Reset Life with Infinite Talents - Chapter 61

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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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Infinite Talent Reset Life Episode 61

 

 

”Oh, my.”

Coming to his senses, he rummages through his pocket.

“Sorry about that. This is who I am.”

“Lo, Los Angeles Philharmonic!”

Larry is shocked when he sees the business card being offered.

“You know them, Larry?”

“It would be stranger not to know!”

The LA Philharmonic is the pride of the US West Coast classical music scene.

The LA Philharmonic is considered comparable to the Big Five orchestras of the US East Coast, represented by the New York Philharmonic, Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Cleveland Orchestra, Boston Symphony Orchestra, and Philadelphia Orchestra.

It’s because of the LA Philharmonic that LA and California don’t get called ignorant places that know nothing about music.

“Esa-Pekka Salonen is the conductor of such a place and a composer who even created a dedication piece for LA! Mr. Salonen! I was deeply moved by last winter’s performance!”

“Haha. Thank you.”

‘What an amazing person…’

He’s the conductor and leader who guides the pride of the US West Coast.

‘So what?’

Josef II says his teacher’s eldest uncle is Johann II, his younger uncle is Josef, and his father is Eduard.

The beautiful harmonies unfolding from their fingertips on stage were Josef II’s textbook, and their anguished cries echoing in their small studio were his reference books.

And the instruments played secretly from family during lunch breaks and rest periods at work were his writing tools.

He didn’t particularly need a teacher.

‘I admit it.’

Josef II is a genius who can make such arrogant statements.

That’s why the decision comes easily.

Johann takes Larry’s hand.

“How many hours per week?”

“…Huh?”

“I have to go to school on weekdays and play baseball on weekends.”

And he has to compose in the evenings and hang out with Bruno Mars too.

“I have to exercise at dawn.”

Plus he has modeling work to do in between.

There wasn’t much time he could spare.

‘But I have to do it.’

Johann looks at the last violin of hope and Donafel.

‘Having received such a gift, just sitting still would be…’

His conscience pricks him.

When it comes to violin, he feels like he should become somewhat famous.

That would be courtesy toward the old man who transferred those treasures, and the sight the old man would want to see.

‘Plus there’s Josef II’s problem too.’

Josef II, trapped in the world of Strauss as much as his genius.

‘This person is too much of a groupie.’

A groupie who fanatically loves and follows celebrities or rock groups.

To broaden that world, the existence of a teacher was essential.

‘Well, those problems could be solved by absorbing and accessing other musicians…’

This choice seems like it could provide an alibi for bringing to the world the pieces of ‘the Waltz King, Johann Baptist Strauss II’ and ‘the tragic composer, Josef Strauss’ that ‘the authority on dance music, Eduard Strauss’ supposedly burned, those lost legacies.

‘I could say I composed them while practicing with this person. Then the question now is whether to be a faceless composer or a genius monster composer…’

This part seems like it needs more consideration.

Esa-Pekka Salonen’s mouth fell open at these arrogant words he’d never heard before.

“…Uhahahaha!”

Right. If it’s Johann Strauss II, this is how it should be.

Arrogant and haughty, the Waltz King.

Esa-Pekka Salonen wipes away tears from laughing too much and grins fiercely.

“How about 6 hours on Sundays?”

Esa-Pekka Salonen himself can’t spare time on weekdays anyway.

“Larry.”

Receiving people’s attention, Larry stares intently into Johann’s eyes before nodding.

“If that’s what you want.”

‘It’s not just perfect pitch.’

It’s something that far transcends that.

‘This child’s greatest talent might be the violin!’

He might have been born to become a great musician like Mozart, Beethoven, or Paganini of old.

Also, this is Johann who endured training from world-class model Giselle Buncheon.

Even if Esa-Pekka Salonen’s education is difficult, he should be able to overcome it sufficiently.

With Larry’s encouragement, Johann extends his hand toward Esa-Pekka Salonen.

“Deal.”

“Uhahahahaha!”

The two shake hands.

 

At Donati & Michelle after Johann and Larry left.

The old man smiles toward Esa-Pekka Salonen.

“Congratulations, Mr. Salonen.”

The classical music master Esa-Pekka Salonen, who hadn’t raised anyone he could call a disciple until now, has taken on a student. Probably countless people will be surprised.

“Haha. Thank you.”

“However…”

As far as the old man knows, Salonen is a conductor and composer.

