In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

On the stage illuminated by the spotlight.

A handsome man seated before the piano let his fingers glide smoothly across the keys, and the music began.

‘Wow.’

The attendees’ eyes widened at a level of skill completely different from what they had expected.

He tilted his head slightly as he played, and the distinctive rhythm of jazz came vividly alive.

A fresh, friendly introduction.

As if inviting them into the world of jazz, a melody that was simple yet light continued to flow.

A music enthusiast who could not hide his excitement spoke to the person beside him.

“Is this really an unreleased piece?”

“Shh.”

At the gesture of the person beside him raising a finger to their lips, he nodded and swallowed.

At first he admired the performer’s skill.

Then the quality of the composition itself left him speechless.

‘This is no joke.’

The moment he heard the first melody, a shiver ran through him.

It was because the person’s father, the one now performing on the stage, had written this piece twenty years ago.

Several people murmured among themselves.

“He wrote this twenty years ago? I would believe it even if someone said he wrote it yesterday.”

“Now I understand why he was called a genius.”

“This really was an unreleased score?”

At first the music began simply, but as the notes gradually layered together, the melody began evolving into something more complex.

Fats Waller. Count Basie. Erroll Garner.

It felt like the kind of piece that might emerge if the legendary masters of jazz had somehow crossed into 2017 and composed something together.

‘A deep and fragrant piece.’

Winston Ross, a giant of the jazz world, tapped a finger against the rim of his cocktail glass as he pursed his lips.

In his mind he pictured a single flower releasing a deep and lingering fragrance.

A hyacinth.

A flower with a scent strong enough to be noticed from afar.

Love. Happiness. Joy. Victory. Sorrow. Sadness and memories.

Eternal love.

Music that evoked a flower carrying so many different meanings.

It felt like a piece that had taken a flower long stored in the heart and presented it as a gift to old friends.

‘You really prepared one hell of a greeting, kid.’

Winston Ross smiled wryly as he recalled the pianist who had once boldly argued with him about music when he was younger.

It felt like receiving the perfect counterpunch for criticizing Seon Myeongju in the past for lacking depth in his music.

Winston Ross sipped his cocktail and smiled.

‘You win.’

Meanwhile, the leader of NewBlack continued lightly flicking his fingers, riding the rhythm.

A gentle jazz piano piece continued.

Even though he was playing the piano alone, his presence filled the entire space.

Seeing the tall nose cast in shadow beneath the stage lights, Winston Ross was reminded of the performer’s father, who had possessed a similarly handsome face.

“You resemble him.”

As if answering that remark, Paul Laurent beside him sipped his cocktail.

“You do.”

It was a short statement, but everyone present who had known Seon Myeongju agreed.

Like father, like son.

Of course, the person playing now still had shortcomings in technique and skill, as he was not a professional pianist.

But there was something about him that could never be reached through practice alone.

Talent.

Genius.

An inexplicable spark.

There was no other way to describe it except to say that he resembled him.

“What is the title of this piece?”

“It’s called To All My Friends, Winston.”

To all my friends.

It truly was a fitting title.

During the two-and-a-half-minute piece, those who had known Seon Myeongju each drifted into their own memories.

—Your name is Lailani? If you want to try playing, why don’t you pluck the strings of this instrument once? What...? Goodness. Who said women cannot play instruments?

Laila Burton, who had once come from the slums of Damascus and was now a famous violinist, quietly smiled beside her husband.

—You do not have to study theory to make music. Theory is like a recipe. If you know the recipe, you can cook something even more delicious, right? Now tell me. Why did you knock the principal’s wig off with a drumstick?

Raymond Barkley, once a troublemaker at Baltimore Washington Middle School and now a professor of jazz music, smiled awkwardly.

—Music is meant to be enjoyed.

Everyone who had known Seon Myeongju smiled at the greeting delivered to them after twenty years.

A deep and lingering greeting.

Soon the first piece ended, and the attendees applauded while letting out small cheers.

“......”

But Wooju did not stand.

He merely placed his hands quietly on the piano keys.

Applause continued pouring down.

As the person onstage kept his eyes gently closed until the applause died down, the clapping gradually softened.

‘What piece will it be this time?’

His long eyelashes, as beautiful as a work of art, trembled once.

Then the audience saw the handsome man with clear eyes smiling at them.

