Chapter 84

084. The Conductor's Dream (1)

As the music began,

all doubts were forgotten.

It took only a few notes for the audience, who had been puzzled by Han Seoho's choice of Briner's piece once again, to be left in awe.

The title was a reflection on 88 keys, but it contained far more than a mere fragment.

Like a performance of Hanon, the piece started with simple combinations of notes, gradually expanding its scope,

building intricate forms using every note.

Even those who were familiar with Briner and those who were not looked on in amazement.

It was a performance that could be called a dedication to the piano.

But as the piece ended and the question of "Why does Han Seoho only play Briner's pieces?" began to resurface,

...the reporter still stared at the laptop screen with a vacant gaze.

[He's playing it as if it were his own...]

The words remained untyped.

And.

'Could it be...?'

The recurring thought.

The reporter had no choice but to wait.

To wait for the applause to die down and for the next segment to begin.

Then, the questions could be asked.

To get an answer to the absurd but growing suspicion.

Finally, the staff brought in a table and chairs and set them up at the front of the stage.

Han Seoho stood up from the piano and sat in the chair, and the flashes began.

The only time when photos were allowed.

As Han Seoho held the microphone and the flashes subsided, sparks flew from another source.

The reporters, preparing their questions.

The atmosphere in the showcase hall quickly transformed from a concert to a press conference.

Han Seoho, perhaps feeling the change, smiled awkwardly and said,

"It feels a bit strange."

Han Seoho fiddled with the microphone and laughed.

The following story was about the background of the album's production.

It was an album that had been planned before the Tchaikovsky Competition, composed of pieces inspired by people, and the title track was based on family.

Finally, Han Seoho looked at the reporters as if he had finished his part.

"Then, I'll take your questions."

Everyone raised their hands.

The reporter, who had inwardly repeated "Could it be?" hundreds of times, also raised his hand, but unfortunately, Han Seoho pointed to another reporter.

The reporter, receiving the microphone, asked,

"Why did you fill the opening with only Briner's pieces?"

It was a natural question.

Of course, the excellent performance had momentarily dispelled doubts about the selection, but it was an inevitable question.

Han Seoho's answer was simple.

"That's because this is my showcase."

Huh...

Murmurs of surprise could be heard from all around.

At first glance, it sounded like he was saying he played the pieces he wanted because it was his showcase.

But to the reporter who had suspicions about Han Seoho and Briner, it sounded different.

-Then, I'll take the next question.

Without further explanation, Han Seoho let the reactions simmer and pointed to another reporter who had raised their hand.

The microphone was handed to her.

Feeling the focus on her, she looked at Han Seoho.

"Um... So... Did you want to fill it with your own pieces?"

The reporter's question seemed strange to others. It was already clear that the opening pieces were Briner's.

It was a hasty question, a leap in logic. But it was the best way to test Han Seoho with one question.

Amid the puzzled audience,

the reporter saw the faint smile on Han Seoho's lips.

It sent shivers down her spine.

The answer to the recurring question had arrived, and a great thrill shook her body.

"Yes."

Haha.

The reporter let out a dry laugh.

Really.

It's really...

Han Seoho, Briner.

Others among the reporters also made similar sounds. She wasn't the only one who had suspicions.

The other reporters and audience members, who had been puzzled, soon realized the reason for their shocked expressions.

In the next moment,

Han Seoho continued.

"My name is Han Seoho."

Above the name everyone knew,

"And I am also Briner, the composer of the pieces you just heard."

A new name was added.

Like a talisman, the reporters, who had been frozen, were suddenly set ablaze.

"Then, did you compose all of Briner's pieces by yourself?!"

"Will the songs on SoundCloud be included in this album?!"

Flashes went off wildly, and reporters raised their hands one after another.

One reporter even asked an absurd question, wondering if it was humanly possible.

The host, trying to maintain order amidst the explosion in the showcase hall, shouted,

-We'll take the questions one by one!

#

Deep, blue eyes stared fixedly at a single point.

Five lines and...

the notes within...

Albert August had been staring at a single phrase for 30 minutes.

From his crimson lips came a complaint filled with frustration.

"Beethoven, you are a truly wicked person."

The name of the score was 'Choral.'

It was the last piece left by the greatest musician in history, Beethoven.

Faced with this legendary music, Albert couldn't unfold his furrowed brow.

The climax, the moment when the choir joins, the thrilling instant before. The phrase before that was tormenting him.

What did you ponder to deliver a powerful cascade to the audience, more intense than a waterfall?

As always, no answer came.

...For years, he believed there was a conductor's way.

Interpreting a master's piece within the rules, he believed, was progress.

But. After believing that for decades,

now he was curious.

Is this really progress?

Or is it regression?

What shape did you, the composer, create with an old wooden baton and deaf ears...

"I feel ashamed as a conductor."

Conducting a great piece was always a balance between happiness and pain.

Perhaps because it had been snowing for days.

Looking at the clear sky, Albert groaned.

Then, someone came to him, who was struggling with the score.

"Maestro."

It was his secretary.

"The interview on the 30th, as mentioned, has been confirmed. And here is the schedule for next month."

A printed paper was placed on the desk.

Albert nodded, following the paper with his eyes.

"I'll check it out."

"Yes. And, Maestro."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know Han Seoho?"

Albert nodded again, looking at the secretary's face, which was full of interest.

He couldn't not know.

A prodigy who appeared like a comet at the Tchaikovsky Competition.

