Morning light streamed through the tall classroom windows, casting golden rectangles across the wooden desks. Outside, the courtyard of the Bellmare Academy of Performing Arts was alive with the murmur of students moving from one class to another, the crunch of footsteps on gravel, and the occasional chord drifting from the rehearsal rooms. The air smelled faintly of salt and fresh paper.
Adrián Vega sat at his desk, pen in hand, following the harmony professor's lecture with full attention. On the chalkboard, the teacher traced chord progressions, speaking with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for those who deeply love their craft.
The previous Adrián -the one who had inhabited this body before him- had arrived here by a different path: from vocal performance to composition, forced into the switch by the accident that had destroyed his vocal cords. His skill as a composer was not brilliant, but it was enough to keep pace in class. And while Adrián did not share exactly the same goals, he had discovered that this foundation was useful.
After all, he too loved music. And beyond that, he needed to master it if he wanted to make his way forward and secure a better life for his family.
He took meticulous notes, letting the professor's words settle not only on the page but in his memory. He was not yet creating anything new, but every technical detail he learned felt like another brick in the bridge toward what he wanted to achieve.
That was when the metallic voice of the system echoed in his mind, slicing through the professor's words like a sharp blade:
[Analyzing activity… Active learning in composition detected. New task available.]
Before his eyes, as if suspended in the air, lines of text appeared in deep blue:
[Task Name: Diligent Student]
[Objective: Rank 25th or higher in the upcoming music theory exam of the Composition Department.]
[Reward: Wooden chest.]
Adrián blinked, surprised by the sudden notice. It wasn't strange for a system to assign tasks—he remembered reading about that in novels—and in fact, he'd been half-expecting it sooner or later. What intrigued him was the nature of the challenge.
There were fifty students in his class. He didn't have to compete with the whole department, only place among the top twenty-five in the next exam. At present, the original Adrián had been hovering around 30th place. With some effort, the target was doable.
*Doesn't seem too hard,* he thought. But another question quickly followed:
"System, what if I fail? Planning to electrocute me or something?"
[Friendly reminder: First rule—never harm the host.]
Adrián let out a relieved breath, but the system added in a tone oddly close to a smirk:
[There are worse things than a shock…]
He decided not to imagine what it meant by that.
When class ended, instead of heading to the dorm, Adrián walked to the side garden, where bougainvillea climbed the stone walls. He took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and tapped a name: Clara Duvall.
The call connected after two rings. A woman's voice, low and faintly tired, answered:
"Adrián… what's going on?"
"I have a song I want to publish," he said without preamble.
A brief silence on the other end, then a trace of hope in her voice:
"Have you recovered your voice? Can you sing again?"
"No," Adrián replied calmly. "I moved from vocal music to composition. And now… I have in my hands a very special song. I'd like to know if the company could help me find a performer to record and release it."
Clara let out a short sigh.
"I suppose you want to take part in November's Musical Revelation Season."
"Exactly."
"Adrián, remember your contract with Starmedia Entertainment is as a singer, not as a composer. The production department already has its own writers. Most of our artists even have fixed teams of composers…"
Her refusal was polite, but clear.
"What if I officially transferred to composition?" he suggested.
"It's not that simple," she replied, a note of frustration creeping in. "The company has processes and hierarchies. And frankly, without access to our channels, even if the song is good, it could get lost in the flood."
"That's why I need those channels," Adrián pressed.
There was a long pause. Finally, Clara relented:
"Alright. Send me the song, encrypted, through the internal channel. I'll listen to it. If the quality is good, I'll help you push it forward. But if not… it ends there."
"Thank you. Really," he said sincerely.
Clara had been the one who'd signed him originally, when his voice had promised a brilliant future. After the accident, his value as an artist plummeted, yet she had never cut ties. In the ruthless music industry, that was already an extraordinary gesture.
"That's all. I'll call you once I've listened," she said before hanging up.
At Starmedia's office, Clara Duvall set her phone down on the desk. The glass surface reflected her tired expression. November was around the corner, and with it the annual season when the big companies pushed their new talents into the public arena. Every year, the competition grew fiercer.
In the last three years, Starmedia had lagged behind. Their best result had been two artists placing ninth and tenth in the debut rankings. In contrast, their main rival, Lumière Records, had secured four positions in the top ten last year, including second and third place.
The executives were demanding results, and Clara had made a public promise: this year, one of her debutants would reach the top three. It was no small vow- it was practically a professional oath.
Her strongest card had been Adrián Vega. The first time she heard him sing, she'd thought she was holding a prodigy in her hands. But life had changed the rules: he could no longer use that voice. And the oath still stood.
With nine new talents already registered, Clara knew none of them had enough potential to reach the podium. Only one official slot remained… and against all odds, she had decided to give it to Adrián.
At the very least, I owe him a chance, she thought.
Just then, her internal email alert chimed. An encrypted file awaited.
Sender: Adrián Vega.
Audio title: La Vie en Rose.
Clara opened the file, and as it began to play, a soft, melodic humming filled the room. The timbre, though synthetic, carried an unusual warmth, and the arrangement was flawless: delicate strings, an almost-whispering accordion accompaniment, and a tempo that conveyed serene melancholy.
She had never heard anything quite like it. The harmonic structure was simple, but every note seemed to fall exactly where it belonged, as if the melody had been crafted to lodge itself in the memory.
She leaned back in her chair and let the song flow to the end. When it finished, she sat in silence for a few seconds, aware that this piece had something special—something that could shine with the right voice.
Interesting,she thought.
She picked up the phone and made three calls.
First, to the technical review department:
"I want an urgent analysis of this song. Market comparison and rights verification. I want the report tonight."
Second, to a trusted producer:
"Get a studio ready tonight. I need to record with a debutant. Find an experienced sound engineer."
And third, back to Adrián +this time her voice was softer:
"I'll pick you up at the academy tonight. We're going to record the song."
"Perfect," he replied without a hint of surprise.
The next few hours passed in a blend of anticipation and nerves. After hanging up, Adrián listened to the track again on his own player. He couldn't sing it himself, but he had crafted every detail of the arrangement so that any performer with the right timbre could make it their own.
Meanwhile, in her office, Clara mentally reviewed possible candidates. She wasn't looking for a powerful voice, but one that could carry the intimacy and melancholy of the piece. Finding it that very night would be almost a miracle.
And yet, deep down, something told her that -unlikely as it seemed-this opportunity might just be the spark they needed.