Chapter 93

093. Tuning

A blunt pencil glides across a sheet of pristine white paper.

The drawing, rendered with varying pressure to create a sense of depth, is small compared to the large canvases Neil usually paints, but it is by no means shabby.

Two lines intersect and merge, forming a shape.

Standing behind him, the agency representative, holding a mug from which steam rises, suddenly asked:

“People?”

“Yeah.”

“But... there are two of them?”

The roughly and simply drawn shapes depicted two people. However, the strange thing was that their bodies intersected, making them appear as if they were one.

“Hmm... inner and outer?”

“Something like that.”

As if playing a guessing game, the representative’s speculations continued.

“Something like that? So one is the actual appearance, and the other is what you see. The subject is probably Han Seoho, right? ...How about this?”

Only then did Neil stop the pencil he had been moving according to his intuition.

“I’ve been working with you for a long time, it seems.”

The representative snapped his fingers and smiled contentedly.

“That boy seems to have inspired you quite a bit.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Very.”

“A short but intense time.”

Neil’s eyes burned just as he had spoken.

The representative said:

“Anyway, the exhibition is still over a month away. You can stay here and then move on to Singapore for the next tour.”

“No, I need to go and paint. I have a lot of paintings I want to create. I’m feeling inspired.”

The representative didn’t ask again. This sensitive artist can’t focus unless he’s in his own studio.

“Oh, by the way. I came here for a reason.”

Suddenly, the representative took out his phone and tapped the screen. A moment later, Neil’s phone, which had been lying on the bed, rang.

“I sent you a link. Take a listen.”

“What did you send?”

“A song everyone thinks is about you.”

A song about me?

Confused, Neil got up from his seat.

“What...”

He picked up his phone and followed the link she had sent. A cloud-shaped logo appeared.

SoundCloud.

Neil’s eyes were drawn to the title of the track on the site.

<An Artist’s Inspiration>

#

“Han Seoho is not only topping the classical charts but also making waves on the album charts, and Brinner is causing a stir on SoundCloud, which is strong in hip-hop. How do you feel about it?”

Choi Sung-ryeong, a journalist I hadn’t seen in a while, turned on the recorder and asked.

I looked around my studio and spoke honestly.

“I’m pretty calm. My life hasn’t dramatically changed, so I guess that’s why. Of course, a lot of people recognize me, but I still work in my studio as usual.”

“Very much like Han Seoho. I’m curious about what you’ll do next. Do you have any plans?”

“I do, but I can’t say yet. It’s a secret.”

“A secret? Since you haven’t had any significant domestic activities after releasing the album, are you planning something like a recital or a special performance?”

Indeed, the journalist. Her guess was so accurate that I suspected she knew something.

But even she couldn’t imagine the event included.

‘Conducted by the world’s top maestro.’

Without answering, I smiled, and she gave me a sly look.

“Alright, I came here to interview you about the Neil Hauser exhibition...”

Thus, the interview began in earnest.

She had just come from the exhibition, and she was still feeling the aftereffects of what she had seen.

After a passionate interview about the paintings, composition, and the overall music, Choi Sung-ryeong said in a new tone:

“Nowadays, people are learning classical instruments, just like when AI played Go and caused a stir.”

I knew the story to some extent, and I was aware of my significant role in it.

“What needs to happen for that trend to continue?”

“Are you now concerned about such things? You said becoming famous would be tiring, but you’ve changed a lot.”

That was what I said when I saw Kim Sejin at the Tchaikovsky Competition.

I feel I’ve changed too. Knowing that I can make a difference has made me even more aware of it.

“The current trend of learning classical music is just a fad. People are following their neighbors. To create a real trend, the future needs to be supported. But even so, 90% of classical musicians still quit. More than 50% of them end up doing something completely unrelated to music.”

It’s ironic. Classical music has remained unchanged, but the musicians who play it have changed. Or rather, they have had to change.

“That’s sad.”

“Yes, everything changes in the end. People who don’t change end up suffering... Does this remind you of your ex-boyfriend, making you more upset?”

I chuckled at Choi Sung-ryeong’s strange turn of conversation and moved on to my next concern.

It was about the upcoming performance.

One could say everything is going well, but I thought it might be difficult to gather all the musicians who had recorded with me.

They are not members of any particular group but freelance musicians.

I didn’t know how their situations had changed in the meantime.

I couldn’t just spread the news of the glorious event of Albert’s conducting to the musicians who weren’t sure if they would participate...

After seeing Choi Sung-ryeong off, I headed to the office instead of the studio.

The company seemed to be doing well.

There were four recording studios, and all of them were in use. As a result, the office was empty.

“Director, how are the musicians?”

“Ah, Seoho. I was going to tell you after the interview.”

Director Kim Yun-ju, holding a printed paper, showed a troubled expression.

“Most of them are available. About five need to check their schedules, but they should all be fixed within a day or two. The biggest problem is this one. Horn player Yoon Tae-hwan.”

