A Genius Appears

Alicia Banderas fixed her gaze nervously on Fanmuir, her heart pounding with anticipation, terrified that he might refuse her request.

Meeting her expectant eyes, so filled with sincerity and hope, Fanmuir found himself unable to turn her down. How could he reject such a heartfelt plea from a woman so radiant and earnest?

"Alright," he said at last, nodding with a gentle smile.

"Yes! That's amazing!" Alicia cheered, leaping up like an overjoyed child. Seeing how much this meant to her, Fanmuir couldn't help but feel relieved at his decision. Had he refused, he might have broken the heart of this pure, passionate girl.

"Then… could you come rehearse with me tomorrow?" she asked, still flushed from excitement. Her voice carried a trace of shyness as she met his gaze, her cheeks tinged with a delicate pink.

"Of course. I'll be here at nine in the morning," Fanmuir replied, his smile reassuring. With that, he bid her goodnight and left.

By the time he returned to his dorm, it was already midnight. His five roommates, still caught up in their usual late-night chatter about women, were deep in discussion, their voices brimming with enthusiasm.

Normally, Fanmuir paid little attention to such topics, preferring instead to immerse himself in the boundless ocean of knowledge. But perhaps because of his unexpected encounter with Alicia Banderas that evening, he found himself uncharacteristically curious.

"Have you guys ever heard of Alicia Banderas?" he asked, his tone casual.

For a moment, the room fell into stunned silence. Then, as if on cue, chaos erupted. Pillows, clothes—anything within reach—went flying toward Fanmuir. Ronnie Spencer, from the top bunk, even considered jumping up and down in outrage, but fearing he might collapse the bed and cause a catastrophe, he exercised superhuman restraint.

"If you don't start brushing up on some basic common knowledge, we swear we'll disown you and kick you out of Room 506!" the five of them bellowed in unison, their threats dripping with mock severity.

When Fanmuir remained unfazed, his roommates could only let out a collective sigh of despair. Ronnie Spencer, looking utterly dejected, leaned over the edge of his bunk, pleading, "For the love of all that's sacred, go read some celebrity magazines, check out the gossip columns! We can't afford the disgrace of having a clueless roommate like you!"

Fanmuir was utterly bewildered. He had merely asked a simple question—how had it provoked such an extreme reaction? His curiosity only deepened. Feeling a touch uneasy, he hesitated before asking, "Wait… is she really that famous?"

The five brothers looked up at the ceiling in despair, while Lonnie Spencer took his frustration to another level, dramatically banging his head against the wall.

"Alicia Banderas is my ultimate idol! Do you even need to ask if she's famous?" Lonnie finally stopped his theatrics, his face full of exasperation.

"So, she really is that well-known…" Vanmour murmured to himself, finally grasping the weight of his question.

What followed was a lively discussion about Alicia Banderas—her music, her angelic voice, and, of course, the latest gossip surrounding her upcoming concert in Paris. Through their impassioned chatter, Vanmour managed to piece together a clearer picture of who she was.

The next morning, Vanmour arrived punctually at the Four Seasons Hotel George V. Alicia Banderas had been waiting downstairs, her gaze fixed on the entrance with eager anticipation. Beside her stood a woman with a sharp, professional air, though her expression was less than welcoming.

Upon spotting Vanmour, Alicia's face lit up with delight. She beamed as she stepped forward to greet him. "Mr. Vanmour, thank you for coming today. I truly appreciate your help." Then, turning to the woman beside her, she introduced, "This is my manager, Mira Pérez."

Earlier that morning, Alicia had excitedly informed Mira that she had found a violist to accompany her and insisted on rejecting the company-assigned band. This decision had infuriated Mira, but she knew better than to argue. Though Alicia appeared gentle on the surface, her determination was unshakable. In the end, Mira had no choice but to accept her decision, though she inwardly resented the sudden interloper.

And now, meeting Vanmour in person only deepened Mira's disappointment. He lacked the refined elegance, the melancholy charm, and the romantic presence she associated with a true violist. Worse still, he was just a boy—plain in appearance, utterly unimposing. All of her pent-up frustration over Alicia's stubborn decision transferred directly onto him.

Barely concealing her disdain, Mira extended a limp handshake before withdrawing her hand almost immediately. Alicia, fuming at her rudeness, shot her a glare. At the same time, she stole a glance at Vanmour, worried that he might be offended. To her, he was nothing short of a musical genius—someone she deeply admired.

Vanmour, however, remained unfazed, his demeanor composed as he smiled politely. "Where will we be rehearsing?" he asked Alicia.

"The Stade de France," she replied, visibly relieved that he wasn't upset. She then gestured toward a sleek luxury car waiting at the entrance. "Let's get in."

