Egrer had never been so nervous before. Because of his trembling fingers, he had to press both palms against the wall, pinning the letter between them. He placed the second envelope, which had been inside the first, on a dusty shelf for now.
Egrer didn't turn on the light. He didn't need it.
The text was handwritten in a hurry. The sprawling letters sometimes skipped a line or were overly large, and some words were entirely impossible to make out.
«I know you haven't given up trying to find our beloved employer. And She knows it too. You and your friends have caught Her attention, and one of Her minions is constantly watching you. Let me clarify right away: I will NOT help you, and I will NOT catch your eye again. Also, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES write to me on my Scroll; it was recently taken from me, but I managed to delete our chat history. If She finds out you're connected to us, I won't be able to do anything against Her. Roman might risk it, but I won't. Think carefully about whether you really want to continue down this path. And if so - open the second letter.»
Egrer's gaze drifted on its own to the still-sealed envelope.
«To a very brave and foolish little wolf.»
To say he was scared right now would be an understatement. For the umpteenth time, Egrer managed to re-evaluate the danger of the situation, gather his courage all over again, and decide once more to fight back. And each time, this cycle went easier and faster.
After just a few seconds of breathing exercises, he was ready to dive even deeper into this mess.
«I knew you'd risk it, my brave little wolf. Here are instructions to help you ruin the Bitch's plans. Let me clarify right away, we know very little about them ourselves, so proceed with caution. And yes, I'm writing this letter with Roman's blessing. I think you've already figured out how bad things are if we're turning to you, little wolf.»
Just skimming over those lines planted a warm feeling in Egrer's chest. They needed him. He could be useful to them.
«You and your friends are currently an unknown variable that She can't control in any way. Your hands are untied, and if anything out of the ordinary happens, Ozpin will stand up for you. All the Bitch knows about you is that, for some reason, you like to mess with the White Fang and ruin its plans.»
Egrer had guessed it before, but now he knew for sure that Neo was on the same team as the Puppeteer. She wouldn't write about this with such certainty unless she had good reason. Therefore, she either had the opportunity to eavesdrop on their conversations or even participate in discussions. Besides, Neo wouldn't have been able to hide in Beacon for long without pretending to be a student.
«One of Her minions can get into people's heads and cast illusions. To some extent, these illusions are more advanced than mine; the minion can easily transform into you and worm everything you know about Her out of your little friends. You should come up with code phrases, but they must blend in with normal speech. If the Bitch realizes you've created an anti-espionage system, She'll figure out you're expecting a spy to try and infiltrate you. And if you're expecting it, it means you suspect She might know about you. You'll lose the element of surprise and give the Bitch an extra reason to keep an eye on you or eliminate you.»
Egrer's head started to ache a little trying to process this information. He'd never been good at real adult schemes, where you had to outplay the enemy's outplaying, while being ready to outplay the outplaying of your outplaying.
«If you doubt your memory, encrypt the contents of the letter somehow and destroy the original. If Ozpin or Ironwood finds out about this, your problems will multiply drastically. And if the Bitch learns about our little game, be prepared to simply not wake up one day. If you get used to this thought, it'll get easier from there, trust me.»
A little late for that advice; he'd been ready for such an outcome for a long time.
«For your own safety, you'll have to blindly trust me and do exactly what's written in the letter. If plans drastically change and the letter becomes useless, you'll find a new envelope under your pillow. Also, you probably noticed I haven't given a single hint about the identity of the Bitch or Her minions. You don't need to know their names and faces to execute our plan; that will only increase the risk of you being exposed. You were never a skilled actor or a good liar, little wolf.»
Egrer just chuckled. He'd figure out who they were himself.
«With love, your mom. Detailed instructions are provided on the back. Be sure to destroy all letters after reading. It's not too late to back down.»
The trembling in his hands slowly faded, and his breathing evened out.
Egrer looked down at himself; the illusion of another person still hadn't worn off. He couldn't see his face, but the most ordinary, inconspicuous black suit definitely couldn't belong to him. However, as soon as he struck himself in the chest, the alien disguise shattered into green sparks with the sound of breaking glass.
It was a very strange sensation, like peeling off shedding skin, but all over your body at once.
Once again himself, Egrer shoved the letters into his pants pocket and stepped out of the utility room. He'd read the rest later, but right now he just needed to catch his breath and process everything. Today wasn't the day to clutter his head with such plans. Today was for resting and having fun. The Puppeteer could wait until tomorrow.
But his performance couldn't wait any longer.
Trying to act naturally, he headed to the backstage room where his whole musical gang was already gathered.
Illmond was strumming something on his bass guitar, Magenta was nervously pacing back and forth, and Yort was spitting at the ceiling. Nora was here too, sitting at a computer and ready to kick off the performances at any moment. She had insisted very strongly on being given the role of the host, and the General Secretary hadn't found any serious arguments against it.
