not pretending to be amazed by fake performances in front of a green screen, but the awkward expressions of people who couldn't help but be shocked by the poor performance and the real reactions.

He wanted those raw moments to be captured on camera.

To achieve that, the rehearsals needed to be kept secret, but that was impossible in a concert hall.

So, they decided to skip the performance rehearsals and go straight into filming.

This decision was the result of much deliberation.

Han Seoho nodded without hesitation.

“I don't think it will be a problem. The musicians have practiced well, and I think it will be more interesting this way.”

Han Seoho had his own reasons.

Unlike Director Park Dongjin, for him, filming was like a performance. Showing the same piece twice wasn't very appealing to him.

Of course, Director Park Dongjin, who didn't know this, could only chuckle.

That confidence, that answer from a 17-year-old student, was surprisingly reassuring.

“Okay. Since you're positive, we can decide this in the internal meeting...”

Director Park Dongjin, trailing off, glanced to the side.

There, Song Eunhye, the screenwriter, was waiting with an eager look on her face.

“Song, it seems we're wrapping up, right?”

Song Eunhye, who rushed over, put down the laptop and sat next to Director Park Dongjin.

“Let's talk about my project.”

“Sure, let's talk.”

“...?”

“Why?”

“You need to move.”

Director Park Dongjin blinked at Song Eunhye, who looked at him matter-of-factly.

“Huh? Do I have to leave?”

“Yes. We need to discuss the next project.”

“What, you're not working on the next project with me, Song?”

“I don't know yet. And if this film does well, maybe it's time for a beautiful farewell.”

“Huh!”

...Director Park Dongjin left, looking shocked.

Song Eunhye, watching him go, smiled silently and then turned to Han Seoho, who was observing from a distance.

“Actually, it was a joke. I wrote a music film script in Korea, and it would be foolish not to work with Director Park. But he needs to appreciate me a bit more.”

Song Eunhye's face lit up with a mischievous smile for a moment.

Then, she returned to her role as a screenwriter and began preparing for the interview.

“About the next project...”

She extended her words, clicked the mouse, and placed her hands on the keyboard, ready to write.

Meanwhile, Han Seoho became curious.

What did she want to hear from him?

But then he realized something.

At that moment, everything he saw, heard, and felt, even Song Eunhye herself, seemed to spark some inspiration.

Perhaps she, too, saw something in him.

Just as Schubert found inspiration in Goethe's poetry, and Schumann in paintings.

While Han Seoho was thinking this, Song Eunhye finished her preparations and continued.

“It's not confirmed yet, but I'm considering a story about a female genius soprano.”

At that moment, a specific person came to Han Seoho's mind.

“Like soprano Cho Sumin?”

“Yes, that's the kind of feeling I want to capture. I've wanted to do this since a long time ago. It's a project I've wanted to make since my college days, but it's been over 10 years since I put it on hold after facing continuous rejections.”

Song Eunhye expected Han Seoho to be quite surprised.

He might wonder why they were discussing a future project while he was there to play a stand-in.

But for Song Eunhye, it was an important question.

She wasn't a genius herself, so it was challenging to portray one. This project had been very difficult, and she had even considered taking a break from this type of film.

But her thoughts changed after seeing the village festival scene.

She felt it was worth a try.

Because of the child right in front of her.

‘Right, if I'm not a genius, I can borrow the mind of a genius!’

When she came to her senses, there was a genius on stage.

The meticulous Director Park Dongjin, who praised the child endlessly, even when his mouth was dry.

The child who inspired countless ideas and even brought out the long-buried project.

The child who performed so beautifully at the end of spring.

Song Eunhye wanted to ask and, indirectly, experience.

“What does the world look like to you?”

#

After about an hour of conversation,

Song Eunhye, looking much brighter, started worrying about the casting.

Especially for the lead role, which required a soprano, it wasn't enough to just sing well. The actor needed to be a good singer and a good actor, which would be very difficult to find.

Suddenly, she asked if he could sing, and he made a bewildered face.

...A female soprano, right?

He suggested looking among musical actors, and she was delighted, thinking it was a good idea. But then she started worrying about where to find the young lead.

She was excited.

Even though it wasn't confirmed, she was already thinking about the filming in her head.

Anyway, an actor who could act and sing well...

The face of Chae Yeon popped into his head. He thought about it for a moment but didn't mention it to Song Eunhye.

It was natural.

They had become quite close in this life.

If Chae Yeon had been a forgotten actor, he might have mentioned it to help her.

But why would a world-class top actor need such help? It would be overstepping.

Besides, his words could change her future.

Even a butterfly's wing flapping should be careful, let alone his words.

He quietly left the meeting room, hearing that they would meet again at the final shoot.

Director Park Dongjin, who was talking to the staff, approached him.

“Ahem. You were talking about the next project, right?”

“Yes, it sounds really interesting.”

“Really? What's the subject... No, I have my pride.”

One hand in his jeans pocket, the other scratching his head, Director Park Dongjin chuckled awkwardly.

“Anyway, see you on the shoot day.”

“Yes.”

“Phew, now even a simple ‘yes’ sounds so reliable.”

“...?”

