God of Piano

Of course, it wasn’t surprising. In the world of classical music, they are like gods. Compared to them, Rowoon is obviously helpless, and it was only natural that he should find meaning in chasing them.

But why is he feeling this thirst?

Pogrure.

Rowoon lowered his legs and slowly sank to the bottom of the pool. I hid my face in the water and smiled. I can’t even understand the subject. Do you dare to be jealous of Bach and Chopin now? Because you can’t make music that resembles them?

Rowoon came out of the water. She brushed back her water-soaked hair and stood still, basking in the sunlight. And I opened my eyes.

Lesson time is near. I couldn’t keep Baum waiting.

#

“Wow, wait. what is this play? Who is playing?”

“Um, isn’t that Goldberg? Isn’t that Gregor then?”

“No, it might be Ron. I think I heard the other day that Gregor and Ron both do Goldbeck.”

“Well, it’s a bit unusual for Gregor. …but Ron was able to play this far?”

“Oh, you haven’t taken piano lessons, so I don’t know. You must have heard the puppy waltz that Ron did in Studio Class. Isn’t that the old Ron?”

“Damn it, I don’t know. I have no time to admire others. I am busy preparing for my audition.”

“He’s suddenly getting into reality again. bodily.”

A grumbling voice hovered in front of the classroom and then faded away. Baum couldn’t understand the contents of the conversation, but he could roughly figure out what the nuance was.

‘It’s admirable.’

Rowoon’s growth was to the point of being dazzling. Rowoon before the puppy waltz and Rowoon now could be described as completely different performers. Keyring, pedaling, rubato, my own interpretation, and delicate expressions of embellishments, etc. Rowoon was throwing off the shell of an amateur every day.

‘It’s strange. It’s definitely not the stage where you can have your own color like this…’

There is no exact formula, but it is only after technique and other things reach a certain level that pianists show off their own colors. Unless you are imitating someone, it was almost impossible to create your own color with insufficient skills.

Nevertheless, Rowoon’s performance had a distinct color.

In reality it was like this. If normal people start to sketch with a pencil and then pick up a brush and start coloring, Rowoon’s performance was randomly applying color to Chopin’s and Bach’s brushes before the sketch was properly settled.

Normally, I would say that if you draw like that without any countermeasures, you will end up with a strange work. However, the story was different if the owners of the brush were Chopin and Bach. If you don’t believe them, what are you playing the piano for in the first place?

As a result, Rowoon’s performance was inevitably different from that of others. Colors painted without a sketch. It may seem bizarre and esoteric right now, but the moment their plan reaches completion…

‘······At that time, what kind of performance am I playing?’

Are they playing like Bach and Chopin?

······Can we play on the same line as them?

It’s still too far to tell. Following the Goldberg Variations, Rowoon also played Chopin’s Prelude No. 4 and the dog’s waltz. I didn’t give it too much time because I was concentrating on the Goldberg Variations, but the dog’s waltz’s score was still going up, and it was already 59 points. Even Baum had to nod his head in front of that waltz.

“At least no one at Hidden Valley High School can do the doggie waltz better than you.”

“Would this be the case among applicants to the California Conservatory?”

“I don’t know. The world is wide and there are many monsters. But, well. don’t know You might one day become one of those monsters.”

It was a strange compliment, but Rowoon smiled.

It wasn’t so easy to hear nagging in Baum’s lessons these days. It was because even Baum knew. It was not difficult to find problems in Rowoon’s performance. However, as much as it was, it was visible that Rowoon’s numerous problems were rapidly diminishing whenever they appeared in the lesson room.

In addition, fingering (about how many fingers are pressed on the keyboard) is also uncooked and stuttering in the hand, but it is rare to find an error in the order itself.

Of course, it was also because Bach and Chopin gave advice on fingering through correction notes, but Baum, who did not know him, had no choice but to admire him.

Rowoon’s direction was already very straight. All that was left was to really practice. Rowoon knew him too. It never occurred to me that there could be a better way than to follow Bach and Chopin’s bidding, without Baum’s approval.

The direction of practice could no longer be touched by Rowoon or Baum. If so, what should I touch? What can he choose?

All that remained was the goal.

‘Puppy Waltz, 60 points.’

If there was a song he could score 60 the fastest in the future, it would probably be the doggie waltz. And if the condition for unlocking the performance log was 60 points, then there would be more numerical goals for other songs as well.

It didn’t matter even if it wasn’t the conditions for unlocking the performance log. In any case, the higher the score, the worse it would be, and later, another lesson function might require a high score as a condition for unlocking it.

