Hey everybody! I've started a new story on one of my favorite subjects: music. It's AU, and for convenience's sake, everyone's more or less the same age and Allen doesn't know anybody. Black Order School of Music is more like a college if you really look into it, but "BOSM" sounds cooler than "BOMC," so there! XD

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Sunlight streamed in from behind the cracks of dark, maroon curtains, dappling the sleeping, white-haired youth laid haphazardly across the nearby bed. The boy's body was clothed in loose cotton pajamas with a checkered print and sprawled on top of his sheets rather than under them. Mouth open, gentle snores echoes quietly throughout the room. But despite his disheveled appearance, the boy had a joyous, almost euphoric smile on his lips as he slumbered, and in his red left hand, he tightly held an old, creased letter, as if he were afraid it would disappear.

In the letter it read as the following:

Dear Mister Allen Walker,

After reviewing countless audition tapes and videos, we are pleased to notify you that you have passed the semi-finals in our new student body selection process. However, before you commence celebrations, know there is another cycle yet to be completed; the finals.

Because our educational facilities are very prestigious and expect the most from our pupils, we have decided to make our last round composition-based. Each candidate must compose a piece, and afterwards on August 1st, all semi-finalists will meet at 9:00 AM at John Laurent Hall in Manhattan to present a concert. All participants' performances will be judged and in front of the general public, but that is not to say we expect anything less than perfection from you.

Good luck in the finals!

Komui Lee

Dean

Black Order School of Music

Birds chirped noisily outside and an alarm clock rang suddenly, making the white-haired boy give a jerk. He yawned and then noticed the letter in his clutches. Allen Walker grinned. Today was August 1st, and a very special day indeed.

Within half an hour, Allen was ready to head out of his shabby apartment in Brooklyn. It was only 7:45, but he figured that coming early would be beneficial. He descended the housing estate's stairs, waving good bye to the woman at the front desk. Dressed in a simple black suit with a matching silk tie, he took nothing with him besides a thin notebook.

Once safely on the subway, he opened it and leafed through briefly. Ah, here was his pride and joy. Simply titled "Innocence," here was the song he'd worked on endlessly for two months since the letter from the Black Order Music School arrived at his doorstep. I worked my butt off to pass the couple of rounds. I'm not going to give up now!

BOSM was Allen's dream school, the place he aspired towards getting accepted to. Although he was quite intelligent, music had been his number one priority, his passion, and he loved it more than anything in the world. He'd spent years honing his skills, welding them, working to achieve true mastery of his instrument. Believe me, he was no prodigy; all the hours of practice weren't easy. Yet at seventeen years old, Allen Walker could say that he was quite accomplished in his field.

Ding! Allen looked up to see he was at his stop. Butterflies pranced in his stomach. Actually, they seemed more like boulders rolling around. Boulder with wings. Very heavy boulders with wings. He got up shakily, thankful for his light breakfast. If he consumed his usual amount, he'd most likely throw up.

Soon, he was standing before John Laurent Hall, at 8:35 in the morning, about to meet his fate. Would he make it? Would he not? Regardless, he walked in quickly, not bothering to take his time, and entered the lobby where a small crowd of people were standing. Some had black cases with them in an assortment of sizes and materials. Others were still madly scribbling on pieces of sheet paper while glancing anxiously at their watches. Many were looking nervous, and Allen could completely empathize.

At 8:45, a man in a white uniform and beret strode up to them and adjusting his glasses. He held a clip-board in his hands and halted in front of the mass of people. Everyone stopped what they were doing albeit the few still completing their pieces and turned to him.

"Hello! It's wonderful to see you gathered here. My name is Komui Lee, Dean of the Black Order School of Music." He coughed briefly and then said, "The concert will begin shortly in fifteen minutes. In that time, I will be issuing your numbers and performance arrangements in their orders, respectively. When I call your name, go down the right hallway and into the open door backstage." Allen held his breath, hoping that he wouldn't be first.

"Henry Woodson!" The first candidate stepped up and left. Allen sighed with relief. A few more names were summoned, and the owners too departed.

"Janice Evans!" A curly hair woman got up.

"Err, Lavi!"

"Alright!" cheered a red-haired teen. Oddly enough, he had on some sort of head-scarf as well as an eye-patch and swung a large case over his shoulder, rumpling his suit. "Just finished my song."

Allen raised his eyebrow. Was this guy serious? Before another he could think again, Komui spoke once more. "Yuu Kanda!"