"You guys ready?"
"Eg, where have you been so long?!" Magenta pounced on him. "We were supposed to perform five minutes ago!"
"Sorry, urgent business."
"Urgent?" Illmond drawled skeptically. "You? Not putting something off right before your performance? What, did you stop the apocalypse or something?"
"It really was super urgent and super important business. But I'm ready now! Nora?"
"Killing the music." She smoothly slid her finger across the holographic screen, dropping the volume slider to zero. "Dimming the house lights. Firing up the stage spotlights. All systems nominal. Taking the ship to cruising speed. Activating the warp drive..."
"Nora."
"Done. Let's go!" She grabbed the microphone and dashed onto the stage, nearly taking the door off its hinges with joy. "Well, it's time to really let loose, folks!"
While Nora gave her welcoming speech, the musical gang dragged their instruments onto the stage and got ready to play.
This was it, the moment. The moment that would decide his future.
"Hey," Illmond whispered soothingly, "don't go full drama queen. Inhale, exhale."
"I expected a lot of things, but not those words from you," Egrer chuckled, obediently doing the breathing exercise.
All of Beacon was looking at them right now. Literally all of it. Every teacher, every student, every guest, and even the Atlas soldiers with their general. It made him not just nervous; it made him panic.
Nora, meanwhile, reached the finale of her improvised speech.
"And first up, we have Team MA-A-A-AJESTY!" Nora waved her hand invitingly, and Egrer took a step forward. "The team with the most awesome cutie in all of Beacon, Magenta Toti! GIVE IT UP FOR THEEEEEEM!"
Egrer stopped. It took him about a second to realize Nora had waved at Magenta, not him. For a moment, it actually stung. He could only hope no one noticed his jerky back-and-forth movement.
Meanwhile, Magenta stepped up to the microphone. As the leader of Team Majesty, she had the right to speak.
And she decided not to waste time rambling, borrowing the Headmaster's punchy style. Now was definitely not the time to keep the hyped-up crowd waiting even a second. The sooner it started, the better.
"Friends, happy Vytal! The musical acts start right now!" It might have been the shortest speech in history, but nobody really cared. Especially not Egrer.
Any second now, he was gonna be famous worldwide! Well, or at least across Beacon.
Egrer had never been afraid of crowds. On the contrary, he gravitated toward them, wanting to be heard. But right now, he felt genuine, unadulterated terror. Any mistake could ruin everything. If he messed up the chords or slurred even a single word, he'd be brutally lynched on the spot. Him and his entire musical gang.
But honestly, Egrer was more worried that his song would be misunderstood or not understood at all. After all, its theme and lyrics were rather... dark. It wasn't exactly what the idle, lazy crowd was expecting right now. Magenta had brought that up constantly during rehearsals. But even so, Egrer believed it was simply impossible to come up with a more fitting song.
Today, on a day of unity and peace, it was more important than ever to point out what was threatening this world. And it was far from just the Grimm. When would there be a better time to sing about it than now?
Those who get it, will get it. Egrer didn't really care about the opinions of fools.
The new electric guitar still sat a bit awkwardly in his hands, but it wouldn't be a major issue. Yort bobbed his head, recalling the track's rhythm, while Magenta impatiently twitched her fingers over the synthesizer, and Illmond cowered behind everyone, practically hugging the wall.
Fully ready. Everyone took their places. The hall fell silent in anticipation.
As always, Egrer was the one to signal the start of the song.
'Inhale. Exhale. Everything's gonna be fine.'
The strike against the strings was sharp. The motif was aggressive, the tempo off the charts, his hand dancing across the guitar neck.
But the opening verses were calm and measured.
"Snow, gloomy snow
Drowns our path in the dark...
Can't turn back, we only walk on
Towards the death we see in our dreams."
"Tracks, devilish tracks
Lay like a gray noose in the snow...
Packs are on the move, and on their way
They draw us a sign with their blood."
Egrer didn't dare lose his focus or get distracted by the crowd's reaction. He was completely absorbed in the music and could only guess if his fears were justified.
"With a rabid roar they challenge us to a fight..."
Egrer began to raise his voice; the previously quiet vocals turned more aggressive.
"We answer, but our reply sounds like a woo-o-olf's howl!"
"The furious gleam of merciless fangs,
Fires of yellow eyes in the brush.
Here we will start the hunt for the wolves,
And wolves will hunt for u-u-us!"
"Claws and teeth against steel and fire,
A song against a rabid ro-o-oar!
The devil's circle of mutual hunts
Will be sealed by hot blo-o-ood!"
