The red velvet curtain was lifted.A small clicking sound echoed from the pulley above the ceiling, then light poured down like a curtain of gold. On stage stood a young man in a black suit and an older man holding a violin. The entire audience burst into the first applause of the night.
Thiên Ân clapped along, out of courtesy more than excitement. He didn't know who they were — he simply thought that, sitting in this grand old theater, it would be rude not to.
The young man on stage bowed slightly. The spotlight swept across his face, then paused on the violin.The first sound rose — a thin, silken stroke, then it fell, warm and graceful. The hall fell utterly silent, as if only the vibration of strings existed in the air.
A high male voice began to sing — soft yet radiant, floating on the trembling sound of the violin.
At first, Thiên Ân stayed alert, relaxed, even thinking that coming here wasn't such a bad choice. But as the performances went on, his eyelids grew heavy. The music was beautiful, yes, but distant — almost too perfect.He glanced sideways: Hoàng Nam, his best friend, had already dozed off, head drooping, mouth slightly open, a little trail of drool glittering under the light.
On the other side, Đức Minh looked serious, eyes fixed on the stage — but when Thiên Ân looked closer, he could see the boy's eyelids twitching, on the verge of sleep.
Thiên Ân exhaled softly and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up. It was already getting late. Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a minute, he thought.
But right then, from the upper rows, two girls screamed excitedly:— "She's here! It's Kudo Shizuka!"
The entire hall seemed to jolt awake. The atmosphere changed in an instant — excitement spread like wind through dry grass.
Thiên Ân lifted his head, curious.
A woman stepped into the beam of light.Her outfit made everything else fade away: a navy-blue corset embroidered with silver threads hugged her figure; around her neck, a tall, black choker — a mark of authority. From her waist, the fishtail skirt shifted from deep blue to smoky gray, flowing like mist across the stage. Over her shoulders, a sheer white chiffon cape trailed behind each step. Her black hair was styled high, gleaming like water under moonlight.
She didn't walk — she glided.The entire theater erupted in cheers and screams.
On the livestream screen, comments flooded in:
[fan_baby]: AAA my goddess, my goddess looks divine tonight![meo_meow]: My life has no regrets after seeing her like this.[night_owl]: Thank you, heavens, for letting me live to see this moment.
...
Alongside her came an older man — Mr. Kitaron — dressed in a gray classical suit. He bowed with calm dignity, the composure of a seasoned conductor.
But it didn't stop there.
A third figure appeared from the wings.He wore a pure black tuxedo; tall, broad-shouldered, hair slicked back in golden waves, eyes as blue as a winter lake. Even though he was only the accompanist, murmurs rippled across the room.
— "Sebastian Noir! It's really Noir!"— "Oh my god, the legendary man himself!"
Thiên Ân's eyes followed him.He had never seen anyone with such a cold yet radiant presence. Each of his steps was measured, precise — enough to make people hold their breath.
Sebastian Noir took his place at the grand organ. His hands touched the keys — so gently it was almost soundless.
Then, the music began.
A deep tone rose from the pipes — heavy, resonant, like wind passing through a stone cavern. Not rushed, but solemn, expanding into silence. After several drawn-out beats, a higher melody thread emerged — fine as silver light in darkness. A delicate, pure sound, fragile as falling mist.
Then the violin joined in — a sob, a whisper, as if someone were crying through the strings.
And over it all, the voice began to sing.
The audience stopped breathing.
Thiên Ân heard someone murmur:"It's Amazing Grace!"
He repeated the name silently to himself, trying to remember it. But as the first notes rose, it felt as though a small bell rang inside his heart.
That saved a wretch like me!
The sound touched him — like a thread of flame.As if someone had opened a hidden door inside.He sat upright, suddenly wide awake.
The voice grew stronger, each word gliding on waves of sound — fragile, bright, and painfully human.When the word "saved" soared upward, it was as though the whole hall lifted with it.
Suddenly, Thiên Ân remembered his mother's tearful eyes, and his father's trembling hands that night — images he had tried so hard to forget.
I once was lost, but now am found,Was blind, but now I see.
The song ended with a long, clear note.Light seemed to bloom across the room.The orchestra swelled — violin and organ merging into one vast tide.
Beside him, Đức Minh straightened up, eyes wide."That was… incredible," he whispered.
He turned to share the moment with Thiên Ân — and froze.
Thiên Ân was crying.
A single tear slipped down his cheek, catching the stage light and breaking into a tiny prism. He didn't sob or tremble — he simply watched the woman on stage, lips moving faintly, mouthing the lyrics.
Đức Minh pressed his lips together, saying nothing.He turned the other way — Hoàng Nam was still asleep, head tilted, drooling. Đức Minh sighed and nudged him."Hey, wake up. It's Shizuka's turn."Hoàng Nam mumbled something, half-asleep.
On stage, the next verse began, lower, like a prayer:
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,And grace my fears relieved;How precious did that grace appearThe hour I first believed!
The melody softened, slow and tender, like the breath of night.Thiên Ân looked up — and maybe it was the light, or something else — but he saw a faint white glow descend over the hall.
Within it, he thought he saw a figure — a goddess in white, arms spread wide as if to embrace everyone.Forgiveness. Blessing. Redemption.All around, he heard quiet sobs, whispered prayers. Some people clasped their hands, heads bowed.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares,I have already come;'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,And grace will lead me home.
The music rose like a staircase of light.The violin swirled, the organ opened wide, and the voice climbed to the ceiling's highest point — before dissolving into silence.
And then — stillness.
A single clap.Then another.Then the entire theater exploded in applause. Cheers, cries, shouts filled the space.
Thiên Ân stood, clapping until his palms burned — but he didn't feel the pain.He simply looked at that woman — Kudo Shizuka — as if she were something beyond words.
He didn't know why, but he felt it clearly:From this night on, something inside him had changed forever.
The music had stopped — but its echo lingered in every heart.