He wasn’t a violin performer.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Johann is a brilliantly shining gem whose cutting is mostly finished.

He’s just still buried in mud.

“All I need to do is remove that mud.”

To become a lamp that illuminates the path ahead for that genius of a different caliber.

It would be enough to shine only until he can walk completely on his own. That’s about all he needed to do.

“While I’m at it, I’ll try teaching conducting too.”

He’s such an incredible child that you’d think he’s the reincarnation of Johann Strauss II.

Of course, he’s probably not really reincarnated, but he’s a child with ears so sensitive that he can play back exactly what he hears once.

‘And he performed a piece made for chamber orchestra as a violin solo!’

A chamber orchestra, a small-scale orchestra composed of 15-60 members.

It means he was born with tremendous talent for interpretation and arrangement.

This is both a violinist’s talent and the talent of an orchestra’s coordinator, a conductor. And it was a talent of a different caliber that couldn’t be compared to others.

‘That child will be able to inherit everything from me!’

He’s someone who hadn’t taken disciples because he couldn’t find a child with such talent until now. This time it would surely go according to his will.

The old man nods while looking at Esa-Pekka Salonen’s burning eyes.

“Hehe. I see.”

“But it’s regrettable.”

The rag the old man gifted to Johann is a piece he coveted too.

A violin like a prickly princess that has wonderful individual notes but can’t be played continuously. Many will regret it.

‘Plus that last violin!’

Such wonderful resonance that he momentarily mistook it for Guarneri’s cannon.

Regrettable. Unfortunate. But it was already done.

“But are you really going to quit? How about reconsidering?”

Where would they find a conductor’s baton once the old man retires?

Even if they found one, they’d probably have to look far away.

“Sigh. I’m sorry. Now…”

Esa-Pekka Salonen, filled with regret and disappointment, and the old man with a darkening expression began to chat quietly.

 

* * *

 

“Sigh. What should I do?”

Though he had purchased a violin for practice, the gift he received was too significant to just brush off.

That weight pressed down on his chest.

‘…Ah, that would work!’

“Johann!”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember how many violins are at Fairmont School?”

He seemed to know what he was trying to say.

But he was wrong.

“Twenty-four.”

Twenty-four violins alone.

Including cellos, flutes, and others, there are over fifty orchestral instruments.

“Th-that’s a lot…”

As befitting a prestigious school, they had many instruments prepared for educational materials.

“Some kids bring their own too.”

The instruments at school are only for beginners.

Children who learned instruments from a young age each have their own dedicated instruments, and all the kids taking Music II classes, which focus on practical performance, carry such personal instruments.

“You’re trying to boost Donati & Michelle’s sales, aren’t you, Larry?”

“…Well, they won’t accept money.”

Johann barely managed to buy a violin for practice.

“Then how about donating to other schools instead?”

“Other schools?”

“Public schools that don’t teach cultural instruments like violin.”

For instance, Alessandro School where his friend Julio Rodriguez attends.

It would be good to donate in Rocky Management’s name.

“Oh! That’s a great idea!”

“And… um. Could we also donate to Jerry’s school?”

‘If the school has violins, he could play to his heart’s content.’

It would be better than that cheap violin.

“That chatterbox… Ahem. You mean the friend you made at Spring Camp?”

“Yeah. If it weren’t for Jerry, I wouldn’t have experienced what happened today.”

Then Johann tells about what happened with Jerry.

“Ah… I see.”

Johann was right.

If it weren’t for that kid Jerry Goosby, they wouldn’t have known Johann had such tremendous talent.

‘Even if we found out, it would have been much later.’

“Good! Let’s do that! And let’s give that friend Jerry a violin too!”

“Huh? No, you don’t need to go that far.”

“It’s fine. I want to do it.”

Johann looked at Larry’s eyes and sighed as if he had no choice.

“I’ll contribute too. If you refuse, I’ll buy one separately.”

“…Ugh. Fine.”

“Make sure to get receipts when donating. We need to get tax benefits.”

“Haha! Ah, we’ve arrived.”

Larry parked the car in front of the house and took Johann’s luggage from the back seat into the house.

“If you’re going anywhere, make sure to contact me.”

“Yeah! See you later.”

As Larry, who barely made time in the morning, headed back to the company, Johann looked around the quiet yet cozy house.

‘Home.’

The place called home felt more certain after being elsewhere for ten days.

Suddenly, strength drained from his body and mind.

Drowsiness and fatigue washed over him.