Egrer's voice dropped back to a calm low, but characteristic growling notes started to slip through. His hands still frantically dashed across the guitar, creating a stark contrast between the slow vocals and the driving sound of the electric guitar. Clearly and distinctly, he began the next verse.
"No, we are not them -
One in blood... strong in spirit,
We shouldn't... drink down this hate
We just want to live too..."
"But it's decided
And cannot be stopped:
Either we kill - or sink to the bottom,
Our fate cannot be changed..."
He sang about those forced to fight to survive. About those who just want to live, but can't afford to. About the Faunus.
And without changing his low vocal timbre, Egrer roared:
"With a rabid roar they challenge us to a fight!
We answer, but our reply sounds like a woo-o-olf's howl!"
"The furious gleam of merciless fangs,
Fires of yellow eyes in the brush!
So we lead the hunt for the wolves,
And wolves hunt for us!"
"Away with all doubts - we push straight ahead
The beasts aren't our kin!
The frost melts with pearlescent fire
In the moan of a freezing day."
The most complex solo of Egrer's life began. Fueled by a rush of emotions and adrenaline, his fingers practically flew over the fretboard.
Sticking to the plan, Magenta pulled out a rifle and fired it into the air, metaphorically signaling the start of the hunt.
Just as metaphorically, Egrer howled. In musical performances, the music and singing themselves aren't the only important parts; conveying the meaning matters too. Metaphors, allegories, things that are impossible to simply convey and understand.
Special effects can help get the underlying message across, provided you don't treat them as "Let's blow up the Headmaster's tower, that'd be sick!"
"With a rabid roar both we and they drive away the ni-i-ight!
A free heart beats, but cannot help the mad-ne-ess!"
"The furious gleam of merciless fangs,
Fires of yellow eyes in the brush!
Brothers march on brothers so easily
This is the hour of madness!"
And the climax. The summation of everything sung. The pads of Egrer's fingers were sweating, making it harder to hold down the chords.
"In a bloody morning we'll wake from our sleep,
What will the li-i-ight reveal?
There are no wolves here - only human bodies
The hunt is eternal in the da-a-ark!.."
The song finished, but Egrer didn't take his hand off the guitar neck. Some impulse forced him to arch backwards until his spine cracked and improvise an even more twisted solo. He stood on his tiptoes, threw his head back, and kept going until the strings started cutting into his fingers.
And only then did the greatest musician of the near future stop and look out at the hall.
Realizing that the song was definitely over now, the audience started applauding as if on cue. Egrer bathed in the rays of adoration and glory; the entire hall filled with thunderous clapping, whistling, and cheering. Before walking off, he tipped an invisible hat to the crowd.
The beast that resided within him was sated. This would be enough for a while.
Nora took the floor again.
"For our next act, Team BZMT will perform the song 'Without You' by the famous band 'Almond'!"
This time, the roar of applause threatened to bring the ceiling and walls down on them. The noise was much louder than when Team Majesty had finished their performance.
Egrer gritted his teeth until they squeaked, and growled using only his lips:
"Pop... I poured my soul into that, I'm a creator. And these clowns are just performers of snotty mediocrity. Why are they getting so much applause?"
The aforementioned clowns walked right past them. A blue-haired girl, the leader of BZMT, proudly stepped onto the stage, followed by three guys. The applause grew even louder, even though they hadn't even started singing yet.
"It's not fair," Egrer continued grumbling when they entered the backstage room. Muffled singing and the roar of a thrilled crowd of idiots echoed from outside. "I'd strangle every pop performer out there. With their own guts. Right in front of their families. And then them too."
"Eg, don't say such scary things," Magenta gasped in horror, placing her synthesizer on a shelf. "Take it back!"
"I won't. Pop music is the creation of the Dark Brother himself! It liquefies your brain, erases your moral compass, and makes its listeners loop those idiotic, banal, meaningless, and neurotically catchy rhymes in their heads all day long. It's a sonic weapon of mass destruction!"
"Yeah, plus pop turns you into a pansy," Yort nodded.
"Exactly!"
"I was joking, dumbass. Shut your trap and quit whining, they clapped for us too."
Egrer actually calmed down a little. But for different reasons.
"Right. They clapped for us too. What else could that mean, if not the acknowledgment of our exceptional musical abilities in general, and mine in particular?"
"Hmm, I don't even know," Illmond pondered mockingly. "Maybe the existence of basic social etiquette, which dictates you should clap even for mildly questionable performances?"
"Wait, are you trying to belittle me and my achievements?"
"I just don't want you getting a big head."
"Pfft, me, getting a big head?" Egrer stuck his nose up and turned away. "Egrer Peleni is not such an arrogant individual as to fall victim to that psychological affliction."
"Here we go, now you're talking about yourself in the third person..."
