I hear a voice crying in the distance

Have you been abandoned, too?

A glamorous stage; an enormous hall donned in elegance under the sparkling crystal lights.

In front of more than a hundred guests of revered musicians and influential figures of the entertainment world, the Master of Ceremony stood with his microphone and a sealed envelope in hand. He had a meaningful smile on his face, as if knowing very well the brimming curiosity directed at him by his audience. "Best Composer of the Year" – those were the words displayed on the huge screen at the center-back of the stage, and the Master of Ceremony was only seconds away from disclosing the name who would be graced with this honorable title on this very night.

"Then, without further ado, the 'Best Composer of the Year' title goes to—" Hisashi Morooka opened the envelope in his hand and took out the card inside, "—for the fifth consecutive times, Viktor Nikiforov!"

The entire hall was filled with thundering cheers and applause at that very second; an epic music was immediately played by the band. The crowds grew even more excited when the man whose name had just been announced emerged from amongst them, walking on the red carpet towards the stage where clips of his earlier performances were now being shown on the screen.

Viktor Nikiforov was undoubtedly a man of irresistible charm. The silver-haired Russian had only taken his first step onto the stage, shaking hands with Morooka and accepting his trophy, but the crowds had already been chanting his name from every corner. "Viktor! Viktor! Viktor!" – they cheered, men and women alike, and they only stopped after the said man stood on the podium, smiling and waving his hand.

"…Well, what can I say?" was the first word he said, softly laughing while casting his gaze towards the sea of people before him, "It really is an honor to be able to hold this trophy again this year. I'm not sure I could describe how happy I am right now."

He took a deep breath and looked at the audience again.

"Of course, I would really love to thank every single one of you and everyone who has supported me all this time. But as you know, I'm not very good with words, am I? And by the time I finished it would have been morning already."

His spontaneous remark undoubtedly invited chuckles and giggles from the guests. Amongst them was a man only two years younger than the Russian now standing on the stage. Christophe Giacometti was the name, a renowned movie director and scriptwriter from Switzerland who also had his fair share of recognitions and achievements from the world. There was a subtle smile drawn on his face; his hazel eyes briefly glimmering as if he'd known something that the rest of the audience wasn't aware of.

"Here we go again…" he murmured under his breath, "What kind of stunt are you going to pull this time, Mr. Living Legend?"

"Therefore, if the Master of Ceremony would allow me…" Viktor gave a meaningful wink at the presenter near him, "Instead of words, may I convey my gratitude in a language I am more familiar with? Music, perhaps?"

All of a sudden, the lightings in the hall darkened except for the ones on stage. Bathed in spotlight, the young maestro opened both of his arms, to which the stagehands swiftly handed him a violin and its bow. At that moment, one could definitely see the look in his blue eyes changing as he placed the bow on the instrument's strings.

And it began.

— In Regards to Love: Eros

"Hey, hey, are you serious…?" Christophe laughed under his breath the moment the music started, shaking his head.

It was a captivating melody; "Eros" – a representation of sexual pleasure. The music was composed for a Western movie that was released earlier this year. Although the main focus of the story lied in the actions, this music had particularly drawn the world's attention when played during the scene where the hero sneaked into a party held by the leader of the local gangster. There, he met the daughter of his enemy, a beautiful yet strong-willed young woman, and the both of them engaged in a passionate, most ardent dance ever, enchanting the entire party until the woman's father realized his true identity – and the hero fled, leaving the young woman after having stolen her heart away.

There was no question that the same passion portrayed in the movie was now spreading throughout the enormous hall, permeating into the hearts of those who were listening that the previously excited crowds had now been silenced as if under a spell.

Nobody said a word; nobody could look away.

And when the violinist struck the last note, the whole place broke into a roaring mess of nonstop applause and standing ovation, even more than when the Russian man was crowned the best composer of the year a few minutes ago.

"An excellent, masterful performance! Ladies and gentlemen, Viktor Nikiforov!"

The words of the Master of Ceremony only served to excite the crowds even more. Everyone was cheering; everyone was clapping their hands. The silver-haired violinist was smiling and waving his hand from the stage, seemingly glad and proud.

And yet no one – not even those sitting at the very front – noticed the change of look in that pair of blue eyes, except for the Swiss man sitting amongst the standing crowds, quietly staring at that lone musician bathed under the spotlight.

"You were really confident of your victory, huh?"