He wanted to lie down on the bed and sleep soundly.

“This must be what they call home sweet home.”

Johann smiled and headed to his room.

“Whew! Ha!”

Coming to his room made the drowsiness even stronger.

“No.”

Johann shook his head, took out the violin with the chin rest attached, and absorbed ‘Great Master, Nicolao Amati’.

Then…

Drip!

Suddenly, a single tear flowed down his cheek.

Like being stabbed by an awl, sadness and regret, joy and pride spread from the center of his chest.

He carefully took out the piece Donafel made in her later years.

He stroked it as if handling glass that would break at a touch, and tapped it more carefully than holding a snowball.

Zing!

A sound that strongly resonated through the small room.

“…You’ve established your own style.”

If Stradivarius was a noble too proud to shed tears no matter how sad, and Guarneri was a humble farmer who could sit on the ground and wail when wanting to cry, this was the wife, no, the mother of such a humble farmer.

Sometimes more intense and rough than fire when angry, yet always caring for her child with meticulous love – a mother.

Sometimes like a cute girl, sometimes like a sage who knows all the world’s knowledge, and as loving as the Virgin Mary – a masterpiece among masterpieces that perfectly depicted all mothers in the world.

“Maria…”

It was the moment when a new name was given to a violin whose name had been forgotten through the long passage of time.

‘Just a little more.’

“No.”

Johann suppressed ‘Great Master, Nicolao Amati’ who wanted to feel Donafel just a little more, and took out an empty notebook luxuriously wrapped in leather from the bookshelf.

A leather notebook bought at the flea market.

“I don’t know if I can finish it all today.”

‘If I can’t finish, I’ll continue tomorrow.’

He had plenty of time anyway.

Johann picked up his pen.

Scribble scribble scribble scribble scribble!

 

* * *

 

Tap! Tap!

Early morning in front of Fairmont School Gate.

Johann kept his head down and rolled his eyes at the sound of shoes tapping the ground.

‘Why am I acting like this?’

Why was he keeping his head down and being cautious?

Still, he knew what he had to say now.

It was a truth of life he had realized through the countless men he had accessed so far.

“Sorry.”

“No-. What’s there to be sorry about. I’m just a friend, right?”

Clearly words that pierced his ears but seemed to stab his heart with their chilling tone.

Johann slightly raised his head, saw Emily’s expressionless face, and lowered his head again.

‘She’s really angry.’

She must have been this disappointed that he couldn’t contact her yesterday.

“I was busy.”

He had to do work approved by the ‘Great Master, Nicolao Amati’, and also had to record the unpublished piece ‘Do Not Weep’ by the ‘King of Waltz, Johann Baptist Strauss II’.

Both the violin version and the chamber orchestra version.

It took a lot of money and time to purchase virtual instruments.

And he had to reroute his connection IP to Austria to create a SoundCloud account.

By the time he finished all that work, it was almost 4 AM.

But he couldn’t tell her this.

“I was busy recording musical ideas that came to me at Spring Camp.”

Flinch!

“Re, recording?”

“I think it turned out as well as ‘Journey on a Dream Ship’.”

“Really?!”

“That’s why I’m asking, Emily. Would you like to do a featuring?”

“Me? A featuring? …Would that be okay?”

‘Ah, she’s softened up.’

More precisely, the topic had been diverted.

“Yeah. I’d like Emily to do it. It won’t be difficult. Please.”

“If you’re asking like that…”

“Thank you.”

‘I should use this method from now on.’

And he should hurry up and compose ‘For Victory’ that came to him at Spring Camp.

“Ah, I’m not over being angry yet, so don’t smile like that!”

“Okay.”

“I said don’t smile!”

“Johann-!”

“…Hey! Flash! Why didn’t you contact us yesterday-! Do you know how long we waited?!”

“Uh… why?”

“What did you say? Why?!”

Johann looked at Flash digging his own grave and turned around.

He had to escape to school before the sparks flew his way.

Just as he arrived at the lobby.

“Oh?”

“So what we were waiting for… wha, what’s that?”

“Wow! Johann, you got a banner!”

“…Indeed.”

Johann stared blankly at the banner hanging from the lobby ceiling that read ‘Congratulations to Johann Jefferson and Flash Thompson on making the California West Roster! All the way to the World Series! From all Fairmont School faculty and staff’.

Somehow his chest felt tight.

“Oh-! Student Johann Jefferson!”

