Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C187

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Chapter 187: A Resounding Hammer of Defiance and Anger

With just a single lift of her chin, the haze in the young girl’s eyes dissipated completely.

Nanali drew the bow across the strings.

A deep, resonant tone emerged, flowing seamlessly through the opening measures of the piece—

“Ah.”

Lin Tian couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in quiet surprise.

“She adjusted so quickly,” Gan Yanyu murmured under her breath, equally impressed.

Indeed.

Everyone had noticed it.

Moments ago, when Nanali stepped onto the stage, she had radiated tension and unease, her usual commanding presence noticeably absent. As fellow musicians, they could all sense her discomfort—it was palpable.

And yet, after merely pausing to collect herself on stage—a space notorious for inducing blank stares and mental paralysis—she had transformed entirely.

It was astonishing.

Even Lin Tian found himself marveling at the feat.

If only Gan Yanyu had possessed this ability—it would have made things far easier. But then again, this wasn’t a skill most performers could claim.

The ability to recalibrate with such ease, to summon confidence as if by instinct—it wasn’t something learned or practiced. It felt more like…

Something ingrained.

Passed down through generations of cellists, woven into the very fabric of the Nanali family legacy. That unshakable pride, that innate sense of belonging to greatness—it coursed through her veins.

There she sat, clad in a dazzling gown, the center of attention on stage, pouring her soul into the music. Her playing was rich, evocative, and dynamic, each note imbued with emotion.

Then, during a dramatic variation, the girl suddenly swept the bow across the strings with force, tossing her head back defiantly. Her golden hair cascaded around her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“…”

“It’s beautiful,” He Shumo whispered, his voice tinged with awe.

But his words weren’t solely about Christine.

No, the performance—the stage, the music itself—was breathtaking.

Nanali exuded elegance and grandeur. The spotlight converged upon her, making her the undeniable focal point of the venue. No one in the audience could tear their gaze away. Watching her play stirred a profound reverence within them, akin to admiring a masterpiece in a museum.

Just moments earlier, He Shumo had sensed her aura faltering. Yet now, with the first strains of music, she seemed reborn.

In that fleeting instant, the young woman in her elaborate Lolita dress, crowned with radiant golden hair, appeared every bit the regal princess. Each movement, each note, emanated an irresistible allure that captivated everyone present.

“As expected from a cello dynasty,” Yao Han murmured, shaking his head in admiration.

“This kind of ‘splendor’ in performance—I’ve never seen anything quite like it from other cellists.”

Perhaps Yao Han would never get the chance to travel back to 19th-century Europe, to sit among the aristocrats and luminaries of the time and witness Greta Cliden Nanali perform live.

But here, now, listening to Christine Nanali’s rendition of Abessa’s First Grandioso, he felt as though he’d been transported across centuries.

Yet, was Nanali’s music merely superficial brilliance?

Far from it.

Beneath the dazzling exterior burned the fire of her resolve.

Nanali gripped her bow tightly, emotions surging uncontrollably within her.

Gan Yanyu.

I must defeat you.

I will defeat you right now.

If I can win here, I’ll never have to touch this cursed cello again. I can drop out of school, return home—to that distant place where my dreams await.

Images cycled endlessly through her mind: a quaint little shop, herself seated behind the counter, sketching designs for dresses she loved. Young girls visiting, sharing her passion, trying on outfits she’d created with her own hands. This vision—that simple, heartfelt dream—was everything to her.

On stage, Nanali tightened her grip on the bow, channeling every ounce of frustration, resentment, and longing into the instrument.

Her music carried raw, unfiltered emotion—an emotional hammer striking with deliberate slowness yet overwhelming intensity. Each note reverberated through the hall, locking the audience’s attention firmly in place.

“Such powerful emotional resonance!”

As the climax approached, Mao Junfeng in the green room couldn’t contain his excitement any longer.

“So all of that earlier was just the appetizer?!”

Even Yun Qiuqiu, who had remained glued to her phone in the corner throughout the competition, finally looked up. Removing one earbud, she stared expressionlessly at the screen, watching Nanali unleash her full potential.

Lin Tian, too, felt a surge of exhilaration.

So this is your true strength?

If Yun Qiuqiu’s aggressive style resembled a swift, precise swordsman slashing relentlessly, Nanali’s approach was closer to a sledgehammer—slow, deliberate, and devastating. Every strike bore the weight of her pent-up emotions, leaving listeners’ hearts pounding in sync with the music.

What kind of emotions were these?

Lin Tian studied Nanali’s face on the screen, her heterochromatic eyes brimming with yearning—for something beyond the music.

Hope.

But unlike Gan Yanyu, whose aspirations seemed intrinsically tied to the art form itself, Nanali’s hope pointed elsewhere.

Ah, so that’s it.

Recalling the cryptic words Nanali had spoken in the café days prior, Lin Tian began to piece things together.

So, you’re wielding the bow for the sake of a different future?

Reaching this level of mastery at just nineteen was no small feat. Despite often being overshadowed by Gan Yanyu’s accomplishments, Nanali was still a fledgling contender in this arena—a mere teenager navigating the pressures of high-stakes competition.

Lin Tian should have realized sooner.

From the initial media rankings to the comprehensive evaluations following the preliminary rounds, Christine Nanali’s name consistently ranked above Yun Qiuqiu’s.

Now, with this performance, she proved it definitively.

Her standing was no fluke.

This year’s Parrot Cello Contest had its top three contenders—and Christine Nanali was undeniably among them.

As the final notes of her performance faded, the atmosphere in the hall grew electric.

“Yes, yes! Incredible!”

On the judges’ panel, Yao Han was practically vibrating with excitement.

Yun Qiuqiu and Christine Nanali—both had delivered unforgettable performances.

Yao Han’s hands trembled atop his thighs, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline.

“More! Just a little more! Push me even further!”

“This is what Qingjiang Province deserves—a contest worthy of Gan Hua’s homeland, a semifinal befitting the Parrot Cello Contest’s prestige.”

“And now…”

His gaze shifted toward the wings, where two figures awaited their turn.