Episode 8
“I was explaining a few things to Mrs. Sierra.”
I answered as I stepped inside.
“I cleaned up a bit since you said you were coming. Just sit wherever’s comfortable.”
“Cleaned… up?”
I looked around naturally and had to try hard to hide my bewildered expression.
Her house was, even as a compliment, impossible to describe as tidy.
Clothes and unidentifiable bits of fabric were draped everywhere, and on the table in what I assumed was the kitchen were piles of dishes and cups whose time of arrival was impossible to guess.
She must have tried to air the place out belatedly because the windows were wide open, but that only made the layers of dust float through the air.
“Still pretty clean, don’t you think?”
Mia said this without a hint of shame. Following her invitation to sit, I had to clear off a whole mountain of clothes before I could finally see the sofa.
While I did that, she disappeared into the kitchen to bring something to drink and thrust a bottle at me.
I glanced once at the chaotic table and didn’t bother to ask for a cup.
“It’s… definitely memorable.”
At my barely-formed comment, Mia snorted.
“I know you don’t like it.”
Apparently my attempt to keep a straight face wasn’t very successful. I let out a small laugh as well.
Instead of sitting on the sofa, Mia leaned against the tea table across from me and asked:
“You’re going to audition?”
I nodded without speaking, and she fell silent, lost in thought. I had a feeling I knew exactly what she was thinking.
“You think it’s impossible too, don’t you?”
“To be honest… yeah.”
Mia took a sip of her drink and answered.
“Classical singers aren’t like us vocalists. It’s not something you can fix with a month or two of practice.”
“True.”
“I looked over the audition details too. If it were a normal audition, I would’ve told you to give it up. But this one is definitely… strange.”
Mia pulled out a newspaper folded in the corner of the table. It was yesterday’s paper.
“Look. No eligibility requirements, no assigned piece. The auditions last up to five days, and there aren’t even separate preliminary and final rounds. It’s private, unofficial, and they’re choosing only one person.”
“The leading soprano for the first performance?”
“Yep. And it says the winner joins the Delgado Troupe. You heard about their veteran soprano retiring recently, right?”
I cautiously shook my head.
The only things I knew were the Klein Theater five years from now, Caroline Dees’s future fame, and Gilbert Klein’s career.
I knew of the Delgado Troupe, but I’d never cared about their circumstances.
Mia didn’t seem bothered by my reaction and continued:
“The Delgado Troupe is famous, and even their chorus is strong, but apparently there’s no one who can fill Lady Delia’s spot.”
“Lady Delia?”
“The veteran soprano.”
“Oh.”
Mia took another sip of her drink and pointed at the newspaper. At her fingertip was the illustration of the theater in the ad.
“They’re probably choosing her replacement. And they’re holding a huge audition for it—one with this much freedom? That means they have an agenda.”
I stared blankly at Mia as she spun a plausible theory from a single advertisement.
I already knew who would be chosen, so I wasn’t even hoping to pass.
But Mia was surprisingly serious.
“Did you understand what I said?”
“Roughly.”
“‘Roughly’ isn’t good enough. With your skill level you don’t stand a chance—but I’m telling you it’s still worth entering.”
At her blunt remark, I laughed sheepishly.
“So you’re saying you’ll help me?”
If she meant to tell me it was impossible and that I should give up, she wouldn’t have given me her address.
Mia scowled.
“Don’t smile like that. You’re not allowed to make that face when asking for favors.”
Then she abruptly stood and began clearing the piles of stuff from one corner, grumbling nonstop.
“You can’t find a proper teacher with just a month left. Even a countryside music academy wouldn’t take you in that timeframe. I swear, who’d have thought I’d ever end up teaching opera.”
I nodded vigorously while watching her sort through the heaps. The stacks of paper and books were all staff paper and sheet music.
“For the record, I only learned opera for a little while at the academy. And even then, it was all theory. I can’t guide you by singing like I can with pop songs.”
When she finished organizing, she flipped off the cloth covering the last item. Straightening up, she put her hands on her hips.
“So don’t blame me if this doesn’t work.”
“I won’t. I’m just grateful you’re helping.”
Then I finally saw the fully revealed piano, and my eyes widened.
“All I can provide is teaching material, accompaniment, and telling you whether you’re making a good sound or a terrible one.”
Ignoring the dust swirling everywhere, she flipped open the piano lid.
“The rest is up to your practice.”
Her expression was so solemn that I nodded seriously in return.
—
I paid Mrs. Sierra the next month’s rent in advance, but I didn’t set foot in the tailor’s shop once that month.
Mia transformed into someone who’d rediscovered lost passion, drilling me relentlessly.
