Chapter 116
Chapter 116
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: A Sloppy Rehearsal
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Park Jeonghun had been trying to show Yeonwoo the appeal of the orchestra, but after witnessing the nonstop mistakes creating dissonance and the conductor's failure to properly address them, his interest quickly cooled.
Instead, Yeonwoo's gaze shifted toward the door.
A massive grand piano was being wheeled in.
He marveled at how they managed to move something so huge, and Park Jeonghun—who had been watching Yeonwoo's interest fade in real time—spoke up.
"Today's first half is a piano concerto. It should have been set up earlier, but something must have held things up."
"A piano concerto?"
Yeonwoo echoed, then belatedly checked the pamphlet.
"Chopin..."
The piece for tonight's performance was Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1.
Yeonwoo was familiar with it, having listened to a lot of Chopin lately.
"Yeah, you like Chopin, don't you?"
Park Jeonghun asked, recalling the YouTube videos of Yeonwoo diligently playing Chopin etudes and even arranging them.
Yeonwoo nodded.
"Chopin is a piano genius."
Even by Yeonwoo's standards, Chopin was a true once-in-a-generation genius, far beyond someone like Olivia Snow, whom he'd recently checked out.
"You're right. Chopin is the pinnacle for pianists like us."
In this modern age, could anyone discuss the piano without mentioning Chopin?
No—not Park Jeonghun, but any musician worth their salt would say it's absolutely impossible.
People often think of Mozart as the epitome of genius—specifically, the child prodigy—but Chopin was right there with him.
He had composed at just eight years old, his talent spread among the nobility, leading to performances at a young age. Even the Polish press had showered him with praise, saying a genius—not just born in Germany or Austria—had appeared in their own country.
Park Jeonghun looked at Yeonwoo.
Such thoughts crossed his mind.
If Yeonwoo had been born in that era, wouldn't he have been hailed as a great musician like Chopin?
"Yeonwoo, the pianist isn't here yet. Want to give it a try?"
Park Jeonghun asked on impulse.
"Me?"
"Yeah. It'll be good practice for those kids, and experience for you too."
Yeonwoo stared at the grand piano being set up.
Play alongside all those performers (even if he didn't care for them deep down)?
It wasn't the main show, but it was still a tempting offer.
But was it really okay?
Yeonwoo glanced at Park Jeonghun, who seemed ready to make anything happen, then turned to his grandmother and dad.
"Can I play that piano?"
"If the elder says it's fine, it should be, right? Don't you think, Mother?"
"Yes, if you're curious, go ahead and play."
With his dad and grandma giving the okay, Yeonwoo looked at Park Jeonghun.
"Then I'll do it!"
At Yeonwoo's words, Park Jeonghun clasped his hands behind his back and approached the conductor, who was busy giving feedback.
The conductor panicked and fawned as Park Jeonghun drew near.
The scene made his stature obvious at a glance.
In truth, while the Korean Symphony Orchestra now enjoyed worldwide renown, it had been founded by Park Jeonghun after he returned to Korea—having bounced between orchestras like a day laborer due to prejudice against Asians.
It had endured early financial woes on his personal dime before partnering with the government to become the National Symphony Orchestra.
Essentially, Park Jeonghun was the father of this orchestra.
That was why the current conductor had no choice but to act subservient.
"That kid?"
In the midst of it, the conductor looked at Yeonwoo at Park Jeonghun's words.
For a split second, a displeased expression flickered across his face.
He had heard Park Jeonghun lately insisting that Yeonwoo needed to be drawn into the classical world.
With jazz as his foundation, thriving in pop music, and recently landing his own composition on the Melboard chart as a composer and producer.
Undeniable achievements and genius talent that anyone could recognize.
But...
'Classical is a different beast altogether.'
How could a kid like that grasp its profound depths?
"What are you waiting for? Get ready."
"Ah, yes. Right away."
Still, the conductor couldn't voice it outright.
He just inwardly cursed that the old man had finally lost it to dementia.
Meanwhile, Yeonwoo sat at the piano with a flutter of excitement and looked toward the conductor.
"Hmm."
The conductor cleared his throat and scanned the orchestra. Seeing their matching expressions, he reluctantly raised his baton.
Allegro maestoso—meaning "fast but majestic"—the first movement of Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1.
Yeonwoo listened quietly to the orchestra's opening.
He frowned slightly.
There were way more sloppy players than during the earlier rehearsal.
Part of him wanted to bolt and shout that he couldn't stand listening.
That was when it happened.
Yeonwoo spotted fairies swarming the piano.
The classical fairies who followed him around.
They gazed at him pitifully before emitting a unified blue glow.
Their light enveloped Yeonwoo's ears.
He jolted in surprise.
