December 1882.
Saint Petersburg, Russia.
This city was called Leningrad until Lenin's death in 1924, but the people living here all referred to it by its old name, Saint Petersburg. December in Russia was incredibly cold. Geon walked through desolate dirt fields, scanning his surroundings.
"Is this another dream? It feels so cold, even in a dream. Ahh~"
He tugged at his coat, seeking shelter from the biting cold. In the distance, he spotted several buildings. They weren't tall, but as he approached, more buildings came into view. The ground, once just earth, was gradually taking on the form of roads. Occasionally, as he walked amidst the buildings, he glimpsed a few scattered people.
Towering Westerners, bundled in thick coats and fur hats, walked by, heads bowed against the sharp, cutting winds. To withstand the biting cold, people hunched over, focusing only on the ground as they walked. Geon maneuvered through these individuals, weaving between the large buildings. Typically, the spaces between tall buildings were windy, but here, perhaps due to the low walls, the wind was less fierce.
Surveying his surroundings with a slightly improved expression, Geon touched a wrought iron lamppost on the street.
"A wrought iron lamppost, must be from a long time ago. It doesn't seem like it's from Europe, judging by its design."
The lamppost had a diamond-shaped light fixture atop a black column, yet since it wasn't dark yet, the light remained unlit.
As he looked around, amidst the other buildings, Geon noticed one significantly larger structure. It was rectangular with numerous arched windows and elaborate decorations adorning its exterior. Even at a glance, it didn't seem like an ordinary residential building. Fascinated by its uncommon architecture, Geon approached.
"Wow, it's massive. Is it because the other buildings are relatively smaller? It seems even grander up close."
Admiring the impressive architecture, Geon wandered around, taking in the view. Suddenly, he heard voices, a dispute between two men, from a distance. Intrigued by what sounded like a discussion about music, Geon, stealing a glance, noticed two men seated on a bench a short distance away.
One man in his fifties, dressed in a brown winter suit with black, cropped curls, held rolled-up music sheets and spoke in an agitated tone.
"Pyotr! Why would you come all the way here to compose a Russian quintet piece? Are you trying to disgrace our Saint Petersburg Conservatory with such mediocre music?"
Another man, in his forties, with neatly groomed hair and beard, responded, gesturing with the music sheets in his hand.
"Anton, have you listened to the symphony I composed? Do you really think it's mediocre?"
Anton, in a disappointed tone, replied while examining the rolled-up sheets.
"The storm piece you submitted. Do you realize how disappointing it is? What will other professors think? If this is how it is, go to Moscow with Nikolai! Your music and our Saint Petersburg's style are too different!"
Pyotr, silently looking at Anton with a forlorn expression, prompted Anton to hand over the music sheets before leaving. Pyotr stood there, gazing at the sheets in his hands.
Geon, inadvertently eavesdropping, glanced at Pyotr and, catching his eye, startled and awkwardly twisted his neck.
Seeing Geon's reaction, Pyotr chuckled and approached him.
Geon, flustered, stood up and explained, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just heard loud voices while passing by..."
Pyotr waved it off reassuringly, "It's alright. Don't worry. Can I sit for a moment? I'm feeling a bit dizzy."
Geon hastily gestured towards the bench, "Of course! Please, have a seat."
As Pyotr sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his forehead in his hands, he glanced at Geon.
"You look like a teenager, are you a student here? Oh, but it can't be. You seem to be in your late teens. If you were a student here, you would have studied for over ten years, wouldn't you?"
Geon shook his head, denying it, "Oh, no. I was just passing by."
Pyotr turned to face him again, "Ah, I see. Thankfully. It wouldn't be good to expose younger students to embarrassing scenes. Well, it won't matter soon since I'll be leaving here anyway."
Pyotr suddenly seemed to recall something, turning back to look at Geon and scrutinizing his face.
"Hmm... if it's not impolite to ask, Mister. You appear to be East Asian, is that correct?"
Geon nodded in confirmation, causing Pyotr's eyes to widen in surprise.