"Egrer Peleni doesn't want to hear it. Egrer Peleni wants to drink some punch and lose himself in an alcoholic haze. For the second time today, by the way..."
Pure laughter filled the small room. Laughter is the best medicine, and he'd just taken his dose.
"We did super well," Magenta concluded. She hugged her shoulders and stretched up on her tiptoes, squealing happily. "Ah, so many emotions! I've never felt anything like it! We totally have to do this again."
"It was sick," Yort agreed with a faint smile.
Illmond just grumbled something about how he'd much rather watch a music anime than actually become a musician IRL.
But still, it had happened. Egrer had sung in front of all of Beacon. And not just sang, but performed a song of his own composition! And at such a festival, no less! Another checkmark in his notebook marked another step on the path to the top. The realization that all this work hadn't been in vain pleasantly warmed his core. He wanted to grab his guitar again and sing something cheerful.
Only a small matter remained - to push the masses toward the realization that with a music club, there would be more performances like this. And then a true paradise on Remnant would begin, at least for one specific musician.
Naturally, Egrer would become the head of the club, reborn like a phoenix. He would leave the union with a clear conscience and devote himself entirely to his favorite cause. He'd toil over new songs day and night, organize concerts and auditions, and discuss music with other musicians. A magnificent future was about to open its doors to him...
Egrer sank so deeply into his fantasies that he didn't even notice when the only ones left in the room were him and Yort, who was still messing with his drum kit.
"By the way, how are Madge's workouts going?" Egrer asked with a smile. "She hasn't ditched that idea yet?"
"Hell no, she's busting our P.E. teacher's balls in the heavy lifting club almost 24/7. Prof's already regretted becoming the sponsor like three times over."
"Ha, totally her style," he chuckled. However, his smile quickly faded. "Well, looks like my musical gang just lost another member. Hope Illmond doesn't bail too..."
Yort continued silently packing his drum kit into a steel case.
"It's just that this kind of behavior is new for Madge. You, for instance, have always been highly driven. You know, I wasn't even really surprised when, despite all my attempts, you didn't change your mind about being part of my pack. But her..."
"Don't sweat it, bro," Yort advised, clapping him on the shoulder. Walking past, he headed for the exit. "If she leaves, she leaves. You'll figure it out then."
Egrer followed his advice and cleared his mind of everything unnecessary; that problem really could wait.
Right now, he needed to get back to the party.
***
With the start of the musical acts, the ball dramatically transformed. There were no more dancing couples, and no one was making out in the corners either. Almost everyone had gathered right up against the stage to bask in the live music.
Now the party resembled a concert. A concert featuring representatives from the most diverse musical genres, ranging from rock and pop to blues, rap, and country.
When Egrer announced to all of Beacon that anyone could perform on stage, there was no shortage of volunteers. There was only one requirement for participation: to take the matter as seriously as possible.
If he wanted, Egrer could have introduced much stricter rules, as no one was restricting his actions. For example, he could have established total censorship so that only rockers performed at the concert. But Weiss had talked him out of the idea, convincing him not to limit the participants' creative potential with stupid boundaries.
However, both he and she had already managed to regret letting things take their own course.
"This song lacks rhyme," Weiss said with the air of a harsh judge. "The banality of these stanzas is already giving me a headache; you can't just rhyme every single line with verbs!"
"The eternal plague of pop - it's banal and bland," Egrer shrugged. "At least the music's not bad with these guys, specifically. Their guitarist clearly has no business being in the company of such scrubs; he should go solo."
"We should have organized an audition at the very least. With every passing minute, I find it harder to remain in this room."
"I totally agree. If not censorship, we should have at least enforced some quality control."
They stood at a distance from the main group of partygoers and critiqued every musical gang that took the stage. The absolute majority of students were now standing by the stage, so the rest of the hall was, in essence, empty.
Only the far benches near the walls were occupied by anti-social and simply uncommunicative individuals, to whom participating in this celebration of life felt stupid, but who couldn't leave out of conscience or because of their teammates. Among them was Ruby, who hadn't parted with her cloak even in a ballgown, and Illmond with his new friends.
The teachers likewise didn't crowd near the stage among the students; they had settled near one of the snack tables. They found this kind of music much less interesting, so they gathered together and simply chatted, watching their students from a distance.
Professor Port was arm-wrestling the P.E. teacher. The tense, bulging muscles of both instructors threatened to tear their sleeves, though Port's musculature was somewhat more modest. Beads of sweat rolled down their faces, and the table beneath their elbows creaked, threatening to collapse at any moment and dump all the food onto the floor.
Glynda Goodwitch didn't even try to show her usual passion for discipline and stop them. No, she was simply chatting with the Headmaster and General Ironwood. Egrer still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that the Iron Lady, the terror of all Beacon, was capable of things like smiling and laughing.
