The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 68 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

The enchanting piano sound, intoxicated with the pinnacle of romantic lyricism and elegant sweetness.

"It's Chopin."

It's a bit embarrassing to say, but I can only barely recognize that it's Chopin.

I'm not sure what the title of this music is.

Being such a famous composer, I only know that I've heard this piece before.

A quiet and romantic piece.

A melody that flows like dreaming on a spring night, evoking numerous sweet memories.

Art is as much as you know.

Does the same apply to music?

If I learn more about this beautiful piece, will I feel more? Or does ignorance enhance the raw emotion that music offers?

Very quiet and peaceful, yet filled with melancholy as it soaks into the night.

A movement drawing tender memories with sensitive sensibility.

This was the emotion felt through Irina's performance.

A log cabin by a deserted lakeside.

A mans pained face, merely watching a beautiful woman walking at night, from a small boat.

The performer is definitely a woman, but a man's image comes to mind.

Probably because its Irina's performance, known for understanding Chopin the best.

Irina's performance, lasting a few minutes, is so quiet yet emotionally overwhelming.

"It's a fortune."

Not comparable to the luck experienced in a strange art gallery, but who else in the world could watch Irina, renowned as the world's best pianist, perform alone in such a magnificent concert hall?

If Irina becomes a pianist who leaves her name in history, people of the future will surely envy me at this moment. I closed my eyes, entrusting my body and emotions to the music.

When I unwittingly sway to the musical message she conveys, her piano sound disappears as silently as it arrived. I sat with closed eyes, feeling the aftertaste.

Finally, when I opened my eyes, I tried to leave quietly.

Irina must have been checking her condition before the performance. I didn't want to be a nuisance.

But when I opened my eyes, I couldn't achieve my original intention.

On stage, Irina, sitting at the piano, was looking at me.

Embarrassed, I quickly stood up and bowed.

"Sorry."

The vast theater.

But my voice echoes loudly in the quiet theater.

Irina, sitting on what seems to be hundreds of piano chairs, smiles softly and speaks.

"How was it?"

"Excuse me?"

Irina closes her eyes and imitates me.

Bending and straightening her back, making a strange pose as if heading an invisible ball.

Could it be that I did something like that?

Embarrassment reddens my face.

"Oh, it was so beautiful."

"You seemed to be seeing something."

"................................"

I did see a fantasy in the music. But it's too embarrassing to tell her.

"Haha."

"Will you tell me what you saw? It's important to me."

Why would what I felt matter to her? Suddenly, I realized, as artists in different fields, she might be seeking direction for her performance from my feelings.

If I asked someone looking at my painting the same question, I would want a sincere answer. If I understand her the most, I should give her a correspondingly sincere response.

"Um, unrequited love, maybe?"

A smile plays across Irina's face.

Wow, she's so pretty when she smiles.

Behind her beautiful face, I can almost see a fantastical explosion of ornate snowflakes.

"Do you want to continue?"

Embarrassed, I idly scratched my head.

"Actually, it's a bit embarrassing to say, but I'll be honest since you'd want that."

I took a breath and coughed before speaking.

"It reminded me of a teacher from my middle school days."

Irina gestures for me to continue.

"I don't know about Poland, but in South Korea, students from teacher's colleges come to schools for practice. They usually stay for about a month, not much older than the students themselves. The teacher who came to our class in middle school was a very pretty woman."

Irina, seemingly interested, turns around and sits facing me.

Having spoken loudly enough for Irina on the stage to hear, I gestured to ask if I could come closer. She signals for me to approach.

Not climbing onto the stage, I sat in the front row of the audience and continued.

"Unrequited love, or puppy love. I experienced that as a middle schooler."

Thinking back, it was childish, but it was painfully intense at that time.

"I hated going home. So, I'd stay back pretending to exercise, just to steal glances at her. I couldn't even speak to her, but just watching was enough. When I later found out she was in a relationship with a male teacher who came with her, I went home and cried alone, haha."

It was embarrassing to speak of, but strangely, the words came out.

Is it because we are the only two in this large theater? Last time, I thought she was quite uncomfortable, but why this change?

Maybe it's because I learned she also had a tough childhood like me?

Honestly, I find my own change peculiar.

Irina nods and says,

"Do you know Nam Soo-hyun, the pianist?"

Of course. He's a superstar born in South Korea.

He dominated the Chopin and Beethoven competitions and is a phenomenal pianist who even made it to the Billboard with his classical compositions.

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