Just as Diomidis Stevens finished speaking and prepared to lift his bamboo flute to continue playing, a voice suddenly cut through the air. It wasn’t just anyone-it was Luther, the young, accomplished man standing confidently on stage.
“Sir,” Luther said to Diomidis Stevens, “you don’t have to continue playing. I truly admire your spirit. At your age, being able to play such a piece is something I could never hope to match. But your body… it’s clear you’re not in the condition to keep going. Why risk your life over something like this?”
He smiled faintly, his tone feigning respect. “So, I admit defeat. Traditional instruments are indeed remarkable. Even a simple bamboo flute can surpass a piano. There, are you satisfied? I only hope for your well-being. I admit it-I’ve lost.”
Luther’s words dripped with insincerity. His speech was nothing more than an elaborate display of false humility, a performance meant to highlight his supposed virtue of respecting the elderly. But his subtle, mocking smile betrayed him.
To Luther, Diomidis Stevens was a joke-a relic clutching a broken bamboo flute, claiming to be the king of instruments. The very thought amused him to no end. He found it laughable, absurd even, that this old man thought he could teach him anything.
Privately, Luther was thrilled. His words allowed him to appear gracious while simultaneously asserting his superiority. To him, the matter was clear: the stubborn elders clinging to their traditions couldn’t compete with him. They would inevitably tarnish their own reputations in the process.
Whether in skill or character, Luther believed himself victorious. His piano prowess was unmatched, his reputation untouchable. How could he not reign supreme? The crowd’s reaction only confirmed his belief-both the advocates of modern instruments and the audience seemed captivated by his supposed magnanimity.
Still, a small part of Luther had been nervous earlier. Diomidis Stevens’ flute playing had been unexpectedly impressive, forcing him to clench his fists in secret. Fortunately, the performance had been interrupted. Had the old man continued, Luther feared the result might not have been so one-sided. But now, the interruption worked in his favor. It was just an incomplete piece of music, after all-nothing that could truly challenge him.
As Luther reveled in his perceived victory, Diomidis Stevens narrowed his sharp eyes and spoke in a firm voice. “Young man, you know exactly what you’re trying to do with your words. Your intentions are obvious.”
Luther’s expression shifted to one of feigned confusion. “Sir, what do you mean? What intentions? I’m simply acknowledging that you’re better than me. Is that wrong? I respect you. I see you’re in no condition to keep playing, so I’m asking you to stop for your own sake. Your spirit has already triumphed over me. Isn’t it natural for me to admit defeat?”
His words seemed polite, but their subtext was clear-he only respected Stevens’ spirit, not his music. How could he respect a performance that wasn’t even completed? And yet, Luther smiled as he spoke, a smile so insincere it was almost revolting. It was a smile that belittled while pretending to admire, leaving everyone who saw it uncomfortable.
“That’s outrageous!” Greg Versoonder exclaimed, slamming his hand down in frustration. “If I knew how to play that piece, I’d go up there right now and put that arrogant kid in his place. The way he talks-it’s disgusting! How dare he disrespect Mr. Stevens like that?”
Diomidis Stevens held his flute tightly, his face calm but his voice laced with disdain. “Young man, I was merely interrupted earlier. Your words are unnecessary and insulting.”
His response caused an uproar among the audience.
“What’s wrong with this old man? Luther already conceded. Why can’t he let it go?”
“Some people just don’t know how to take a step back. Instead, they want to climb over others to make themselves look better.”
“Exactly. That old guy should just accept it gracefully. Does he really think his flute can compare to Mr. Falcon’s piano?”
The incomplete performance had left many in the audience dissatisfied. The abrupt ending had broken the spell, and their frustration turned into criticism of Diomidis Stevens.
Just as Stevens prepared to play again, a voice rose above the noise-a voice that silenced the crowd.
“Mr. Stevens, allow me.”
The voice belonged to Kayden, who now stepped onto the stage with quiet confidence. His presence immediately drew all eyes to him.
Greg Versoonder looked surprised. “Mr. Scott, do you know how to play this piece?”
“I’ve studied it,” Kayden replied simply as he ascended the stage.
Luther raised an eyebrow, letting out a mocking laugh. “Oh, it’s you.”
Kayden ignored him, turning to Diomidis Stevens. “Mr. Stevens, may I borrow your flute? Let me finish the piece.”
Diomidis Stevens studied Kayden closely, his expression calm but with a hint of curiosity. “Mr. Scott, do you know Celestial Harp?”
The piece was legendary, a masterpiece rarely heard and even more rarely mastered. Kayden, a young man known for his remarkable medical skills and maturity beyond his years, seemed an unlikely candidate.
Kayden nodded slightly. “I’ve learned some of it. I may not be as skilled as you, but it should be more than enough to deal with someone like him.”
Luther’s face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you here out of jealousy? This is a music competition, not a street fight.”
Kayden met Luther’s gaze with a calm smile, saying nothing. Jealousy? Why would he be jealous of someone like Luther? He had no reason to envy a man he considered beneath him.
“Very well. I trust you, Mr. Scott,” Diomidis Stevens said, handing the bamboo flute to Kayden with unwavering faith.
Kayden accepted the flute with a steady hand and turned to the audience. “I’m not here to compete. I’m here to finish what Mr. Stevens started. I want everyone to know that the piano will never be the king of instruments in Seclela. As for Mr. Falcon’s so-called act of surrender-it was nothing but hypocrisy.”
The audience erupted in murmurs and whispers. Some recognized Kayden immediately.
“Isn’t that the guy who clashed with Mr. Falcon over a woman? What’s he doing up there?”
“He’s just trying to get back at him. Can’t you tell?”
“What an idiot! He’s embarrassing himself.”
Kayden stood firm, unfazed by the noise around him.