Mrs. Licht was trying to steal Doctor Oobleck's coffee thermos, but he was fighting back with the fury of an enraged Death Stalker. And the ethics professor, looking like a true aesthete, sipped punch through a straw and commentated on their squabble.
In short, the teachers were having fun too, and if you thought about it, their fun was almost no different from the students'. With the sole exception that, as adults, this kind of behavior was unacceptable for them on a regular basis. So they were letting loose while they had the chance.
"Well," Weiss said, as Nora announced the next group with her trademark energy, "the main thing is that everyone is enjoying it."
"Pfft, the crowd will gobble down anything. Just pour them a richer slop."
"You're just jealous that your song didn't cause the same sensation as this cheap parody of music."
Weiss hit the nail on the head with incredible precision; it was the exact reason why Egrer had been sulking and nitpicking the other musicians for half an hour. His silence spoke louder than any words, and the excuse he quickly cobbled together sounded pathetic.
"They just didn't understand my genius! The time will come when my art will blast from every speaker in Vale, and then the whole world."
"Ooh, such ambitions," Weiss chuckled, swirling a glass of punch in her hand.
"Listen, how did you get so popular anyway?"
"Competent marketing and massive financial injections into promoting my image. Not to mention the fact that I generally performed in high society, and common people love to imitate the more successful ones. So they read the same books, watch the same movies, and, of course, listen to the same music."
"Hmm... So, if I had a couple million Lien and friends in power, I could blast off from a standing start?"
"Yes. As you understand, skillful advertising can sell even absolute garbage, and connections will open doors that remain forever closed to the majority."
Egrer thoughtfully stroked his chin. It seemed he'd have to cram a couple more items into his Grand Plan, necessary for achieving real fame. After all, he'd never really had much money, and he didn't know how to earn it except through crimes. And he certainly didn't have any connections. Where would an orphan Faunus...
Something suddenly clicked in his head. The realization that he had both, all rolled into one, made Egrer audibly slap his forehead. A sly smile crept onto his face all on its own.
"You just thought of something very vile," Weiss commented on his facial metamorphosis.
"I just realized I won't have any problems with money or connections. I'm so lucky, I only just realized it..."
"I still don't like your smile."
"Okay, okay, I just remembered that I'm friends with such wonderful girls as Weiss Schnee and Magenta Toti, who happen to be the heiresses to two of the richest families in the world."
"Indeed, a rare stroke of luck," Weiss nodded with exaggerated seriousness, taking a sip of punch. "And of course, I will have nowhere else to spend my money but on sponsoring your concerts. Luck squared, no less."
"Come on, are you really gonna grudge a million or two for an old friend?" Egrer asked ingratiatingly. Naturally, he was joking; his Ego wouldn't survive the humiliation of begging friends for money. And Weiss understood that, otherwise she would have reacted much more sharply. "Besides, since you're planning to clear your family's name, helping young Faunus musicians could be the first step. And I'll provide the advertising."
"I'm afraid a Faunus praising the SDC would look like an oxymoron. You'd become a laughingstock."
"Pfft, I'm sure that when you're the boss there, there'll definitely be something to praise."
Weiss's smile faded slightly.
"Don't think the changes will be fast. The system my father created is very robust, and shaking it up won't be easy, or even safe. I wouldn't be surprised if I have to survive a couple of assassination attempts, because the board of directors won't want to lose their profits."
"Oh... are you sure you can drag your company out of that swamp all by yourself?"
"I'm not alone. I have a sister who, for the record, is an Atlas specialist and a confidante of General Ironwood. She may have left the family, but we text quite often, so I have someone to rely on." Absolute faith in her sister's reliability was easily read in her voice. Egrer had never heard such unwavering confidence before. "Though I easily caught that you were hinting primarily at yourself."
"Hey, maybe I wanna have a hand in an epoch-making event like restructuring the SDC too?"
"You'll be of zero use in this matter, pardon my bluntness."
"I might not have any super useful skills, but I'll definitely let you cry on my shoulder." Egrer gave a thumbs up. "That's what friends are for, right?"
"Well, so be it." Weiss nodded with exaggerated seriousness again. "Because my own sister certainly won't be able to comfort me if I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. After all, you understand me much better than she does."
"Hey, I just want to help somehow."
"And I truly appreciate that. But, as I said, you won't be of any use. You can't even lie, and in big business and politics, alas, you can't survive without that skill. And I'm not going to adjust my multi-year plans to accommodate your involvement."
Egrer whistled. His plans for the day often fell apart, let alone plans for entire years.
"Alright, maybe I'll be useless, but you'll still sponsor my band, right?"
"You know, at first I thought you were just joking, but now it seems to me you're considering the idea seriously..."