However, the moment people get greedy, people always get away from it.

From the moment I insisted on getting over 60 points, Rowoon’s performance stayed at 58 points, 57 points, and sometimes 55 points, let alone 59 points.

Remembering the first time I passed 50 points with a puppy waltz, I tried to put my mind down. I tried not to rush. However, the moment that effort was put in, the performance could no longer remain as a performance.

“…”

“Why are you so blank? Today, depending.”

“just.”

Cathedral.

Mila was looking down at Rowoon, who was sitting in the funeral chair.

It wasn’t that Bach gave me another homework about the cathedral. However, it was not okay to show his face only once and disappear, and above all, it felt quite good that someone needed him.

Rowoon raised his head and looked at Mila.

“Are you here to feel this way too? here.”

“I am coming because of God?”

“I think you said you came because you had something to pray for.”

“That’s right too. Why believe in God if you have nothing to pray for?”

“That’s oddly right. So what are you praying for?”

“Don’t even think about listening if you’re not going to do it.”

“Isn’t it? Will I be able to make it happen?”

“No, you can’t do it.”

Mila said firmly. As if there is nothing to worry about. From that attitude, I could roughly tell how much of an impossible wish she had. Rowoon smiled at Mila like that.

“Well, I don’t have anything to pray for either.”

“What?”

“A prayer you can’t fulfill.”

That meant I couldn’t tell you. Mila, who had been beaten with her own logic, put on a tingling expression on the back of her head for a moment, then sighed.

“So why is your expression rotten today? Because of that prayer?”

“No, wanting to pray is something else… I just have a lot of miscellaneous thoughts when I play.”

“I think I know roughly.”

Mila’s attitude was that it didn’t need to be explained further. Although it differs from case to case, it was usually obvious that the performers had random thoughts during the performance. Its root must be rooted in greed.

Rowoon asked.

“…are you like that too?”

“In the past. Not now.”

“How did you get over it?”

“I think I once had an argument with you about this topic.”

Rowoon searched for memories. I’ve had countless fights with Mila, honestly, but only one related to this topic.

Rowoon opened his mouth. But before he could say an answer, Mila kicked the ball.

“I like singing in an imperfect state as it is right now. satisfied.”

“But don’t you want to develop further?”

“I want to. But do you deserve to be satisfied only when you develop and develop, when you can’t progress further? Do you think such a moment will ever come in your life or in our life in the first place? When Beethoven died, ‘It is finished. I’m perfect.’ Did you think so?”

It wasn’t just a feeling that I was thinking about right now. I feel like I’m spitting out the words that I’ve been hiding inside me for a very long time. Rowoon was so overwhelmed by Mila that he couldn’t say anything. Mila raised her finger and aimed it at Rowoon.

“It’s okay as it is.”

“・・・・・Yes, thank you.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not talking about you. it’s for me therefore.”

Mila got up. In the hall after Mass, under the shining mosaic instead of lights, she said solemnly as if I were a nun.

“Make me like you more. yes play. You are pitiful.”

Is his playing pitiful, or is he pitiful.

It was an embarrassing question to ask. Rowoon nodded and sat down in front of the piano in search of a weekend practice building. I thought for a moment, recalling Mila’s words, then took out my Walkman and pressed the record button.

and played

Of course, miraculously, the 60 points did not happen immediately. Music may be a mathematical art, but the mind is not. A few words do not change a person’s heart in an instant. Greed also does not disappear in an instant.

However, the degree of direction can change.

[ Now you play a little less disgusting. ]

Chopin’s tone softened a little.

Rowoon continued to play. I would be lying if I said I gave up all my greed. But at least he tried not to hate my lack of playing anymore. working so hard I love music so much. Isn’t there any reason to cut down on such a person’s performance?

Accept your inadequacies. Even if you have greed, you are not led by it. Focus on the blooming melody and enjoy the sweetness of the moment. And, just like that…

[ The playing score is 60 points. ]

A pianist is growing up.

＜ Only one performance (3) ＞ End

＜ Only one performance (4) ＞

Chopin’s Prelude Op.28 No.4 is famous for being played at his funeral.

As such, the working title of this song, Suffocation, often leads people to vaguely think that Chopin’s end would just be a frustrating feeling.

However, the name actually attached to this song is more delicate and specific than that. Sande, Chopin’s lover, gave names to all of his preludes, and this one bears these names.

— In the depths of that damp monastery, what tears were shed?

#