A tall person with long, ebony hair stood, sporting their instrument. Allen could see a face with clear, pale skin and delicate features, sporting a pair of deep, onyx eyes. Wow, she's so beautiful, thought Allen, stunned, but that name is seems really familiar to me. I wonder if I've heard it before. Then Yuu Kanda turned, revealed he was wearing a suit, had no breasts, and crushed a young man's dreams in one foul swoop.

At last, "Allen Walker!" He was fourteenth and almost the last person. It was nearly time to start, and Allen took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He went backstage and received a program with all of the performers' names and pieces listed. He flipped to Yuu's and noticed his composition was christened, "Mugen." What could that mean? Then he went to Lavi's part out of sheer interest and saw the title, "Call of the Hammer." Abruptly, Allen was jerked from his reveries when the staccato sound of clapping reverberated in the Hall. The concert had begun.

Allen shuffled to where the other people were, surrounding a screen broadcasting the show. The first player, a pianist, wasn't special, and his piece sounded much like Chopin's Revolutionary Etude. Nonplussed, Allen glanced back at the crowd. Lavi and Yuu were together, standing apart from the others, Lavi hands behind his head and Yuu with his arms crossed. Not far away, a pretty Asian girl was comforting a crying woman with curly black hair. A punk-looking man with white streaks in his locks glared edgily into the distance. In an even more secluded area, a small, slender pixie-like girl stood by a man who was wearing a tuxedo and a jaunty top hat. They both had dark skin.

At once, the sheer competitiveness of the situation hit Allen, and he reviewed "Innocence" another time. He needed to make it into BOSM, the best music school in New York and possibly the world. He needed to become a musician.

"Oh shit, Yuu-chan. I'm next. Gimme a kiss for good luck?" Allen's ears perked and he raised eyebrows, alarmed at Lavi.

"No way in hell, fucking Usagi. Fail, so I can finally get away from you. And don't call me 'Yuu-chan.'"

"Aw, c'mon, Yuu-chan. Stop being such a stick in the mud." An aid signaled for Lavi to get ready. "Crap. Whatever. I think I can remember the notes." How? Thought Allen, didn't you just finish it, like, at 8:55?

"Che." Yuu (Or was it Yuu-chan now?) looked away. "Don't move your bow so much, Usagi. It looks like you're having a seizure."

Lavi looked surprised. "Sure, Yuu-chan. Thanks."

Allen turned back to the broadcasting screen. Lavi was a cellist. He had gotten on stage and seated himself with a surprising seriousness. He closed his eyes briefly, picked up his bow, and began to play. Allen was shocked at the variety of textures Lavi was able to capture in the full, calm sound of his cello. A repeating passage of three long strokes on the D-string, animated and lively, truly did sound like a hammer. As Lavi moved onto a tender passage, Allen was reveled in the romanticism of each note, complex and clear. The boy clapped to himself when the piece was over and Lavi had exited. Then he sharply inhaled and looked up. Kanda was gone. He snapped his head back and looked at the screen as the long-haired man walked on.

Allen's jaw dropped. The music, the music was marvelous. Yuu was an incredible violinist. His notes were like crystals, his phrases like rushing water, refreshing and wonderful. "Mugen" had an oriental feel to it, but the lyrical chords were strictly European. The sorrowful lament that Yuu was able to bring forth with his violin made Allen's heart thump, the notes soft and sweet. There was a light pause and then… faster, faster, faster. The violinist's fingers appeared to blur in their breath-taking frenzy as his piece took on a crazed feel, yet his bowing arm was as practiced and graceful as ever. A pizzicato so quick it was nearly unrecognizable caught Allen off guard, and before he could even react, Yuu had already made of his bow again. As he played, his body rocked slowly to and fro and his hair swished in one clean movement. When he was done, the final notes still sang in the air. The applause was thunderous.

I've definitely heard of this guy. But from where? Kanda returned backstage.

"Geez, Yuu-chan. Always gotta make me look bad, huh?" Lavi smiled, "Good job."

"Che. You weren't so bad yourself. But don't think I didn't notice you make a mistake in the bowing. You cut off a phrase when you ripped your bow off the strings."

"I prefer to call it 'ended unusually,' and you know, 'ripped' is such a harsh word. Couldn't you have used 'loosely lifted' or something?"

"Shut up, Usagi."

"Ooh, Yuu-chan's using dirty language!"

"… Fuck you."

Meanwhile, Allen was already ascending the stage. His piece ran in his head. He stood as he moved in front of his instrument and gave a short bow. All these people… all these faces. They're waiting for a show. They're waiting? Then I'll give 'em one, damn it! Allen sat and took a deep breath. He relaxed and started to play, enjoying the cool feel of the keys, how the pedal was springy and easy to press. A river of music flowed from his fingertips and he became all the more excited.

Allen Walker was a pianist.