Chapter : 22
The Single Performer Cannot Retreat
After finishing my work in the morning, I came to the opera house again today.
Last time, when I went to listen to a concert during my lunch break, it sparked the concept for a new magical circuit. After that, my work progressed smoothly.
Perhaps because of that, I found myself attending the same orchestra concert again.
With each piece that ended, the heat in the hall quietly surged.
“The next piece is a new composition by our orchestra. Please enjoy.”
After another piece ended, the elf conducting the orchestra spoke in a calm, refreshing voice.
From the front row, fans let out high-pitched cheers at the announcement of the new piece, accompanied by applause filled with anticipation.
I don’t know all the pieces this orchestra performs, but it’s always good when a new piece is added.
I joined in the applause in welcome.
Eventually, as the clapping and cheers died down, the hall was wrapped in silence, and the elf raised their baton.
And then the music began. I tilted my head in confusion.
“Hmm?”
The melody being played was far too similar to a song I knew.
It was a song I had loved and often listened to in my previous life.
However, as the melody gradually progressed, it began to diverge from the song I knew.
…Indeed, it was similar to the song from my past life, but there were many differences.
Perhaps it just happened to resemble a song I knew in my previous life.
There was a famous song in my past life that, with just a slight tweak in melody, could produce hundreds of variations.
Music exists in abundance, whether in my past life or this one.
There are plenty of songs that might sound somewhat similar to each other.
Sure, it resembled the song I knew from my past life, but listening closely, it was completely different.
There’s no way a song from my past life would appear here in exactly the same form.
“This is fine as it is.”
It felt as if someone had arranged one of my favorite songs. Yet the different interpretation and rhythm were strangely pleasant, and I listened with ease.
●
“Katarina’s piece is getting amazing reviews!”
“Did you hear? Tickets for the next concert are already sold out! That’s impressive!”
“Katarina always said she wanted to compose. Being able to compose while practicing the violin is incredible!”
Some time had passed since my new composition was performed.
In the hall, our orchestra was experiencing unprecedented excitement.
The members were genuinely pleased with the increased audience turnout and praised me repeatedly for creating the new piece.
But, it wasn’t truly a piece I had created by my own ability.
Yet I couldn’t just bluntly reveal that.
“Ah, thank you,” I said, giving an ambiguous reply, trying not to show my strained expression.
…What should I do? I never imagined that arranging a song from my troublesome neighbor would elicit such a reaction. Our orchestra regularly releases original pieces, but none had ever received such feedback.
It was the first time tickets for the next concert sold out immediately after the previous one ended.
It seemed that those who listened to the performance spread the word through word of mouth, creating a huge buzz.
Could it be that the song my neighbor sang struck such a chord in people’s hearts?
But, it’s understandable. The song my neighbor sang was refined, with a melody that seemed almost otherworldly.
It’s no wonder that music enthusiasts attending the opera house were calling it a breath of fresh air.
“Katarina, could you come here?”
“Yes!”
While I was thinking this, I was called by Eltoba.
I replied and approached, and found not only Eltoba but also a stout elderly man.
“This is Marlowe-Mompechina, the director of the opera house.”
“N-nice to meet you. I am Katarina Macclair.”
I was quite surprised by the introduction from Eltoba, but I maintained composure and elegantly lifted my dress slightly in a bow.
Marlowe oversees multiple opera houses and supports various musicians. He is the head of a count family and a prominent figure in the music industry. I hadn’t expected such a person to visit.
“Ah, so this young lady created the much-talked-about new piece. Young, talented people stepping into the spotlight are always exciting to witness,” he said.
“I am honored by your praise, Marlowe-Mompechina. But I am still very inexperienced,” I replied.
“Not at all. Thanks to you, the opera house is buzzing. I hope you ride this momentum,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
I asked frankly, not fully understanding his true intention.
“If you don’t mind, would you compose another piece, Katarina? It might be a high bar to surpass the current piece, but I expect you can do it,” he said with a cheerful smile, leaving the hall in good spirits.
I understood what he said, but I couldn’t calmly accept it.
I watched the stout back walk away with a stunned expression.
“…That’s why I want Katarina to create the next piece as well. You can do it, right?”
Once Marlowe disappeared from view, Eltoba coughed and said this to me.
There was an undeniable force in Eltoba’s words and gaze.
He likely didn’t want to miss this opportunity while the orchestra was riding high.
“O-okay,” I nodded.
I couldn’t possibly refuse the request of the opera house director.
Having a piece I created gain popularity, then being asked one piece after another—it was a future I could only imagine. But now it was becoming reality.
I had reached the position where I could touch the place I aimed for, yet I couldn’t truly feel joy.
“What should I do? There’s no way I can make a piece better than before!”
Back home, I collapsed on the sofa and shouted my frustrations alone.
The real piece I had painstakingly crafted was dismissed as mediocre by Eltoba.
Even if I created a piece from my own ideas, sadly, neither Marlowe, Eltoba, nor the audience would likely be satisfied.
Yet I had been asked to compose the next piece. There was no way to refuse now. What should I do?
“I-I know. I’ll just arrange another song my neighbor sings.”
My neighbor sings different songs each day. I could arrange one of those into a new piece.
Some might say it’s unworthy pride as a composer or performer, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. I needed to meet everyone’s expectations.
I built a mental barrier under the guise of etiquette and pressed my ear to the wall, ready to catch the moment my neighbor would sing again.
●
After a while of going straight home after practice and listening at the wall,
“They’re singing!”
Finally, my neighbor began to sing.
My neighbor returned home in the evening and usually started singing after dinner.
Knowing this, I had been pressed to the wall since evening. At last, the neighbor began singing—a song different from the last time, an unfamiliar melody.
I focused on every note and rhythm, trying to imprint it in my memory.
From an outside perspective, it was completely stalker-like, but I didn’t care.
Once I memorized the song, I would return to my room, so it was fine.