“You can’t produce your sound like that. No matter how hard it is, never sing from your throat.”
“How could you forget your technique just because you sang some pop songs? Don’t even think about going back to the tavern. I don’t mean you can never go back—just practice like you can’t.”
“Your pitch is unstable. You’re off by half a step.”
Once practice began, we continued late into the night until I collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep.
When I opened my eyes, it was morning; we ate a simple meal and immediately resumed practice.
Choosing the audition piece took less time than expected.
“I picked pieces I thought would suit you. Anything you like?”
I spread out the sheets I’d salvaged from the tower of music.
“I saw some hymn scores last time.”
“Hymns?”
In one corner, among the old sheets, I recognized several familiar titles—they were all hymns.
“Oh, those. I used to work at a sanctum for a bit. I used those then.”
“Really? You worked in a sanctum?”
“I know an accompanist. I filled in a few times.”
I looked through the sheets with mild admiration. Among them was a hymn I’d especially loved in my previous life.
I hummed the scale, following memories on the page, when Mia suddenly said:
“Wanna use a hymn?”
“Is that allowed?”
Startled, I asked, and she shrugged.
“Hymns are vocal works too. Otherwise, what was all the choir training for?”
By habit she seemed about to lecture at length about the origins of vocal music and mass settings, but she waved it away and returned to the main topic.
“Sing it once.”
She skimmed the score and immediately began to accompany; I followed in surprise. Mia made her decision quickly.
“Use this.”
“Will it be okay?”
“It’s the best you’ve sounded. And it suits you most.”
According to Mia, my voice was thin and high with little power—but with a unique, clear tone.
Hymns, with minimal ornamentation and long sustained tones, had their own difficulty, but given my current ability, she said this was my best chance.
“Don’t pick something half-baked. Choose what fits you the most. A hymn will definitely stand out. In an audition with too much freedom, this could work in your favor.”
As my face lit up, she promptly closed the hymn score.
“But you’re still going to sing as many pieces as possible. Your biggest weakness is lack of experience. First we need to fix that pop-style technique I drilled into you.”
When she hauled out a mountain of aria scores, I couldn’t help asking about her past.
“If you don’t even sing them, why do you have so many scores?”
Mia smiled her characteristic smile.
“You think singing was the only thing I ever did?”
That night, unusually, we finished early—and I finally heard her story.
“We weren’t a rich family. That’s why my father pushed me toward music even more.”
Even commoners could gain wealth and fame through exceptional talent.
But those cases were rare, and parents with ambition always believed their own children were gifted.
Mia explained it in that tone.
“Fortunately, I wasn’t terrible. We took out loans and somehow I got into a good music academy.”
Her father treated her upbringing like an investment. It didn’t matter if he went into debt—his daughter would soon succeed and make it back.
But in the end, she didn’t succeed, and her father never sat on the pile of money she would supposedly earn.
“He collapsed suddenly.”
One day his health declined rapidly; they knew he was sick, but they had no money for treatment, she explained briefly.
“So I inherited the debt. If I’d learned sewing or something, I could’ve made a living. But all I had was music.”
“What about your mother?”
“My mother? She died when I was young. I don’t even remember her face.”
Mia poured cheap wine into a mug and took a sip. I held a bottle of juice instead—by now, drinking straight from the bottle felt normal.
“I did every music-related job there was. Accompaniment, obviously. With a music degree, I even tutored some baron’s kid. Oh, and that’s when I did the church accompaniment too.”
I nodded, watching her sink slowly into memory.
“My father wanted me to become a soprano and sing on stage—that’s the easiest way to earn money. But I wasn’t cut out for that. So here I am.”
Even knowing she was drunk, I couldn’t help asking:
“Do you regret it?”
Her dark eyes turned toward me in the dim room.
“A little.”
“If you could go back ten years, what would you do?”
With the window behind her, faint interest flickered across her shadowed face. She thought for a long moment before speaking slowly.
“I think… I’d still choose music.”
She had started music because her father pushed her, but I knew she truly liked singing. Somehow, the answer felt very Mia, and I smiled.
“I regret it sometimes, but if I really went back, I’d make the same choice. So I regret it… but I don’t resent it.”
Her smile—soft and hazy—was unlike any I’d seen from her before.
Mia sank deep into the sofa, letting her hair fall however it wanted.
Without thinking, I felt her appearance suited the messy house perfectly. And that her freedom, in that moment, was beautiful.
Silently, I finished the rest of my drink.
The next day, we resumed our merciless practice as usual.
Absorbed in our work, time flew by.
And so, on the day of the audition—I opened my eyes.
