I. First Movement.
Music is life.
It was a mantra, something advertisements, movies, friends, parents, and even teachers acknowledged and embraced. You could even find it on Urban Dictionary. Everyday, something related to music would be brought up.
"Hey, want to go to the movies tomorrow?"
"Sorry, I've got violin class."
"Oh that's okay. What's your favourite piece?"
"Well, I don't know. I never remember the titles, but I like playing Wedding Dress on the piano."
"You play piano too? Play it to me sometime!"
"Only if your house has a piano!"
Some pursued it relentlessly, some let it go to swim with the river's flow, and some shunned it, calling it an ear-piercer instead.
"Dammit! I can't get this part right!"
"Don't hold on to it so much, let it live."
"Can you stop playing now? I need silence."
Competitions of every kind rose and fell. Musicians of every caliber and standing emerged and were buried as trends came and went.
"Once a peasant, Izumu Kohaku, has once again startled the world his perfect pitch and golden voice!"
"I don't know about you, Sally, but I think that Yullia has a real good shot at getting first place. Look at her fingers go!"
"Who needs a real voice these days? There's always auto-tune."
But she wasn't that extraordinary. No mentionable mark was left by her. Like all teenagers, she listened to what was "in" and had a certain degree of musical experience. Her schedule was cramped with prep classes, outings with friends, piano lessons, procrastination experiments, and sleep. She liked singing and had once been praised as a semi-prodigy for her then childish, but angelic-sounding voice. However, the only time she had tested her vocal limits was in a school play during her elementary years. She wouldn't call her relationship with music as a love-hate one, but it wasn't a love-love one either.
Music is tradition.
He grew up hearing that. His uncle, a former world-renowned cellist, and his aunt, the country's prized pop singer, had always stressed the importance of continuing the lineage of talent.
"Your father played the violin so well, it seemed like an illusion."
"Yes, there wasn't another person who could make it live like he did!"
Forced to play piano starting at the age of three, he was quickly introduced to other instruments as he aged, year by year.
"Auntie, what is it this year?"
"The guitar! Shhh, don't let your uncle know I'm telling you this, but next year, it's going to be the flute!"
To his knowledge, none his friends actually initiated their correspondence with music. All of them went along with it, quitting when they could take no more, or taking it to the next level because they wanted to be the best.
"Yeah, Mom got me started on piano when I was six. Said I needed music to be good at math."
"Wow. Really? Mine got me started when I was in preschool. I quit the trombone though, it's too troublesome."
"Hey! Guess what! I got first place again!"
"We know, we know. Your face is gonna explode if you keep smiling like that."
"Shush. It's my lucky day today!"
As promised from his ancestors, he had acquired the natural, musical talent. Superior in everything, the concert master, and was worshiped by all. He loved music. But he didn't love it for itself. He loved it for represented.
"Stop. My ears are withering."
Ignoring her companion, the teenage girl continued to deliberately sing off-tune, "You-u-u-u-u can't-an't-an't make me-e-e-e-e aaodshgpmhh!"
Said girl had been silenced by said companion. Her companion had sealed her mouth some of the duct tape he always had on standby. In retaliation, the girl pounced on him and began her attempt to mess up his hair. A scuffle ensued.
"Hyuuga, I know that Tenten's your favorite friend, but spend some time with your male buddies."
The teenage boy and girl parted and looked up. They saw three guys, all messily dressed, grinning down at them.
"Of course," the blond one started cheekily, "unless you can't keep your hands off – OUCH!" He clutched his head in pain.
"Hn."
"Back to the shell again," another one of the three drawled.
"Hn."
The girl smiled at the intruders, "That's him telling you to go away."
"We know, we know, but whatever, we're staying!" The blond said airily.
Shrugging her shoulders, she replied, "Your funeral then, Naruto, Shikamaru, Kiba."
The brown-haired one of the three laughed loudly, "True. He doesn't want to – OUCH! Neji, you're making me lose my abs!"
"Hn."
Interrupting the fun, a girl with long, dark hair ran up the hill, her glossy eyes wide with news.
Naruto smiled widely as he caught sight of her, "Hinata-chan," he called out as he waved joyfully to her.
She ran past him, leaving him dumbfounded as she almost never ignored anyone. Panting, she stopped in front of Neji, and choked out, "Nii-san, you have another concert in a week. Three pieces per instrument, two instruments, minimum."
He stood up and gave a slight wave to the people who occupied the little hill, "See you in a week." Turning around he followed the dark-haired girl down the hill.
"Y'know, I think he needs to loosen up," the brown-haired one commented.
"Kiba, be quiet. He's changed a lot already," Tenten retorted.
The school was still quite empty, the hallways seemed bare without all the students milling around. But then again, it was only 6:45 in the morning. No one liked coming to school this early.
"Tenten, Tenten, wait up!" A voice, followed by a pattering of uneven footsteps, called out.
Turning around, Tenten saw a girl with pink hair jogging towards her. "Hi, Sakura," she greeted. Then she added teasingly, "You're breaking school rules, Miss Class President."
Sakura sent her an amused look. The two girls walked quietly down the hall so they wouldn't get kicked out for disturbing the teachers who were doing last minute prep work.
"So, Neji's absent again today?"
Tenten nodded, "Yeah, he's got another concert-recital thing coming up in about five days." She halted in front of her locker, opened it, and took out her first and second period textbooks.
"Are you going?" Sakura asked.
Carefully closing her locker door, Tenten replied, "Of course. I always go. If I don't, he'll throw a tantrum."
"Alright people! Three minutes until showtime!" The megaphones blared.
People were buzzing around, making sure this and that was in perfect working condition. Neji stood off to the side, where he fixed his sleeves and loosened his collar. His aunt always made it much too tight.
"Two minutes!"
He checked his flute and tried to make his hair less like a helmet. Why in the world did the ladies need to spray everything within a five feet radius with hairspray?
"One minute!"
Everyone, with the exception of him, of course, scrambled to their seats.
"Thirty seconds!"
The lights went on.
"Ten seconds!"
He waited for the announcer to begin.
"Showtime!"
The lights meandered over the stage, showing every performer and then stopped and shone on the maestro.
"Ladies and Gentlemen thank you for coming tonight..."
He played with an unrivaled passion, precision and grace. One piece flowed seamlessly into the next. The audience was awed at his technique, his fluidity. But no! In a flash, it seemed like his hands became bipolar. One mistake, two, three, a whole phrase played incorrectly! His hands shook, he tried to touch the keys with confidence. His mind went one way, his fingers another. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten phrases reduced to dust. His rhythm became sporadic, the rest of the orchestra was left to create chaos within the music. He couldn't concentrate. The audience began to murmur, first, with confusion, then with anger. He played faster and faster and faster until all that could be heard was a single continuous chord of error and frustration.
Then there was silence.
Hyuuga Neji stood up from his piano and gently grabbed the microphone from his shocked maestro. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for my disrespectful performance. If you wish, you will receive a full refund within a month's duration. Thank you for your patience." He bowed lowly and exited from the stage.
Tenten sat there, in pretzel formation, on his chair, in his dressing room, waiting for him. She knew that he'd come sooner or later, so when he did, she just stayed where she was and watched him as he closed the door and leaned his head on it. He clenched his fists in anger.
"I lost it."
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Thank you for reading!
~starisice