TRMBPD 09

Episode 9

I sang in front of Miya one last time.

“You’ve done everything you can.”

Miya, who had become the least cold-hearted judge in the world, said that with her arms crossed.

“So just do it exactly like this.”

Her expression looked more stiff than usual. I gathered up my sheet music and gently held her arm.

“It’s okay, Miya.”

The whole situation made it look as though *she* were the one going to an audition. I smiled without the slightest tension.

“I’ll do well. Thank you so much for everything.”

Miya had been a wonderful teacher. After learning vocal music from her for a month, I could produce a voice far more splendid than when I sang in front of Henry in my previous life.

I lightly ran a hand over my neck. Just as she said, I had done everything I possibly could within the time I was given.

Strangely, I wasn’t nervous.

Even I couldn’t quite make out what I was feeling. At first it had been simple admiration, then—after seeing Gilbert Klein’s emotionless face—there had been a spark of defiance.

And now, if I had to put it into words, it was a vague sense of hope.

I had never had my voice evaluated before. So I didn’t even know if my voice had any chance of defeating Caroline Dees.

*Because it’s something I wanted to do.*

So I erased all complicated thoughts and headed to the theater with nothing but the anticipation of being able to sing on its stage.

A huge crowd was already gathered in front of the theater.

The audition, held without preliminaries, had been running for five days, and the finalists would be announced on the final day.

The audition date I was given when I registered was on that last day.

Which meant that most of those gathered at the theater were reporters hoping to hear the results early.

“Are you a contestant?”

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Amber.”

Pushing through the crowd to the theater entrance, the guard standing there flipped through his list.

“You’re No. 167. Go inside and to the left.”

I stepped forward slowly. The interior of the theater, as magnificent as the exterior, came into view.

The parts still under construction were cluttered with workers, but the lobby was already finished to perfection.

The huge lobby glittered with white marble, elaborate statues stood at each pillar, and the ceiling was covered with vibrant murals.

The O’Brien estate couldn’t compare. It was even more spectacular than the theater I had imagined.

And in that moment I realized how feeble my imagination had been.

Overwhelmed, I hesitated briefly before heading in the direction the guard indicated. Not even my footsteps could be heard on the thick red carpet.

At the door labeled “Waiting Room,” I took a quiet breath and turned the knob.

A large waiting room opened up before me, already filled with many contestants.

Those adjusting their appearance in front of the mirror or reviewing their sheets all looked up at me at once.

But that was all—once they confirmed I was just another contestant, they returned to what they were doing without hesitation.

I sat in an empty seat and opened my sheet music as the others did.

A little later, the door opened again.

This time the room stirred. Whispering spread everywhere, all repeating one name.

*Caroline Dees.*

I raised my head a beat late.

An elegant woman in a deep green dress stood before me. Caroline Dees had entered.

The young lady of House Dees stood perfectly upright, surveyed the room briefly, and chose a seat.

She didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that everyone’s eyes were following her.

I, too, stole glances at Caroline Dees.

Her dark blonde hair was impeccably styled and tied back, and her features—plainly visible—were strikingly beautiful, enough to draw attention even if she hadn’t been the top graduate of the Royal Academy.

I had seen her in a newspaper sketch, greeting the audience beside Gilbert Klein. But the impression then and now were completely different.

Heavily made-up in the sketch and smiling brightly, but her red eyes now were cold and subdued.

The air quieted as if pressed under her presence.

A few more contestants entered, and at the exact hour, the audition coordinator came in.

“We will begin shortly. We will proceed in order of waiting numbers. Once you finish, you will be guided to another waiting room. When all auditions are complete, results will be announced within two hours, so please remain here.”

As soon as the announcement ended, contestant No. 140 was called.

From that moment, I watched Caroline Dees again. Part of me wanted to approach her and ask for her number.

Because there was a faint hope—I might get to hear her singing, the voice I had only ever read about in text.

But the aura she gave off was too heavy. No one—not even me—could summon the courage to approach her.

So I kept glancing sideways at her, pretending to study my sheet music, until the numbers passed 160.

Then—

“Contestants 166 to 170, please prepare.”