"It's my first time seeing an East Asian in Saint Petersburg. I've encountered the Korenok people they call the Koryo-Jin in Moscow, but they looked different from you. They had low noses, small eyes, and were shorter. Are you unique, or are the Koryo-Jin peculiar? I apologize if this was intrusive."
Acknowledging Pyotr's courteousness, Geon waved it off, "No, it's fine. There are many East Asians who look like you described. Just like how people here all look different, East Asians vary in appearance too."
Seemingly understanding, Pyotr nodded and chuckled, scratching the back of his head.
"I see. In our country, people vary in height, nose shape, and size too. I realize now that my question might have been foolish. Ha-ha!"
Pyotr laughed sheepishly.
"Ah, I apologize for my late introduction. I am Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky."
Geon chuckled with Pyotr, then his eyes widened.
"Wh-what? Tchaikovsky?"
Seeing Geon's surprise, Pyotr chuckled, tilting his head.
"Do you know me? Oh, perhaps you've come to see a performance at the theater? Still, I've been on quite a few stages."
Geon, speechless and taken aback, looked puzzled. Pyotr smiled as he continued.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm just an ordinary person. Recognizing me suggests you might frequent performances. If that's the case, while you might not be an expert, you likely have a good musical understanding. Could I ask you for a favor?"
Pyotr extended the sheet music, asking, "You read music, right? Could you take a look at this piece for me?"
Geon, with a bewildered expression, took the sheet pushed toward him, glanced at it, then looked up at Pyotr.
"I-I'm not familiar with orchestral music, so... even if I look, I might not understand. I think I'd need to hear it played."
Pyotr, with a somber expression, took back the sheet music, saying, "I understand. If you're not a composer, it might take more time to grasp an unfamiliar score."
Looking at the sheet music in Pyotr's hands, Geon asked, "But why are the notes in different colors? Is that your way of notating?"
Pyotr paused for a moment, gazing intently at Geon. Geon felt flustered, thinking he might have made a mistake. After a while, Pyotr finally spoke.
"You say the same things as that child."
Geon, anxiously awaiting Pyotr's words, widened his eyes at the unexpected comment.
"That child? What do you mean?"
Pyotr held up the sheet music, pointing.
"You mentioned seeing colors in the notes. There was a child who said the same to me."
Geon, puzzled, gestured towards Pyotr's hand holding the sheet.
"I just pointed out what I see. Here, from the fourth measure to the sixteenth, it's green. Then, thirty-two measures in white, followed by eight in red. Can't you see?"
Watching Geon, Pyotr nodded slightly and said, "Seems like you, too, are fated to live within the realm of music. For me, I only see black notes."
After finishing speaking, Pyotr stood up. Geon, who had been sitting, looked up at Pyotr.
"It seems there's a connection we must make. It's perhaps my destiny to bring you both together. If you have time, would you like to meet?"
Geon stood up from the bench, asking, "Meet whom?"
Turning around, Pyotr walked ahead.
"The child I just mentioned. The one who sees the colors in musical notes."
Geon hurriedly followed Pyotr, asking, "Colors in musical notes? Wait, do you really not see them, Pyotr?"
Glancing back at Geon, Pyotr replied, "No, I don't see them. Until I met you, I didn't believe the child's words about seeing colors in musical notations. But when you pointed out the green notes, it reminded me that the child had said the same thing. In the end, the child wasn't lying."
Looking bewildered, Geon stood beside Pyotr as Pyotr pointed to a splendid building.
"That child is inside that building."
Geon looked to where Pyotr gestured and saw a sharply angular building resembling an opera house. Pyotr, with a serious expression, continued.
"The child's name is Sergei Rachmaninoff, a young genius from St. Petersburg."
Geon followed Pyotr into the magnificent building of the St. Petersburg Conservatory, feeling a significant sense of pressure as the grand and splendid doors silently slid open as Pyotr gently pushed them.
