Chapter 3 - The Sabotage
A month into the semester, the Conservatory announced the Mid-Term Showcases. It was a highly publicized event where the elite donors, music critics, and scouts from major orchestras came to evaluate the students.
Julian Vance’s father, Richard Vance, a man with cold eyes and a checkbook that acted as a weapon, made a substantial "anonymous" donation to ensure Julian received the prime closing spot of the night.
Leo was scheduled right before him.
The pressure was crushing. Back at the apartment, Rosa was glowing with pride. She had used her new pension to buy Leo a tailored black suit from a discount department store. It wasn't Armani, but when Leo put it on, he looked like a prince.
"You look beautiful, mijo," she wept, fixing his collar. "Show them who you are."
On the night of the showcase, the atmosphere backstage was thick with anxiety. Girls in silk dresses tuned their violins; boys in tuxedos paced nervously. Leo sat in the corner, closing his eyes, running through the complex Rachmaninoff prelude Kael had assigned him.
Ten minutes before he was supposed to go on, he went to the backstage bathroom to splash water on his face.
When he returned, Julian was walking away from Leo's designated warmup room.
"Break a leg, Torres," Julian whispered, a vicious smile playing on his lips.
Leo felt a spike of dread. He rushed into the warmup room and checked his sheet music. It was fine. He checked his suit. It was fine.
"Leo Torres, you're up," the stage manager whispered, pointing to the curtain.
Leo walked out onto the grand stage. The lights were blinding. In the front row, he saw Arthur Sterling, Maestro Kael, and Richard Vance, who was glaring at him with open contempt.
Leo bowed, sat at the Steinway, adjusted the bench, and raised his hands.
He brought his fingers down for the explosive opening chord.
CLUNK.
The sound was horrifying. The middle E-flat key was completely dead. Not out of tune—dead. Someone had reached into the piano and severed the hammer string mechanism.
A murmur of confusion rippled through the audience.
Backstage, Julian Vance watched from the monitors, grinning ear to ear. The piece Leo was playing relied heavily on that specific octave. Without it, the entire composition would fall apart. He would have to stop, apologize, and leave the stage in disgrace.
Leo froze. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He looked into the wings and saw Kael’s eyes widening in realization. Kael started to stand up to stop the performance.
No, Leo thought. I am not running.
Leo took a deep breath. In a fraction of a second, his brain, trained on a broken keyboard where half the keys didn't work for years, did the impossible.
He transposed the entire Rachmaninoff prelude.
He shifted his hands up a half-step, forcing himself to play the staggeringly complex piece in a completely different, much darker key to avoid the broken string.
He struck the keys again. The music that poured out was not what the audience expected. It was heavier, more tragic, and dripping with raw, bleeding adrenaline.
Leo played like a man fighting for his life. His fingers flew across the keys, rewriting a masterpiece on the fly. Kael slowly sat back down, his mouth slightly open in pure shock. Arthur Sterling leaned forward, completely mesmerized.
When Leo hit the final, thunderous chord, he stood up, breathing heavily, and bowed.
For three seconds, there was dead silence.
Then, the auditorium erupted. People didn't just clap; they stood up. Arthur Sterling was the first on his feet, followed by Kael.
May you like
Leo walked off the stage. Julian was standing in the wings, his face pale with horror.
Leo stopped right in front of him, leaning in close. "Next time you try to break me," Leo whispered, "make sure you cut all the strings."
