Chapter 53

053. Immortality

The Zaryadye Concert Hall, with its elegant white curves and soft golden lighting.

After the rehearsal with this year's violin winner, Leo Duboche, the Svetlanov Symphony took a short break.

Andrei, who had placed his baton on the music stand, descended from the podium with a peculiar expression and sat in an empty seat.

In front, the orchestra members began to chat freely.

The topics of conversation were varied, but one common theme caught his ear.

It was about the competition results.

Since the announcement was just yesterday, it was a topic that couldn't be avoided in such a setting.

"To be honest, Leo was much better in terms of technique."

"But Han Seoho's tone was unbelievable. And in terms of expression... "

"They were both amazing."

The lead violinist's words were met with nods from the surrounding members.

Their expressions were such that it was impossible to disagree; both performances were of the highest level.

"Competitions are different from performances, balance is key. So, the judges must have had a headache. If they favored one, they would be saying that tone is more important than technique."

"I agree. If the result wasn't convincing to everyone, it would have been better to give them a joint ranking. But since there can't be two winners, they probably gave them both second place?"

"Most critics said the same thing. People who would usually say the judges lacked the ability to distinguish between the two, this time agreed that it was justified."

They chatted for a while about the joint second-place result, when someone brought up a new topic.

"By the way, if they were to compete again in a few years, who do you think would win?"

It was an interesting topic, and the orchestra members started talking again.

"But if Leo's tone becomes a bit more unique, wouldn't that tip the scales?"

"If you put it that way, if Han Seoho just improves his technique, the game is over."

"Another dark horse could suddenly appear and take the lead."

"Ultimately, it depends on how much each of them grows."

Growth...

Andrei, who had been listening silently while stroking his chin, muttered softly.

Then he called out to someone who was in the middle of a conversation.

"Philip."

The lead violinist turned his head and replied.

"Yes, Maestro."

"When did you start learning the violin? I heard it was later than most of your peers."

"Yes, I started at 12."

Yet, he was now a proud member of one of Russia's top symphonies.

He must have had great talent.

"Is that so? Then... how far do you think a 15-year-old could get with about a year and a half of practice?"

"Hmm... I think talent would be crucial."

Andrei replied briefly.

"In the best-case scenario."

"The best... Personally, I think Jean Oslo represents the best talent. If it were him, he could probably play a decent violin sonata, right?"

"Then, could he win a competition?"

"Probably in an amateur competition... "

"What about an international one?"

At that moment, the lead violinist, who had been answering earnestly, looked puzzled.

He thought it was a serious question, but then realized it was nonsensical and responded with a tone of disbelief.

"Excuse me? That's impossible. Unless Mozart was reincarnated. Right?"

"Even Mozart couldn't do it, honestly. His presence as a soloist would be weak, and in a concerto, he would be completely overshadowed."

The orchestra members agreed.

Andrei, seeing this, also spoke.

"Indeed, that's how it would be."

To him, who had been conducting for over ten years, it was a given.

But it was a story that Pavel had vouched for, so it couldn't be a lie.

That means...

'This must be a story that is not obvious to some people.'

Andrei, stroking his beard, let out a sigh.

Then, a figure appeared from the backstage, signaling the end of the break.

"Hello."

Han Seoho entered, greeting in Russian with a German accent.

Andrei looked at him intently.

He seemed slightly tired.

It was understandable. He must have waited until the early morning to hear the results.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, the way here was a bit complicated, but... I'm fine."

"Complicated?"

Just as he thought it was strange, considering it wasn't that far and he could have just followed the main road, Han Seoho laughed awkwardly.

"Because there were a lot of reporters waiting... "

"Oh, I see."

He understood immediately and looked at Han Seoho, who must have been harassed the whole way, with sympathy.

Han Seoho took out his sheet music and placed it on the stand.

Actually, that was quite surprising.

It was common to write notes on sheet music, but he had never seen anyone who had deliberately expanded the margins and filled them so densely.

'With such talent and effort, is it possible?'

What made him shiver was that this talent wasn't limited to the violin.

It wasn't just because he had won the piano category at the Tchaikovsky Competition.

Having once been a pianist and having prepared for the final with Han Seoho, he knew very well how extraordinary his abilities were.

Meanwhile, Han Seoho picked up his violin and prepared to play.

Andrei also returned to the podium.

He couldn't take his eyes off Han Seoho, even as he held the baton.

'Is he really like Mozart?'

#

This year's Tchaikovsky Award Ceremony was completely separate from the gala.

There was an intermission, and entry was restricted.

Journalists and related personnel could watch the ceremony from the audience, but the general public could only attend the gala after the ceremony.

The winners were seated in the front row, and the number of participants, including cellists, vocalists, and wind instrument players from St. Petersburg, had doubled compared to the previous day.

They listened to various speeches and the award ceremony began.

As before, the winners were called one by one.

This time, they would walk up to receive a trophy from the Minister of Culture of Russia.

Eventually, Leo was called.

After a short pause, my name was called, and the participants' attention focused on me.

Following Leo, I stood on the stage, and the minister, as in the previous order, handed me the plaque.

Amid thunderous applause, the minister added with a smile.

"I'll see you again."

Leo, standing next to me, burst into laughter.

I laughed awkwardly.

And soon, as he said,

I went back on stage as the winner of the piano category.

#

After the award ceremony ended,

the concert hall's doors finally opened.

The audience began to fill the seats.

"......"

After watching this for a moment, Kim Sejin moved to the waiting room.

It would take about 20 minutes for the audience to fill the seats, and the wind instruments would start first, so there was still a lot of time before the piano category, which was last.

'What should I do until then?'

...At that moment,

"Sejin!"

Leo Duboche appeared suddenly.

Kim Sejin greeted him awkwardly as he approached energetically.

