The performance

Ten minutes earlier...

Backstage, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable mix of perfume, sweat, and determination. Contestants moved in a quiet flurry—some pacingrestless movement, others rehearsing under their breath. The occasional clatter of instruments being tuned or the shuffle of stage props broke the near silence, a stark contrast to the muffled buzz of the crowd waiting just beyond the thick curtain.

Markus stood in front of the mirror, a demi-human with wolf ears perched atop his head and a tail swaying back and forth behind him. The soft glow of the bulbs around the mirror cast a warm but revealing light on his face. He adjusted his tie again, the motion mechanical, almost desperate, as though perfecting the small detail might steady the whirlwind in his chest. His reflection stared back at him, sharp and determined, though his trembling hands betrayed his calm facade.

His ears twitched at the faint hum of voices around him, snippets of rehearsals and last-minute pep talks bleeding together into a haze. He couldn't focus on any of it. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on him, suffocating and inescapable.

The stakes were enormous. This wasn't just a performance—it was his chance to prove his talent to the world. Doubts crept in, but he pushed them away with a sharp breath. I'm going to give it my all.

Markus gripped the edge of the vanity, steadying himself. He closed his eyes, shutting out the noise and the bright lights. In the darkness, he pictured the stage, the spotlight, and the music, letting the image strengthen his resolve.

When he opened his eyes again, the fear hadn't vanished, but something steadier had settled beneath it—a resolve that refused to let him crumble. He stood slowly, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. His gaze lingered on his reflection one last time, his golden eyes burning with quiet intensity.

It was almost time.

In the corner of the dressing room, Contestant 5—a polished older man with a perfectly slicked-back hairstyle—held court with a small group of admirers. His voice carried just loud enough to command attention without seeming overbearing.

"It's all about presentation," he said smoothly, gesturing with an air of authority.

"You can't just play the piece; you have to own it."

Markus's wolf ears twitched, picking up the words despite himself. His jaw tightened, but he forced his focus back to the mirror. Exhaling slowly, he gripped the edge of the vanity, the cool metal grounding him.

"Focus," he muttered under his breath. "Just focus on the music."

The door creaked open briefly, letting in a burst of noise from the hallway. A stagehand leaned in, clipboard in hand, and called out the next contestant's name. Markus glanced up, watching as a tall boy with a cello slung over his back strode toward the door. Determination etched across his face, the boy disappeared into the hallway, leaving Markus alone with his thoughts again.

Almost time. The words echoed in his mind like a distant tolling bell. His scarlet eyes flicked to the violin resting on the table in front of him. Its polished wood gleamed under the dressing room lights. He reached out, running his fingers over the smooth surface, the familiar texture and weight of it grounding him amidst the swirling storm in his chest.

A soft voice broke through the room's tense quiet. "Your violin is really nice."

Markus turned, surprised to find a young girl standing a few feet away. She couldn't have been older than twelve, her small hands clutching her violin tightly against her chest. Her wide eyes held a mix of awe and nerves, flickering between him and the instrument on the table.

"Thanks," Markus replied, managing a small, reassuring smile. "Yours looks great too. Are you nervous?"

She nodded quickly, her grip tightening on the violin as if it might slip away. "A little," she admitted. "My teacher says I have to be perfect."

Markus crouched slightly, meeting her gaze on her level. His expression softened, the tension in his face melting away for a moment. "Hey, you've practiced, right?"

She nodded again, though the movement was hesitant.

"Then don't worry about being perfect," Markus said, his tone calm but encouraging. "Just play for yourself. Forget the audience, forget the judges—just enjoy it."

The girl's tense shoulders eased, her lips curving into a shy, timid smile. "Okay. Thanks, mister."

"Markus," he corrected gently. "Good luck out there."

She nodded, clutching her violin a little less tightly as she scampered off. For a fleeting moment, the knot in Markus's chest loosened. Straightening, he adjusted his tie one last time and picked up his violin. The familiar weight felt more solid now, more purposeful.

The door opened again, and the stagehand reappeared, clipboard still in hand. His voice was calm but firm, his presence an unshakable reminder of the ticking clock.

"Markus Seriyu Sentryon? You're up."

Markus took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around the bow in his hand. "Right. Thanks," he said to the stagehand, his voice calm, though his heart pounded like a drumbeat in his chest.

The dim hallway leading to the stage stretched before him, each step heavier than the last. Muffled applause reached his ears, a final reminder of the audience waiting beyond the curtain. The light spilling from the stage ahead was both inviting and daunting, casting long shadows that seemed to follow him.

On his way out, Contestant 5 stood leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a smug smile plastered on his face. "Break a leg," he drawled, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.

Markus didn't reply. His scarlet eyes remained locked forward, unwavering. As he passed, his tail flicked once, sharply, a silent dismissal. Contestant 5's smirk faltered, his gaze following Markus as he disappeared into the glow of the stage lights.

