A Musical Genius Who Plays Memories - Chapter 75

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 75. Dream (3)

 

Day 1.

 

I embarked on the journey of composition.

 

I could see crossroads here and there, and vines and thorns tried to pierce me, but I didn’t stop nonetheless.

 

“Let’s take it slow.”

 

I recalled all the knowledge in my head.

 

Baroque, classical, romantic, medieval, and so on.

 

There were more besides those, but I decided to think about them later.

 

“I’ll try it your way.”

 

Thinking of my friend’s words from the dream, I moved my fingers.

 

Today I planned to play one of the pieces I knew.

 

As my friend said, I had plenty of time.

 

So I planned to do whatever I could.

 

‘Baroque… Baroque.’

 

The baroque I knew was a distorted pearl.

 

The name baroque itself meant that.

 

Some people said so.

 

They said baroque music had distorted harmony, rigid rhythm, and forced movement.

 

But I didn’t think so.

 

“Baroque is good music too. It’s just hard to understand.”

 

Saying the movement was forced was the same as saying it was free, in reverse.

 

Because it wasn’t bound by form, it could extend anywhere.

 

“I like that feeling of one melody spreading and connecting.”

 

Baroque music was regular in some sense.

 

What represented this was the basso continuo.

 

Basso continuo simply means playing accompaniment continuously without stopping.

 

Baroque music has various melodies.

 

And this basso continuo serves as the backbone of baroque.

 

‘Of course, I can’t call this accompaniment free.’

 

But it was because of that horizon that various melodies could move freely.

 

I also moved my hands thinking of that.

 

Ding-♪

 

The accompaniment of my left hand would not stop from now on.

 

The notes continued to flow.

 

When my ring finger pressed do, my index finger pressed sol.

 

‘Good.’

 

Now it was time to move my right hand.

 

This time I planned to utilize another characteristic of baroque.

 

“Improvisation and emotion.”

 

Baroque improvisation wasn’t simple.

 

That improvisation contained stories.

 

Vivaldi expressed different aspects of winter from the 1st to 3rd movement, like in The Four Seasons Winter.

 

But many baroque works were distant from such linear narrative.

 

Simply put, it was closer to expressing stories of different characters in the same worldview.

 

Even with the same occupation of farmer, some cultivated grapes while others grew wheat.

 

There was the same theme and emotion, but the stories contained within were different.

 

And they could change improvisationally.

 

Instead of simply a farmer digging the ground, one could express a farmer drinking after finishing work.

 

Going further, a farmer playing with his child, a farmer facing death.

 

Various people could be drawn improvisationally.

 

This method was similar to my own way.

 

It might have been because the music I heard was of this kind.

 

I always wanted to express people.

 

The reason wasn’t particularly special.

 

“It’s just because that was all the music I saw and heard.”

 

I wasn’t talking about music learned from someone.

 

My music was already complete in that old tavern.

 

I liked the story of the farming old man sung by wandering musicians.

 

That song wishing for a good harvest, sung sincerely by everyone.

 

“Happiness, happiness…”

 

Yes, like in the past, my theme was happiness.

 

I thought about when I had been happy.

 

‘When making music.’

 

Whatever difficulties there were, I was happy.

 

It was truly good.

 

Whatever difficulties there were, I wanted to continue making music.

 

‘That’s why I endured until the end.’

 

The accompaniment of my left hand was still flowing.

 

Even if the notes being pressed changed, the tempo didn’t change at all.

 

It might have resembled my time that continued to flow steadily.

 

Actually, I didn’t know either.

 

I just left it to the flow.

 

‘Shall I try?’

 

I thought about when I made music.

 

What thoughts I had when making music.

 

The notes gradually rose higher, then lowered again.

 

They didn’t repeat but continued to change.

 

It was a series of irregular notes.

 

They weren’t trapped in a fixed framework.

 

They were just gradually adding my own color.

 

***

 

Day 2.

 

As expected, it didn’t go well.

 

That was fine.

 

It was something I had anticipated.

 

I didn’t think I would complete it in one day.

 

“Hee-seong, are you okay?”

 

The principal passing by looked at me and said.

 

Yesterday I went to bed a bit late thinking about composition.

 

I only slept for 7 hours.

 

It didn’t matter since I planned to nap during nap time later.

 

However, her expression didn’t look too good.

 

‘It’s good that she cares so much, but…’

 

It seemed like there was some personal reason, not just because I was a student.

 

That was my intuition.

 

I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.

 

I was busy with composing and didn’t have time to worry about her too.

 

“If you have any troubles, come to the principal’s office anytime. The teacher will help you.”

 

The principal encouraged me.

 

Those small words seemed to give me a little strength.

 

“Heeseong seems to have no energy lately…”

 

“Right! Like jelly!”

 

“Sounds delicious.”

 

The children were also talking about me while looking at me.

 

Aeyeon was licking her lips while looking at me.

 

Why is she doing that.

 

‘Still, she’s decided.’

 

Aeyeon quickly told me she had found a piece she wanted to perform.

 

She didn’t tell me what piece it was.

 

I was a little curious, but I decided to be patient.

 

Aeyeon could do anything she set her mind to.

 

So I just had to trust and wait.

 

The other children were the same.

 

Until the competition, the children would do what they could do.

 

“Is Heeseong going to practice alone again today?”

 

“Haaa… Yeah, I think so.”

 

I answered Garam’s question while yawning.

 

I was a little sleepy.

 

But my head was filled only with thoughts of composition, so I couldn’t fall asleep easily.

