Chapter 794: Question (15)

Everything in this world eventually disappears.

The temples built to worship gods, the generals who command vast armies, even the emperors who rule the world—sooner or later, they all vanish.

But not everything disappears.

Stories remain.

Just as the story of a very ancient hero named Gilgamesh has been passed down to modern humanity for over four thousand years.

Stories possess immortality as long as humans continue to exist.

"Well, my music probably won't reach that level..."

Sun Myungju murmured while looking at the grand piano.

His own handwriting, scribbled across the score, caught his eye.

[Question]

Among all the pieces he had written, it was the one he considered his greatest work.

Of course, if one were to judge purely by impact, another piece might surpass it.

And if one were to consider the breadth of its variations, another composition would likely outshine it.

But when it came to the pure enjoyment he pursued in music itself, nothing could surpass Question.

It was fun.

Regardless of the message the piece carried, the first thing it was—was simply fun.

Hadn't everyone experienced something like that at least once?

After playing all day until completely exhausted, you lie down on your bed and begin wondering what tomorrow will bring.

What will you do?

What might happen?

Question was a piece written with exactly that intention.

A song designed so that, after a festival-like burst of excitement, the lingering feeling would lead naturally into those thoughts.

"I wonder if it'll work the way I intended."

He murmured while stroking his slender chin.

Perhaps because it felt like a piece that would suit the musical trends twenty years in the future, he had no sense of how people of that future would react.

His gaze dropped toward the child in his arms.

"What do you think, son?"

But the boy sleeping peacefully against his chest only shifted slightly in his sleep, breathing softly without answering.

Soft, plump cheeks.

His five-year-old son, unaware of what his father was saying, continued to squirm gently.

"Oh dear... hey now."

Although he was only five, he had grown faster than other children his age.

His long arms and legs kept slipping down.

Adjusting his posture like someone holding a giant cat, Sun Myungju wiped his sweat.

His wife had collapsed from exhaustion after childcare and filming, so the father was now taking care of their son.

A small smile appeared on his face.

"This is still the good time."

Right now the boy clung to him calling him Dad.

But in just a few years he would grow taller and taller.

Perhaps this was the last moment when Mom and Dad were the center of his world.

Holding his son close, Sun Myungju looked back at the score in front of him.

"Hmm..."

Every legacy left behind by humanity becomes immortal through stories.

Music was the same.

Simply put, when music carries a narrative, it tends to be remembered longer.

"This is a song I worked hard on in my studio and recorded!"

Or—

"I wrote this rock and roll song when I was addicted to drugs, hoping to escape that addiction."

Between those two explanations, the latter would obviously move the public more.

Of course, that did not mean one should invent stories that never happened.

"But adding a bit of spice wouldn't hurt."

The musician smiled mischievously as he thought about remarks that might resonate with people twenty years in the future.

Even music existed in an age where self promotion mattered.

"I should mention things like the Pathfinder probe or Dolly the cloned sheep... start lightly and move toward something more serious..."

Using symbols only he could understand, Sun Myungju scribbled notes for his remarks on a sheet of paper.

Then he placed his hands on the piano keys.

Carefully pressing the high keys on the far right so that his son would not wake.

Ting—

Ting— ting—

As the notes flowed into his mind, his thoughts slowly became organized.

His wife said that when she heard sounds like this she could see colors.

He had always been curious about what kind of sensation that must be.

"Hmm... come to think of it, that's a Question too."

Chuckling at his own pun, the musician tapped lightly on the keys.

The basic melody of Question repeated itself.

The son in his arms stirred slightly.

Ever since he had been in the womb, the child had reacted whenever he heard beautiful music.

"As expected of my son."

The handsome man grinned foolishly as he looked at the boy, his personal detector of great music.

Then he turned the page of the score.

His soft voice whispered into the ear of his sleeping son.

"You know something? I actually wrote this piece while thinking of you."

Though he had added decorative words when introducing Question, the truth was that the piece was about the generation his son belonged to.

A concert created by imagining a future where he himself no longer existed.

And naturally, the person he was most curious about in that future was his one and only son.

Are you eating well?

Do you have good friends?

Are you happy?

Those questions were woven into the music.

From there, the piece expanded into a broader message.

"What is your world like?"

"Audience members... the piece you are about to hear..."

Just as he was about to rehearse the serious introduction he had prepared—

Grrrrrr.

A sound came from somewhere.

Sun Myungju blinked.

"That wasn't me."

Looking down, he saw that his son had woken up and was staring up at him.

Bright eyes.

The boy placed a hand on his rumbling stomach.

"Dad."

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

"..."

All the countless questions contained within the music vanished instantly.

Another question filled the musician's mind.

Letting out a helpless laugh, the genius asked his son seriously,

"Are you very hungry?"

Nod nod.

"Let's go to the kitchen. Dad will cook something delicious for dinner."

"Okay."

"Quietly, so we don't wake Mom."

"Quietly."

Holding hands, father and son tiptoed toward the kitchen.

Twenty years later.

People watching the live broadcast on their smartphones and televisions stared with their mouths wide open.

"Wow."

They had been completely drawn into the magical remarks.

