"(The second 98.)"
When Gan Yan Yu's score was announced over the broadcast, clearly reaching every audience member at the venue and every cellist backstage.
Connor muttered to himself, his heart already surging with excitement.
"(Too strong!!)"
At that moment, the lounge erupted as well.
"(Another 98!!)"
"(Although it's slightly lower than Isaac's, this is their first time participating in the Ke'er Cup, isn't it?!)"
"(Damn it, weren't the scores in the second stage always supposed to be relatively restrained?!)"
"(Even in previous years, having more than two scores above 97 was rare. One 98 was enough to become famous throughout Vienna, yet there are two this year!!)"
Such despair-inducing scores made every cellist suck in a cold breath.
It was no longer a question of whether they could defeat them.
Because from the instant Turkish March began, any possibility of beating them had completely shattered in the minds of most cellists.
The issue now was far more serious than whether they could advance in this Ke'er Cup.
My musical convictions!!
"..."
If the talent of the previous two contestants had already been enough to make any cellist despair.
One was born in 1988, and one in 1995.
Then Gan Yan Yu and Lin Tian were now—
Born in 2005!
Not 1905!
Fucking 2005!!
Simply realizing their age was enough to make any middle-aged person who had devoted decades to the cello see black before their eyes.
This was especially true for Zorn, the Black cellist from France.
Ever since Lin Tian and Gan Yan Yu's scores had come out, he had been clutching his head, completely frozen.
The cellists beside him looked at him strangely.
During the first stage, nearly half of the directly promoted contestants had witnessed the confrontation between Zorn and Gan Yan Yu in the viewing