Ever since they met under the streetlight, he kept acting like they were acquaintances, which was a bit burdensome...

"I'm going to Han Seoho's waiting room now, do you want to come?"

"......Why are you going there?"

"Because I'm bored?"

I was about to say I wasn't bored, but Leo added,

"Ah, by the way... Is there any tension between you and Seoho?"

What do you mean? Kim Sejin, who was momentarily confused, shook his head hastily.

"Not at all."

"Then let's go!"

...I was caught in a bind.

'Well, I was curious about him too...'

With that thought, they finally arrived at Han Seoho's waiting room.

Han Seoho, with wide eyes, was holding a thick Tchaikovsky biography.

His expression clearly asked, "Why are you here?"

It seemed like he was disturbed.

I looked at Leo. He just grinned, confirming that we didn't match...

"It's just that Leo wanted to come with me..."

"Ah, come in."

To my surprise, Han Seoho welcomed us warmly.

The three of us sat in the not-too-wide, not-too-narrow waiting room, sipping water and starting a conversation.

Kim Sejin, who had intended to slip away after a while, soon found himself deeply engaged in the conversation.

The topic, of course, was music.

Especially, since I had read in an article that Han Seoho had composed music, the conversation about composition was particularly interesting.

When it came to 'inspiration,' a natural topic in composition, Han Seoho said,

"Actually, I was inspired by both of your performances in this competition."

Leo's eyes sparkled, and he lightly tapped the table.

"Wow, that's amazing. Me too! I've been inspired by Seoho several times."

Kim Sejin, who had been listening, also chimed in.

"A little bit..."

"Of course! That's why you were walking in the courtyard that night!"

"Ah, well, I was also thinking about other things..."

Feeling like he had said too much, he tried to cover it up, but Han Seoho's gaze caught his attention.

His eyes widened, and his lips curved dramatically.

He looked happier than when he was called the first place the previous night, but not in a boastful way.

It was as if he had achieved a long-held dream.

He smiled broadly, saying it was a wonderful thing.

...After Leo and Kim Sejin, who had suddenly dropped by, left,

I felt a bit excited from the enjoyable music conversation.

'Inspiration.'

I had never realized how heartwarming that word could be.

From the moment I remembered my past life, I had received countless inspirations and used them to create music.

It had become so natural to me.

But during this competition, those thoughts began to change.

I realized that inspiration could come from watching others perform, and that it could be applied not just to composition but also to performance.

This experience made me think that exchanging inspiration might be one of the positive aspects of competitions.

That's why I now understand.

The words of many musicians who emphasized inspiration in the past.

Some said inspiration was the most important thing.

Others said they would sell their soul to get inspiration.

Some said inspiration was the soul itself.

And among them, there was one particularly eccentric musician.

A musician who talked about inspiration until the end of his life.

A genius who, like me not long ago, had said he wanted to be an inspiration to someone.

A quirky person who sent letters in an overly aristocratic style.

...I picked up the book I had been reading.

It was a book about Tchaikovsky, but I could find traces of him in it.

Tchaikovsky said this about him:

[...Among the great masters, I like Mozart the most. I have always felt this way and will continue to do so.]

#

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

In my past life, I didn't know him.

I couldn't have known him, as he was born after I died.

'I am quite an old person... '

It's strange to think that I, an old person, am now at a competition in his honor.

Anyway.

In this modern era, I came to know him and came to love his music.

His music, cold and dynamic, yet romantic.

When I listen to his music, I can clearly feel the unique Russian color.

And some of his pieces remind me of someone I know.

The piece I chose for the gala is one of them.

It's the piece I like the most among Tchaikovsky's works,

A piece I've always wanted to perform with an orchestra.

It's a piece without a solo part, and I won't stand out, but I brought it to the gala.

Mozartiana.

I ascended the stage to perform the piece Tchaikovsky created, inspired by Mozart, whom he admired.

...After greeting the conductor Andrei, I looked down at the audience, who were giving me enthusiastic applause.

I slowly raised my violin to my chin and, in the dimly lit audience, I recalled a fragment of the past.

I looked into why I wanted to perform this piece so much.

Then, a letter came to mind.

Yes, it was a bit...

Uncharacteristic of him.

...

[Patron, today I thought about what would happen after I die.

Suddenly, I became afraid. How will I be remembered as a musician? Will I be remembered only as a sickly musician? How will future musicians think of me?

...It's a deep worry, like a disease, that haunts me at night.]

"Is this really a letter from Wolfgang?"

I asked Il Perso to confirm again. Was it really from him?

The sender was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He was sure.

The letters from him, always confident, cheerful, and even eccentric, were so unfamiliar in their gloominess.

Feeling the seriousness of the situation, I replied immediately.

[You have already created countless great works. Your name will certainly be remembered by future generations. So, it's better to focus on getting better.]

I sent the letter as quickly as possible.

And soon, a reply came.

Was he even able to write anymore?

It was a letter written by someone else, not the handwriting I knew.

[I don't care about leaving a name.

When someone hears my name after I die, will they feel who I was? It can't prove who I am.

Music is the same. Eventually, it will be confined to the name of 'classics' and treated as something old.

I want to be an inspiration.

Just as I was inspired by Haydn's symphonies countless times, I want to be a musician who inspires someone over time.

If I can inspire someone to create a piece, my soul will live on in that piece.

So, my patron, who is called the 'prophet of music'...

I want to know.

50 years later... 100 years later... no, 200 years later...

Will I be an inspiration to someone?]

...

I turned my head to look at conductor Andrei.

Wolfgang's final question was still etched in my mind, and the silver baton shimmered before my eyes.

The performance was about to begin.

I slowly drew my bow.

And.

───!

...Tchaikovsky answered.