The orchestra's sound had vanished. Seeing Yeonwoo's eyes widen, the fairies pulled out their instruments, formed their own orchestra, and began playing in sync with the human conductor's lead while watching Yeonwoo.
As if to say, *Better us standing in than that orchestra, right?*
'They can do this too?'
Amazed by their sound-blocking power, Yeonwoo noted the fairy orchestras signaling *Start soon!!* and placed his hands on the keys.
'Let me hear those people too. I can tell it apart from yours.'
With that to the fairies, Yeonwoo set his hands in motion.
A beautiful melody flowed from the piano through Yeonwoo's fingers.
Chopin, who loved the piano more than anyone, had released just two concertos in his lifetime.
And in them, every orchestral instrument became mere accompaniment to the piano—no matter how you compared them.
The instant the piano melody rang out, the full orchestra in a Chopin concerto turned into backup.
Was the piece inherently difficult?
Not exactly.
Compared to other composers' concertos, it might even feel technically simpler.
But it allowed no mistakes.
Miss a single note, and the entire flow shattered.
Other concertos could mask errors with the orchestra's fullness, but not this one.
A single slip ruined everything.
That was why pianists in competitions—not to mention veterans with years of polish—played it strictly by the score, injecting zero personal flair and playing it safe.
And now a jazz pianist who swung and toyed with melodies at whim was tackling it?
A pop musician?
No chance.
That was what the conductor and orchestra all thought.
But...
'Look at this kid?'
Everyone turned to Yeonwoo.
His opening was audacious. Fingers flew without restraint.
Was he that confident?
World-class pianists handled it with caution—surely this kid couldn't be.
He just didn't know any better.
But the boy's piano playing was no joke.
'Not even looking at the score?'
The kid wasn't glancing at the music at all.
He played while watching the keys, occasionally sweeping his gaze around.
'Huh?'
The conductor sensed something off in Yeonwoo's looks.
Those occasional scans were razor-sharp.
What was it?
Something?
Then came a blatant half-beat lag from the violin—and instantly, Yeonwoo's piercing gaze locked on.
"Uhmm..."
The conductor let out an unwitting grunt.
He realized the boy's glances toward the orchestra came exactly when they messed up.
'No way—coincidence?'
The conductor deliberately cued the timpani to delay the beat.
The timpani player hesitated but obeyed.
He had to.
The conductor groveled to Park Jeonghun, but to the timpani, he was absolute.
And the moment the beat lagged subtly...
Yeonwoo's sharp gaze stabbed straight at the timpani, as if he'd been waiting.
A chill prickled the conductor's scalp.
The kid was pinpointing exactly who was erring in the orchestra.
The violin that kept flubbing today for whatever reason, the horn and trombone half-assing it since they were just piano backup, the bassoon too—every mistake drew that terrifying stare.
That was when the boy halted his playing.
"Grandma!!"
Yeonwoo bolted straight to his grandma and hugged her.
"What's wrong, Yeonwoo?"
"Those people are terrible."
Yeonwoo whispered softly, lest anyone overhear and get upset.
"Hmm, even this grandma sees it."
"Let's go home."
No point watching the orchestra anymore. With players that bad, the main performance would suck too.
It might even erase the goodwill he'd built toward classical through Park Jeonghun.
Heo Ok stroked Yeonwoo's head and spoke to Park Jeonghun.
"Professor, our boy wants to go home."
Park Jeonghun started to say something but faltered.
Seeing Yeonwoo's downcast face left him speechless.
"Yeah, go on ahead."
Heo Ok bowed politely and led Yeonwoo and Jihoon out of the concert hall.
"Professor."
The conductor approached Park Jeonghun from behind as they exited.
"What."
Oblivious to the icy edge in his voice, the conductor pressed on.
"That kid was incredible. He nailed every section's mistake."
"...
Are you bragging about the errors now?"
"Pardon? Ah..."
Park Jeonghun's face turned frosty.
"How did it come to this? A den of total phonies strutting around on a top-tier nameplate."
He tsked at the conductor, who couldn't meet his eyes.
"You ruined it all. Your orchestra ruined everything."
He had planned to showcase the orchestra, delay the pianist on purpose, let Yeonwoo play the concerto, and spark his love for orchestral music—and classical as a whole.
But the botched playing had shattered that happy vision.
"Sigh..."
What now?
Drag him to Berlin or London for the world's best orchestras?
Incidentally...
"What did you feel from that kid's Chopin?"
"...
Pardon?"
Park Jeonghun tsked again at the conductor's dazed look.
He had delivered a fantastical Chopin amid that garbage orchestra, yet not one person was amazed.
No wonder true geniuses only get recognition after they're dead, Jeonghun thought.