I stood up. And almost let out a gasp. Caroline Dees rose as well.

After all my scheming for a way to overhear her singing, I clenched my fists in secret.

Following the coordinator into the hallway connected to the waiting room, I could faintly hear singing. The stage was close.

The closer we walked, the louder the voice grew, and only then did I realize I was right behind the stage.

Soon, the contestant’s song ended. The coordinator immediately called the next name.

“Miss Caroline Dees.”

I saw her nod once. Without hesitation, without even the smallest breath to steady herself, she stepped onto the stairs leading to the stage.

A glimpse of her profile caught the stray rays of stage lighting and shone brilliantly. Her unwavering eyes held nothing but certainty.

I stared blankly. Then the piano accompaniment began, and the voice I had longed to hear finally filled the air.

In that moment, my mind overflowed with every newspaper phrase praising Caroline Dees’s voice.

*So this is what it sounds like.*

Every newspaper had agreed on one epithet:

**The voice of God.**

She was five years younger now than she had been in those articles. Even so, I understood every word of those descriptions.

Her emotional expression was deep and rich, yet her technique lacked nothing.

Miya had spent a month teaching me how to distinguish a good voice from a bad one. And by her measure, Caroline Dees’s voice was absolute perfection.

I couldn’t help but smile. My chest trembled with pure awe.

*Could I ever sing like that?*

A thought I had never once had. Until now, I had always been able to imitate any song I heard once.

If I listened to a singer, I could naturally understand how they produced their sound. I always felt I could imitate it, and I never failed.

But this time was different. It was a matter of technique. Her piece was fast and light, and her breathing was sharp.

Hearing her effortlessly move through a range I could barely reach, I instinctively knew I couldn’t do this—*not yet*.

*If I ask for the song title, would she tell me?*

Such a carefree thought drifted through my mind. Which was why I forgot entirely that my turn was next.

“Miss Amber.”

The coordinator’s mechanical voice snapped me back.

“Yes?”

“You’re next.”

At his urging gesture, I looked toward the stage again. Caroline Dees’s relaxed figure, having completed a flawless performance, was disappearing backstage.

Having heard a professional singer for the first time in my life, I still hovered in the lingering awe and forgot I was supposed to be nervous as I climbed onto the stage.

—

The sudden glare of the stage lights made me reflexively half-close my eyes. When my vision adjusted, the scene before me materialized.

A grand piano sat at the center of the stage, a man who seemed to be the accompanist seated before it.

I approached and stood facing forward. Five judges sat in a row ahead.

They still seemed engrossed in discussing Caroline Dees’s performance, hardly noticing I had taken the stage.

I waited for them to see me. The murmuring died down, and the first person I locked eyes with was Gilbert Klein.

He didn’t seem to recognize me—his expression was almost identical to how he’d looked at the tavern.

A belated tingling crept through my fingertips. My throat felt dry; I swallowed once.

*Greet them first.*

Until the moment I left home, Miya had gone over every detail of how I should act during the audition.

*Standing around looking clueless might fly at the shop, but people here are surprisingly strict.*

I followed the demonstration she had shown me, bowing as naturally as I could.

*Once you’re ready, give a signal to the accompanist.*

Since the theater provided an accompanist, I had submitted only the sheet music when I applied.

Glancing toward the piano, I met the accompanist’s eyes. He was just opening the sheet music I had handed in. When I nodded slightly, he began to play gently, just as Miya instructed.

With everything set, I blinked slowly and faced forward.

There were a few things I had to remember.

*Don’t expect too much.*

When I lifted my head slightly, light reflected from the chandelier grazed my vision. Narrowing my eyes, I slowly raised my hands.

*I don’t mean don’t expect anything because you have no chance. If you expect too much, you’ll get nervous.*

That was what the experienced Miya had said.

At that moment, my mind wandered strangely to the temple back home.

Its ceiling was far higher than this one. Even the smallest sound echoed richly in the wide space.

So whenever I sang there, I savored and shaped each echo carefully.

I slowly gauged the size of the space.

The song I would sing was a hymn. But this time, my audience was not a god. The ones I had to move were these five judges.

What would please them? Not sincerity—beauty.