The announcer's voice boomed through the theater, echoing off the walls like a grand proclamation. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our final contestant of the evening—Markus Seriyu Sentryon!"

The theater hushed, all eyes fixed on the figure stepping into the spotlight. Markus was bathed in its warm glow, the contrast between the brightness and the darkness of the hall behind him making him seem larger than life. He raised his violin to his shoulder, his scarlet eyes scanning the sea of expectant faces before him. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then, the bow met the strings.

The first haunting note filled the air, lingering with an ethereal clarity that cut through the silence like a blade. The melody was slow, deliberate—a melancholic opening that seemed to reach out and grasp the hearts of everyone in the audience. Each note resonated with raw emotion, pulling them into a world crafted entirely by sound.

Backstage, Contestant 5 leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His lips pressed into a thin line as his foot tapped involuntarily to the rhythm. Nearby, the young girl Markus had spoken to earlier peeked out from behind the curtain. Her small hands clutched her violin tightly, her wide eyes filled with awe as she watched him.

Markus's fingers moved with a practiced precision, gliding effortlessly along the fingerboard. The bow danced across the strings, coaxing out a melody that swelled and shifted into a powerful crescendo. His body swayed slightly in time with the music, completely immersed. Even his tail flicked subtly, mirroring the tempo's rise and fall—a small, unconscious display of his focus.

Sweat began to bead on his brow as the piece pushed forward into its most challenging section, yet his expression remained steady, every movement exuding control and passion.

In the audience, Arnik was perched on the edge of his seat, his fists clenched in excitement. "That's it!" he whispered fiercely, unable to contain himself. "Markus is crushing it!"

Rose sat beside him, her arms crossed and her smirk unwavering. "No one's dying, Arnik. Calm down."

"You know what I mean," Arnik hissed back, his voice hushed but full of pride. "He's got this."

Rose's smirk softened into a small, genuine smile as she watched the stage. "Yeah," she murmured, almost to herself. "He really does."

Kai, seated beside his friends, adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the soft glow of the stage lights. His usual sharp wit was absent, replaced by an expression of quiet intensity. "Every note... it's perfect," he murmured, his voice tinged with rare admiration.

Even Aika, who was rarely moved by much, rubbed her eyes and straightened in her seat. She leaned forward slightly, her emerald eyes fixed on Markus. "Okay," she said softly, almost reverently. "This is actually worth staying awake for."

The murmurs in the audience grew as Markus transitioned into the most intricate section of his performance. The tempo quickened, and his fingers became a blur, executing rapid-fire notes with breathtaking precision. Each note built seamlessly upon the last, creating a cascade of sound that filled every corner of the theater. The music transcended the performance—it became a living, breathing story, a tapestry of emotions woven so vividly that the audience couldn't help but be drawn deeper into its narrative.

"Who is this kid?" a voice whispered from the crowd.

"He plays like the music is alive," another murmured, their tone filled with wonder.

Markus's scarlet eyes glinted under the spotlight, his focus unyielding. His movements were deliberate yet fluid, each stroke of the bow a testament to his connection with the music. As the final section approached, the melody soared into a crescendo, its intensity gripping the audience. His bow moved with a ferocity that seemed to electrify the very air, each note resonating with power and emotion.

And then it came—the last note. Pure and resonant, it hung in the air like a final exhale, defying time itself. The theater fell into a profound silence, the stillness so absolute it felt as though the world had paused to absorb the moment.

A heartbeat passed.

Then, as if released from a spell, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Cheers and whistles echoed through the theater, a wave of admiration and exhilaration that swept over the stage. Markus lowered his violin slowly, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His scarlet eyes scanned the crowd, searching instinctively for his friends.

Arnik was the first to stand, his cheers unrestrained and full of pride. "That's IT" he shouted, his grin stretching wide enough to rival the applause itself.

Rose waved both arms enthusiastically, her cat-like ears twitching with excitement. "Markus, you killed it!" she hollered, her voice cutting through the noise.

Even Kai, usually reserved and composed, clapped steadily, a small but genuine smile breaking through his usual stoicism. "Not bad," he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his admiration.

Aika, perched lazily in her seat, let out a long yawn before joining in with a slow clap, her expression soft. "Impressive," she murmured, her tail flicking lazily. But her shimmering gaze revealed her quiet pride.

Backstage, Contestant 5 stood stiffly, his earlier smirk now a thin, bitter line. He clenched his jaw, his confidence deflated as he turned sharply on his heel. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, retreating into the shadows.

Near the curtain, the young girl Markus had spoken to earlier beamed, her wide eyes sparkling with awe. Clutching her violin tightly, she whispered, "He's amazing..."

Markus straightened, bowing deeply to the crowd. The warmth of their applause washed over him, their admiration tangible. In that moment, the storm of nerves, the weight of the expectations—all of it melted away, leaving only a profound sense of fulfillment. This was it—the culmination of everything he'd poured into his music. It was more than a performance; it was his heart laid bare.

And it had been enough.