Chapter : 21
The Misfortune of the Single Musician
“Alright, that’s it for today. Dismissed.”
““Thank you for your hard work!””
When the conductor, Eltva, announced the end of rehearsal, all of us musicians bowed in unison — myself included — before we began putting our instruments away.
The once-quiet opera hall quickly filled with the rustling sounds of people packing up.
Those with energy to spare were already calling out to one another, planning to go out for dinner together.
I, however, didn’t have that kind of luxury.
Thanks to my noisy neighbor, I hadn’t been able to practice properly yesterday.
Luckily, I hadn’t dragged anyone down during today’s session — but there had definitely been a few close calls.
“I have to practice properly tonight…”
Storing my violin in its case, I started heading for the changing room.
“Katarina, do you have a moment?”
I was stopped midway down the corridor.
The voice belonged to our conductor — Eltva Jewelniks.
His golden hair, gently wavy like spun silk, was tied back neatly, giving off an air of refinement.
As the orchestra’s leader — blessed with both noble birth and a handsome face — he was the group’s unshakable ace and most popular figure.
“Y-yes, sir! What is it?”
Being suddenly called out by my superior, I straightened my back reflexively as I turned toward him.
Was he going to scold me for fumbling through some measures earlier?
I braced myself — but what came out of his mouth was entirely unexpected.
“Katarina, you’ve been interested in composition for a while now, haven’t you?”
“Huh? Ah— yes, that’s right!”
I didn’t intend to remain just a violinist forever; I’d already begun dabbling in composition.
Between a performer who merely plays other people’s works, and one who creates and performs her own — it’s obvious which kind of musician will go further.
In fact, most of the renowned musicians in the capital compose or write lyrics themselves.
Eltva, standing before me, was one of them.
Since no one can know when they might lose the ability to perform, it’s best to broaden one’s skillset as much as possible.
For that reason, I’d often asked Eltva for opportunities to compose something.
“For the next concert, I want to include an original piece from our orchestra,” he said. “Normally, I’d compose it myself, but I’m swamped with other work.”
“Wait — does that mean… you’re letting me do it?!”
“Well, I’ve asked a few others too. It’ll be a sort of contest — the best piece will be chosen for the concert. Will you take part?”
So it was a competition.
Even so, I’d never been given a chance like this before. It was huge.
“Please let me try!”
“Good. The deadline’s in one week. I want to see your best work by then. Any genre is fine.”
Eltva nodded lightly.
“Thank you so much!”
“I know composing while rehearsing will be tough, but don’t skip practice for this week’s concert, alright?”
“…Y-yes, sir.”
He handed me a brief outlining the contest’s details, smiled elegantly, and walked away.
Apparently, he had noticed my earlier fumbles in rehearsal. That man’s hearing was terrifyingly sharp.
Watching his graceful back as he left, I felt a chill run down mine.
I already had to practice for the upcoming concert — would I really have time to compose too?
…No. I had to do it.
If I didn’t seize this chance, who knew when the next would come?
“This is where I have to prove myself, Katarina McLair!”
Scolding my own wavering heart, I raised my voice to steel my resolve and headed for the changing room.
This was where my path toward becoming a true musician would begin.
●
“Aaahhh! Nothing’s coming to me at all!”
It had been six days since I shut myself at home to work on the piece.
And I still hadn’t produced anything remotely resembling a song.
The sheets in front of me were covered in random notes — chaotic scribbles that didn’t form music no matter how I tried to combine them.
“Ah, it’s already evening?! Crap — I need to practice violin too! But I haven’t finished the song yet!”
The setting sun streaming through the window made me panic.
Time was slipping away mercilessly.
There was barely half a day left before the deadline.
Composing alone was already hard enough — on top of that, I had my daily violin practice. It was impossible.
Yet, I’d heard that Eltva composed multiple pieces while still conducting and practicing other instruments. Compared to that, my workload was laughably small.
“It’s fine, I can still make it. I’ll just skip dinner — and sleep.”
Yes. There was still time. Calm down, Katarina McLair.
After taking several deep breaths, I activated the soundproofing magic tool and picked up my violin.
First, I’d play something. From there, I’d craft a melody.
