Lionel didn't expect that the person Maupassant dragged over would be Debussy, later revered as the "Father of Impressionist Music."
His musical style played a crucial role in the development of music throughout Europe.
But even Debussy was too young right now—with his slender frame and youthful face, he looked entirely like a teenager.
Becoming a master was many years away; what Lionel needed now was at least a "skilled hand" in music composition.
Seeing Lionel's expression, Maupassant immediately guessed what he was thinking.
Maupassant clapped Debussy's shoulder firmly:
"Léon, please trust Achille. Although he's only 17 and still a student at the Paris Conservatoire...
...his talent is far superior to those pedantic old men.
That day, I had just finished enjoying myself at 'The House of Roses' when, walking downstairs, I was captivated by his piano playing—it was a melody I had never heard before, so enchanting, so mesmerizing...
I even immediately regained my vigor and went upstairs to see Emily again."
Debussy's face flushed again:
"That was what the owner asked for, to play music that would make guests happy—I'm actually better at..."
Maupassant paid no mind, continuing to share on his own:
"The second time I came downstairs, it was already 2 AM—Ha, Léon, I've always been this strong—I invited him for a drink.
He told me all these pieces were his own compositions! His own? Can you believe it? This is genius!
Just as you and I are literary geniuses, he is a musical genius! Léon, he's the perfect fit!"
Hearing this, Debussy plucked up his courage and puffed out his chest:
"Mr. Sorel, you can give me a try. If you're not satisfied, then find someone else!"
Lionel: "..."
He suddenly couldn't tell if this was a café or 'The House of Roses'.
Finally, Lionel could only sigh:
"Alright, let's hear it then."
He pointed to the old upright piano in the corner of the café:
"Please, Mr. Debussy."
Slightly larger cafés and pubs in Paris usually had pianos, sometimes inviting lesser-known musicians to play as a way to attract customers.
The café owner, seeing the group head towards the piano, quickly emerged from behind the counter:
"Hey, gentlemen, the piano isn't on the menu!"
Maupassant pulled a 10-sou coin from his pocket and placed it on the table:
"How about now?"
The owner picked up the coin, smiling:
"Enjoy yourselves—but nothing too dreadful, alright?"
Only then did Debussy sit down at the piano, and a few customers in the café curiously looked up in their direction.
He tried a few notes first; the piano seemed a little out of tune, but he didn't appear to mind.
Debussy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then his fingers gently landed on the keys.
At first, it was a soft melody, like the Seine in the morning mist, hazy and beautiful.
Then the notes gradually became more complex, creating a strangely interwoven melody.
Debussy's playing style was distinctly different from the classical music Lionel had heard—it was freer, more colorful, as if painting with sound.
The chatter in the café gradually subsided; everyone was drawn in by the extraordinary music.
Even passersby outside stopped, peering in through the glass window.
Maupassant gave Lionel a triumphant wink, as if to say,
"I told you so."
When the piece ended, sincere and warm applause erupted in the café; Debussy bowed slightly, then turned to Lionel, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Lionel had to admit, this young man was indeed a genius.
This single piece was enough for him to establish himself in Paris—after all, Parisians' musical literacy was among the best in Europe.
Families with an annual income over 3,000 francs would attend several operas or concerts each year.
The fact that he could make all the customers in the café applaud showed that what Debussy had just played was truly excellent.
But he still needed to conduct a further test—what he needed was a seasoned professional who could help him complete the scores within a month.
If someone were to take their time, meticulously refining, and couldn't finish two pieces in several months, even a genius wouldn't meet the requirements.
So Lionel's tone was cautious:
"Very good, but now I'm going to give you a challenge."
Then Lionel immersed himself in his memories, digging out a certain melody from the depths of his hippocampus, and softly hummed the first few measures.
Less than 30 seconds later, Lionel stopped and asked,
"Can you complete a full piece based on what I just hummed?
I can give you one day. We'll meet here again tomorrow..."
Maupassant, standing by, scoffed:
"Léon, your singing is truly dreadful... no wonder you never come with us..."
"Two minutes... Mr. Sorel, I only need two minutes."
Debussy interrupted Maupassant, completely stunning Lionel.
Isn't showing off like this supposed to be reserved for me, the protagonist?
How could this less-than-18-year-old teenager unleash an ultimate move right in my face?
Debussy closed his eyes, his fingers suspended above the keys, as if capturing scattered notes from the air.
Maupassant wore a sly grin, his meaning clear—
"It's your turn today!"
Just a few tens of seconds later—perhaps not even two minutes—his fingers descended, first accurately repeating the melody Lionel had hummed, then naturally and fluidly developing variations and elaborations.
The music he created was even richer and more poignant than the original piece Lionel remembered.
The piano music was like weeping and pleading, yet full of hope, perfectly conveying a sense of serenity, elegance, hope, and light.
When the last note faded into the air, silence filled the café, followed by even more fervent applause.
Debussy turned to face Lionel, his eyes shining brightly:
"Sir, I've never heard this music before... so, it must belong to a story about redemption, right?
I can hear in the music... that journey from darkness towards light."
Lionel: "..."
Enough already! How could he unleash an ultimate move right in the protagonist's face twice in a row!
But Lionel was indeed deeply shocked.
Debussy could actually guess the theme of the screenplay he wanted to write from just a few hummed notes.
This kind of intuition and insight could indeed only belong to a genius.
Lionel finally smiled:
"You're right, absolutely correct."
He extended his hand to Debussy:
"I think we can work together. Throughout October, we need to cooperate sincerely!"
Debussy was also a little excited, grasping Lionel's hand:
"Thank you, sir! What about the remuneration..."
Lionel smiled: "200 francs, not a single cent less."
Debussy became even more excited, his fair complexion growing redder.
The group sat back at the coffee table, and Debussy asked,
"Mr. Sorel, could you tell me what kind of story you plan to write? That way I can prepare in advance!"
Lionel pondered for a moment, then slowly began:
"Achille, actually, your guess was spot on. This story is about redemption, about hope.
Its name is 'The Chorus'—ha, that's why I need a musician to compose the score for me.
In 1870, a music teacher named Clément Mathieu arrived at a church-run reformatory called 'Fond de l'Étang'..."
(End of Chapter)
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