Soon his fingers began moving briskly.

“Oh my.”

The people who had been gazing at the stage with wistful expressions moments ago now had bright smiles spreading across their faces.

It was lively jazz.

A cheerful swing rhythm.

It was a piece that made everyone in attendance unconsciously sway their shoulders with the beat.

Hailey Blue leaned her shoulder against her husband’s while shaking her cocktail glass, and the musicians nodded along with smiles.

‘This is Seon Myeongju’s music.’

To be honest, there are many geniuses in the arts.

But the reason Seon Myeongju had been particularly famous was because he firmly brought that kind of art into the popular sphere.

What kind of harmony.

What kind of notes delighted the public.

What made people want to dance.

He was a star of the music world who understood those things better than anyone.

‘This is good.’

‘I’ve never heard it before, but it’s exciting.’

Couples held hands and danced lightly.

Strangers clinked glasses.

Even if someone lightly bumped into another person while swaying with the music, laughter filled the air.

As the atmosphere transformed into something like a ballroom, cheerful smiles appeared on everyone’s faces.

All attention focused on Sun Wooju, who played the piano while moving his body lightly to the rhythm.

“Hmm.”

Winston Ross spoke.

“He resembles him, but he is different.”

“He is.”

At Paul Laurent’s reply, Winston Ross quietly fell into thought.

He could not yet find the exact words, but it was clear that he was different from his father.

Just as the second lively piano piece was racing toward its conclusion.

As he gently pressed the whole note marking the ending.

“Uh? Is it over?”

“I think so. They said there would be two unreleased pieces.”

People applauded the performer with a faint sense of regret.

But then—

‘Is it not over?’

Wooju simply brushed his hair back and remained seated with an expressionless face.

Both hands resting on his knees.

As if waiting for more applause.

The audience sensed something and intensified their clapping.

“Waaaaa—!”

Then Wooju placed his left hand on the piano with a mischievous expression.

Seeing that, Seon Myeongju’s acquaintances burst into laughter.

‘The bloodline does not lie.’

Like father, like son.

Small cheers rose as the heat of the party gradually intensified.

As the decibel level of applause seemed ready to burst through the ceiling, both of Wooju’s hands finally rose to the piano keys.

Yet the applause continued.

‘Shh.’

The handsome man on stage placed his index finger against his lips with a playful expression, and laughter spread through the hall.

Soon everyone’s attention focused on Sun Wooju as he rolled up both sleeves.

‘I cannot predict it.’

Just when people wondered what kind of piece would come next.

His fingers moved heavily across the keys.

“Hm?”

A solemn piece soon began flowing.

It sounded like the sort of heavy composition one might hear at a formal ceremony.

People tilted their heads in confusion.

If this was the final piece, it did not seem suitable as a finale.

Just as everyone was thinking that—

“Huh? Someone is coming out.”

“People are coming... it’s NewBlack.”

Four handsome young men emerged from behind the stage curtain, each holding a standing microphone.

The spotlight split apart.

While the leader played the solemn piece, the members standing under the lights cleared their throats and placed their hands behind their backs.

“I followed that road

Farther and farther away”

The voices of the four blended into a beautiful harmony.

It sounded like a church choir.

As the calm singing continued in a solemn atmosphere, the excitement in the hall slowly cooled.

‘So it is that song.’

Those who knew Seon Myeongju well merely suppressed their laughter as they watched the reactions around them.

This was not an unreleased piece.

It was simply a song filled with the mischievous humor of a certain genius.

“I followed that road

Farther and farther away”

As the same chorus repeated again.

Sun Wooju’s piano gradually softened, and the members’ voices began fading.

Some people started smiling quietly.

‘It feels like it is about to come.’

Swish.

Sun Wooju rolled up his sleeves once again and winked at the quiet audience and the members.

At that exact moment.

His fingers slid from one end of the piano keys to the other.

A cheerful, refreshing melody burst forth.

“Ah!”

The Americans present widened their eyes.

‘It is that song.’

They did not know the title, but the moment they heard the introduction they recognized it.

The first thirty seconds had been a trick.

Now the completely opposite melody made their bodies sway automatically.

People laughed as they clapped along in a jazz rhythm emphasizing beats two and four.

Meanwhile, the four members onstage snapped their fingers playfully like drums and grinned.