Johann was puzzled to see the seagull-bearded teacher in a tuxedo running toward him, the teacher from Music II class.

 

* * *

 

Swoosh!

“Oh my.”

Early morning.

The old man, who was chasing away sleep with a sip of coffee and bringing his carving knife to the grinder, was startled and pulled the knife back.

“I was about to sharpen the knife out of habit.”

Not out of habit, but as a habit.

Donati & Michelle, which had been operating in the same location ever since his grandfather’s grandfather established roots in LA.

Before opening the shop, finishing yesterday’s incomplete work was the old man’s daily routine.

His routine for nearly seventy years since first picking up a carving knife at age 10.

The old man sitting in the creaking chair looked around the small workshop filled with the scent of wood, the workshop attached to the store.

A warm smile formed on his lips.

‘Come to think of it, there were so many things that happened.’

He picked up the carving knife wanting to become a wonderful man like his focused father, and invited the beautiful young lady Michelle from the nearby flower shop to propose to her.

He brought the baby that was born with difficulty to show him the workshop, and beat his sons and daughters with a club when they brought their girlfriends to do mischievous things while he was briefly away. Eventually all those rascals became companions to his children.

The workshop that shared his life and memories.

It was quite long, but equally short life.

The old man’s face gradually contorted.

‘I don’t want to quit.’

He wanted to carve those wooden boards that had been properly dried for ten, twenty years.

He wanted to see the faces of customers who were still happy and satisfied.

The smile of a child happy to receive a gift from parents.

The face of a young customer swiping their card saying it’s to commemorate getting into music school.

The trembling of middle-aged people trying to find their childhood dreams at a late age.

The appearance of parents pleased by their children’s joy.

He wanted to keep seeing that.

He wanted to die while watching that.

But…

“It’s impossible, impossible.”

Even if he wanted to see that, there were no customers to come.

A world that increasingly sought cheap and convenient things.

There was no longer a place for craftsmen who insisted on old ways.

‘Would it have been different if I had been a world-class craftsman like Stradivari or Guarneri.’

Or would it have been different now if the family secrets hadn’t been lost and continued to be passed down through generations like the renowned makers of Cremona in Italy or Markneukirchen and Klingenthal in Germany.

True masterpieces don’t discriminate by era.

“Sigh. Meaningless thoughts…”

What’s lost is lost.

If he obsessed over that, the past seventy years of his life, his life as a craftsman, would become meaningless. Since he didn’t fail to make efforts, since he was confident he worked harder than anyone, he shouldn’t have regrets.

A life where he shed blood and sweat trying to make better instruments somehow.

Still, he wanted to ask.

“Did I do well, Father? Did I uphold the spirit of Donati…?”

Don’t seek comfort.

Don’t judge by status.

Don’t become arrogant since instruments are just instruments.

Make as many people smile as possible.

The spirit of Donati passed down from generation to generation.

“…I’ve gotten old too.”

Though the passion in his heart remained the same, he sometimes fell into such melancholy thoughts.

Shaking his head, he stood up.

It was time to open the store.

“At most a year, I suppose.”

That’s how long it would take to sell all the instruments in the store.

Although the person who bought the heirlooms thankfully sold as many as twenty violins, there were still many instruments left in the store.

Knock knock knock!

“Mr. Donati!”

“Oh!”

A welcome guest, the grateful Delivery Man who occasionally brings news of his children who moved to other states.

The Old Man, Donati, rushes over in quick steps and opens the shop door for him.

“You’re at the shop again today.”

“Old folks don’t need much sleep.”

“Haha. Today it’s not a letter but a package. Please sign here.”

“Thank you again today.”

After seeing off the Delivery Man, Donati examines the rather heavy box.

‘I wonder who sent this gift.’

Could it be his children, or perhaps his grandchildren?

With anticipation, he checks the sender but becomes puzzled.

“Cremona?”

It’s even written in Italian.

If his now-deceased Wife Michelle hadn’t been of Italian descent, he wouldn’t have been able to read it.

“To my dear disciple and friend Donafel Donati…?”

The name of the Donati Family’s founder.

“Who would play such a prank…”

The first person that comes to mind is his mischievous Youngest daughter.

Frowning as he opens the box, he freezes in place.

“Th-this is?!”

 

Everything About Amati.

 

Cursive writing on Leather Notebooks heavily marked by the passage of time.

Donati, turning the first page with trembling hands, could only be shocked.

 

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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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