Chapter 50

050. Final (2)

In the chairman's study.

Park, the manager, wondered if it was still appropriate to call this space a study. Classical music still played, but it was now a live performance, not a recording, and a large screen was on for almost half the day.

The live broadcast of the Tchaikovsky International Competition.

Chairman Baek Hangil kept the broadcast on while handling company business, eating, and even during Professor Jang's check-ups.

And on the days when Han Seoho took the stage, he would invariably call the family for dinner.

Naturally, watching the competition seemed to annoy Baek Jongwoo, but that didn't last long.

As the topic gained more attention, he became interested and started bringing up internet news first.

And at recent gatherings, the competition was always a topic of conversation.

"…A few days ago, I had a dinner meeting with the families of the president of Hyeongjin Distribution and the president of Shinhyeon Construction, and the topic came up there too. So I pretended to know a lot based on what I heard here."

Baek Sun-hwa laughed at this.

"You were so reluctant to come home and rest."

"That was because I was tired from work. But watching it here, I found classical music quite interesting."

Baek Jongwoo grinned at Baek Sun-hwa and continued.

"So, I ended up chatting with them for hours and even made a bet. On who would win the piano category."

"Who did you bet on?"

"Of course, Kim Sejin. Father always said to check and recheck when making investments. So, I bet on Kim Sejin, who has been verified in past competitions."

At that moment, Chairman Baek Hangil calmly instructed.

"Park, take him out."

"Father, I was just joking. I obviously bet on Seoho. I was moved by his performance for the first time."

He then pouted at Park, who had already taken a few steps closer, asking if he really meant to drag him out.

Baek Sun-hwa burst into laughter at this.

Chairman Baek Hangil, who had been quietly observing the scene, seemed to remember something and called out to Baek Sun-hwa.

"By the way, Sun-hwa. Have you made contact with overseas record distributors?"

"Yes. I've gone through the list, but they weren't very interested... "

"Idiots."

Baek Hangil clicked his tongue, and Baek Sun-hwa added with a smile.

"...But that was before the Tchaikovsky Competition started."

"Now?"

"Record companies that previously dismissed Kim Sejin are now clamoring to work with him."

"Tsk. There's still time, so choose a proper record company. Exclude those idiots."

"Yes. I'll pick a company that can effectively manage his image and provide good support."

"There's no need to create anything. As long as his talent can be fully showcased, that will be enough."

Baek Sun-hwa nodded at Chairman Baek Hangil's firm response.

...How highly does Father really think of Han Seoho? she wondered for a moment,

But on the other hand, she recently felt that Father's foresight was always right.

Just look at the current situation.

Han Seoho, whom Father praised endlessly, has become the one who has brought classical music into the limelight in Korea.

Whether it will last or fade quickly is still unknown, but it's certain that a high school student has become a prominent figure.

Therefore, preparing Han Seoho's album is not just fulfilling Father's wish but also a business move that will greatly benefit SJ Entertainment's image.

'Especially if he wins today.'

With this thought, Baek Sun-hwa suddenly asked.

"Mr. Yang, the representative, isn't coming today, I see?"

Chairman Baek Hangil's expression suddenly turned sour.

"That guy is gone. A guy without loyalty."

"Gone? Where to?"

"Where? He went to Russia to see Guarneri, who is like his own child."

"Hmm-hmm."

A plump figure in a pure white suit.

Pointed-toe shoes and a leopard-patterned suitcase.

Yang Jaho, the representative of the SJ Cultural Foundation, hummed a tune and pushed up his sunglasses.

"Time sure flies."

The last time he came was 12 years ago for the Tchaikovsky Competition.

Yang, feeling a bit nostalgic, walked out of the gate leisurely.

Foundation staff members were waiting for him, and Hong, the manager who had brought Guarneri to this place and delivered it to Han Seoho, greeted him.

"Welcome, Representative."

"Ah, everything's fine?"

"Yes. We check the condition when Seoho is not using it, and there's no problem at all."

Yang nodded in relief.

"..."

As he patted the staff member's shoulder in appreciation, he noticed a crowd of reporters gathered as if a celebrity had arrived.

The staff member explained.

"Jean Oslo is here."

Yang's eyes widened.

"Jean Oslo?"

He was one of the world's top violinists, a virtuoso in his own right, though still young enough to be called a master.

He was also the owner of the Stradivarius, which, along with the Guarneri, is considered one of the most expensive violins in the world. (To him, this is as important as his skill)

"..."

He stared at the bustling scene with the staff member.

As the reporters moved, a glimpse of Jean's figure appeared.

There he was, a middle-aged man with the image of a French aristocrat.

He walked out of the airport with a model-like stride, and the reporters followed closely behind.

The staff member whispered.

"Just as I thought, he's quite haughty."

It wasn't just his appearance that gave this impression.

There was a story behind it.

Like many prodigies, he was once called the second Mozart or the second Paganini, but he firmly rejected these nicknames.

He insisted on being called the first Oslo.

Naturally, people who saw the interview criticized him as arrogant.

But he proved his superiority through his performances, mocking his critics.

"He has the right to be."

"Why is he here?"

"To see his student, probably."

It was a well-known fact that he taught Leo Dubochel, a rising star in France.