Once I got into the flow, everything would come together — it always did.
Slowly… focus…
“～～♪”
Just as I was about to immerse myself —
a singing voice drifted through the wall from the next room.
“Again…”
The noise snapped my focus, and irritation welled up.
But then I noticed — my neighbor’s rhythm was really good.
It was just their raw voice, so I couldn’t make out the melody exactly.
But… if I were to put a melody to it — maybe something like this?
Without thinking, I began to play along on my violin.
Before I knew it, a song had taken shape before me.
It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but admire my own work.
Yet, despite the wonderful result, I couldn’t honestly be happy.
After all, I’d only taken my neighbor’s singing and added melody to it.
Of course, I’d added my own interpretation and arrangement —
but still, wasn’t that practically plagiarism?
Since childhood, I’d devoted myself to music, listening to compositions from every corner of the world.
Whenever I had free time, I’d listen — from famous masters to obscure musicians.
But my neighbor’s song didn’t resemble anything I’d ever heard.
Music reflects culture and history — its melodies carry traces of their homeland’s rhythm and spirit.
But that song contained none of those elements.
It sounded… like something from a faraway, unknown land — refined, yet utterly new.
“Could my neighbor be some famous musician?”
I considered the possibility, but if they were that innovative, they’d already be well-known.
And as a musician in the royal capital, there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard of them.
“No… this won’t do. I’ll compose something else.”
My pride as a performer couldn’t allow me to pass off someone else’s song as my own.
Setting aside the finished sheet, I gripped my bow again, determined to create something truly mine.
●
“Oh no! I overslept!”
After staying up late composing, I must’ve dozed off at my desk.
Thankfully, today’s rehearsal didn’t start until the afternoon — but the sun was already high.
Everyone was probably at the opera house by now.
Throwing on clothes, I stuffed my violin and my composition sheets into the case and dashed out toward the central district’s opera hall.
By the time I arrived, most of the orchestra was already assembled.
Hurrying to the changing room, I spotted Eltva standing impeccably dressed as usual.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!”
“It’s alright — not everyone’s here yet. No need to panic.”
“Thank you…”
Unlike my disheveled hair and half-done makeup, he was immaculate as ever.
It made me painfully aware of my own sloppiness.
“By the way, today’s the deadline for the composition. Is your piece ready? I’d like to check it if it is.”
“Ah— yes! I’ll give it to you right away!”
I swung my violin case around and opened it —
but maybe because my hands were sweaty from running, the case flew open too hard.
My violin rolled out.
“Whoa there— careful. That’s a precious instrument. Treat it well.”
“I’m so sorry— thank you!”
Before it hit the floor, Eltva caught it just in time.
Violins are delicate; even a small impact can cause unseen damage.
I was truly grateful he’d saved it.
“Oh? Is this your composition, Katarina?”
“Yes.”
Apparently, the score sheets had also fallen out of the case.
He picked them up, scanning them with his calm blue eyes.
Being reviewed on the spot made me nervous, but I couldn’t exactly run away.
I held my breath and watched.
After glancing through one page, he seemed to find another and flipped to it with curiosity.
“Hm? There’s another sheet?”
“Eh—! Ah, that’s—!”
It was the other song — the one I’d written while inspired by my neighbor’s singing.
In my rush this morning, I must’ve accidentally packed it as well.
I reached out to snatch it back, but Eltva blocked me.
Unlike before, his expression turned serious — his eyes moving intently over the notes.
“…This is brilliant. The first one was rather plain, but this— this is refined, innovative.”
My face twisted involuntarily at the criticism of my actual work, but I managed to hold it in.
“I’ll show this to the manager and the others, but I’m fairly sure your piece will be chosen, Katarina. This one’s got potential. Well done.”
But— that’s the song I based on my neighbor’s voice…
I couldn’t possibly admit that now.
If I did, it would not only insult Eltva’s praise but also expose me for stealing someone’s song.
“T-thank you very much…”
All I could do was maintain a composed smile and bow.
After all that desire to be chosen —
now, all I could do was pray not to be.
But despite my silent plea, the orchestra’s new original piece for the concert
was decided:
the arrangement I had made from my neighbor’s mysterious song.