Before they realized it, the stage was now filled with performers.

It was the ending stage of the day.

A famous American jazz pianist pressed a minor chord, and the opening of the piece began gently.

—That impact is insane

—Anyone who didn't watch today's PBS live broadcast will regret it LOL

—Wooju I'm sorry but I'm a fan of your father now

—Anyway that's how it is Wooju

—Wooju go buy Melona

—Billboard ranked him one of the greatest musicians of the 90s ← but it's actually true

—Forbes ranked him number one man who stole my heart

—Those remarks were insane

The internet buzzed with reactions to the remarks they had just heard.

But once Question truly began—

The pace of online posts slowed down.

Everyone had become absorbed in the performance.

"Wow..."

"I have terrible ears but this song is really good..."

"Whoa..."

It felt like music standing on the border between classical and jazz, reminiscent of George Gershwin.

There were even musicians playing instruments people had never seen before.

The song that began quietly gradually revealed playful and witty variations, prompting viewers to raise the volume on their televisions.

"It's good."

It was a song that seemed to carry the hope and optimism about the future that people in the 1990s had felt.

An oddly fascinating fusion of a slightly old fashioned message and a modern sounding melody.

As the piano solo continued, people sighed in admiration.

—Best song I've heard this year

—Well it's January

—LOL okay but it's the best song I've heard including last year

—Best instrumental I've ever heard

—I think I know what Sun Wooju will be like in ten years LOL

—Did his father actually see the future? I'd believe this came out today

—Wooju I trust that you prepared a release for this song

As the drums and saxophone intertwined brilliantly, the piece entered its climax.

The music that captivated everyone ended at around three minutes and forty seconds.

"What? It should be longer!"

It was a surprisingly short piece.

But in an age where people's attention spans were growing shorter and shorter, it was the perfect length.

The composer had intentionally considered how even the most powerful emotional stimulus would dull if it lasted longer than ten minutes.

Because of that, the audience's emotional response had reached its peak.

"WAAAAAA!"

Like at a classical concert, the audience rose to their feet and erupted into cheers and applause.

The musicians stood as well, bowing politely toward the audience.

For a moment the broadcast showed members of Sun Myungju's fan club crying openly.

Then the camera returned to the stage.

"Encore!"

"Encore!"

Small voices began rising from somewhere.

The musicians on stage smiled faintly.

"Didn't that encore voice sound like Jiho?"

"No way."

It was correct.

"Good job. Informant number five."

"Heh. Thank you."

The youngest, who had been encouraging the crowd to shout for an encore, received a pat on the head as his reward.

Meanwhile people who had been preparing to change the television channel suddenly brightened.

"Is there more?"

The musicians smiled at the audience calling for an encore and sat down again.

The screen zoomed in on the face of Camila Baker, a saxophonist regarded as a legend of the modern era.

The elegant woman in an evening dress signaled to the pianist.

"Oh."

Beginning with a delicate piano solo, the jazz band started playing again.

What followed was an improvisation.

[For Sun]

That caption appeared on the PBS broadcast as the musicians began to improvise.

—When world class musicians gather they can do this on the spot

—Some of the performers there were introduced as Sun Myungju's students in that documentary

—His eye for talent was incredible

—Listening to this encore makes me cry

—This performance must have meant a lot to them too

Each of the musicians had their own ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) stories connected to Sun Myungju.

Through improvisation, they were performing their own requiem.

On the screen behind the stage, photos and archival footage of the late musician appeared.

Meanwhile the performers immersed themselves in the music.

Piano keys struck.

Saxophones sang.

Cellos resonated.

The sounds blended together like a painting.

Free.

Emotional.

It was a performance that showed exactly what jazz truly was.

Strangely enough, when listening to Question, there was a peculiar feeling.

It was clearly a song asking questions to people twenty years in the future.

But somehow—

It felt like it was asking me something personally.

"Wooju."

A staff member spoke to me.

"It's almost time for you to go out."

"Yes."

I checked my appearance in the mirror.

This was the waiting room used by conductors and main performers before they went out to the stage at the Seoul Arts Center.

"Here."

The stylist fixed my tie.

I nodded in thanks and looked at my reflection again.

Good smile.

Nothing stuck in my teeth.

"WAAAAAA!"

Cheers echoed from outside.

The concert and the broadcast had ended.

But I still had one more task.

I would step out and thank the audience for coming.

After the encore stage filled with the musicians' emotions ended—

"WAAAAAA!"

I entered the stage in place of Sun Myungju.

Bright lights.

Thunderous applause.

Just stepping onto the stage made my heart race.

Perhaps I truly was someone meant for the stage.

"Yes."

Standing before the microphone, I looked out at the audience.

Fatigue.

Excitement.

Happiness.

Seeing those many expressions, I smiled gently.

"I have come up here on behalf of my father. Thank you very much for coming today."

I shook hands with Camila Baker who approached me.

"First, please give a round of applause to the musicians who worked hard for today's performance. Camila Baker, Raymond Irwin..."

Each time a musician's name was called, the audience cheered.

But as I was about to continue speaking—

A murmur suddenly spread through the aisle in the audience.

What?

