Chapter 26
And then, at last, the day of the Choral Competition arrived…
This Choral Competition was a bit different from the class matches where they competed in sports.
Winning here granted the honor of performing on the prestigious stage of the school culture festival in early November, as the grade-level representatives.
At the same time, as an added bonus, the winning class would also be invited to perform their song at the culture festival of the neighboring middle school, with which they had regular exchanges.
Of course, it wasn’t just for fun—it meant missing half a day of classes. And that made the students happy.
Due to the lottery draw, Masami’s Class 3 was scheduled to sing second.
After the principal of the exchange school gave his greetings, the head of the music department announced the precautions and introduced the judges.
The judges were the principals of both schools, plus one music teacher each from the second and third years of both schools, making a total of six judges for a strict and impartial review.
Once the judges were introduced, the lights in the venue dimmed.
Amidst the murmuring from the audience, Class 6 and Class 3 moved to the sides of the stage.
“Rei! What if I make a mistake…?”
Masami ran up to Reiko, grabbing her arm.
“What are you talking about? What good is thinking like that? We practiced, didn’t we? We did it well. Just think about that, okay? Understood?”
“Understood…”
Masami, still pale and with a slightly tense face, obediently returned to the line.
“What is she thinking…?”
Reiko sighed in exasperation and looked at Manami’s face.
Manami was looking steadily back at Reiko, a slight smile on her lips.
“Ami, aren’t you nervous…?”
“Hmm, a little. You seem fine, Rei…”
“Not really, I’m just putting on a brave face. Probably the same as you, Ami…”
Reiko met Manami’s gaze without flinching.
“I see… but, it’s okay now…”
Manami continued to gaze at Reiko.
“In that case, I’ll give it my best shot, just like always!”
“Yeah!”
Manami nodded slightly.
Soon, Class 6’s chorus finished, and it was Class 3’s turn.
Led by Reiko, the conductor, followed by Manami, the accompanist, and the rest of the class, they took the stage.
Midway, Manami ignored the grand piano prepared on the stage and headed instead for the permanent ceramic piano located on a section that jutted out into the audience like a runway.
The students had been informed in advance about which piano to use, including its characteristics, and were allowed to try both during stage rehearsals and choose the one they preferred.
In practice, Manami was the only one who used the ceramic piano.
Once she confirmed the class was lined up, Reiko looked toward Manami.
Manami gave a small nod.
Reiko slowly turned her body to face the audience.
The hall was silent, without a single sound.
Then, she took a deep, formal bow, and turned once more to face the class.
Reiko looked over the faces of her classmates, then raised her baton high. As her signal, the class took their singing stance.
Then, Reiko brought the baton down, pointing it toward Manami.
First was the assigned piece, “Traveler’s Sorrow.” The chorus itself was standard, but Manami’s accompaniment, arranged with abundant ornamentation, gave it a unique flavor.
This transformed the ordinary chorus into something captivating.
After a breath, it was finally time for the free-choice piece.
Manami began with soft, small, music-box-like notes.
Those small notes evoked the image of a serene, expansive snowfield.
But gradually, the sound grew larger, calling forth clouds that blocked the light.
Soon, a flurry of powder snow began to fall throughout the hall.
Simultaneously, as the tenors began their humming, a wind began to blow from nowhere.
That wind drifted the snow clouds to the western sky.
Then, overlapping with this, the sopranos began their humming, and the setting sun dyed the snowfield a brilliant red.
As the altos’ scat singing began, sounding like distant sleigh bells, Manami’s piano abruptly changed tempo.
From stillness to motion, the resonance gradually gained momentum, overwhelming the hall.
It was the entrance of the troika, galloping through the snow.
And then, the song began—in stark contrast to Manami’s playing—quietly, as if hiding behind the piano’s sound, with a small mixed chorus.
But the singing gradually grew louder, eventually surpassing the sound of the piano.
“The snowy white birches, row on row, glow in the sunset—”
At the same time, the sopranos’ humming illuminated the song with a red glow from the setting sun.
By this time, the piano had, unnoticed, returned to a standard accompaniment.
And the singing, illuminated by the sunset, grew even louder, resonating through the hall.
“Run, troika, merrily, with the bells ringing loud—”
There was almost no break between the first and second verses, carrying the momentum from the climax of the first directly into the second.
“Ring out, song of the young, sing out, bayan—”
“Run, troika, lightly, through the powder snow—”
The moment the chorus stopped, Manami used the spring in her waist, pressing down on the keyboard with the full weight of her body.
The shockwave from the 96-string ceramic piano resonated as if to blow away the hearts of the audience.
It was the sound of a spring thunderclap…
Manami’s piano solo began from here.
The shockwave, like an earth tremor, gradually coalesced into one, becoming a single river.
The river nourished the earth, eventually transforming the snowfield into a green meadow.
Wildflowers bloomed profusely across the meadow; Manami’s performance was originally supposed to transition here to the Russian folk song “Kalinka.”
However, just yesterday, Manami had felt a desire to play the American folk song “Ode to Friends” instead, and so she played that.
Perhaps it was her way of showing her gratitude to her classmates.
Then, after resoundingly playing the troika’s prelude once more, Manami’s solo ended.
As her signal, the tenors and basses, catching the lingering echo of the prelude, began to sing quietly and slowly, a cappella.
“Dark eyes, so passionate, if you cross that forest—”
And then, finally, the climax.
With piano accompaniment, the mixed four-part chorus poured all their strength into it, accelerating the tempo all at once and singing with all their might.
“Run, troika, tonight, to the joyful feast—”
Then, accelerating the tempo even further without a break, they sang the second verse again.
“Ring out, song of the young, sing out, bayan—”
“Run, troika, lightly, through the powder snow…, Yaa—ah!”
Finally, with a loud shout of “Yaa—ah!”, everything ended as if blown away.
Silence turned the hall to stone.
Then, after a brief pause, the music-box-like piano sound heard before the chorus whispered softly, as if gently loosening the hearts of the audience, and then the piece finished completely.
As Manami’s piano ended, Reiko slowly lowered her arms, which had been clasped above her head.
When Reiko turned to face the audience, the hall was still quiet.
The audience, still under the influence of the intense piano and chorus, hadn’t yet processed what had happened.
Many students had even forgotten they were at a choral competition.
When Reiko took a deep, formal bow, a few students started clapping.
As if prompted by that applause, more and more applause erupted, one after another.
With the applause at her back, Reiko hurried her class off the stage.
