Come now, let's empty this glass of wine soon

I'll start getting ready

Now be silent

It was the beginning of spring. The sun was shining bright that morning and the cloudless sky appeared to promise the start of a fine day.

Amongst the sea of humans and vehicles crowding the streets of Moscow, Viktor Nikiforov could be seen walking along the pedestrian, wearing his favorite trench coat and scarf. Next to him was none other than his faithful companion, an old brown poodle named Makkachin who had been with him for a very long time.

"—Achoo!" the violinist suddenly sneezed, "Geez, it's already spring, but the temperature's still cold, huh, Makkachin?"

"Woof!"

"What do you mean you're not cold?! You're already an old man in the dog world!"

"Woof, woof!"

It was unclear whether they both could actually understand each other, but Viktor kept talking to his poodle regardless of the strange looks people were giving him. Sometimes he showed a pouting face, sometimes he smiled and other times he laughed. In the meantime, Makkachin responded to him in small barks and whimpers, occasionally licking his hand and wagging his fluffy tail.

Several weeks had passed since he was awarded with the title of best composer. Chris fulfilled his promise; a few days after they parted, the Swiss director sent him a proposal containing the general ideas and concept of the said musical theatre. And along with it, an invitation to attend a meeting with the core team members in Moscow.

"So in the end, I decided to come all the way here," Viktor thought to himself, "I'm still not completely sure, but since it's come to this, I suppose there's no choice but to move forward."

He felt Makkachin licking the tips of his fingers, gazing at him with those pair of gleaming black eyes. It was as if his furry friend was trying to tell him not to worry so much, and Viktor couldn't help but smile at him, petting his fluffy brown fur as they continued walking side by side towards their destination.

Eventually, a certain building appeared not far from where they were.

"…We're here," Viktor muttered under his breath, looking straight ahead without slowing down his pace.

It was a neoclassical building. Standing firmly three stories high from the ground, it occupied a considerably large plot of land in the middle of the city. The main structure was surrounded by green courtyard and many young people could be seen roaming around the vicinity. They were mostly teenagers and young adults; some were carrying musical instruments while the older folks blending amongst them were dressed in working outfits. It was fairly obvious for those who were familiar with the area; this place was a conservatory, a very famous one at that.

How nostalgic – A subtle smile was drawn on Viktor's face when he passed through the yard and into the main entrance. He knew that many of the students recognized him; he was once one of them and he had walked across this very courtyard countless times in the past. When he stepped inside, the classic atmosphere remained the same despite some small changes that had been made.

"I thought this place would have changed so much that I wouldn't recognize it anymore," Viktor briefly swept his gaze around, "Looks like I don't have to be worried about getting lost."

"Vitya."

"Hmm? Ah, Yakov, it's you."

At that sudden call, the silver-haired Russian turned to find the owner of the voice, a man much older than him with balding grey hair. Even if the later remained stoic, the young maestro seemed so happy to see him that he smiled from ear to ear, jogging towards the older man together with his poodle.

"Yakov, it's been awhile!"

"…Vitya, why is your dog here, too?" the old man frowned, "How many times have I told you that pets are not allowed on the campus ground?"

"But… But I can't possibly leave him alone at home…" replied Viktor with a sad face. At the same time, Makkachin also cast his eyes down and whimpered that at a glance, it seemed as if the two of them were sharing the same disheartened look.

"Tch— Fine, just make sure he wouldn't disturb us during the meeting."

"Yay! Thanks, Yakov!"

Again, both the violinist and his poodle made the same happy face that the older man found himself at loss of words.

Yakov Feltsman. He was one of the most renowned conductors in Russia, leading the nation's best orchestra. He was also a music instructor, and for more than a decade now he had been one of the most respected professors in this school. For as long as he could remember, Viktor had been under this man's tutelage and used to be part of his orchestra until he decided to become independent five years ago. Even then, they remained in contact and there were times when Viktor collaborated with Yakov's orchestra on some occasions.

Although he always looked angry with that scary face and voice, the violinist knew that Yakov was an extremely good man at heart. If anything, he was already like a father to him.

