Chapter 47

047. Main Event (4)

The list of pieces was clearly what the competition organizers wanted.

You must perform a piece by one of the following: Chopin, Liszt, or Rachmaninoff.

If the pre-selection video filled with classical sonatas was meant to evoke emotion, then the first round of the main event was to showcase the pianist's technique. Is that it?

Among them, I chose Liszt.

A student of Czerny, known to all Koreans,

Liszt, the pianist of the century, who, along with Chopin, is said to have completed the framework of modern piano.

...When I first heard his piece 'Tarantella,' I couldn't help but be amazed.

If Niccolò Paganini had talent for the piano, wouldn't a pianist like this have emerged?

Sure enough, he was hailed as the Paganini of the piano in modern times.

Knowing this, I sighed with regret.

'If only I had lived a little longer!'

Liszt and Chopin, and Wagner and Verdi.

Not experiencing the last golden age of classical music that critics often speak of.

Not being able to listen to and admire the completed pieces after discussing and sharing their struggles with them.

I couldn't hide my bitter feelings.

Professor Yun thought I was intimidated by the difficulty of the piece and told me not to worry, as I didn't need to learn it right away.

'No, I want to learn it as soon as possible. How long will it take?'

That was my response and question at the time.

Professor Yun, though surprised, kindly held up three fingers.

Three years.

He said that without a solid foundation, I would likely become frustrated and, even if I managed to complete the piece, my habits would likely be a mess, so I needed to build a perfect foundation before I could learn it.

...And it took half a year.

To memorize and perform all of Liszt's pieces.

-!

I finished the performance with a clear, resonant sound.

A mere 6-minute performance.

But it was more tiring than playing a 20-30 minute piece.

Still, it was enjoyable, but since the competition was about to start, it was time to stop overworking my hands and close the piano lid.

Just in case, I removed my own sheet music from the stand.

The sheet music, with twice as much space between the lines,

was filled with annotations in the margins.

As a result, the sheet music became thicker, but it also contained more information.

And at the very top line.

<La campanella>

A piece by Paganini, which Liszt rearranged for the piano,

the sixth piece of the 'Transcendental Etudes' based on Paganini.

This alone showed how much Liszt wanted to be like Paganini.

When I played it, his passion felt even stronger.

I smiled.

Paganini had boasted that no one would ever match his level of performance,

but at least in the world of piano, a performer who could match him emerged.

I wanted to tell Paganini this fact and torment him,

and I wanted to share this impression with Liszt and make him proud.

“...”

Of course, it was just a wish.

I can't do any of that now.

Still...

I would let them hear it through my performance.

'Maybe they are up there together.'

With this small wish, I got up from my seat and left the practice room.

The long corridor felt as if I were going to meet two people.

Each step made my heart race.

#

Two months.

A corner café in Moscow named 'Two Sunlight.'

One 'sunlight' referred to the real sunlight that freely shone through the windows because there were no tall buildings nearby,

and the second 'sunlight' referred to the future of classical music, the Tchaikovsky National Conservatory beyond the main road.

Journalist Choi Sung-ryeong sat by the window, facing both 'sunlights.'

After a long period of deep thought, she lowered her hand from her chin and placed it on her laptop.

The screen displayed the content she had pre-written.

All stories about Han Se-ho.

This article contained a lot of information.

She had poured out most of what she knew.

Of course, she left out the anecdote about Han Se-ho and Pavel that she learned yesterday.

She planned to use it as a decisive blow in a follow-up article.

Click.

She closed the document and began to review her previous articles.

She had already published four articles, but the views were惨淡.

But she didn't care. It didn't matter. She had known it would be like this from the start.

And she also knew this.

The articles she had posted today would finally shine.

Her lips curled up slightly.

She wanted to praise herself.

'The satisfaction of recognizing a prodigy, no, a genius, early on.'

It must feel like knowing about a stock that will skyrocket.

