Chapter 277: Will You Do That?
As head of the Harris family, the organizers reserved the best seat for Nathael. After exchanging a few words with those around him, he received a message from Maggie.
Nathael pondered for a moment before replying, "Will you do that?"
Maggie read his response and felt irritated.
"Maggie, you're up next; get ready," Danielle prompted, confident in Maggie's abilities.
Maggie set her phone aside and walked toward the stage.
"Next up, let's welcome Maggie from the First Institute!"
Maggie gracefully walked to the center of the stage. The host, her senior and an excellent emcee, addressed her:
"Everyone knows you're talented. Your preliminary-round performance was outstanding, gaining you many followers quickly. Are you well-prepared for this round? Would you like to say anything to the audience and supporters?"
Maggie took the microphone. "I want to tell my juniors watching that the First Institute not only provides a broad stage for everyone but also has many talented and good-looking seniors. Welcome everyone to enroll!"
Maggie didn't promote herself; she didn't need to. She used the opportunity to recruit students, feeling a debt of gratitude to the institute, her teachers, and classmates for their support.
As soon as Maggie finished, the audience cheered loudly. A blushing boy from an unknown school shouted, "You're awesome! Be my girlfriend!"
The audience laughed at his boldness. Nathael's eyes darkened.
Maggie glanced at Nathael, seated in the front row. He wore the same suit and shirt, a few buttons undone, revealing his Adam's apple and collarbone—a dashing look. Even in the dimmed hall, he shone in her eyes. Their eyes met, and Nathael smiled, waving a heart-shaped banner provided by the organizers.
Maggie's ears burned, her heart pounding. Damn it!
Coincidentally, the camera focused on Nathael. His smile and banner raising were projected on the big screen, eliciting frenzied cheers. Maggie quickly looked away, blushing.
The host smiled. "I believe everyone's seen Maggie's popularity. But young man, sincerity matters in confessions. Flowers, at least! Maggie is one of the First Institute's top talents; sweet talk won't win her over."
He continued, "Back to Maggie. Let's see her luck this time. Which piece will she play?"
Maggie turned to the big screen behind her, where dozens of piano pieces flashed. It was a matter of luck; not everyone knew all the pieces, and their difficulty varied greatly. A challenging or unfamiliar piece could hinder performance. The audience only saw the results, not the effort.
After a few moments, the screen stopped.
"Luck isn't on Maggie's side. It's the difficult 'Symphony No. 7 in E Major, Allegretto.'"
"Nevertheless, we have confidence in Maggie! Let's cheer for her!"
The stage lights dimmed, and Maggie gracefully sat at the piano. The piece was indeed one of the most challenging in the repertoire, demanding masterful hand coordination to match the ever-changing melody and fast pace. Maggie remained calm; she was well-prepared.
She began to play. The piece depicted a loving couple separated by illness. The wife was bedridden, her husband spending all his money to no avail, only to stay by her side until her death. His grief was overwhelming. After her funeral, he immersed himself in memories, often sleeping with her photograph, dreaming of their happy past. This section was difficult, requiring Maggie to portray happiness and sadness simultaneously; his emptiness and uncontrollable tears upon waking.
Maggie closed her eyes, feeling the rhythm. Each keystroke and melody was ingrained in her mind. She played as if in another dimension, conveying the man's forced strength despite his suffering.
The audience was silent, captivated by her playing. Some wept. They felt the man's pain.
As the piece ended, the audience struggled to return to reality. Only when Maggie rose and bowed did the applause erupt.
The host exclaimed, "A heart-wrenching piece! Maggie's rendition was remarkable. I'm confident she'll receive a commendable score."