"Just a joke." Egrer raised his hands placatingly. "It was all a joke; I'm not gonna beg you for money under any pretext. After all, I've got Magenta, who'll definitely be happy to share her savings. Especially since she's a member of my musical gang herself, so it's in her interest too."
"She'd gladly sign her entire business over to you. When she becomes the head of Toti Electrical Appliances, her company will collapse within a month."
Their conversation naturally died down when Nora announced the next group. They were some upperclassmen dressed like stereotypical punks—mohawks, spikes, leather jackets. They walked onto the stage, loudly stomping the soles of their high combat boots and rattling chains. These were the only sounds in the hall, which had fallen silent with anticipation; the crowd froze, sensing the approach of something super heavy. The tension filling the room was so thick it was quiet enough to make ears ring.
"I haven't the slightest hope that their song will be any better than the last one," Weiss admitted, taking a sip of punch.
"Come on, looks can be deceiving."
That statement sounded unconvincing, because a literal second later, the vocalist screamed into the microphone, tearing the recent silence to shreds like an artillery volley. At the same time, the drummer began frantically beating the drums, as if trying to punch through the bass drum heads with his sticks and crack the cymbals in half. The guitarist was no better; his sharp pick strikes should have snapped the strings on the very first chord.
"Looks can be deceiving," Weiss said, trying not to wince, "but many forget that, more often than not, they aren't."
"These guys are a disgrace to the entire rock genre." As if echoing Egrer's words, the vocalist started screaming into the microphone even louder. It seemed like you could even make out a couple of words in his screams, but for the most part, it was untranslatable growling.
"What about your boasted diversity of rock? What genres were you listing?" Weiss grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was physically painful for her to be in this room.
"Hey, diversity is diversity, but you've got to know the boundary where art ends and... this begins."
However, the crowd was loving it. They started swaying to the beat of the music and jumping around, while some took a cue from the guitarist and started frantically headbanging.
"You know, rock was never my genre," Weiss felt the need to remind him. "But comparing your song to this, objectively, yours wasn't bad. It has meaning, rhyme, good execution. Everything that's lacking here."
"Why does even a compliment from your lips sound like an insult?"
"Because you're overly sensitive when it comes to your art. And because you get offended that I lump all rock genres under one concept of 'Abnormal Screaming Musicians' and can't immediately separate your 'Truest Art' from, well, the abnormal screaming musicians."
"My song has meaning!" Egrer shot back indignantly, tapping his chest. "I sang about what's eating at me! No, did you get the meaning I put into it? Like, humans and Faunus are actually the same, and if you dig deeper, it becomes clear that neither of them likes this 'devil's circle of mutual hunts'. They're driven by blind animosity—'Away with all doubts, we push straight ahead, the beasts aren't our kin.' They see each other as wolves, not noticing that they are essentially the same. But there's a third layer too~"
"And you also hinted that the humans started it."
"Well..." He faltered, coughing awkwardly. "That's actually the truth. Faunus have always been an oppressed race."
"If you wanted to reconcile humans and Faunus, you should have kept quiet about that."
"No, I shouldn't have. I'm not blaming anyone; it's just stating a fact. We'll only make things worse by distorting history."
"The modern world relies entirely on rewriting history," Weiss noted in that specific tone where she harbored zero doubts about her own rightness or the idiocy of everyone around her.
"Ugh, why am I even listening to you, you'll always find something to nitpick."
"And that is my greatest virtue, I believe."
The abnormal screaming musicians finished their performance and left the stage. Nora announced the entrance of the next band, which was a hodgepodge of several people from different years.
Their singing and music were much more pleasant, but banal and bland.
"What do you say about them?" Weiss asked.
"Even though it's rock, they obviously lack lyrical depth; their moral is visible right on the surface. They focused on vocal performance, but the main goal of rock is exactly the depth of the lyrics, not how it sounds."
Still, even so, it was pleasant to listen to. There was clearly no point in pondering the lyrics, but if you turned off your brain, it wasn't bad at all.
A couple of minutes later, the next group came out, representing a full-fledged musical rock band with drums, keyboards, and three guitars—bass, electric, and acoustic. An interesting fact—all five were first-year girls.
When they started singing, Egrer was surprised.
"No way, is there actually going to be something good today?"
The music was very pleasant and light. Even Weiss, who never favored this musical genre, started tapping her heel to the rhythm. But the crowd of listeners, although showing interest and activity, couldn't even foolishly compare this to the previous tracks.
"Surprisingly, this evening just got a tiny bit better," Weiss nodded to herself.
"They clearly have talent."
"Talent does not exist; there is only proper upbringing. If you are excellent at something, it doesn't mean you were born that way; it simply means you were raised in a specific way that is perfectly suited for that activity."
