"Let's play a game... a game of murder."
A young blossoming composer, Markel didn't know what to do when he was cordially invited to the last concert of a retiring pianist. But when the concert's true motive is revealed, Markel is sucked into a vort...
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Markel never considered himself to be above the global average in terms of musical knowledge, certainly not musicality. So when he mysteriously got the tickets for Yang Guang's last piano concert before the prominent pianist's retirement, he was reluctant at first to go.
'A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that you're not willing to take, what will happen to your other opportunities that arise in the future?' His grandfather's chiding words followed him all the way from the day he got his tickets to the lonely booth on the last available Austrian train to Vienna that he was fortunate enough to book.
Watching the train chug by acres of dull countryside, he was beginning to regret his decision to embark on the journey to Europe. What awaited him at Vienna anyways? Sure, there would be a fancy hotel, high-class Austrian food (which he absolutely loved), and a chance to see the World's Music Capital in all its glory. But was it really worth the majority of his college savings? He hadn't gotten into a good music school just for a trip to see some old lady play the piano blow off all of his money. It wasn't like he could just make up all of those savings anyways; unlike most modern composers, his music required a special knowledge of his history, personality, and classical knowledge, thereby making his music hard to play and understand, dooming him to a small-scale composer's career.
As the train ground to a halt, the mocha-haired college student shook his curls out of his eyes then stood up, rummaging around on the upper compartment for his worn, leather-coated briefcase, getting ready to leave. His steely eyes, hidden behind a pair of mocha-framed glasses, shone with a hardened edge- whatever happened at Vienna would stay at Vienna, because it was too late to turn back now.
Markel's mind barely registered anything the morning of the concert until he was sitting in a taxi, staring out the tinted window at the lively city. It was when the taxi pulled up to the grand Vienna cathedral that he was suddenly struck by the ludicrousness of it all; he, out of everyone in over 8 billion people, had been chosen as a member of the live audience to spectate a performance of some of the best, most popular classical pieces by one of the most famous and remarkable modern pianists to have ever lived. However, as he accepted a thick, elaborate program from a wrinkled, bored-looking lady, nagging questions arose in his mind and stayed there- why exactly had he been chosen? What set him apart from, say, his roommate Xavier, who was a far better composer than he? The questions swirled around his head in relentless circles, expanding until he thought of nothing except for the answers to the mysteries that brought him to Vienna. Only the dimming of the lights and sudden hush of the crowd brought him back to the present performance that temporarily displaced him. Markel turned his attention to the stage before him, where a beautifully polished black Bosendorfer stood beside a slim, black-suited lady.
'Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to be as brief as possible, so we can get to the performance as soon as possible. My name is Yang Guang, and I am a concert pianist about to retire from performing. This will be my last performance in public. All the pieces played in this performance will be in the programme all of you received. I ask that you allot around twenty minutes at the very end of the concert as we dismiss in an orderly fashion. Thank you. Please enjoy.'
