Chapter Text
“Bye bye, Akihiko.”
The last words uttered to his ex-lover still resounded in his head. It had been almost 5 years since they parted—a lot had changed since then.
“Alright, then. Thanks for the best wishes.”
Leaning on the chair, Ugetsu closed his eyes and placed his phone down onto the table in front. Mafuyu had just rung to congratulate him on his recent success in a prestigious competition and his first comeback after a long hiatus.
In the past decade, he had won numerous prizes, earning him fame and quite a number of cash to spare. The most recent violin competition that he participated in—the Henryk Wieniawski Violin Competition—earned him a generous amount of 20,000 Euros and a silver medal. The competition launched many successful careers, with some of the most notable violinists including Airi Suzuki and Vadim Brodski. While achieving second was already incredible and would be enough to forge anyone’s path to a highly regarded violinist, the results however left a bitter aftertaste in Ugetsu’s mouth, a perfectionist who was absolutely dissatisfied with a mere second place.
But winning simply wasn’t enough. Whether it was bloodthirst or an intense, bottomless craving, Ugetsu Murata just wanted more. He wanted to strive for perfection.
In fact, many musicians aspire to do so. But the process is not one of ease: relentless practicing made sore blisters, stiff necks and aching tendonitis.
It was painful. It was torture. And worse, in the competitive musical world, anyone who could not make it to the top was eliminated—it was survival of the fittest. Yet, the violin also indisputably belonged to every single one of its wielders. In all fairness, who would truly want to sacrifice their limb? Who can live with a heart severed away from their body?
Ugetsu had experienced all these hardships. But just like his previous relationship: it was gruelling and exhausting, but at the same time full of moments that had joy and euphoric bliss.
Just a week before his performance in Boettcher Concert Hall, Ugetsu had unexpectedly cancelled all his recital plans for half a year. After spending two months lamenting from being unable to achieve the winning title and shutting himself away, the proud violinist finally resumed his activity, and began to prepare his first concert after his hiatus—a soon-to-be performance in Carnegie Hall.
Needless to say, he had practiced restlessly even in the two months of seclusion. While it would be his second Carnegie appearance, this time Ugetsu Murata’s concert programme would be much more flamboyant: his first piece for the evening would be Shostakovich’s Scherzo No. 1, followed by Spohr’s Violin Concerto No. 11.
Tapping the pen onto the tabletop, Ugetsu muttered to himself, something about adding the The Rose of Summer for his encore and being unable to think of anything else for a second piece except for a segment of Partita No. 3 “just so it would suffice” (it certainly would diminish any average audience’s attention span by twofold, minimally), then proceeded to mindlessly scribble some notes down onto the score.
Amidst the tranquility of the violinist’s room, ghostly snowflakes had already gently descended upon New York City: the beginning of a new chapter for this accomplished man full of charm—yet filled with endless contradictions.