A young talent who mastered two instruments at a high level.

And, the second... Mozart.

An uncomfortable expression crossed his forehead at the last part.

Still, he was undoubtedly called a genius, but he wasn't someone who caught Albert's eye.

What interested a conductor was a diligent performer, not just a brilliant one.

Of course, the most important thing was a brilliant piece, but...

such pieces no longer appeared after the flame of Romanticism died out.

Thus, he had no choice but to look at old scores, good or bad.

"...He released an album of Tchaikovsky pieces, I suppose."

"No, he released an album of his own compositions."

"His own compositions? Did he switch to New Age?"

"Not New Age, but a classical album."

That statement piqued Albert's interest again.

"A classical album by a boy who hasn't even reached adulthood. These prodigies these days are all outrageous."

A certain boy came to mind, a representative genius of this era.

A boy who called himself the first Jang Oslo.

The secretary awkwardly laughed, seeing the veins popping out like worms on his forehead.

"Haha, maybe that's a trend. By the way, do you know who this boy is?"

Who is this boy?

It's not like a superhero movie, with a secret identity...

The secretary casually said,

"Briner. The internet composer you mentioned recently."

"..."

Albert paused.

He looked at his secretary with eyes that had become like lanterns.

"Where is the showcase?"

"Ah, PB Tower."

"...It's close."

Checking the time, Albert immediately moved.

Putting down the score of 'Choral' and already wearing his coat, he left the office, saying,

"Contact the members. We'll delay today's practice by two hours."

"Yes, yes?"

#

Questions started pouring in.

"Then, are Briner's pieces included in the album?"

"Can we consider this album as Briner's new release?"

"Why did you use the pseudonym Briner to upload songs on SoundCloud?"

I answered slowly.

The tracks on the album were previously unreleased, so it was not Briner's new release but Han Seoho's. The reason for using SoundCloud was to differentiate the compositions.

...About 30 minutes passed in a flash.

It was not a short time, but it was insufficient to resolve all the reporters' curiosities.

However, the reporters waited silently to resolve another curiosity.

What exactly were Han Seoho's compositions like?

Such curious gazes flickered before my eyes.

Finally, the table and chairs set up for the Q&A were removed, and the performers came onto the stage.

They all looked dazed.

It was understandable, as the Royal Classic side had not been informed of this fact.

But they were professionals. They quickly focused as they picked up their instruments. Especially the conductor, Hugo, who, after staring blankly at the music stand, turned sharp-eyed and checked me and the members as he raised his baton.

I glanced at the audience.

I could see my father, who was smiling calmly, and my mother, who was nervously clasping her hands...

Before turning off the microphone, I said one last thing.

"The title of this piece is 'Family.' It's a piece I created thinking of my family."

I smiled at my parents.

They smiled back.

Confidence filled me, knowing I would perform excellently.

The scene I was seeing...

...was itself a score.

I closed my eyes.

It was the signal,

and Hugo's silver baton drew a firm harmony from the strings.

The melody woven by the violins was clear.

The melody created by the cellos was subtle.

The violas connected the two.

In terms of an orchestra, it was the smallest chamber orchestra.

But in terms of clarity and intensity of sound, it surpassed a grand symphony.

I didn't look at Hugo as I lifted my hands over the keys.

Instead, I visualized the stage he was building.

I prepared to leap onto that stage.

The moment I realized it was now.

Like a waterfall, I struck my ten fingers without hesitation.

──!

This joining thrilled even me, the performer.

For a moment,

the thirst that had been tickling my throat disappeared, and I sang and sang about my family.

'Look.'

'...'

'Enjoying it?'

...Somewhere, a familiar voice seemed to be heard.

But when I opened my eyes, all I could see were my playing hands.

I looked at my smile reflected in the music stand and whispered softly.

'Indeed.'

It's enjoyable.

The fact that I'm making music at this moment.

And.

The fact that my music is shining more than ever.

#

After leaving the stage, I greeted the staff and left the showcase hall.

Even then, the applause continued to echo through the corridor.

"...The cheers are amazing."

"Indeed."

"Well, it was that good."

"Thanks to Maestro."

Hugo shook his head at my answer and then suddenly extended his hand.

"It was an honor to perform your pieces."

"It was an honor for me as well."

We laughed softly as we shook hands.

"But, how did this happen? You being Briner? I was so focused on the stage, worried I might make a mistake because of it."

"Ah, that's..."

As I started to speak, I met someone in the corridor.

I was puzzled, thinking it would be Emma or Olivia from Royal Classic.

An elderly man with a distinguished white hair stood in a white shirt.

He greeted me, so I returned the greeting.

I thought,

Is he a reporter?

But, it didn't seem so...

Hugo's reaction was strange. He stood beside me, mouth agape, as if he had seen a ghost.

While I was puzzled, the old man approached me.

He asked,

"What's your schedule like?"

"Excuse me?"

"That piece... When and where will you perform it again?"

It was a surprising question.

From the question, it seemed he was a reporter...

Then, Hugo's voice, trembling as if it would break, came from beside me.

"R, really, Albert..."

Albert?

I was momentarily puzzled by the familiar name but soon became engrossed in another question.

'Strange?'

Why was the old man's autumn sky-like blue eyes trembling so much?

Suddenly, the conversation with Professor Yun a few days ago came to mind.

Was this what Professor Yun had seen?

In the old man's face, I saw thirst.

A very old thirst.

"At that time, I want to conduct that piece."