Upon entering, Pyotr removed his suit jacket and held it in his hand. Beneath, he wore a white dress shirt with a black vest featuring an intricately laced cuff at the wrists. Gesturing forward, Pyotr addressed Geon.
"Welcome to the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Among those who aren't students, you seem to be the first-time visitor. Please, come this way."
Geon, slightly formal, walked a bit behind Pyotr, exploring the building's interior. The corridors branched out, and staircases on either side led up to the second floor. Pyotr guided Geon down the second corridor to the left of the stairs.
The long hallway exuded warmth with apricot-colored wallpaper. On the densely arranged albums hung photographs in black and white, featuring musicians who had passed through St. Petersburg. They were mostly recent graduates posing shoulder to shoulder with the Conservatory's director, Anton, suggesting these were taken shortly after its establishment, mainly showcasing teenagers rather than established musicians.
Geon strolled down the corridor, scanning the pictures curiously, wondering if he recognized any faces. Even if he did, recognizing their younger selves would have been a challenging task.
Passing several deep brown doors along the long corridor, Pyotr opened the final door straight ahead. This one seemed less lubricated, emitting a creak as it swung open. Glancing inside briefly, Pyotr turned back, holding the door for Geon.
"Please, come in, Mr... Oh, I'm not familiar with Eastern names. Mr. Geon? Mr. Kim? How should I address you?"
Geon entered, responding, "Yes, Pyotr. It's Kim. In the East, the family name comes first, followed by the given name."
Nodding, Geon observed Pyotr's smiling face, then surveyed the room. The space was entirely enveloped in white from walls to ceiling, except for the wooden flooring in a shade of ochre. Four large windows adorned the right side from Geon's viewpoint, adorned with apricot curtains neatly tied to white frames.
A chandelier, more European than traditional Russian, adorned the ceiling. Below it sat around 20 navy blue metal chairs. Positioned at the forefront was a small wooden stage upon which a black grand piano rested.
Taking in the surroundings, Geon inquired, "Is the person we're meeting not here? Is this the right place?"
Pyotr chuckled and stepped forward, calling out, "Sergei! I saw you hiding earlier, come out now."
Glancing forward, Geon saw nothing. Confused, he turned to Pyotr, who called out again.
"Sergei! If you don't come out now, I'll tell Teacher Daria you played pranks with paint again. Promise not to say anything if you come out."
Once more, Pyotr called out, prompting the appearance of a small boy's head peeking from behind the black grand piano on the stage. He seemed slightly wary, peeking only his eyes out as he spoke.
"Really, you won't tell on me if I come out?"
Pyotr stepped closer, gesturing toward the boy, "Yes, I want to introduce someone to you. Come out and say hello."
The boy emerged, sporting short blond hair, deep-set eyes, appearing around nine or ten years old. He wore a white dress shirt paired with jodhpurs tied at the waist with a belt. Holding sheet music, his hands were smudged with an array of colorful paints. As he descended, Pyotr remarked.
"More painting, Sergei?"
Sergei, looking slightly flustered, glanced at Pyotr and said, "I've told you many times it's not painting. Nobody believes me, so I'm trying to prove it."
Pyotr raised his hands apologetically, "Ah, my mistake. I should apologize to you, Sergei."
Looking puzzled, Sergei glanced between Pyotr and Geon.
"I've been sorry for not believing you until now. Not just me, but nobody could see what you were talking about. I owe you an apology."
Sergei's expression brightened a bit, "So, do you believe me now?"
Pyotr turned to Geon, "I think I can trust your words now, thanks to this person here."
Sergei looked at Geon, perplexed, "Really? Why? Why can he see?"
With a smile, Pyotr patted Sergei's shoulder, "It seems he sees what you were talking about—the colors you mentioned."
Sergei, delighted, took Geon's hand. Despite the paint stains on Geon's hand, he couldn't resist the joyous expression on the boy's face. Sergei held Geon's hand and guided him to the edge of the stage, tapping the floor as if gesturing to sit.
As Geon took the seat, Sergei eagerly asked, "Can you see it too? Really?"
