“How do you predict this competition will go, Editor-in-Chief?”
Adam Wyscho, the Editor-in-Chief of Gramophone, was a globally renowned critic. There was no melody in the world he hadn’t heard. It was no exaggeration to say he knew the history of every violinist by heart. Adam licked his dry lips. He never expected to be asked for an interview.
“A war of the stars, that’s what it is,” he replied.
From China’s Zhang Yan, Northern Europe’s Erik, to England’s William, all the famous newcomers were heading to Brussels. Among them was a violinist named Hyun, who had traveled to Korea but ultimately couldn’t meet.
In other words, this Brussels competition would be the hottest and most brilliant in history. Moreover, “The devils of melody are gathering,” Adam continued.
The interviewer, who hadn’t expected the word “devil” to come from the mouth of a critic, audibly gulped.
“Would you believe someone could dedicate more than a decade to interpreting a single piece?” Adam asked.
What was he talking about?
“They are people who love and hate the violin more than anyone else, studying and documenting melodies. It’s said that when an old man dies, a library burns down. So, just how vast must the melodies recorded in their minds be?”
Pierre Ganel from France, Alexei from Russia, and many other masters had also come to Brussels. These people, who had spent their entire lives focused on music, were known for their harsh and meticulous critiques. Was it purely coincidental that such critical and demanding individuals had gathered in one place?
“Final question. Who do you think will win?”
Adam shook his head at the interviewer’s question. That was not a question to be asked. A critic doesn’t assign scores. Just as there is no right or wrong in life, there can be no ranking in melodies. Sharon was right; this new hire was indeed presumptuous.
“He looks much younger than I expected,” one of the masters remarked. However, the other masters, who were watching the boy through a crack in the door, silently nodded.
Although he was 14 by Korean age, his appearance made him look three or four years younger.
“But what is he talking about with Alexei?” The Chinese master, Deng Lun, pricked up his ears and narrowed his eyes. The rough Russian language continued, suggesting a conversation, but the content was incomprehensible. The other masters seemed equally curious.
“Hmm, he seems angry,” Pierre Ganel, the French master, noted, observing Alexei’s raised eyebrows with a puzzled expression.
“No, he wouldn’t fight with a kid. Alexei just has a naturally cold expression,” another master said.
However, everyone thought that if it were Alexei, it might be possible. After all, he hadn’t come out to welcome the boy but to check how arrogant he was. Just then,
“Wait a moment, let me see what’s going on,” a master from the back pushed forward, causing those hiding to frown deeply, worried they might be discovered.
“Uh?” Deng Lun leaned forward like a roly-poly toy.
Creak—!
The door opened with a strange scream, as if it hadn’t expected to be opened due to its weight. But then,
‘Who are these people?’
The people who had been peeking through the crack in the door almost fell but managed to regain their balance. Their faces showed clear embarrassment as they avoided each other’s eyes. The Russian sighed deeply and ran a hand over his face.
‘Friends?’ Hyun thought they were racists. But their skin colors were various, and they seemed to be of different ages. Well, in foreign countries, a ten-year age difference can still result in friendship.
But some of their faces looked strangely familiar. Was it because they were foreigners?
“Uh, uh,” Eva stammered, unable to hide her confusion.
“Arrogant brat, all these people came to see you,” the Russian said. So what?
“I don’t know them, old man. Why are you meddling?” Hyun snapped back.
The Russian frowned deeply, glaring at Hyun with his already sharp eyes, looking like an angry bald eagle.
Were they going to ask him to play the violin again? Hyun looked down at the case in his hand. Of course, it wasn’t a fantasy.
Given the sensitivity of the instrument, it needed time to acclimate. It wouldn’t be strange to have a bodyguard escort it. It wasn’t a cheap item. It would probably arrive by the time the competition started.
But seriously,
‘Who are these people?’ Hyun wondered again.
Were they really friends of a racist? Their gazes, which seemed to evaluate him, were unusual.
Unlike the sharp eyes of the Russian, their eyes were deep and meaningful. There was no way Hyun, who had dealt with criminals as a prosecutor, would be intimidated by this.
He met each of their gazes in turn.
“Hyun,”
Eva stammered, clearly not expecting Hyun to engage in a staring contest with them.
She thought he was lucky. The old jaguar, the owl, the penguin count, they were all uniquely distinctive.