"Need I remind you what kind of environment I grew up in? What are my skills, if not talent?"
"Did I ever say you were excellent at singing?" Weiss replied without blinking an eye. Egrer pouted indignantly and crossed his arms over his chest. "A joke. It was a joke."
"You have neither talent in humor nor the specific upbringing for it," he shot back. "So don't even try anymore."
"Then practice is exactly what I need."
"Wait, are you..." Egrer looked at her in surprise, "planning to become a comedian?.."
"No!" Weiss bristled, as if he had just insulted her somehow. "It's just that everyone on my team jokes. Even Blake sometimes. And I take everything at face value, which gets me laughed at. So I figured if I try to joke more often myself, I'll learn to understand when someone is joking and when they're being serious. I observe the reaction and, based on that, conclude whether I succeeded."
"Truly, a worthy goal to unravel the phenomenon of humor," Egrer nodded. "But honestly, I doubt you'll get anywhere with your approach. Humor is like art; it can only be felt. And with your personality, you're not even supposed to joke at all; it just looks weird."
"Let me decide what I am and am not supposed to do with my personality."
They fell silent when Nora announced the entrance of a new band. Three upperclassmen, dressed up like peacocks, riveted the hall's attention with their eye-gouging appearance alone. Even at the teachers' table, all conversation stopped for a second.
Egrer found it hard to name the genre in which they were singing and playing. They just mixed everything together without any sense or purpose, and when a rap segment started right in the middle of their song, he completely gave up on trying to figure it out. The cacophony of sounds only remotely resembled music, and he frankly pitied their musical instruments for the sheer abuse they were subjected to...
Weiss was in culture shock. She didn't utter a word until the very end of their performance, while Egrer muttered under his breath non-stop.
"That was..." Weiss trailed off, searching for words that didn't overstep the bounds of decency. It seemed she was genuinely afraid to say anything rude about these people. As if three dangerous psychos stood before her, whom she shouldn't provoke. "Avant-garde... Yes, it was avant-garde..."
"Yeah, some kind of modern art, just from the music world. Bullshit."
"I would ask you not to utter 'modern art' with such condescension and disdain."
"What, are you gonna defend meaningless brushstrokes on paper? I can squeeze a tube of paint onto a canvas too and call it a masterpiece. And all sorts of 'Aesthetes' will admire it and bid furiously at auction."
"Have you heard of Ryuji?" Weiss asked coldly. Egrer realized he had struck a nerve, but could only shake his head no. "He's a famous Mistralian artist. However, he only had one single work that achieved success. Ironically, it also became his last piece. Care to guess what was depicted on it?"
Egrer pondered. Considering that, based on the context, this Ryuji was a representative of modern art, and also that he was Mistralian, there weren't that many options.
"A mishmash of cosmic colors representing the path to transcendental existence or something like that?"
"It was a painting of a cross. The painting is literally titled 'Cross of Ryuji'."
For a second, his brain went into reboot mode, processing this information. Was Weiss making fun of him?
"Was it some super intricate and beautiful cross? Or mega-postmodern?"
"An ordinary cross, painted with ordinary blue paint on an ordinary canvas." Weiss took out her Scroll and opened the gallery. "I even took a picture when I was at the exhibition. Look."
Egrer was not impressed; it really was the most ordinary cross. Two thick blue lines intersected noticeably above the center, as if carelessly drawn with a housepainter's brush, and a few long-dried drops had left small blue trails behind.
"This is literally what I was telling you," Egrer said, frowning in confusion. "Some nonsense is sitting in an art museum, and all sorts of 'Aesthetes' walk up to it and sing odes in its honor."
"Instead of commenting on its outward appearance, try to understand the message behind this painting," Weiss grumbled. "You're always saying looks can be deceiving yourself, so follow your own words!"
His intense pondering yielded no significant fruits. Furthermore, thoughts like 'It's literally just a cross, what deep meaning is there?' and 'What can modern art even offer anyway?' heavily interfered with the process. Egrer just shrugged, and Weiss huffed, as if she hadn't expected any other result from a peasant.
"It's a gesture of protest, do you understand?" she began explaining. "Ryuji's relatives pressured him his whole life; they wanted him to become an artist. Even though he had his own desires, his soft-heartedness wouldn't let him upset his loved ones. For many years he tried to live up to those expectations by studying at an art school, until he simply got sick of it and went his own way. He painted this cross during an exam, and back then, no one even attached importance to the Meaning he put into his painting. Now Ryuji breeds cats and does exactly what he wants."
"Wow." Egrer took a fresh look at the painting, although for the most part, he stood by his opinion. "But from an artistic standpoint, it's just two crossed sticks; anyone could draw that."