Vanmour, ever the gentleman, stepped forward to open the door for her. Alicia lowered her voice and murmured a soft "Thank you" before turning to Mira, who was about to follow. "You sit in the front," she instructed.

Having known Alicia for years, Mira understood her personality well. She had never shown even the slightest warmth toward men—not even the company's chairman could command her favor. Yet now, Alicia was going out of her way for this young violist. First, she had personally chosen him to accompany her, then glared at her own manager for treating him coldly, and now, most shocking of all, she had insisted on sitting in the back with him.

For the first time, Mira regarded Vanmour with genuine curiosity. Who was this boy? And what exactly made him so special?

The Stade de France in Paris, the largest stadium in France, boasts a seating capacity of 80,000. Inside its rehearsal hall, the second- and third-tier backing bands had yet to leave. That morning, Mera Pérez had already informed them of Alicia Banderas's decision: a single violist would be replacing them entirely. The news was a bitter humiliation.

As a top-tier superstar, Alicia Banderas was beyond their reach to question. Instead, all their resentment turned toward Fanmuir. On one hand, they wanted to gauge this violist's ability; on the other, they were eager to see him fail spectacularly. If things went as they hoped, Alicia Banderas would soon realize her mistake and come crawling back to them for accompaniment.

Fanmuir's arrival only solidified their assumptions. Their gazes, heavy with disdain, sized him up, brimming with anticipation for his downfall. Were it not for Alicia Banderas's presence, they might have already begun hurling mocking remarks.

"Fanmuir, these are the songs I'll be performing at tomorrow's concert. Could you take a look and see if anything needs adjusting?" Alicia Banderas asked with sincere humility.

Her attitude left the backing bands utterly stunned—practically dropping their instruments in shock. The jealousy in their eyes intensified.

Fanmuir casually took up a pen and, while speaking, began marking notes on the sheet music. "The melodies are quite good, but a few details could use some refinement…"

To the second- and third-tier musicians, this was an outrageous display of arrogance. Even Mera Pérez, who had never held Fanmuir in high regard, found his audacity insufferable. Her eyes were filled with scorn, barely concealing her disdain.

But Alicia Banderas? She accepted every word with unwavering admiration, listening intently, eyes brimming with awe.

The scene unfolding before them was nothing short of surreal. Everyone present began to doubt their own senses—or perhaps, they wondered, had Alicia Banderas lost her mind?

It was common knowledge that her musical prowess was leagues beyond most singers, an elite talent in her own right. Moreover, she had always kept others at arm's length, carrying herself with an air of supreme confidence. Since when had she ever sought someone's opinion with such humility?

And these songs—these were her signature classics. Was this young man truly capable of improving such legendary works in mere moments?

If he could… then he wasn't just talented. He was divine.

Mera Pérez couldn't help but question Alicia Banderas's sanity. Or was there something more sinister at play with Fanmuir's sudden appearance?

How could an obscure violist possibly possess such extraordinary talent? There had to be another motive. Surely, this was all a calculated scheme—an attempt to get close to Alicia Banderas, to create a scandal, and catapult himself to overnight fame through association with a global superstar.

The way Alicia Banderas leaned in, nearly pressing against Fanmuir as they discussed music, only fueled Mera Pérez's growing fury. The more she observed him, the more he seemed deceitful—insidious, even.

With a cold expression and a voice dripping with sarcasm, Mera Pérez sneered, "Mr. Fanmuir, I suggest you leave at once. Otherwise, I'll have security escort you out."

Alicia Banderas was momentarily stunned. Then, anger surged through her like a tidal wave. Having a master musician's guidance had left her in a state of astonished gratitude the night before—but never, not even in her worst imaginings, had she expected her trusted manager to utter such an insult toward a maestro.

Before she could lash out at Mera Pérez, her gaze snapped back to Fanmuir, filled with silent pleading. She begged for his forgiveness, for him to stay.

But Mera Pérez's words carried undeniable insult. No self-respecting musician would tolerate such humiliation. Suppressing his fury, Fanmuir cast Mera Pérez a frosty glance and said icily, "Then I won't impose any further."

With that, he turned and strode away—paying no heed to Alicia Banderas's desperate, wordless pleas for him to stay.

His departure shattered her. A lump rose in her throat, and tears welled in her eyes. The mounting pressure of the past few days, the relentless stress of the upcoming concert—all of it came crashing down with Fanmuir's exit, as if his presence had been the one thread holding her together.

She sank to the floor, silent sobs wracking her body.

Mera Pérez, suddenly at a loss, hesitated. If Fanmuir wasn't stopped soon, Alicia Banderas might very well fall completely under his spell. And if that happened, it wouldn't be long before every entertainment headline in the world blared the same shocking news—Alicia Banderas and Fanmuir, caught in scandal.