“Violinist Hyun, do you not know who we are?” the owl asked, stepping forward. Judging by his accent and appearance, he seemed Chinese.
Not knowing who they were? Why would he? There was no rule saying he had to know every employee of Queen Elizabeth’s organization. But he had to check.
“Are you friends with this old man?” Hyun asked politely in English, glancing at the Russian. The owl hesitated for a moment, then shook his head, glancing at the Russian.
As expected, a racist wouldn’t have an Asian friend.
At that moment,
“How did you play Beethoven’s Violin Sonata Spring?” the old jaguar asked, stepping forward. His graying hair and age spots hinted at his age.
“I watched the tape,” he said.
Hyun had heard that only the judges could watch it, but it seemed someone had sneaked a look. This shattered Hyun’s image of the Queen Elizabeth competition. Well, it was an era with hardly any CCTV, so it was understandable.
But why did Queen Elizabeth’s organization employ such old staff?
“Just play as you feel, without being bound by anything,” Hyun replied succinctly.
But everyone seemed to be lost in thought.
The old jaguar looked at him, implying he needed more explanation.
“Someone once said, when a violinist comes to Bozar, they naturally pick up their bow. That in itself is a bound mindset,” Hyun said, glancing at the Russian before walking away. Eva followed him, startled. Meanwhile,
Alexei bit his lip unknowingly.
“Arrogant brat!” he muttered, but Hyun was already out of sight.
“Is there a violinist with a recommendation letter from Spencer?” William of England smirked. That’s how competitions were. Filled with exaggerated rumors and gossip. But everything would be proven by skill.
Spencer was the conductor who had rejected even William, who was considered the UK’s top new talent. He was the pride of the London Symphony and a representative master of England.
Such a person had written a recommendation letter for someone other than himself? What nonsense.
Sixty contestants had passed the preliminary round. They were chosen from countless violinists worldwide, so their skills were unquestionable.
Among them were not only new talents but also established ones. There was a participant who had studied under the chief violinist of the Berlin Philharmonic, China’s Zhang Yan, and Northern Europe’s Erik.
‘What?’ William initially doubted his eyes. There was a child who looked too young to be in the Queen Elizabeth competition; he seemed more suited for a junior competition.
Everyone in the hall occasionally glanced at the child, not just William.
“William, the person with the recommendation letter is named Kang Hyun,” his manager whispered in his ear.
Kang Hyun? The name sounded East Asian.
William scanned the East Asian violinists and finally spotted a lone child sitting by himself.
But he quickly turned away, thinking he must have made a mistake.
‘Unbelievable.’
It was like a zoo; everyone who entered the waiting room looked at him and doubted their eyes. It was worse than looking at a monkey in a cage.
Some were openly glaring at him. They probably thought he had gotten in by mistake or had bought his way in.
‘Twenty-four are left.’
Though these were still just newcomers compared to the famous masters, their pride and dedication to the violin were sky-high. Musicians were inherently like that. They probably had no doubt they would make it to the final list. But why?
Hyun couldn’t help but chuckle. It was an experience he had felt in his past life at the Judicial Research and Training Institute. It felt like the instincts from that time were sprouting again from deep within his body.
But his whole body was tense. These were indeed some of the best new talents.
Time passed, and the hall became busy.
Contestants were busy tuning their violins. Though the detailed tuning was already done, they were preparing their posture.
Rumor had it that the judges this time were especially strict. They were not only harsh but also stopped performances after hearing just one note.
Though it was hard to believe they would go to such lengths in a competition, you never know. Meanwhile,
‘Why is that gentleman staring so hard at me?’
It was an unpleasant gaze. An English contestant was smirking at him and then turned away.
At that moment,
“We will now begin the first round of judging. The order will be random, and each contestant will play the designated piece,” an employee of the competition announced as they entered the waiting room, bringing a wave of tension.
Some adjusted their clothes, some wiped their palms with handkerchiefs, and some smiled to hide their anxiety. Contestants used various methods to calm their nerves.
“Now, number thirty-seven,” the employee called. Being the first was naturally a focus of attention.
Most looked relieved that it wasn’t them. The conservative music world viewed the first performance in a competition as the heaviest burden.
The employee called out the name with a clumsy accent.
“Kang Hyun.”
The English gentleman who had been smirking earlier turned wide-eyed, and the others followed suit.
As Hyun confidently stepped forward, everyone failed to hide their surprise. He smiled and passed through the crowd.