...No. As a music journalist, isn't that too worldly a metaphor?

She chuckled and tapped her laptop aimlessly.

Then she tried to think of a more appropriate metaphor.

...Yes. It must have felt like this for a patron who recognized a genius in the past.

“Ah, what was that person's name?”

She muttered, searching her memory.

She couldn't remember the name now.

It was like...

the German count who sponsored the young Schubert.

#

The American classical music magazine 'Etude.'

Among the reporters taking a break, one showed her laptop to her colleagues.

“What is it?”

“A newly posted article. It seems to be a translation, but it has a source.”

As she asked, she was already reading the content with her eyes. Her eyes, which had narrowed to read the small print, gradually widened.

“Is this... for real?”

The reporter who had finished reading the article asked with a strange expression.

It was a strange content, after all.

“Since it's a translation of a Korean article, it should be credible, right?”

“Is the name on both sides correct?”

A reporter who had been quietly looking at something interjected.

“I just checked that. Look. Is the spelling correct?”

“Still, what if it's not the same person?”

“That's what I said.”

The reporter who had revealed this fact pointed to her laptop with a nod.

“...”

“...”

Silence followed.

“I still can't believe it.”

“Me too.”

And doubt.

The reporters finally picked up their phones.

“I can't stand it. I need to check with the Ross Concert.”

“If it's true, their phone lines must be exploding.”

“Still, I have to... Hello?”

Fortunately, the call connected quickly.

The reporter, after identifying herself and her affiliation, asked the staff member directly.

“There's a rumor that a participant is competing in both piano and violin. Is it true?”

The Ross Concert staff member started laughing.

‘Damn. It was just a rumor, I guess.’

What else could make the staff member so pleased, unless they were overwhelmed by the calls?

Then the staff member answered, still with a pleased tone.

-Yes.

“Is that so? We thought it was unbelievable, so we checked... What do you mean? What is true?”

-A participant named Han Se-ho is competing in both categories. He has already advanced to the second round in violin.

“...”

The speaker phone rang.

The reporters' expressions froze.

It was hard to believe, but...

Since it came from the Ross Concert staff, this...

Everyone quickly opened their laptops.

Is there a greater motivation for reporters than this?

“Thank you for confirming!”

-Yes! Ha ha! Oh, officer.

-What's so funny?

It seemed something was wrong on the other side, but it didn't matter. There was a bigger issue here.

The reporter, who had already started writing the article, got up.

She had to do something.

Find this unbelievable participant.

Or find the journalist who wrote this article.

‘I need to move quickly.’

This year's Tchaikovsky Competition, which had been criticized as somewhat boring,

was about to become more dramatic than ever.

#

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall.

The masters, who were seated side by side in this place where piano sounds continuously resonated, had clear signs of boredom on their faces.

They moved their stiff bodies after the performance finally ended and rolled their pens.

The judging was quickly over.

Should they circle or cross?

The time for deliberation was fleeting.

“The skill difference is too great.”

“Indeed. We could just score and award prizes right here, like in the Chopin Competition.”

This was a statement that one round was enough.

It would be humiliating for the performers, but from the masters' perspective, this situation was already unpleasant.

Proud as they were, they had gathered to support the pillars of classical music, but to see such skill levels...

“At least the harvest is... only yesterday's participant number 9.”

“Kim Se-jin from Korea?”

“Yes. He performed the best, and it was overwhelming.”

The British master twisted his lips.

“It's shameful.”

“It's embarrassing. Not that we underestimate Korea, but isn't it the country where classical music entered the latest?”

They were more saddened than excited by the emergence of this new star, Kim Se-jin.

If there were only one star in the sky, who could define it as bright?

“This makes the competition meaningless. concours. There's no competition.”

Behind the hollow voice, the staff were preparing for the next performance, busily.

There was more to see. A considerable number of people suddenly filled the audience.

“???”

The moment the masters saw this, the production staff called out.

