Light From Uncommon Stars(97)

“KILL. IT. WITH. FIRE.”

“No wonder he hides himself. If I looked like that, I’d hide, too.”

“Shirley is erasing the worst of them. But they keep coming back,” Katrina said blankly. And even as they spoke, more comments appeared.

Astrid turned away.

“I can’t read any more. How could people say such things?”

“Because they do.”

Shizuka could hear Katrina breaking under the weight of her words. Astrid could turn away. Katrina could not.

Furthermore, Shizuka immediately noticed something even more insidious than the hate. For not all the responses attacked Katrina’s womanhood. Some people were vehemently defending her right to gender representation. Some were calling out racism. Some messages were well wishes and hearts and “You’re so inspiring,” and “Good luck.”

Some people were accusing others of being like Nazis, while others said Katrina deserved justice.

But in all this, where were the comments about the music?

Shizuka remembered the previous comments about the playing style, the costumes, her recording system, or even why her student should record the theme to Gurren Lagann.

And then Tremon published one short bio.

And with one disclosure, Tremon had split Katrina from her music as cleanly as he’d cleaved Shizuka from hers.

“I—I’m so sorry. I will go to the kitchen now,” said Astrid. “I think there is still some pie. I’ll get you some pie.”

Tremon didn’t create this world. But, as usual, he played it perfectly.

Shizuka thought of her students, the ones who had given their brilliant existences to be remembered by this same world. Shizuka cursed under her breath.

One can run away. One can hide. But that does not mean it is not there.

Hate.

All this sacrifice, all this genius, and still there was so much hate.

That night, Shizuka could not sleep. Ever since she had accepted the bow, she had been outmaneuvered by Tremon. He had turned one soul into six: Morihei, Claire, Lilia, Sabrina, Kiana, Yifeng.

And here, with this “invitation,” Tremon outmaneuvered her once more. Even if Katrina declined, her music would never be separate from her identity again.

The only way to save Katrina would be to have her compete as a musician. And win, as a musician.

And for that she would need the perfect piece of music.

The winner of a competition can be decided before the first note is played. What one plays in a competition should bring respect from the judges, awe from the audience, and every iota of genius from the performer. A Paganini caprice. Ernst. A Bach chaconne. Obviously, Sarasate. And, well, Beethoven is Beethoven.

Katrina might play any of these. Some of the technical areas might need some smoke, mirrors, or a very good accompanist. Still, Katrina was improving at a frightening rate. Mastering even a caprice was not unimaginable.

Yet this was neither a conventional competition nor a conventional student.

Shizuka’s previous students were predators. Even now, Shizuka might take the Grohl girl, let her smell blood, give her the curse, and send her onstage with a mandate to kill.

Katrina, however, shunned competition. She had never played a competition in her life. Yet she held her violin and her music with more persistence and hope than anyone Shizuka had ever taught.

Shizuka sat up. She put on a robe and walked downstairs. Her footsteps became more and more sure of themselves. By the time she got to her practice hall, she was almost running.

There might be another way to win—a way that a demon could never foresee.

Shizuka sat at the piano and opened her laptop. Shizuka had told Katrina that with basics, anything was possible.

And Katrina had done her part. Her basics were bulletproof. Now it was Shizuka’s turn. To hold the attention of the judges, to win their hearts, this piece also needed to be dazzling yet nuanced, despairing, entrancing.

Everything had to be completely and sublimely composed.

Shizuka accessed the soundtrack to The NetherTale.

Whatever Katrina played would start here. To rescue without killing. Was that not the core of who she was? And yes, as unsure as she was, having something familiar would help her immediately reach her fan base, win her immediate applause.

Her pencil began to move.

Next, she brought in Axxiom. The Planck constant. The Coulomb constant. The speed of light in a vacuum. The elementary charge.

Shizuka remembered the first competition she won. How, just for that moment, she needed do nothing else; she was complete. She was beautiful, untouchable, and safe. Katrina should at least have that feeling. And more—Katrina should be celebrated, praised. With this music, Katrina would be taken to good places. With this music, Katrina, after giving everything to her music, would also know what it meant to get something back.

A comforting music, to hold you when the door slams in the morning. A roaring music, that protects you when the floorboard creaks at night.

A faithful, radiant music that stays with you as life begins and ends—never leaving your side through all the forevers in between.

Shizuka paused, crossed a note out, then replaced it with three more. She knew how it felt when the performance was over. But Katrina would be different—with this music, she would let Katrina know she was not alone.

To save a soul without killing? That way was closed to her. But for Katrina, such a song was still possible.