Music Maestro

"Alicia Banderas."

Vanmour, of course, had no idea that Alicia Banderas was the world-renowned celestial songstress, the reigning queen of the global music scene.

When she spoke her name, there was no flicker of recognition in Vanmour's expression. His tone remained indifferent, as if he had never heard the name before. To Alicia's own surprise, a faint but undeniable disappointment stirred within her. Unable to suppress her curiosity, she pressed further. "You've never heard of this name?"

Vanmour could certainly pick up on the underlying meaning of her question. Clearly, the girl beside him was someone of significance. But the truth was, he truly had no idea who she was. He couldn't very well lie outright, could he? With a slightly awkward chuckle, he simply said, "Heh."

Alicia, ever perceptive, immediately understood—he genuinely didn't know her. And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, that realization brought a fresh wave of disappointment.

Sensing the subtle shift in her mood, Vanmour, still somewhat flustered, asked, "Wait… are you some kind of big star?"

The question made Alicia hesitate. Boasting about herself felt unbecoming, so she replied with quiet simplicity, "I'm a singer." Then, eager to change the subject, she added, "Your viola playing is incredible. I've never heard anything quite so beautiful."

"Oh, that explains it," Vanmour said, nodding. "I had a feeling you understood music the moment you walked into the bar. So you're a singer? Well, there's hardly anyone around right now—how about singing something for me?"

He had no idea how audacious his request was. In his worldview, a singer was nothing particularly special—no different from a bar waiter, really. Just another profession. And since Alicia was a singer, wouldn't it only be natural to ask her to sing? If anything, he figured she'd be happy about it.

Alicia, caught between amusement and exasperation, didn't know whether to laugh or sigh. Of all the people in the world, he might be the only one to make such a bold request to someone of her status.

Clearing her throat, she stood beside him and began to sing. The melody of Jueves drifted into the night air—the song that had become a legend in Spain, a masterpiece beloved for its unique style and haunting beauty.

A voice, pure and mellifluous, rose in the space between them. The exquisite melody and flawless vocals left no doubt—this was the voice of a true queen of song, the full brilliance of a world-class singer laid bare.

And yet, to Vanmour, a grandmaster of music, something was missing. The performance, while remarkable, was not perfect. So when Jueves, a global hit, came to its final note, he did not offer empty praise. Instead, he remained silent.

Alicia Banderas had just sung Jueves—her legendary masterpiece—for a single man, an event that, if made public, would undoubtedly set the entertainment world ablaze. Countless fans would burn with envy. She knew, of course, that someone with Vanmour's level of musical mastery would have exacting standards. She had never expected excessive flattery.

But his silence—it stung. Was her most celebrated song truly unimpressive? Was her voice not enchanting enough? Not even a single word of praise?

"Was my singing… not good?" she asked, unwilling to let the moment pass. Some inexplicable part of her longed for him to contradict her, to say something like I was so mesmerized that I forgot to speak.

Vanmour, ever direct in matters of technical precision, gave a blunt response. "Hmm. Average. Some flaws in your technique."

Alicia Banderas had never been content with being just a pretty face. She prided herself on her skill, on being recognized as a true artist. And yet, the very song that had taken the world by storm—the song she was most confident in—was now being picked apart so mercilessly?

Her face burned with indignation. All composure forgotten, she blurted out in disbelief, "What?! You're saying my technique is flawed? That the melody itself has issues?"

"Yes," Vanmour replied, entirely unfazed. He could hear the frustration in her voice, the unwillingness to accept his words. Since she had reacted this way, it was better to keep things brief. Best to send her on her way before the conversation soured further.

And yet, Alicia did not lash out as expected.

Somewhere deep down, she found herself trusting him. This man, a complete stranger, had won her respect with his breathtaking viola performance. She did not know why, but she felt certain that if he was critiquing her, he must be right.

She took a steadying breath, swallowed her pride, and lowered her voice. "Mr. Vanmour… could you explain?"

Vanmour had already taken a liking to her, and his critique had not been meant to tear her down—it was to help her improve. Now that she was earnestly seeking guidance, he had no reason to refuse.

"Your voice is quite good," he began, "but your breath control is lacking. Your transitions between phrases—especially during the higher registers—could be smoother. And in terms of technique, there are a few areas where you could improve..."

Piece by piece, he broke it down, delivering insights with the effortless clarity of a master.

Alicia listened intently. At first, her gaze held traces of doubt. Then, astonishment. By the time he finished, her eyes sparkled with admiration.

His analysis was razor-sharp, his knowledge profound.