One broad-shouldered member spun gently in a circle, making the audience laugh.

“If you ever happen

To visit my hometown

Please follow this road”

Next came a gentle-looking young man.

With graceful gestures he perfectly rode the jazz rhythm. Even the smallest movement drew attention like that of a dancer.

“Bring the children too

Adults are welcome as well

This road is all you need”

It was the most widely known composition among Seon Myeongju’s works.

Anyone who had lived through the early 1990s had likely heard this jazz piece at least once somewhere, whether in a restaurant or a shopping mall.

The audience swayed lightly to NewBlack’s cheerful singing.

“Different.”

Winston Ross smiled quietly as he watched the man happily playing the piano and the members around him.

The five of them fit together like a band that had performed together for decades.

Seon Myeongju’s son resembled him perfectly, but in this respect he felt different.

If the father of that beautiful young man had once been so dazzling that he consumed all surrounding light like the brightest star in the night sky...

—If Seon Myeongju had been a blazing sun, then perhaps this young man knows how to create a solar system.

It truly felt exactly like that.

He shone on his own, yet moved together with other stars, warmly drawing them in.

If Seon Myeongju shone like a star that pulled all attention toward itself, this one seemed to paint the surroundings with beautiful colors together with his companions.

Just being near them made one feel cheerful and refreshed.

‘Now I see why the young people like them.’

The jazz giant nodded, understanding why the younger generation loved them.

Meanwhile.

The audience watching the singers smiling and moving to the rhythm now looked at them differently.

‘Oh my.’

When the broad-shouldered member winked and gestured, hearts fluttered without reason.

When the sharp-featured member was surrounded by a youthful boyish member and a mischievous handsome one dancing playfully, laughter spilled out.

They truly knew how to make people happy.

Singing technique.

Dance.

Facial expressions.

There was not a single weakness in any of them, making the audience naturally drawn into the performance.

“Waaaa—!”

Before anyone realized it, the party hall had turned into a ballroom.

A few people began dancing.

The members on stage gestured and smiled, drawing out even more enthusiasm.

Even the people who had come seeking refined elegance now found themselves smiling and swaying along.

Joyful laughter.

When the dance under the moonlit night accompanied by lively 1990s music finally ended—

‘I want to greet them.’

‘That was... an incredible song.’

‘NewBlack.’

The audience who had initially worn indifferent expressions thinking, ‘Is this just a boy band?’ erupted into thunderous applause.

The members gathered around their leader, laughing brightly.

‘...They are really handsome.’

Staring blankly, the audience realized that they had become completely captivated by these young men.

The reaction to the surprise performance I prepared with the younger members—

“Waaaaaaa!”

—was far better than I had feared.

People holding cocktails beneath the stage where we stood were staring up at us with dreamy expressions.

I exchanged satisfied smiles with the younger members.

‘First time experiencing it, right? This is the taste of K-idol.’

‘An Asian mystery made possible only through training close to forced labor!’

‘Hehehehe!’

I gave the younger members a thumbs-up and stood.

Walking toward the people who were still applauding, I stopped in front of a standing microphone.

Paul Laurent, standing near the stage, gave me a look that said well done and gestured with his chin as if telling me to give a speech.

Tap tap.

I lightly tapped the microphone.

“Ahem.”

Apparently at American charity parties like this, the host is supposed to give a speech thanking everyone for coming.

Switching the language in my head from Korean to English, I began speaking.

“Wow, the energy in this room is incredible!”

My voice boomed through the speakers.

After waiting for the applause to quiet down, the members and I bowed together.

“Did you enjoy the performance? Just now—whoa, who was that? Oh, Hailey. Thanks for the enthusiasm.”

Hailey Blue’s shout of “Woohoo!” made everyone laugh.

Perhaps it was the effect of the stage performance.

The expressions of the people holding cocktails were shining with goodwill and fondness regardless of age or gender.

“The two pieces you just heard were... well. Both of them come from unreleased scores. They were originally written for multiple instruments, but unfortunately we did not have enough rehearsal time to bring in additional performers.”

Then I said to the people watching with bright eyes.

“If the piano-only version sounds like this... can you imagine what the full arrangement would be like?”

People murmured among themselves.

That was precisely the strategy behind performing unreleased pieces at the fundraising party.