"So I heard you recently won an award," the conductor said as they walked along the corridor, "Congratulations, Vitya."

"Thank you, Yakov. It's all thanks to your teachings that I can come this far."

"Hmph. You have no right to say that when you've never listened to what I said in the first place."

"Ahahaha, sorry, sorry. I know I've caused a lot of troubles for you," Viktor laughed without even a speck of regret in his face, "But, Yakov… I'm surprised to hear that you would be involved in this project."

"It has an interesting concept and good prospect," the older man said, "Actually, I'm more surprised to find out that you're joining the team all of a sudden."

"Well… Chris only told me about it recently," hearing those words, the young maestro slightly chuckled, scratching the side of his face, "To be honest, I wasn't really sure at first, but this seems challenging. I have never worked for a musical before, so I'm eager to know what I can do in this project."

"As long as you're not just playing around."

"Don't worry, Yakov. You know I always see what I've started until the end."

To his answer, the conductor snorted and looked away, a very typical reaction which Viktor had grown far too used to see in the past.

After passing a row of classrooms, an inner garden and a music room, the two men headed for the stairs that brought them to the second, then the third floor. Unlike the lower grounds, there were considerably less students here and one of the hallways was filled with nothing but dark-colored doors lining on both sides. A metal plate was embedded on each of them, and on the furthermost door, the plate had the name "Yakov Feltsman" engraved on it.

"…What is it, VItya?" Yakov asked upon noticing his former student standing in place, staring at the said door.

"Ah, no. Just thinking that even your office is still in the same place," the violinist shook his head and smiled, "So? Am I the last one to be here?"

"That appears to be the case. Either way, just get inside first."

With that said, Yakov turned the knob and opened the way into his office.

Just like the overall architecture of the building, all rooms in the conservatory had a neoclassical design applied to its whole interior, including those of the professors'. On one side, there was Yakov's desk and several wooden shelves filled with books and all sorts of documents. The windows were facing the inner garden, and the way they were positioned made it easy for sunlight to enter the room that no lamps were required on sunny days such as this.

Closer to the entrance was a short table surrounded by a couple of sofas. It looked almost like a small living room, intended for informal meetings and interviews. When Viktor stepped into the office, the first thing he saw was two familiar men and an older woman whom he had never seen before.

"I knew you'd come, Viktor," Christophe said with a happy smile upon seeing his Russian friend coming in, and then he turned at a bald middle-aged man beside him who was wearing a pair of red-framed glasses, "See? I told you, Josef. He's going to bring his dog along to this meeting."

"Heh heh, you're right, Chris. Looks like I owe you lunch," the man called Josef laughed before rising to his feet, offering a handshake to the violinist, "Good to see you again, Viktor. I hope you remember me?"

"Of course. Josef Karpisek. How could I forget when you and Chris are always glued to each other in every single project?" Viktor chuckled as he shook the other's hand. He then turned at the only woman in the room, a lady much older than him with an extremely stern face that was almost similar to Yakov's. "And you are?"

"Lilia Baranovskaya," she promptly responded; her handshake felt strong and firm, "A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Viktor Nikiforov."

"Huh?"

"Lilia is a former prima ballerina of Bolshoi Ballet," Yakov said, "Since we need a choreographer for this musical, I asked her about it and she agreed to join."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Yakov," replied her, "I have no intention of getting back together with you."

"I-I wasn't hoping for that at all!" to the lady's blunt remark, Yakov became very flustered all of a sudden, and it was at that moment Viktor recalled something he had heard a long time ago.

"That's right… I know Yakov used to be married. So it was her…"

"Alright then, since everyone's here, I suppose we can already start with the meeting," clasping his hands, Christophe looked at the other four people in the room as if requesting their attention, "First of all, thank you very much, Mr. Yakov, for lending us your office for this first meeting. I would like to take this chance to provide a more detailed concept of the musical theatre that I have in mind."

He provided each of them with a file folder.

"This is the hard copy of the proposal that I have sent a few weeks ago, including the complete synopsis. I will send you the full script tonight, but for now, do you have any comments on what we currently have at hand?"

