Victor's reputation and standing in the music world — and in the eyes of the nobility — directly affected the future careers and livelihoods of Lot, Phyllis, and the others. As a result, none of them could maintain the graceful composure that the aristocracy demanded. Their faces were etched with worry, anxiety, and bitterness.
Phyllis clasped her hands together, pacing back and forth outside the piano room, glancing anxiously at the tightly shut wooden door from time to time. After hearing Lot's words, she struggled to contain her emotions, her voice taking on a slightly shrill edge: "How are we supposed to persuade him? Are we supposed to tell Mr. Victor to calm down, that inspiration will definitely come? That the new composition will surely be finished? If simple persuasion worked, then would Mr. Victor be like this in the first place?"
Lot frowned and looked at the wooden door of the piano room. "Perhaps we should suggest to Mr. Victor why he insists on using newly composed pieces. He has many excellent symphonies from before — he could easily select another one from among them."
For this crucial concert, Victor had already written two new compositions, and he had also carefully chosen from his earlier works a piece that represented his former peak — one that could hold its own against the new compositions. Since all of his current symphonies followed a strict four-movement structure, each lasting dozens of minutes, a single concert only required four symphonies. Victor was still one piece short.
"No good — I've tried to convince the master before, but he said the two new pieces are the crystallization of his musical soul and inspiration. Among his earlier symphonies, only one of them is on the same level. Choosing another would only lower the overall caliber and standard of the concert, becoming an unavoidable flaw that critics would seize upon and magnify. So he absolutely refused." The butler, Ace, had appeared at some point near the bottom of the stairs, his aged face full of helpless resignation.
Herodotus rubbed his temples. "Mr. Victor is simply too much of a perfectionist. His earlier symphonies are genuinely excellent — praised by many nobles and musicians alike. Otherwise, why would they have invited him to perform at the Sacred Hymn Hall? Why don't we try persuading him once more?"
His gaze turned to Lot and Phyllis, seeking their opinion. As for Lucian, he instinctively disregarded him — a commoner boy who had studied music for less than two months and could only play the simplest of pieces hardly had any say in this matter.
Lucian indeed had no idea how to persuade Victor either, because it was plain to see that Mr. Victor had poured his entire soul and passion into this concert. No amount of outside counsel could reach him.
"Mr. Ace, what do you think?" Phyllis understood clearly that among everyone present, the person who knew Mr. Victor best was undoubtedly Ace, the butler who had accompanied him for nearly thirty years, watching him grow from a boy of barely ten into a musician. She looked at him with earnest, worried eyes.
Ace shook his head, his voice laden with sorrow and regret. "The master will not listen to your persuasion. This concert is vitally important to him — not only because it concerns his standing in the music world and his future development, but also because it was the madam's wish. Before she passed away, she always regretted that she would never see the master perform at the Sacred Hymn Hall. That is why the master wants a flawless, perfect concert. Ah, I can only hope that when the master thinks of the madam's expectations, he will gradually calm down."
"But we can't just do nothing," Lot said. Unlike Phyllis, who still had the possibility of becoming some nobleman's wife, Lot had already staked his entire future on his musical career. It was only natural that he shared Victor's agitation and anxiety.
Lucian had always felt grateful toward Victor, and he nodded as well. "Perhaps we could find some potions or foods that promote sleep and help stabilize one's mood?"
As a Magic Apprentice, when it came to thinking about related problems, the first things he considered — after Arcane Magic itself — were potions. Lucian demonstrated this tendency perfectly.
"No. The master gave strict instructions not to allow him to take any such substances, as they would suppress his inspiration and stifle his thinking." Ace firmly and gravely rejected Lucian's proposal.
Lucian asked with a touch of worry, "Then are we reduced to hoping that Mr. Victor will overcome this on his own? There's nothing we can do?"
"What could we possibly do? Are you going to write the symphony in Mr. Victor's place?" Herodotus, who already disliked Lucian, was in an extremely foul mood and could not help but deliver the barb with a sting of anger.
The moment his cutting remark fell, the room went silent. None of them truly knew what could be done. Lucian, for his part, had been spurred into thinking of something — on one hand, they had to let Mr. Victor search for inspiration and compose the piece himself; on the other hand, he needed to make preparations on two fronts, so that when the critical moment arrived, they would not be completely helpless. But exactly what those preparations should entail required further careful thought.
After a period of silence, the piano room door creaked softly open, and Victor emerged. His eye sockets were sunken deep, and his voice carried profound exhaustion: "I'm going to the Association to rehearse the first three pieces. You should come along — observe how the orchestra coordinates under the conductor's direction. Then you can practice your own instruments in the Association's rehearsal rooms."
Seeing that Victor had recovered quickly after his brief collapse, Lot, Phyllis, and the others quietly breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that perhaps they did not need to do anything after all — Mr. Victor was, after all, an accomplished musician who had performed in the courts of many nations and seen the world. He knew how to pull himself together. Still, the shadow of doubt over whether the fourth symphony could actually be composed lingered in everyone's hearts.
……
In the performance hall on the fifth floor, the orchestra played a complete symphony to elegant perfection, guided by Victor's conducting and coordinated by Rhein as concertmaster. The four movements were solemn and grand, their structure rigorous, carrying a faint flavor of sacred music — a truly delightful auditory experience.
When the symphony concluded, Victor walked over to where Lucian and the others stood below the stage, listening and observing intently. "All right, you lot go practice in the rehearsal rooms. I'll come by shortly to provide guidance."
He had barely finished speaking when, before anyone could turn to leave, a round of applause suddenly rang out through the quiet performance hall. Though the hall's unique architecture provided excellent acoustics and reverberation, the clapping was too sparse, sounding thin and scattered.
"A remarkably fine symphony. I didn't expect that after being back for only a short while, I'd have the pleasure of hearing such a beautiful piece. It seems your concert is all set, Victor? Heh — it will surely be a great success." Beneath the words of praise, a poorly concealed note of mocking amusement dripped from every syllable.
Lucian recognized that familiar voice and turned to look. Sure enough, it was Wolf, freshly returned from his absence, his boot-shaped chin held high in an expression of smug, triumphant self-satisfaction.