Chapter 94
I’m translating the chapter directly into the required HTML format, preserving the narrative flow and using styled blocks only where the text is an in-universe comment or article.CHAPTER_TITLE: The Silent Bell
He moved the bow.
With his eyes closed, he let himself feel Yosef Hassid’s emotions through his fingertips.
Hassid’s memories surged up.
The life of a young man who had been born under the name of genius, only to kneel at last before illness.
A life spent longing to play while trapped in a psychiatric ward.
Days of pitiless agony, of wanting to hold a bow in his hand and being unable to do even that.
That feeling now burst out from the tip of this bow.
Yes. That’s it. This is the feeling.
This was not simply playing the violin.
It was carrying Hassid’s emotions themselves.
The torment of life in the hospital.
The talent that had been crushed down.
The genius of a miserable prodigy, a brilliance that could never be fully poured out before it withered away, erupted unchanged across the bow.
The hospital was here now.
The pediatric cancer ward.
Hassid understood children’s hearts better than anyone.
The moment the performance began, every other sound vanished.
The bow and the strings.
Si-woo stood at the center of the sound blooming between them.
The music poured out at astonishing speed.
As though releasing pent-up resentment, the violin’s beautiful tone burst forth together with his genius.
How much time passed?
The final note seeped into the air and vanished.
When he opened his eyes, everyone was staring at him in stunned silence.
All around him, people covered their mouths and looked on in shock.
Guardians. Nurses. Doctors.
Their expressions differed, but their eyes were the same.
Amazement and emotion.
Applause broke out.
The children led the way.
Then the guardians joined in.
In an instant, the entire lounge became as enormous as Carnegie Hall, filled to the brim with applause.
Before he knew it, Si-woo was smiling in satisfaction, then slowly bowed his head.
The applause rose even louder.
He lifted his head and scanned the children.
What should I play next?
A song they would hear and immediately brighten at the sound of.
One came to mind at once.
Paganini’s La Campanella.
A piece where clear, lively high notes leapt up like ringing bells.
If he was going to play something fast, dazzling, and impossible to look away from, he could not leave this one out.
Music anyone might have heard somewhere before.
And yet one that even majors would struggle to follow.
The pediatric cancer ward.
From Hassid’s experience, he could imagine what pain at such a young age meant.
Then there was only one thing these children needed right now.
Something that would let them forget everything, even for a moment.
“I’ll play one more.”
The children shouted with delight.
He lifted the bow again.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Professor of strings at Korea University’s College of Music.
Judge at the country’s major competitions.
That was how Choi Gwang-jin was described these days.
Coming here today had been purely because of a friend.
He had come to visit the friend who was the professor in charge of the pediatric cancer department at Korea University Hospital.
But as he walked down the corridor, he stopped.
He could hear a violin.
In the pediatric cancer ward?
He leaned in. Through the glass, he could see a lounge packed with people.
Ah, some kind of event.
He knew there were occasional programs for the children.
He looked at the person standing on the small stage.
Could that be appraiser Kim Si-woo?
His eyes narrowed at once.
It was because of the Nagwon Music Complex video.
That video from a few days ago had set the group chat among music professors completely on fire.
A man no one knew, playing an unfamiliar new violin in a shop at Nagwon Music Complex.
The view count exploded as soon as it went up.
The music professors’ chat had reacted immediately.
- Who is this person? I’ve never seen such skill before.
- Which school did he come from? Did he study abroad?
- To play like that on a new violin he hasn’t even gotten used to yet. Just looking at his posture, you can tell he’s no ordinary player. What do the other professors think?
- Honestly, it’s hard to judge from this alone. But it’s so good I’d want to hear him in person.
More than thirty professors had all chimed in.
Choi Gwang-jin had watched the video dozens of times too.
He had to admit it.
This was not merely good playing.
If he had listened without seeing the player, he would have thought he was hearing a world-class violinist.
Especially the uniquely gifted, almost uncanny techniques.
Then, not long after, an unexpected comment appeared beneath the video.
- Isn’t that maybe appraiser Kim Si-woo? He looks incredibly similar.
The chat had stirred again.
- No way. An appraiser with that level of skill?
- But nobody still knows who he is... and he really does look strikingly similar.
Choi Gwang-jin watched the video again.
There was some resemblance.
But he couldn’t be sure.
So today, by pure coincidence, an opportunity had come.
Could appraiser Kim Si-woo really be the person in that video?
He probably just looks like him.
He crossed his arms and watched.
Probably the level of a celebrity dabbling in a hobby.
Being in front of children, he could probably coast on mood alone.
Maybe he would even choose something like a nursery rhyme everyone knew.
Before that thought had even finished forming, Si-woo raised the violin to his chin.
The air around him changed.
...Huh?
It was a sensation hard to put into words.
The instant a performer takes up an instrument.
Before a note even sounds, the body recognizes it first.
Whether this person is truly skilled.
There was nothing unnecessary in his posture.
The balance of weight in his right hand as it held the bow.
The position of his left thumb.
The way the instrument settled between shoulder and chin was so natural it seemed effortless.
It was the movement of someone who had lived with an instrument for decades.
Only someone who had breathed together with an instrument for a very long time could possess that kind of ease.
Then Kim Si-woo drew a breath, and the bow lowered onto the strings.
The first note split the air.
Choi Gwang-jin’s arms went slack.
Czardas was a piece with two faces.
The first half was slow and heavy.
The deep grief and sorrow of Romani music lay thick across it.
It was not simply a matter of playing slowly.
The slower it was, the more each note had to bear its own weight.
And when that happened, there was nowhere left to hide.