Director Kim Yun-ju drew a circle on the list with a pen.

Yoon Tae-hwan. I immediately knew who he was. There were only two horn players, and he was a large man, but what I remembered most was his performance.

His sound and technique, which alternated between grand and light, were worth recalling.

“He didn’t quit because of another schedule, but because he quit music altogether.”

“...In just a few months?”

“People who quit music usually quit their instruments in a few months.”

“Can you give me his contact information? I’ll ask him.”

“Sure.”

Feeling a bit disappointed, I asked Director Kim Yun-ju for the contact information, but her gaze suddenly darted to the hallway.

“...? He’s here?”

I turned my head at her words.

There, a man in his late 30s, whose large frame filled the hallway, was awkwardly entering the company.

#

“...I just wanted to say thank you.”

That was Yoon Tae-hwan’s reason for visiting.

“I felt bad just sending a message saying I couldn’t do it. So I came. Ha ha.”

I asked, hearing his awkward laugh.

“So, you’re not going to play music anymore?”

“Yes.”

Yoon Tae-hwan nodded. When I asked for the reason, he paused for a moment and then said something unexpected.

“I had a good opportunity.”

A good opportunity? Did he win the lottery? That’s why he’s quitting music...

“I became a father.”

...I was genuinely surprised.

I hadn’t imagined it at all.

“Wow, congratulations.”

“Thank you. So, I’m looking for a stable job. It’s not easy since I’ve only played the horn all my life.”

Looking for a job?

I couldn’t help but be puzzled. If he was looking for a job, he could still perform.

“If the timing works out, this performance could be a great opportunity.”

“Ha ha, maybe. I do need the money...”

He nodded in agreement with what I said, but then suddenly shook his head.

“But, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Well, I had the same feeling during the last recording.”

“...”

“I thought that if this recording went well, if this album did well, something would change. Ha ha. But nothing changed. It felt like giving false hope, so I won’t do it this time. I guess I wasn’t good enough.”

When I didn’t say anything, Yoon Tae-hwan glanced up at me, as if hoping I would say otherwise. Disappointment crossed his face.

“Mr. Musician, wait a moment. I’ll make a quick call.”

“Sure, take your time. I have plenty of time. Ha ha.”

Yoon Tae-hwan’s cheerful smile was ironic.

He was smiling while refusing.

Was he hoping I would persuade him?

...I ignored his expression and stepped out into the hallway.

#

“By the way, I heard the Cultural Foundation is offering a support program. Is this also a secret?”

-Hmm...

On the phone, the SJ Entertainment employee pondered.

“This was supposed to be announced next week... Just a moment?”

Her voice faded away.

She returned after explaining the situation to someone and answered clearly.

“It should be fine. It’s a Cultural Foundation project, but since it will be announced next week by us, it’s not a secret. But, what’s the matter?”

“That’s...”

I chuckled and said:

“I seem to have lost the proposal.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s not like it contains important information. The announcement will be almost the same. There’s no problem at all.”

I ended the call with relief.

After a brief visit to the studio, I headed back to the meeting room.

I don’t know.

Is this the composer’s desire to help just a little more?

Or the hope that a good musician won’t give up their instrument?

If it had been the lottery, and he was quitting because of that, I wouldn’t have felt so disappointed, thinking his love for music wasn’t that strong.

Click.

I entered the meeting room again and sat down.

Yoon Tae-hwan was still smiling and pretending to be fine.

“I’ll give up on performing together.”

Musicians can be found. Finding a good horn player won’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be impossible.

So, I don’t intend to force the performance.

“Did you... find another horn player? Ha ha, that’s good. I was worried that my refusal would inconvenience you.”

Yoon Tae-hwan seemed to think I had gone out to find another horn player.

It didn’t matter. It was just a matter of order, but I had to find one eventually.

Still.

I wanted him to see this first.

“Mr. Musician, if you haven’t found a good job, would you read this?”

I placed the proposal for the support program on the table.

I was about to lose it.

#

Thirty chairs were arranged in a semicircle, but the rehearsal room, which could accommodate a symphony orchestra, still felt empty.

I sat on a metal chair at the edge and watched as the seats filled up as the time approached.

Familiar faces I hadn’t seen in a while.

The string quartet also appeared.

Kang Joon-seo tried to run over to me, but Shin Su-a grabbed his collar and dragged him.

“The violins are over here.”

“No, I’m Seoho...”

“Mr. Composer.”

“Yeah, I’m with the composer...”

“Stop bothering and get ready for the rehearsal.”

I think I understand why Shin Su-a is acting like this.

The atmosphere here was different from before. The place wasn’t the company, and the employees were from SJ Entertainment, not Sound Film Studio. Even the freelance staff involved in the performance planning and some SJ Entertainment reporters were waiting.

This was a somewhat weighty occasion, not just a rehearsal.

As the rehearsal time approached, more musicians entered and took their seats, sometimes five at a time