-Participant number 21. Participant number 21.

Soon, a participant who seemed to be on the cusp of adolescence and adulthood walked in.

His large eyes slowly scanned the masters.

He showed no sign of nervousness, only curiosity.

It was as if he was saying, 'I'm curious about you.'

But that was only for a moment.

The participant sat at the piano with a straight posture,

and after a brief silence, his long, slender fingers lightly tapped the keys.

-!

As if striking a tuning fork.

The short tap excluded a heavy sound,

creating a resonance like the thin metal of a piano string.

Thus, the piano sound appeared on the stage in the form of a bell.

Literally, La campanella.

A bell.

“...”

The prelude, which only struck an octave, made the masters witness numerous bells.

At the same time, they were certain that this performance would surpass any other participant on today's stage. And...

They shivered as the main theme began.

'Now it feels like a real competition!'

...Finally, the competition had begun.

#

The first round, which would proceed over three days with eight participants each day,

would see the qualified participants advance to the second round and then to the finals.

The nine-day journey was a long time for the participants, but even longer for the judges who watched it.

From the second day, after seeing about half of the participants, they had already started to show disappointed looks.

It was due to the obvious skill differences.

At this point, participant number 21 took the stage.

Starting with Liszt's 'La campanella,' he performed four pieces in succession.

“...”

Was this silent uproar?

In the silence, the masters' expressions were more lively than ever.

And when the judging finally ended.

“Who is this person?!”

They spoke with relieved faces.

“I felt fortunate to be in this seat for the first time today.”

The American master was relieved.

“I felt a bit embarrassed. There was nothing to judge. It's been a while since I thought of a performance as perfect.”

The Austrian master discussed perfection.

“I've never seen 'La campanella' played with such a calm face.”

The Canadian master continued to express admiration.

“If this young man plays a Rachmaninoff piece in the second round... it will be truly remarkable.”

The Russian master was already envisioning the performance he wanted to hear.

A rare scene where all the masters, abandoning their duty as judges, became the audience and shared their impressions.

...But then.

The German master, sitting at the end, instead of commenting, tilted his head.

He frowned and showed a strange expression, then raised his hand to call a staff member who was whispering nearby.

“What is it, Dennis?”

“Can you repeat what you just said to your colleague?”

The staff member hesitated at the German master's question.

In the meantime, the other masters, who had stopped marveling at participant number 21, turned to the German master, wondering what was going on.

And.

“The staff member was talking about participant number 21 and participant number 17.”

Some masters frowned, as if to say, 'What are you talking about?'

The staff member, who knew the inside story, no longer needed to hide it.

“The participant you just saw, number 21, applied for both piano and violin.”

Silence fell again.

The staff member didn't say it with difficulty, but it still took time to process.

“So?”

“He advanced to the main event in both categories.”

“...!”

The other masters' faces were already filled with shock.

The German master asked in a calm, accented English.

“Is that... possible?”

“There were no restrictions, so it was possible.”

One of the masters, who had been listening, turned to look at the audience.

They had been so impressed by participant number 21's skills that they hadn't noticed...

The seats were now empty.

It was as if the tide had gone out compared to before.

Everyone had come to see this participant!

“Ha ha, I've been involved in competitions for over 40 years, watching and judging, but this is the first time I've seen such a case.”

“Indeed. Not just handling both instruments, but participating in international competitions. It's like... Mozart.”

Mozart!

At someone's exclamation, the Hungarian master asked with a spark in his eyes.

“So, when is the violin performance?”

The other masters' eyes also lit up.

As if they would run out immediately if the answer was 'now.'

“The violin is already in the second round...”

The staff member suddenly stopped speaking.

He fiddled with his earpiece, then nodded after talking to someone.

“Now the judging results are complete...”

Even the staff member, who was speaking, had goosebumps all over his body.

He was about to announce a result that would be a first in the history of international competitions.

“Now both have advanced to the second round.”