"Really, Chris… I don't know what you're talking about," the Russian calmly took a sip of his drink, but soon he broke into a light chuckle upon seeing the untrusting look on the other's face, "Well, perhaps I really was a little bit confident."

"A little bit isn't even going to cut it. You totally requested to the staffs to set up the timing of your performance, didn't you?"

It was not long after the awards event was over. Both Viktor and Chris were drinking in the bar of the hotel where they were staying. Having known each other for many years, seeing these two men hanging out together was no longer a rare sight for the public as it was known that they were very good friends. There had been quite a lot of times when they worked together in the same project, but as for what kind of things they talked about outside of work, almost no one knew.

"I've told you this before, Chris," the Russian put down his glass on the bar table, "When I approach every music like a new beginning, I know I will be able to surprise people. It's just that this appears to be the case for my works this year, so I was more or less certain of getting the title."

"What if by chance someone else won?"

"Well, I asked the staffs to run with this only if I win. If that wasn't the case, they can go on with the original rundown. It would be my turn to perform soon, either way."

"And they approved your whimsical request as usual, I see."

"They said it was a great idea to attract more viewers on TV and made the rating goes up."

"So it's a win-win solution," the Swiss man chuckled and offered a handshake to his friend, "In any case, it's your fifth consecutive title as the best composer of the year. I believe congratulation is in order."

"Thanks, Chris," Viktor smiled, answering to the handshake, "And congrats to you, too. Your 'Rapsodie Espagnole' really is the best movie I've watched this year, probably one of the best you've created."

"Even if you say that, I'm not gonna pay for your drinks tonight."

They both laughed casually and had a toss to celebrate their recent achievements. Gulping down on their respective drinks, once again Christophe didn't miss the slight change in the other man's expression. It was the same as what he noticed at the end of Viktor's performance on stage, and having known the violinist for a long time, there was no reason for him to hesitate from expressing his concern.

"So, Viktor…" he said, putting down his glass, "You seemed like you were avoiding the press' interview after the award. Why?"

"Really? I did answer their questions, though."

"It's your answers that made it sounded like you're avoiding their questions," replied the movie director, "Especially when they asked about your plan for next year, you gave them a really vague answer."

"Aren't you funny, Chris? If I laid all my tricks bare from the beginning, people wouldn't be as surprised when they see the real thing later, would they?"

"Viktor. We've known each other for years. Do you still think you can lie right in front of my face?"

The violinist went silent; his blue eyes briefly widened. It was before long that a lonely smile was drawn on his handsome face, however, and he stared at his own reflection on the glass while responding to his friend's question.

"I'm considering to retire next year," he said in a soft voice, "Of course, I will see all my on-going works until the end, but I won't take on anymore jobs after that."

"…Are you serious?"

"Mm-hm. I've done a lot of thinking and I guess it's for the best," Viktor made a small nod, "Sorry, to say something like this out of the blue, Chris. Were you surprised?"

"There's no need for you to apologize about that. But if you asked me whether I was surprised or not… Well, I suppose you really did catch me off-guard," the Swiss man sighed, resting his chin on his hand, "Not that it never crossed my mind, but I just didn't expect your retirement to come so soon. Can I ask why?"

"I'm not sure how to put it into words, but… I'd say I simply have no idea what to do," replied Viktor, and he chuckled while shrugging his shoulders upon seeing the confused look on the other's face, "Or maybe you could say that I'm running out of inspiration."

"Now that's news to me. The great Viktor Nikiforov running out of inspiration," Chris raised his eyebrows, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"…None of my music feels like a new beginning anymore…"

The musician said nothing more but remained staring at his own reflection on the glass. His face was half hidden under his long bangs, but it was impossible not to notice the glint of sadness in his voice. Christophe, on the other hand, quietly gazed at his Russian friend. And yet all of a sudden, he called the barista and asked for two more drinks.

"Chris?"

"This one's on me," he said, "Stop making that face and drink up."

"…You're actually pretty nice, aren't you?"

"Of course. I'm always nice," the movie director purposely made a smug face. He saw Viktor laughing at his words, and at that sight he couldn't help but smile, as well. "You know, Viktor. Maybe you're actually just bored?"

"Bored?"

"I don't mean to belittle your problem, but I think you might actually just need a break," Chris showed him a secretive smile, "Or perhaps you could try doing something different for a change. How about joining me on my new project?"