So when Leo lamented that he couldn't win all three of the world's top competitions because the Chopin Competition doesn't have a violin category, everyone thought it was fitting for his student.

Anyway.

"…If I had any violin, I would have gotten his autograph."

His collector's instinct naturally kicked in, but he quickly dismissed it.

"Let's go. We have to go."

No matter what, Guarneri was the priority.

#

"Welcome, Master!"

Leo greeted Jean enthusiastically.

"..."

"Master?"

"I watched the second round video."

"Ah... Yes."

Leo swallowed hard.

He had changed his style.

In fact, it was something that shouldn't happen in a competition. It meant redoing what he had practiced thoroughly.

"You must be crazy."

"That's... "

"You are. You are crazy... "

And his sharp expression suddenly turned into a gentle one.

"It was a truly insane solo! I was amazed. How did you come up with such variations!"

...That's my master.

When he's quiet, he looks so cold.

But once he starts talking, he's just a neighborhood uncle.

The image created by the media is just a carefully crafted work by his management.

Leo smiled brightly and replied.

"It came to me while watching a performance."

"Whose video? Not mine, right? Salvatore Accardo? Hilary Hahn? Or... "

"Seoho."

"Who?"

"Han Seoho. He's in the final with me."

Jean looked at him as if he didn't believe it.

But Leo's clear eyes made him smile anew.

"You got inspiration from a performance by someone your age?"

"Yes. And he's much younger than me."

"Anyone can see that."

"…Master?"

Jean, with his chiseled face, laughed playfully.

"Ha, he's impressive. That guy."

"Yes, he is. Really... Have you seen Seoho's performance?"

"No, not yet. I've heard about it, but I've been too busy with recitals."

"Then, would you like to come with me and see it?"

"…?"

A fierce competition, and his student suggesting to watch another participant's performance before the final was unfamiliar to Jean, making him even more curious.

"You'll be amazed."

"I'm already amazed by you. So, when?"

Leo, with shining eyes, replied to Jean's question.

"Today. He's the first to perform in the final."

#

After all the preparations were complete,

I headed to the concert hall earlier for the rehearsal.

Unlike the previous rounds, which were held in the music school's small hall, the final was to be held in the Tchaikovsky Concert Hall.

The scale and the grandeur of the stage were incomparable to the small hall.

Before the final rehearsal, I said a brief goodbye to my parents at the entrance of the concert hall.

They didn't say anything special to me as I went in, probably to avoid putting pressure on me.

By the way, I suggested they do some sightseeing before the performance, but I'm not sure if they will.

Are they just sitting in a café, waiting for me like they do for my college entrance exams?

I sent a message to my mom to go around, and then joined the backstage for the rehearsal.

With the number of performances reduced from 8 or 9 to 2, the rehearsal was much more relaxed.

I successfully rehearsed with the Svetlanov Symphony and returned to the backstage.

As I headed to the waiting room, a staff member with a name tag from the organizing committee was staring at me intently.

Somehow, even in the dim backstage, his eyes were sparkling.

"I'm a fan of yours!"

"Me?"

"Yes! I've been supporting you since I saw your application!"

The staff member, who looked to be in his mid-20s, was beaming.

But he didn't come closer.

It's the final, after all.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome!"

He quickly pointed down the corridor, telling me to rest.

I nodded to him and left the backstage with a smile.

I sat alone in the waiting room and took a sip of water.

The slow passage of time before the performance made my dry lips even drier.

...I'm nervous.

Actually, I always have been.

But I'm happy that this nervousness is possible because I can make music.

I leaned back against the wall, recalling the rehearsal, and slowly opened my violin case.

Guarneri.

I lifted the instrument, which is older than my previous life.

The warm touch and the strong wood scent rising from under my chin were comforting.

I'm not sure if it's the old wood or the scent that reminds me of a close friend.

I smiled faintly and closed my eyes.

"It's the final... "

Does it feel like a competition of acorns to you?

But I've improved a lot, haven't I?

I'm at the intermediate level now, aren't I?

I chuckled at the unanswered question.

Then, after a while, I headed back to the corridor at the staff's call.

At the end of the dark corridor, the dark backstage.

The noise was different from before, indicating a large audience.

I prepared amidst the noise.

To perform at my best.

And then.

-Participant number 17. Participant number 17.

I heard my name being called.

"Phew."

A short deep breath.

I adjusted my violin and looked at the staff who was about to signal me.

"…?"

But he didn't gesture for me to go on stage as usual.

Instead, he raised both hands, waiting for something.

The next moment.

─!

Applause began from outside.

More and more people.

Louder and louder.

The staff, who had been waiting, finally clapped. The staff beside him, and the organizing committee members, all clapped for me.

I walked slowly... through the aisle.

I stepped on the stairs and the stage amidst thunderous applause.

A feeling I had never experienced before.

Just the sound of hands clapping, a sound incomparable to any instrument, was more powerful than a timpani, shaking my heart.

And soon, I faced it.

A larger stage than ever before and a larger audience.

And me, standing with two feet on the stage, holding my instrument.

...The moment I placed the violin under my chin and raised the bow, I felt a certainty.

Today, I will,

Achieve one of my dreams.