“Never mind. And Seoho.”

He suddenly called him back.

“Do you know the pianist Im Jin-gyu?”

He couldn't not know.

Director Park Dongjin seemed to think the same. He knew I had received education at the Arts Center, so it was natural.

“Yes, he's the one who won an award at the Tchaikovsky International Competition.”

A classical pianist couldn't not know him.

I had watched many of his videos.

Especially his performance at the Tchaikovsky International Competition was one of Professor Yun's excellent teaching materials.

Director Park Dongjin smiled meaningfully at my words.

“Good.”

“Yes?”

“That guy... No, that person... No, he is very curious about you.”

What kind of title is that?

I was puzzled by Director Park Dongjin's fluctuating titles.

...That Im Jin-gyu pianist?

#

“Han Seoho!”

Chae Yeon, in a red dress, approached with quick steps.

Wearing heels that seemed a bit too high for a 17-year-old.

“Wow, this concert hall is amazing... Ouch.”

She almost fell but quickly regained her balance and stood in front of him with a grin.

“Yeah, it's amazing. The lighting is so beautiful.”

“Right.”

The rippling lighting he had seen in photos. If there were an aurora, it might look like this.

And the stage visible below that ceiling, and the over a thousand seats all facing the same direction.

It was much more thrilling than in the photos. Even though it wasn't a real performance and most of the seats would be empty, filled with CG.

“Will you perform there?”

Chae Yeon, who had been looking at the stage, asked.

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“Wow, it must be amazing.”

“What's with that ‘let's have a beer’ kind of interjection?”

“Pfft, even if you praise me.”

Chae Yeon, pouting, shook her head.

I chuckled and then, noticing the commotion behind her, asked quickly.

“Aren't you supposed to film the lobby scene?”

“Huh! Did someone call me?!”

Her face was urgent, but her steps were not.

The shoes really looked uncomfortable.

“Hey, be careful.”

“I'm fine! I'm getting used to them!”

I smiled at Chae Yeon, who shouted without looking back.

Then, I slowly started walking down to the seats.

The closer I got, the closer the stage became.

The circular arrangement of the orchestra.

And the ‘replacement’ piano.

I called it a ‘replacement’ not just because of its position.

The piano had to compete with the orchestra.

That's what a piano concerto is.

It needs to blend well, but it can't lose its presence.

So, the piano has to encompass the dozens of orchestra members while also fiercely competing with them.

...I slowly climbed onto the stage.

Just as Chae Yeon had said.

Here, I will perform.

Just that thought filled me with explosive excitement.

I licked my dry lips and approached the piano. Running my hand over the keys, the tension dissipated, and I felt confident, as if holding a weapon.

Coincidentally,

‘Steinway, 318.’

It was the same model I used in my studio.

The piano in the orchestra practice room was in poor condition, which was disappointing...

‘Here, I can perform at a higher level.’

I looked away from the piano, feeling good, and turned my head.

This time, the view of the seats below filled my eyes.

It was so breathtaking that I felt my breath catch.

Just the empty seats were this impressive,

If they were filled with people...

That would be an overwhelming experience.

My lips curved into a smile.

It was more anticipation than disappointment.

Because it added one more thing to the list of things I wanted to do.

‘Standing on such a stage, looking down at a full audience, and performing.’

I smiled and scanned the seats again.

Then, I noticed a single occupied seat among the many empty ones.

A staff member?

But the attire...

Huh?

I opened my mouth in surprise.

Only then did I understand what Director Park Dongjin had meant a few days ago.

Im Jin-gyu was very curious about me.

And now, the familiar face of the man was looking at me with great interest.

...It didn't seem like a coincidence.

#

Meanwhile, Im Jin-gyu was sitting in the audience, watching Han Seoho.

At first, he didn't know if this student was the one Dongjin had mentioned.

When he saw a young-looking student approaching the stage, he assumed it was the young actor.

He was just looking around the concert hall, thinking, ‘They must be paying more attention to these things in Korea nowadays,’ feeling a renewed sense of appreciation.

When he left for Russia, there were only a few such concert halls in Seoul.

But then the student suddenly climbed onto the stage and started doing something strange.

He caressed the piano and smiled at the audience.

Just like he had done when he first stepped on stage, like his younger self.

That's when he realized.

‘This is him.’

The genius Dongjin had talked about.

Im Jin-gyu didn't particularly like the term ‘genius.’ He had been called a genius before, and it had made him feel superior.

But it didn't take long to realize he was just a frog in a well.

In the orchestra he was part of, there wasn't a single person who was less talented than him.

They had all grown up hearing they were prodigies and geniuses.

But what intrigued him was Dongjin.

The boy had a clearer musical perspective than anyone he had ever met.

His interpretive skills were exceptional, and he was excellent at identifying problems and pinpointing good parts.

That's why.

When the boy's clear perspective was directed at him.

When he understood his own limitations so clearly.

That's why he had to give up music.

Was the boy who had admired him now a genius who had lost his touch?

...Maybe.

But when he thought of the boy's face, red with praise, despite never changing color no matter how much he drank, he became curious.

About the boy's Piano Concerto No. 1.