"Visually, yes, it's possible to replicate the shape. To instill the same meaning and feelings, no, no matter how hard you try. Moreover, now, in the era of cameras, the world no longer needs landscapes and portraits; all of that can be done with a single click. Therefore, visual arts have shifted into what," Weiss's voice turned mocking, "the brainless crowd, yourself included, condescendingly calls 'Modern Art'."
"Hey, hey, I'm not part of the crowd!"
"Oh, really? Weren't you the one blindly following the trend of treating such masterpieces," she waved her Scroll, which still displayed the photo of the cross, "as something that only rich, ignorant-of-art spoiled brats fawn over? Naturally, because the crowd knows best what true art is, be it songs or paintings."
Weiss's words rolled over Egrer's inner world like a steamroller. It was very painful to realize that you're part of the exact same crowd you so recently despised for their superficial judgments. All this time he considered himself above the stupid herd, but in reality, it's made up of "Individuals" just like him. Everyone fancies themselves special, and their point of view unique, except this unique point of view is the point of view of the majority, and all the special traits have long been standardized.
"Sorry, I was wrong," Egrer apologized. "I really never considered that some smear could have such a deep meaning."
"Some smear?" That icy tone made him gulp.
"I meant the meticulously calibrated and inimitable artistic style of the author! But," Egrer cast a wary glance at the angry Weiss, "it's still just a cross. Without understanding the context, it's impossible to grasp the full depth of the meaning."
"And you thought true creativity was so easy to comprehend? By shifting the focus from the final product to the process of its creation, visual art has taken a new evolutionary leap. Now it's not enough to look at a painting to understand the idea embedded in it; it's important to know how it was painted. Let me reiterate, everyone has a camera at hand now. What used to take an artist months, sometimes years, can now be achieved with the press of a button, and it will even turn out higher quality."
"You know, you're a real aesthete, and without quotes," Egrer smiled. However, he quickly grew gloomy. "So that means when all those neural networks and AIs learn how to write songs, I'll have to shift into modern art too, just the musical kind? Grimm take it, and I thought that by stepping on stage, my future was secure. Damn technology..."
"What a tragedy," Weiss feigned distress. "You'll have to put in more effort so that some device doesn't replace you. How terrible."
"Could you not mock me? I got genuinely scared for my future career, by the way!" If some machine could just go ahead and generate a song, why should he even do music at all? Why would anyone listen to "Real" songs if a machine can do everything faster and better? Why would anyone even need Egrer himself?
An existential crisis crashed down on his head like snow in the middle of July. If no one heard Egrer, he might as well not exist.
"Sorry," Weiss guiltily lowered her gaze. "I was just outraged by your attitude towards modern art, so I snapped. But do you understand it all now?"
"I get it." It was very unpleasant to realize he was wrong on this issue. He'd spent his whole life thinking modern art was complete nonsense, but it turned out like this. His wounded pride demanded he get back at Weiss and sting her in return, but Egrer chose not to act so childishly. "It's not that they're idiots for painting such pictures; it's just the only thing a camera can't do instead of them."
"I'm glad you caught on. I hope I won't hear such a condescending tone from you again when the topic of visual arts comes up."
"I promise. But did it really offend you that much?"
"For your information, it was the 'Cross of Ryuji' that inspired me to fight against my father's influence. I was twelve when I first saw that painting. I realized that if you are pliant and obedient, you will inevitably be manipulated, and then I firmly told myself that this was not what I wanted. And instead of waiting like Ryuji until I was completely fed up with everything, I decided to resist now."
"Are you saying you came up with that far-reaching plan of yours way back when you were twelve?!"
"Yes," Weiss nodded. "All this time, I was only outwardly obedient to my father—sang songs at his command, attended social events, said what he wanted. I lowered his guard, and when I left for Beacon, he didn't have time to react. In essence, half the work is already done."
Egrer had nothing to say; he simply fell into an astounded silence and turned towards the stage. There, six upperclassmen in black-and-white makeup and mohawks were just getting ready to perform. Weiss, who had turned in the same direction, flinched just from the sight of them.
"Egrer, when do the acts end?"
"Right at midnight," he replied, checking the schedule on his Scroll. "Then the plan is fireworks and pop music from the speakers."
"Waiting for midnight is too long. I'm afraid I won't withstand this abuse to my hearing." Weiss vaguely waved her hand at the stage. The group of musicians had only just begun taking their places, but there was already no faith in their music.
"Are you suggesting we bail?"
"Why not?" She placed her punch glass on the table. "I'm going for a walk."
"I wouldn't say no to some fresh air either. There might be some decent musicians here, but for the most part, it's all just a bunch of garbage."
"What arrogance..."
"Hey, but it's the truth."
Continuing to banter, they left the ballroom.