There was so much meaning in the way his Swiss friend winked at him that Viktor couldn't hide his curiosity. Unlike him, Chris never considered surprising people as his main goal, but certainly this man had also surprised countless people in his line of work. The movies he created wouldn't receive dozens of awards and worldwide recognition otherwise.

"Are you looking for a composer for your new movie?" Viktor slightly tilted his head.

"Yes, but it's not a movie. It's a musical theatre."

"Musical theatre?!"

"Yup. Most of the team comes from Russia and the première would be in Bolshoi Theatre, so I would be staying in Moscow for awhile."

"You're temporarily moving to Russia?" the violinist seemed surprised, "What about your boyfriend? Is he coming, too?"

"Nah, he's got his own work to do," replied Chris lightly, "But we'll manage, as usual. Also, he needs to take care of my beloved cat while I'm gone. The little princess hates flying, you know?"

He rested his face on his hand and stared at his friend.

"So? How about it? You're interested?"

"W-Well, that's certainly something…different…" Viktor stuttered a bit, "I know you've worked on several stage plays before, but never a musical."

"It's a new challenge for me, too," the Swiss director closed him eyes and smiled, "That's why I think it would be nice to have a familiar face around when I'm being surrounded by this unfamiliar environment."

"I see…" the violinist cast his eyes down, seemingly contemplating on the offer. He had composed many original music, he had collaborated with many orchestras, had his own individual concert and composed songs for movies. But just like Chris, working on a musical was an area he'd never touched before.

Perhaps as his friend said, it could be an interesting new challenge.

"You don't have to give your answer now, Viktor. Just think about it and let me know if you've made up your mind," Chris rose from his seat and lightly patted his friend's shoulder, "Well then, I'm turning in first. I need to catch an early flight to Zürich tomorrow. What about you?"

"I'll be returning to St. Petersburg. There are some pieces I still need to complete and I'd like to do that at my studio at home."

"I see. Then good luck with that. I'll contact you again about my offer later."

For the last time today, his Swiss friend gave him a meaningful wink before leaving the bar. Viktor remained sitting on his chair for awhile, staring at the empty glass in his hands.

On the limpid surface, he saw his own face staring back at him, full of wonder.

"A musical, huh?" he thought, "That certainly sounds like something new."

Viktor couldn't recall the first time he jumped into the music world. For as long as he remembered, he'd been holding various kinds of instruments ever since he was a child before deciding that violin was his favorite. He'd won countless competitions. He'd gone to a famous music school and joined a famous orchestra under a renowned conductor. Even after he decided to become independent, his career didn't stop climbing.

In fact, perhaps his issue right now was due to the fact that he had reached the very peak of his career; so high that there was nothing left for him to climb.

"Really…" the violinist let out a long sigh, resting his face on his folded arms on the table, "I wonder what I need…so I can keep going on my own…"

Wiener Musikverein, Vienna.

Located in the Innere Stadt district of Austria's capital city, it was first inaugurated in 1870 by the emperor of that time. The concert hall – better known as the Musikverein – is home to one of the best orchestras in the world, the Vienna Philharmonic. Albeit it was built long ago before the modern era, its "Golden Hall" is also considered to be among the finest concert halls worldwide.

Young Viktor Nikiforov gracefully stepped onto the stage. With his long, silver hair tied into a ponytail, he saluted the juries and hundreds of audience watching him from their seats. Indeed, he was among the finalists for this competition where young musicians from all over the world tried to prove their talents. Should he place among the top three, he would be granted with a full scholarship to study in one of the best music schools in Europe.

Of course, the young Russian was confident of his victory.

It was just before he placed his bow on the strings of his violin that a sudden commotion was heard from the backstage. Not only the juries, but also the audience sitting at the front rows was able to notice the ruckus. Viktor saw the event staffs rushing there; a band with the word "medic" written on it was strapped on their arms. Knowing that his turn would be delayed either way, the young violinist headed to the source of commotion, brimming with curiosity.

"Is something the matter?" was the question he asked to a staff standing nearby. The older lady seemed startled by his presence, and she profusely attempted to ensure him that everything was alright.

Nevertheless, Viktor didn't miss the sight of another medic team coming in from the door on the other side. They were carrying a stretcher with them, and it was at that moment the young Russian noticed someone was lying on the floor of the room, trembling and wheezing. Surely, it must be one of them, the finalists – a younger boy with jet black hair and a pair of glasses.

And when the medic carried him away on the stretcher, the boy clenched his fists so hard that Viktor could only wonder whether it was due to pain or frustration.

Just now, did he see the boy crying?