For a moment I thought it was a trick of my eyes.

A white dress shirt.

Black pants.

A similar hairstyle.

In the dim aisle of the audience stood someone who looked like my father.

"..."

They said that if you didn't sleep for a long time you could see hallucinations.

For a moment I wondered if that was what I had seen.

But the musicians around me were murmuring too.

"Did you see that?"

"What? Someone dressed like Sun Myungju..."

As people's attention gathered, the figure hurriedly left his seat.

Several people followed after him.

I glanced at them and decided to ignore it.

There was no way that could be real.

I didn't know which attention seeker had done it for attention, but my father did not walk like that.

"Once again, thank you for coming today."

After thanking the audience, I stepped down from the stage.

The performers and staff who had maintained a solemn mood during the ending soon gathered together and began chatting excitedly.

Pop!

A staff member opened a bottle of champagne.

"Great work today!"

"That was truly an incredible stage!"

The air was thick with sweat.

I hugged the musicians who were drenched in it and congratulated them on the successful performance.

I loosened my tie and bumped shoulders with the exhausted performers.

"You all worked so hard."

"Today is just the beginning. We still have a long way to go."

Seeing the performers whose bodies still steamed with heat from their dedication to the performance made me smile.

Camila Baker wiped sweat from her face with a handkerchief and asked,

"But what was that at the end? Someone who looked like Myungju was standing in the middle of the audience. Was that part of the show?"

I asked the manager standing beside me.

Seokhwan clicked his tongue.

"The guards caught him earlier. Apparently he's a MyTube creator. He was dressed to look like your father and trying to film a prank."

"A MyTube creator?"

"He was babbling so I didn't catch everything, but you know. Those channels that make prank content."

"If you're going to prepare something, at least make it interesting."

"What should we do?"

"You handle it, hyung."

I glanced at Seokhwan nodding grimly and returned to the musicians.

When I explained that it had been an attention seeking MyTube prankster, the musicians kindly supplied words such as "asshole" and "moron."

Compared to how angry they seemed, I didn't feel particularly upset.

I had already experienced too many emotional moments today to be shaken by something like that.

When I was younger, I had chased after strangers countless times just because their silhouettes looked like my father.

"Alright."

I clapped my hands to energize the musicians.

"You performed an incredible concert, so you deserve an incredible meal. You need to eat well if you're going to perform again tomorrow and the day after."

"Ooooooh!"

"Tonight's dinner is charcoal grilled meat!"

"Charcoal! Charcoal!"

During the week they had spent in Korea I had taught them many Korean words.

But this was the first time they had pronounced one perfectly.

"Kim Deoksun! Kim Deoksun!"

I had no idea why they were chanting my grandmother's name too.

Watching the musicians march toward the charcoal grill with my grandmother smiling shyly beside them made me laugh.

Then I looked at the guys standing nearby.

"Should we eat something good too?"

"You worked hard preparing this concert, hyung. I'll treat everyone to meat today."

Junhyun declared proudly while rummaging through his pockets.

"You didn't bring your wallet, did you?"

"...No."

"Right. I'll accept the thought instead."

"I have a card."

Biju extended his card at just the right moment.

Laughter broke out.

"Today Biju's paying!"

We cheered and joked about eating a hundred servings while spending time with the staff.

Afterward—

The empty concert hall came into view.

"It's finally over."

"You worked really hard."

Ri Hyuk placed a hand on my shoulder and patted it.

"You must've worked so hard preparing all this. When we get back, rest properly."

"Yeah. I will."

But my work wasn't completely finished yet.

I stretched as I watched a small camera being set up on the stage.

Strictly speaking, my father's concert had ended.

But it wasn't truly over yet.

Curtain call.

I had prepared one more stage that would leave the lingering emotion of today even deeper.

After the concert ended—

The internet exploded with headlines.

"Two hours with musician Sun Myungju, whose sincerity crossed twenty years."

"Highest ratings in ten years for PBS1? His final greeting moved the entire nation."

"Like father like son — the national father and son who moved the country through music."

Search rankings from one to ten were completely filled with topics about Sun Myungju's concert.

Across social media and communities, discussions about the performance were erupting.

Even people who had taken a nap or ignored the news earlier were startled.

"What? Everyone watched this except me?"

Not only online.

Even offline in restaurants and cafés, people were talking about the concert.

"Wooju's father was really handsome."

"I heard the last song today was actually improvised..."

"Geniuses aren't called geniuses for nothing. This is the first time I've ever thought someone was a musical genius."

The topic spread from table to table.

It had become the biggest topic of the day.

The return of a genius.

And the music that proved his reputation.

While the excitement had not yet faded—

"Huh?"

Subscribers of NewBlack TV tilted their heads.

"Why is there a live broadcast at this hour..."

A MyTube live notification appeared.

[Answer]

When they clicked it—

A grand piano at the Seoul Arts Center appeared on the screen.

And seated in front of it was Wooju.

"What?"

"Wooju started a live broadcast. The title is Answer."

"Answer?"

As the title Question naturally appeared in people's minds—

As if responding to the questions his father had asked the future—

The son's fingers rose onto the piano keys.