—“I want to donate to your father’s concert... but I am not sure how good the music will be.”

It was essentially a kind of business presentation for potential donors.

Letting them know that excellent compositions like these were waiting.

Judging from the trust in their eyes, it seemed to be working perfectly.

“So many people came tonight.”

The space was packed from the front of the stage all the way to the entrance.

“This is probably a sight my father never imagined. I do not know how he would have reacted... but I think he would have been very happy. Seeing so many people gathered here.”

I offered sincere words of gratitude to everyone who had gathered for a good cause.

After finishing the speech.

When it came time to propose a toast, someone handed me a glass of non-alcoholic cocktail.

“For music. And for everyone gathered here tonight.”

I delivered the toast with an exaggeratedly dramatic expression like a character in a movie, and the younger members behind me burst out laughing.

“Ah, hyung! What was that!”

As we came down from the stage after the toast, the youngest slapped my back while laughing.

Junhyun imitated my expression and raised his glass.

“A toast to your eyes.”

“Hey, Junhyun. When did I ever say that?”

I scolded him as we stepped down.

Unfortunately, the time to chat leisurely with the younger members ended almost immediately.

“NewBlack!”

“That performance was incredible. One of the best I have seen recently...”

People with flushed faces rushed toward us and began talking.

We shook hands, exchanged light hugs, and responded to the endless flood of comments.

And then—

“I have really wanted to meet you.”

—we also greeted acquaintances of my father.

Winston Ross.

I even shook hands with the man whose name appeared in jazz textbooks.

He looked at me with a peculiar smile.

“That was a fine performance. I will be watching your future activities with interest.”

After leaving that compliment, he disappeared immediately. Judging from the reactions of the people around me, he was apparently someone known for being stingy with praise.

Starting from there, I exchanged a few words with hundreds of people... and honestly it felt like my soul was about to leave my body.

“I am Laila Burton. I have known your father for a long time.”

“I am Ray Barkley. I teach Jazz Studies at Juilliard. I gave your father quite a headache back in the day. Haha.”

“I am Paul Laurent.”

In the middle of all that, Paul Laurent shook my hand pretending to meet me for the first time, making me laugh.

“Why are you acting like we are strangers?”

“Well, Wooju, you seem far more famous than you were ten minutes ago.”

I laughed at his comment.

“Thank you very much.”

I also thanked Raul, Emmanuel, and the others who had helped organize this party.

And then—

“Hard to see your face these days.”

“You came?”

I reunited with our own staff as well, including the pianist Ha Seungju, my father’s junior from Korea.

Seokhwan hyung and our managers looked awkward in their tuxedos, smiling sheepishly.

I also smiled at Manager Hong Seoyeong, who was enjoying the party elegantly in a dress.

“You came too, Manager?”

“Yeah, this place is really fun. Oh, Wooju, there are some people you need to meet.”

“Yes, please introduce us.”

Even here she had been working.

She brought over representatives from American agencies and members of the Seon Myeongju Foundation so we could briefly discuss a few coordination matters.

After that it was meeting after meeting after meeting.

Famous American entrepreneurs.

Politicians active in New York.

Celebrities.

Hailey Blue and Glenn Davis.

Talk show host Alan Dale, Rupert Dean and Bella Page whom we met during Nostalgia, director John Edwards, composer Frank Chow, singers Cold Brown and Mandy Spice, reality star Leslie Thompson, and many others.

Because nearly everyone in America with some connection to us had been invited, the number of people was overwhelming.

“Phew.”

I was finally cooling off with an iced chocolate drink when Paul Laurent approached with an employee from the auction house.

Weatherby, a famous New York auction company.

They were in charge of storing and managing the charity items for the auction tonight.

“We need to do one last check before the auction begins.”

After shaking hands with the auction employee, I received the documents listing the auction items.

This was the first time I was seeing them as well.

As the younger members sipped their drinks and leaned in beside me.

“Let us see what kind of items there are...”

I was expecting things like napkins or guitars donated by celebrities.

Item number one.

The name of an item donated by violinist Laila Burton from her personal collection appeared on the list.

[Item #1]

1696 Stradivarius Violin

Estimated final price: 4,000,000 dollars

“Pfft—!”

The moment I saw the three-hundred-year-old violin, iced chocolate shot up my nose.