Nodding, Geon examined the sheet music Sergei offered, pointing out various colors starting from where Dante is marked down to the thirty-second measure, then the following page entirely filled with black notes, and the subsequent page with red notes except for the last four measures.
Amused, Sergei jumped off the stage and stood before Geon. "Really! You see it! Hahaha! Look at this! I was right!"
Geon smiled, watching Sergei's excited movements.
"But why can't others see it, though?"
Sergei stopped bouncing and looked at Geon, asking curiously.
"Sure, no one here at this music academy ever believed me. No one saw what I saw. Even before coming here, no one acknowledged what I see, but my brother was the first to confirm it."
As Geon stared at Pyotr with surprise, Pyotr nodded. Geon turned to Sergei again and asked, "But what does this mean? Are these notes just colored?"
Upon hearing Geon's question, Sergei quickly retrieved a pencil from his pocket, spread out the music sheets, and began jotting something down. "Here, here. The green you mentioned earlier signifies 'jealousy.' The black notes on the next page represent 'gloom, fire,' and the red notes on the following page signify 'anger, passion.'"
Geon looked at Sergei, who was jotting down words in Russian on the music sheet, and said, "Jealousy? Anger? What do you mean? Are you saying there are emotions in the sheet music?"
Sergei lifted his head, glanced slightly at Geon, and shook his head. "No, it's the emotions the composer had while creating this music. The emotions they had while composing. Orchestral music doesn't have lyrics. It's about expressing emotions through performance."
Geon, amazed, looked at the notes again and asked, "So, the emotions the composer intended to convey are represented by these colors?"
Flipping through the pages Geon hadn't seen yet, he asked, "Then what about the notes marked in blue, pink, white, and gray? What emotions do they signify?"
Sergei picked up his pencil again, marking the section Geon pointed to, and explained, "Blue represents 'melancholy,' pink means 'healthiness,' white depicts 'intensity,' and gray signifies 'uncertain confusion.'"
Geon, wide-eyed, alternated between looking at Sergei and the music sheet. Beside the blue-colored notes, he noticed the word 'melancholy' written in pencil.
As Geon continued to interchangeably stare at Sergei and the sheet music with astonishment, Pyotr approached and sat beside him. Observing Geon's expression keenly, Pyotr inquired, "Mr. Kim, is this the first time you've seen something like this? Your expression betrays surprise."
Geon, not taking his eyes off the sheet music, nodded, and Pyotr asked, "Really? Is this the first time you've seen sheet music in your life?"
Geon looked up at Pyotr and replied, "No way. I'm a musician. I see sheet music every day. I saw it yesterday too, but I didn't see anything like this, so I'm quite bewildered now."
Pyotr, looking serious upon hearing Geon's words, stroked his beard thoughtfully. After staring at Geon for a moment, Pyotr walked toward the window, crossed his arms, and gazed outside for a moment. Sergei, sensing the atmosphere turning serious, lowered the volume of his playing and perked up his ears.
Letting out a sigh as he looked out the window, Pyotr said, "I see. You're probably experiencing a 'musical awakening.'"
Geon, holding the music sheets, asked, "An awakening?"
As Sergei and Geon shifted their focus to Pyotr, he gazed alternately at them and said, "Yes, among musicians, it's called a divine gift."
Pyotr walked slowly and stood on the stage in front of the black grand piano where Sergei sat. Pyotr looked at Sergei and said, "The songs of ice and fire, the depths of human emotions revealed—the 'eye of Amdusias.'"
Placing a hand on Sergei's shoulder and turning to Geon, Pyotr continued, "Those with Amdusias' eye can see every emotion the composer wished to convey and can transpose all those emotions onto sheet music. I only heard it from my mentor. I didn't believe it then."
Pyotr glanced at Geon and Sergei, wore a briefly regretful expression, then nodded and resumed speaking. "The ability bestowed upon you and Sergei by the demon of music—Amdusias' eye. Mr. Kim."