She had always known that Jueves was a challenging song. There were no natural points to take a breath, and even with her considerable lung capacity, she often felt she was pushing her limits. But she had always believed she was performing it as well as humanly possible. Now, through Vanmour's explanation, she saw how a more refined technique could allow her to push her breath control even further. Even the climactic high notes—notes she had thought she had mastered—could be executed with greater precision.

For the first time in years, Alicia Banderas, the idol of millions, felt like a student again.

Alicia Banderas, utterly captivated by music, applied the breathing techniquesFanmuir had taught her and sang Jueves once more. To her astonishment, just asFanmuir had said, she now found herself effortlessly completing the demanding song, her voice soaring with an exhilarating sense of freedom. The shock in her heart was beyond measure—how could this young man, whom she had thought was merely a talented violist, also be a master of vocal technique? His understanding of music surpassed that of any vocal instructor she had ever encountered.

Since childhood, Alicia Banderas had loved to sing, idolizing the great vocalists of the world. And now, standing before her,Fanmuir seemed to loom larger than life—an enigmatic figure wrapped in musical brilliance.

"What about the melody adjustments you mentioned?" Unconsciously, Alicia's tone had softened into one of deference, her words laced with humility. No longer wasFanmuir merely a violist playing in a bar; in her eyes, he had become a teacher—a miraculous mentor who had just elevated her singing technique in mere moments.

"You simply need to shift the key to G-sharp major,"Fanmuir explained, his tone calm yet assured. "Then, in the second and sixth measures, change the fourth note to a sharp five, and..." He continued making a few subtle yet precise modifications, refining the details with effortless expertise.

"Try singing it again," he encouraged with a gentle smile.

Every element ofFanmuir's critique and guidance exuded the mastery of a true grand maestro. The way he had deconstructed Jueves after hearing it only once—and then seamlessly reconstructed it into something even more refined—left Alicia utterly stunned.

As a powerhouse vocalist herself, Alicia possessed an exceptional musical instinct.Fanmuir's revised arrangement required no practice on her part; she was able to execute it flawlessly on the spot.

When the final note faded into the air, Alicia found herself lost in the beauty of her own voice. My God... She was utterly frozen in disbelief. How was this even possible? Just a few minor adjustments, yet the transformation was nothing short of breathtaking. A song she had once believed to be perfect now seemed almost rudimentary in comparison to its reimagined version. While the difference was not as stark as night and day, it was undeniably a leap to an entirely new level.

Turning toFanmuir, Alicia's gaze shimmered with admiration and incredulity. In her eyes, he had become something beyond extraordinary—a musical enigma, a genius whose very presence felt almost otherworldly.

They soon arrived at the George V Four Seasons Hotel. As they reached the entrance, Alicia Banderas hesitated for a moment before speaking in a quiet, slightly flustered voice, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"Could you walk me to my room? I had a bit to drink… I'm feeling a little lightheaded. I…"

Before she could finish,Fanmuir nodded.

The simple act of him agreeing to escort her left Alicia feeling almost flattered. By now, in her eyes,Fanmuir was no longer just a man—he had become an untouchable musical master, someone she revered beyond words.

The scent of him—undeniably masculine—surrounded her, and for the first time in her life, she found herself in such close proximity to a man. Her heart pounded uncontrollably, a warm flush creeping up her face. Her body, soft and light as air, seemed to lose all strength, and before she realized it, she was leaning against him entirely.

Alicia's suite was none other than the hotel's top-tier presidential suite—an epitome of elegance and luxury.Fanmuir carefully guided her inside, helping her into a chair. The room, heated perfectly by the central air system, was comfortably warm. As she settled into the seat, Alicia removed her hat and scarf.

"Alright then, have a good dream. I'll be on my way,"Fanmuir said with a gentle smile.

His farewell struck Alicia with an unexpected wave of loss and unease. As a celebrity, she was always surrounded by people, yet she had never truly experienced genuine friendship. There were plenty who revolved around her, but none who truly understood her. And though her time withFanmuir had been brief, it was the closest she had ever been to a man. His brilliance as a musician, the sincerity in his concern for her, and the way he spoke to her as an equal—all of it made her feel a rare sense of ease, a warmth she couldn't quite describe.

Watching his retreating figure, an anxious restlessness crept into her mind once more.

"Mr.Fanmuir," she called softly, leaning against the doorframe.

A sudden, bold idea flashed through her mind, sweeping away her earlier melancholy. Excitement sparked in her chest, and without a second thought, she rushed forward, calling out in a bright, eager voice.

"Mr.Fanmuir, wait!"

Vanmur paused, turning back with curiosity. "What is it?"

Though she knew her request might seem abrupt, Alicia gathered her courage and asked, "Would you… accompany me at my concert?"