"The casts," Lilia responded swiftly without taking her eyes of the papers, "If I don't like what I see, I might reconsider joining this project."

"We already have several names in mind, especially for the main characters," said Chris as he turned to his colleague, "Josef, if you will…"

"Right," the man opened his laptop, showing the profiles of several actors and actresses, "The main casts will be played by Michele and Sara Crispino. We've considered some others beside them, but they appear to be the most suited for these roles."

"The Crispino twins, huh?" Yakov folded his arms, "Certainly, they have a lot of experiences with theatres and musicals. If I remember correctly, the last musical they starred in was performed in Milan's Teatro Alla Scala only a few months ago."

"Serenade for Two. It tells the story of a knight who falls in love with the princess of the opposing nation when their kingdoms are at war," replied Chris, "While the main idea sounds rather cliché, countless critics have admitted that the twins had successfully brought their characters to life. I believe there are rumors that this musical will be nominated for this year's 'Best Romance'."

"Honestly, I thought the fact that they are siblings would somehow hinder their acting, but perhaps I was wrong," said Yakov again, "Either way, casting and acting are not my forte in this project. What do you think, Lilia?"

"Overall they're perfect to play romantic roles, but when separated it will be another story," the former prima ballerina responded; her lime-green eyes fixated on the twins' picture, "That said, they're a good choice for this musical. Very well, continue."

"For the deceptive antagonist, we have here Emil Nekola from the Czech Republic. Given that he is a good friend of the Crispinos, we decided that this role suits him well," Josef tapped on his laptop, "Furthermore, Korea's Seung Gil Lee passed our screening to play the protagonist's unexpected ally. Jean-Jacques Leroy will be the king whom the heroine serves as she was sent to him as a gift from a neighboring kingdom."

He leaned back to his seat.

"And that concludes the main casts for our musical. Do you have anything to add, Chris?"

"Thanks, Josef. In any case, we will send you the complete lists of the casts later, including the supporting actors so you can look further into it," replied the Swiss director, "Other than that, if there are no more questions from everyone, perhaps we could move on to the next point?"

"What about the music?" asked Yakov, "I understand that you want our orchestra to perform all the pieces and we are ready for that. However, we will need to know what kind of music it will be so we can decide on the instruments composition."

"In regards to that, I will leave it up to Viktor," the director turned at his Russian friend, "Of course, I will provide my inputs as the one who writes the story, but for the overall concept, I'm trusting it to our main composer."

"…That's an honor, Chris," having said nothing for awhile, the violinist only responded with a smile; one of his hand petting the brown poodle sitting by his legs, "I have composed several songs for your movies in the past, but I suppose you would like something different this time?"

"The story focuses a lot on the many sides of human emotions. If I were to put it into words, I would say I imagine the music to portray different emotions, as well, for each major scene, especially the protagonist's love towards the heroine."

"I see…" Viktor rubbed his chin, "Then, I'll do my best."

"Thanks, Viktor. I'm counting on you."

The discussion continued. Lilia was presenting her ideas on the choreography; Chris and Josef went into more details on the casts and settings; Yakov was listening while giving suggestions here and there. In the meantime, the young maestro remained silent in his seat; his hand didn't stop stroking the fur of his old companion by his feet. It looked as if he was drowning in thoughts, and yet instead of inspiration, in his head he could only hear his own voice repeating the same words over and over again.

It was a mistake to take part in this play.

"…I've ruined myself this time, aren't I, Makkachin?" the violinist said to his poodle as they walked down the stairs to the first floor, "Chris never meant anything bad, but I shouldn't have jumped in head first into something out of mere curiosity."

The old dog looked up at him; his black eyes briefly gleaming as if in perplexity. It felt like his companion was asking what he planned to do from now on, and Viktor couldn't help but let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"There's nothing I could do. I can no longer retreat now, not after answering Chris' invitation to come here and saying all those things to Yakov," he said, "I hope I will be able to come up with something once we get home later. Perhaps a walk in the park and a good night sleep could help."