 

‘Baroque… Baro…’

 

Hmm, even though I had been composing for two days already, something wasn’t clicking.

 

There was still plenty of time, so let me try a bit more.

 

“Heeseong. Let’s play piano together.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Let’s do it, perform together.”

 

Aeyeon’s eyes were sparkling.

 

I felt like something bad would happen if I refused.

 

“I’m composing…”

 

“Let’s do it.”

 

Ugh.

 

Was there anyone in this Hanseol Preschool who could beat Aeyeon?

 

I could say with confidence.

 

No.

 

Aeyeon’s Mother, who handled this Aeyeon so well, suddenly seemed admirable.

 

‘Hmm… Maybe it’s okay sometimes?’

 

I thought maybe it would be okay sometimes.

 

It would be good to relieve stress by playing with the children.

 

“Alright. Let’s perform together.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Me too, I want to! Me too! Me toooo!”

 

“Hehe… Me too…!”

 

Garam and Ajin also joined in.

 

They must have wanted to play with me all this time.

 

Come to think of it, I had been absorbed in composing for two days, staring at my notebook every day, so they might have felt left out.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

I led the children toward the piano.

 

Composition was good, but now it was time to focus on performing with the children.

 

Playing joyfully like this was also a happy performance.

 

Alright, let me put in more effort.

 

It wouldn’t be bad to start composing tonight or tomorrow.

 

“Ah! This time I go first!”

 

No, Garam! Don’t hit the piano with your violin!

 

***

 

Day 6.

 

“Ha…”

 

I thought about baroque.

 

Was the piece strange?

 

Not at all, it was actually good.

 

I liked it, but something was lacking.

 

There was a deficiency that was hard to express in words.

 

If I completed it as is, no one would complain about it.

 

‘But I can’t be satisfied with it…’

 

I had created a piece that I myself couldn’t be satisfied with.

 

– What piece is this?

 

It was good enough that Father came in halfway and asked about the title.

 

So I thought.

 

Wasn’t there a way to make it better?

 

Tap tap.

 

I tapped my notebook while thinking.

 

There was definitely a way to make the piece better.

 

Countless pieces of information began to spring up in my head.

 

‘Hmm…’

 

The answer came faster than I thought.

 

“Classicism…?”

 

I thought it would be good to mix in classicism.

 

It was natural that combining something good with something good would produce something even better.

 

“Let me try what I can do.”

 

Even if I wasn’t rich in time, I was at least middle-class in time, so I thought I’d enjoy it a bit more.

 

All I needed was just the piano.

 

“Clean and orthodox.”

 

That was classicism explained very simply.

 

Order.

 

That was classicism.

 

People tried to find beauty within order, and I was the same now.

 

‘Let me restrain that explosive power of baroque. So I’ll gradually add the calmness of classicism.’

 

To do that, I first had to create a piece thinking only of classicism.

 

“Happiness isn’t always good.”

 

Happiness itself was good.

 

But there were too many things around that could harm happiness.

 

I had learned that in the past.

 

That happiness wasn’t eternal.

 

The melody was simple and clear.

 

The form was consistent, and the development was predictable.

 

But I began to dig little traps within it.

 

The kind of twist where if you let your guard down even a little, your mind could quickly be drawn to strange places.

 

“It might have been good as a duet.”

 

But I couldn’t do that.

 

I wanted to do it alone.

 

I was the only one who could express the nightmares of the past.

 

‘The piece would definitely become richer, but…’

 

So I will approach this calmly.

 

Just as I always have.

 

Ding-♩

 

I played.

 

The left hand’s accompaniment and the right hand’s melody.

 

It was the same piece I had heard on that rainy day.

 

The left hand’s accompaniment was gentle.

 

Down, up, middle, up.

 

Do, sol, mi, sol.

 

The left hand played the accompaniment cleanly.

 

There was nothing unnecessary or jarring.

 

The right hand had no excessive ornamentation.

 

There was simply one melodic line.

 

It was a series of melodies that seemed somehow anguished.

 

In other words, if you were to explain classicism, this was it.

 

‘The accompaniment is potato soup. The melody is kimchi.’

 

Over the bland accompaniment, an intensely salty melody struck hard.

 

Hmm, thinking about it, that seemed pretty good.

 

Or maybe the soup too….

 

‘…What am I doing.’

 

Perhaps because composing was difficult, I found myself thinking strange thoughts without realizing it.

 

I slapped my cheeks again, pat pat.

 

The soft sensation felt good.

 

I gathered my thoughts again, breathed evenly, and began composing.

 

‘Cleanly.’

 

Being clean was the same as moving slowly.

 

At least that’s what I thought.

 

Moving slowly allowed me to see what was dirty.

 

Walking down the street, I could tell where the muddy water was, whether there was any excrement.

 

So let’s go slowly.

 

Even if it’s boring.

 

Da da-dan-

 

The left hand’s accompaniment moved slowly.

 

It was truly slow.

 

In terms of tempo, 39BPM.

 

It was an accompaniment slower than even turtles or ants.

 

‘But that would be boring.’

 

It was the melody’s turn to work.

 

I quietly closed my eyes and surrendered myself to the accompaniment.

 

Though the accompaniment was slow, the melody was not.

 

At the sound of the resonating melody, my heart began to pound as well.

 

When I closed my eyes, I could finally see it.

 

There was a house with vines draped long along the walls.

 

Red brick walls with teal-colored window frames.

 

On a May afternoon, someone was standing at the teal-colored window.

 

There was an old man, hideously aged.

 

‘That person is…?’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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