Let’s Go Together

All the students at Basamiel Academy were buzzing with excitement. It was Friday.

The freshmen were looking forward to their very first weekend break since entering the academy. As soon as their afternoon class, Taste and the Arts, ended, they’d be free. Since it was the last thing standing between them and their liberty, they were already halfway out the door in spirit. To make the most of this rare bit of freedom, the first-years had booked carriages to head into the nearby city and added their names to the waiting lists of popular shops.

And just listen to the name of the class—Taste and the Arts. With all due respect to the professor, it sounded like it was going to be an incredibly light class.

“Adrian, what are you doing this weekend?”

“Hmm… I’m thinking of just walking around near the dorms.”

“Really? I have so many things I wanna do! Oh—wanna come into the city with us?”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

That was just something he said to be polite. Adrian had no intention of telling Yushi he’d be joining them in the city.

He actually had a lot to do this weekend. He planned to take a solitary stroll through the woods, wander a little, then head back to the dorms. Spending extended time among people was never really his thing to begin with. Thankfully, Yushi just smiled brightly and told him to let her know after he’d given it some thought. Adrian returned her smile with a superficial one of his own, letting her rattle on about her weekend plans while barely paying attention.

The freshmen streamed into the lecture hall, chatting excitedly about their plans. Most of the students had already taken their seats, and the professor stood at the front of the room, warmly welcoming everyone. He was the instructor for Taste and the Arts. With the grand piano and assorted instruments behind him, he looked more like a conductor about to lead an orchestra than a professor.

At the center of the podium stood a large grand piano, and lining the walls were rare and expensive instruments—most of which the average person wouldn’t even recognize by name. It was a vivid reminder that Basamiel Academy was, indeed, a place with a very steep tuition.

After sweeping his gaze across the classroom, the professor began his lecture. His voice was soft, gentle—almost lyrical.

“Do you all know exactly what it is you like?”

The freshmen sat in attentive silence, listening as he continued from the podium.

“Knowing your own taste is extremely important. Before you can cultivate refinement, you need to understand what appeals to you. Fortunately, all of you are at the perfect age to start discovering your preferences.”

Adrian leaned back in his seat, subtly nodding in agreement with the professor’s words. It was a good point.

“The world of art is very simple,” the professor continued. “We won’t be talking about complex or difficult theories in this class. And why is art simple, you ask? Because there’s no universally agreed-upon definition of what constitutes ‘perfect art.’ There’s no right answer.”

The classes for first-years were integrated courses shared by all undergraduate students. Since most of the academy’s students came from well-off families, their general cultural literacy was already quite solid. The professor didn’t want the children to study art so much as to experience it. In other words, the first-year curriculum focused heavily on hands-on learning.

Adrian looked toward the podium with a smug expression. He had spent a long time surrounded by beauty—seeing it, hearing it, and creating it. When it came to practical lessons, dragons had the upper hand.

“We’ll start with music, as it’s the easiest medium to use when exploring personal taste. You’ll be listening to a variety of pieces over time and discussing them together. Sound good?”

The students in the lecture hall responded in unison with a chorus of “Yes.”

The professor looked around, eyes settling on the student who, by appearance alone, seemed most likely to have a deep familiarity with the arts—the prince. Most members of royalty had well-defined tastes. The professor chose to ask him rather than risk calling on another student who might freeze up and feel humiliated. Whether it was a taste genuinely his own or one that had been cultivated through instruction didn’t really matter.

“Hmm… Inehart? Could you tell us a few composers or pieces you enjoy?”

Mikhail, who had been leaning on one arm at the back of the room, paused briefly when the professor addressed him. But only for a moment. He answered right away.

“Antol Marte… and I like Georgina Rowelle’s compositions.”

Ooh—The professor, clearly pleased, clapped his hands softly at chest level, though no sound accompanied the motion.

“Excellent. What Inehart just shared with you all reflects a very refined musical taste.”

He let out a thoughtful “Hmm” as he glanced behind him, eyes landing briefly on the grand piano. It was a masterpiece crafted by a renowned piano maker, worthy of the academy’s prestige.

“Inehart, would you happen to know how to play any of them?”

“Yes.”

At the professor’s invitation, Mikhail rose to his feet. As he walked toward the piano, he casually straightened his academy uniform. His every step was elegant, perfectly poised.

He reached the piano and quietly slid the bench back. Then the prince, dressed in the formal Basamiel Academy uniform, took his seat. His foot lightly rested on the piano’s pedal.

The Garnet freshmen smiled subtly at the sight of Mikhail. A strikingly handsome young man sitting with flawless posture, as if straight out of a piano textbook. With his long lashes lowered and eyes cast down, he prepared for the performance.

Everyone in that room was anticipating the prince’s piano playing. And how could they not? He was a prince born and raised in the royal palace at the capital—the very heart of all refinement and culture.

The entire lecture hall inhaled softly, some closing their eyes in anticipation. Their ears were primed to receive a sweet and graceful melody. Mikhail’s long, pale fingers flexed with strength, rising gently above the keys.

And the prince began to play one of his favorite pieces—with gusto.

CRASH!

Wait—what?!

Adrian was the first to snap his eyes open.

The professor, who had been leaning slightly against the piano with his eyes closed, awaiting the music, now stood frozen with his mouth agape in horror. All the freshmen—including Adrian Heather—had matching expressions of disbelief.

The prince, completely unfazed by everyone’s reaction, continued to play the piano earnestly at the front of the lecture hall.

If—if—everyone in the room had been wearing earplugs, it might’ve even looked beautiful. Unfortunately, everyone’s ears were in perfect working order.

At first, they thought the prince was just joking around… but he wasn’t. He was dead serious. Dead serious—and completely terrible.

It wasn’t that the melody was off—it was that the rhythm was so wildly out of sync, it made listeners feel physically uncomfortable. The sheer wrongness of it was jarring. And yet, it was clear that Mikhail’s performance reflected a monumental level of effort from the royal family. For someone with such a profound lack of rhythm to reach even this barely listenable level must have taken intense and relentless training.

There he sat, composed and focused, playing that masterpiece of a piano with a grave expression on his face. If the piano’s master artisan had been present to hear that, he probably would’ve charged the stage with a hammer to smash his own life’s work.

“You can… stop now. That’s enough.”

The professor gently placed a hand on the top of the piano as he addressed the prince. He forced a smile, as though encouraging a young seedling to keep growing, and suggested he return to his seat.

“Let’s all give Inehart a round of applause for sharing his music with us.”

For us?

The students—including Adrian—clapped with dead eyes, their souls halfway out of their bodies. Mikhail, proud of what must have felt like a glorious performance, walked confidently back to his seat at the back of the room. What an unbelievably shameless guy.

The professor, visibly drained from the auditory nightmare, played a few sample pieces for the students before ending class a bit early. One thing was for certain: the definition of art had been rewritten just now. Adrian offered silent moral support to the professor.

As the students began filing out, the professor called after them with their assignment.

“Before next class, make sure to write down three pieces of music you enjoy! That’s your homework!”

The students cheered—overjoyed that the weekend had arrived a little sooner than expected. All thanks to the prince. But Mikhail himself, oblivious to the unintended consequences of his performance, left the lecture hall wearing the same calm, collected expression as always.