The density of pressure as the bow bore down on the strings.
The weight drawn up from each individual note.
The precision of intonation, made even more vivid within the slow tempo.
This is impossible...
Gooseflesh rose all over his body.
The sorrow of the Romani embedded in the piece was coming through as sound.
As the performance progressed, he found himself shifting from critic to listener.
What is this even...
Then the piece reached its turning point.
The bow’s speed changed.
What had flowed slowly like a river came crashing down like a waterfall.
The second half.
The true face of Czardas.
Fast, impassioned, and dazzling.
It was the section that drew gasps from an audience.
His fingers flew across the fingerboard.
My God.
Not a single note in that torrent of speed blurred or smeared.
The high notes leapt like wind.
The bow bounced and skipped over the strings, creating a rhythm that seemed to dance of its own accord.
And still, the intonation never wavered.
If the slow section had shown weight,
the fast section showed a blade.
Only much later did Choi Gwang-jin realize he had been holding his breath when the performance ended.
The children shouted with delight.
But nothing reached Choi Gwang-jin’s ears.
Nagwon Music Complex.
The video there overlapped in his mind.
It was clearly the same performance.
Oh, my God. It was real. It wasn’t a mistake. Appraiser Kim Si-woo really was the one. How had a person like this gone unrecognized until now?
He had taught violin at a college of music for more than decades.
He had listened to the playing of hundreds, thousands of performers from Korea and abroad from judging seats at competitions.
And this man...
Why has someone with this level of skill never been known as a violinist?
He had long since forgotten that a friend was waiting for him.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Si-woo felt drained and went home.
As he slumped beside Kkamangi, his mother asked him,
“Did the performance go well?”
“Of course. I was very busy playing the violin, I’ll have you know. The kids kept begging me to play more, so it was a little hard to manage.”
Unlike his words, a faint smile lingered at the corner of his mouth.
Then videos filmed in the ward started going up on Nutflix and beyond.
Official footage shot by reporters.
Dozens of clips filmed by guardians on smartphones.
At the same time, the Nagwon Music Complex video flared back to life.
The video that had been cooling off suddenly surged past one million views.
It hit number one on the real-time trending chart.
The comments were exploding.
At the same time, articles poured in.
The article comments were even hotter than the comment section itself.
“Haah...”
Si-woo set his smartphone down.
He had expected this much.
But this much?
Messages were coming in nonstop, and he couldn’t answer them.
He had poured out all of Yosef Hassid’s emotions, so his whole body felt languid.
Not in a bad way.
The children’s faces came back to him.
The child who had run out into the corridor with an IV still attached.
The one who had asked question after question with shining eyes.
Even the child who had quietly taken his hand after the performance ended.
That was enough.
“Right, Kkamangi?”
Kkamangi, lying beside him, gave a light meow.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Because it had become such a huge sensation, he stayed home for several days.
Then he called Managing Director Yang Dong-seok.
He might need Nutflix’s influence later on.
Besides, there was already a contract in place to film events like this when they happened.
Capturing King Sejong’s golden book on video would unquestionably become valuable material for years to come.
He picked up his smartphone and placed the call.
The moment it connected, he spoke.
“Managing Director Yang Dong-seok. I hope you’ve been well. I have something to tell you.”
“Haha. Yes, appraiser Kim Si-woo, please go ahead.”
“Do you perhaps know what a golden book is?”
A brief silence followed.
Then a flustered voice came back.
“...A golden book?”
The sound of hurried typing rang through the receiver.
A little later.
“Hmm. Embarrassingly, this is the first time I’ve heard of such a thing.”
Yang Dong-seok said awkwardly.
“Do you mean a document made of gold? Like an official appointment record given at the investiture of a queen or crown prince?”
“That’s right. It’s also something a king receives upon accession. An official document engraved on a gold plate with the grounds for investiture and the virtues involved. It’s an artifact bestowed together with the royal seal and the ceremonial decree written on silk.”
There was more keyboard tapping.
“But may I ask why you’re bringing this up now?”
“Yes. I found a golden book. It seems to have been taken to the United States by a Korean War veteran, though I’ll need to confirm that. But from the photos, I’m almost certain.”
There was silence on the other end.
Si-woo said,
“Managing Director, could you accompany me again this time?”
Then Yang Dong-seok laughed loudly.
“Haha! Oh, of course. Naturally I’ll go. I’ll cancel even an important appointment. But appraiser, whose golden book is it? No, whoever it belongs to, this will be a national treasure-class artifact. No question!”
Should he tell him?
He paused for a moment, then said,
“It’s King Sejong the Great’s golden book.”
At that instant.
Not even the slightest breath could be heard over the phone.
“...Kek.”
“Managing Director Yang Dong-seok?”
“Kek, kek... Is, is that really true?”
He seemed to have choked, because he kept coughing.
“Yes. But the cultural heritage laws make this complicated. It will be difficult to force a return through legal means, so I’m planning to read the other side’s intentions as carefully as possible and persuade them slowly, then purchase it properly. If we rush, we could ruin everything. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my mouth shut no matter what.”
He could hear Yang Dong-seok slowly exhaling.
“But this is no ordinary matter. No, it’s beyond ordinary. This is another matter entirely.”
“It is.”
“I’ll tell Director Choi Min-ho only that I’m accompanying appraiser Kim Si-woo. I won’t mention the artifact at all.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get everything ready quickly.”
With that, the call ended.
Kkamangi, who had somehow stretched out beside him, rolled over to show its belly.
Watching the little display of affection, Si-woo snorted with a laugh.
There wasn’t much time left before California.
He had to bring back a successful result, no matter what.