He brushed back his silvery bangs, sighing again for the umpteenth time. Honestly, he had come here hoping that his friend's idea would be able to give him inspiration, but now he ended up in a deeper problem instead. If he wasn't able to compose anything for the musical…

"…No, I need to stop thinking like this and start working."

It was at that moment he caught a familiar sound coming not far from where he was. A piano – and it appeared he wasn't the only one noticing this sound since Makkachin's ears were also perking up. The poodle then ran off ahead of him. Without thinking, the young maestro followed his friend until they both arrived in front of an opened door at the end of the long corridor.

— A string of gentle, yet lonely tunes.

What lied before him was a spacious music room with its enormous windows facing the garden. The light of the sun was piercing inside through the beautiful greeneries and the clear glasses; the entire place was giving off a serene feeling to whomever looking at this chamber dominated in pure white. There were several musical instruments, but the violinist's attention was immediately drawn towards only a single object in the middle.

On a black grand piano firmly standing on the hardwood floor, a young man with jet black hair appeared to be playing an unknown piece of music; his fingers gracefully dancing on the monochrome keys.

"…This guy…"

He was by no means strikingly attractive, nor that he left a strong impression for others to easily remember him on first sight. He was just an ordinary young man with an old-fashioned shirt and a pair of glasses, and yet for some reason, Viktor was unable to shake off his figure quietly playing the piano while bathed in the light of the morning sun.

Before he knew it, the young maestro had stepped into the room, quietly standing by the door side as not to alarm the unknown pianist.

"I wonder if he's playing an original piece…"

He had never heard this music before; it was so beautiful to the point that he could not simply walk away, but at the same time, the melodies sounded as if they were carrying a mountain of indescribable sadness. It was heart-wrenching enough even for a bystander like him, and the violinist could only wonder what the young man was thinking as he composed this song on his own.

"…Hmm?"

But the music ended abruptly. It was obvious that must not be the closure the pianist had intended to play, but at that moment Viktor could no longer pay attention to such detail. It happened so fast right before his eyes; immediately after his fingers ceased to dance on the piano keys, the young man lost strength in his body and fell crashing to the floor.

"W-Wha—Hey!"

He could hear Makkachin's distressed barks alongside his own rapid footsteps as they both dashed towards the fallen pianist. Viktor took the curling body into his arms, feeling the pale figure trembling while wheezing in pain. He appeared to be a man of Japanese descent, several years younger than him in terms of age. When the violinist tried to shake him awake, he could see drops of cold sweat running down his temples.

"Hey! Hey, what happened?!" said the composer while lightly patting the other's cheek. The younger man didn't say anything in response. He seemed to be clutching at the left side of his chest, but right before Viktor thought of leaving to call for help, the black-haired slowly opened his eyes.

They were a pair of beautiful brown.

"Are you okay?" the Russian asked once again, "Does it hurt somewhere? Should I call an ambulance?"

He thought he saw those brown eyes widened in surprise behind the glasses, but it was before long that the young pianist profusely shook his head. If anything, he struggled to rise to his own two feet despite the fact that his body was still wobbling left and right.

"Be careful," Viktor supported him by the arms, "Are you sure you should be standing around so soon? You seemed to be in a lot of pain."

The black-haired looked at him in a mix of nervousness and embarrassment. He didn't say anything, but he repeatedly bowed his head as if trying to apologize. That, or perhaps he was trying to thank him one way or another. In any case, it appeared that the young man had somehow felt better and to this sight, Viktor could feel a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"Well, it's all good if you're okay," the violinist smiled, "I was passing by when I heard you playing the piano. That was a beautiful piece. Did you compose it by yourself?"

The black-haired nodded.

"I see. Are you a student of this conservatory? What's your name?"

To his question, the young pianist seemed to be a bit startled. He began to frantically look for something around him. When he finally found his own cell phone sitting on top of the piano, those long fingers began to type in several words in a hurry before he showed it to the older man.

"My name is Yuuri Katsuki" – were the words written on the screen.

And it was at that moment Viktor came to a realization: this young man was unable to talk.