Morning had come.
Julien Moreau stopped by a café near the TW office in Paris to pick up coffee and pastries before heading to the studio.
It was still early, and he assumed he'd be the first to arrive—but someone was already there.
Inside the studio, Production Manager Marc Laurent was busily preparing something.
"Julien! Good morning! Feeling okay today?"
After yesterday's recording session, they'd decided to drop formalities.
"Ah, Manager! You're here already. Would you like a coffee?"
Julien handed him a cup from the paper bag.
"Oh! Thanks, I'll enjoy it!"
Over coffee and pastries, the two discussed the day's recording schedule. In the morning, they had the orchestral session; in the afternoon, guitars.
"Ah! Team Leader Luc Morel dropped off the musicians' profiles this morning."
Julien turned to the stack of papers on the table. Flipping through them, he suddenly paused.
"Claire Sorel? Miss December?"
The name rang a bell. He glanced at the profile photo—youthful, but unmistakable.
It was her.
Claire Sorel.
In his previous life, she had become the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra. Nicknamed "Miss December" for her cool and elegant demeanor, her performances were anything but cold. Her violin wept with warmth and delicate emotion.
She had become a beloved virtuoso, admired around the world.
But here and now, she had not yet reached that level of acclaim.
Julien's eyes sparkled.
He had never met her in his past life, but her music was something he'd always admired.
To think he'd now witness her beginnings firsthand...
"What? Do you know her?" Marc asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I was just lost in thought."
"Alright then, take a seat."
Marc guided Julien to the center console and began explaining the studio's setup.
"I've already configured the external effects processors. As for the internal ones..."
Even though Julien was familiar with this kind of setup, he listened carefully—every studio had its quirks.
"Any questions?"
"All clear. Thanks for your help."
"You'll be directing today, so it's the least I can do. I'll be nearby—just ask if anything comes up."
Julien bowed slightly, grateful for the support.
He inspected the vintage gear in the studio. Marc, after all, was a veteran engineer. Old but well-maintained instruments lined the room.
Twenty minutes remained until recording started.
'They should be arriving soon.'
Right on cue, musicians began entering the studio.
There were four in total: two violinists, one violist, and one cellist. Julien had decided to skip a contrabass player, as the bass line would be covered with MIDI pre-recordings.
"Good morning. I'm Claire Sorel, leader of the classical team 'Classis'."
The lead violinist greeted brightly.
'So this is Claire Sorel.'
She was younger than the photos and videos from his past life, but already striking.
Porcelain skin, tall—easily over 170cm, with neat, shoulder-length jet-black hair.
'She doesn't look cold at all.'
Her bright smile gave a completely different impression than the icy perfection he'd imagined. She felt more like a puppy than a snow queen.
Julien smiled softly.
'Well, this is just the beginning of her journey.'
Time would sculpt her into the virtuoso he remembered.
But he was curious—how good was she now?
"...Um, are you the composer?"
Caught staring, Julien quickly bowed.
"Yes, sorry. I'm Julien Moreau, today's director and composer. Looking forward to working with you."
He motioned for the musicians to sit and began explaining the session.
"The piece you received has been rearranged slightly, and we've added a second song. Would that be alright?"
Claire looked surprised.
"Ah, we only signed a 3.5-hour contract for today... We do have another appointment, but if it's not too complex, we could consider it. Let us hear it first."
"Of course. The changes are minimal—mainly technique to shift the mood. The counterpoint remains the same. Give it a listen."
He played the newly arranged "Snowman", followed by the second piece, "Snowflower".
When the music ended—
"Wow, that's beautiful. Give me a moment."
Claire took out her violin.
Ziiiiing—Zing, Ziiiing♬
Julien listened, amazed. Without any rehearsal, she mimicked the technique flawlessly.
After a short demonstration, she set her violin down.
"You meant something like that, right? The melody line hasn't changed, just a slight shift in expression. The second track seems chorus-heavy—we should manage in time. What do you all think?"
The others nodded. Viola and cello parts were relatively stable.
Julien handed out sheet music and let them practice.
He played the track, guiding them with phrasing and emphasis.
An hour passed.
"I think we're ready to record."
Everyone agreed.
"We'll go violin, viola, then cello. Claire, ready?"
She gripped her violin, smiling confidently.
"Absolutely."
The recording began. The violin filled the room.
Though she stumbled early on, Julien's precise direction helped her quickly recover.
The dual violins brought the track to life.
But something felt off to Julien.
'Technically perfect... but lacking emotion.'
He paused the session.
'Could it be...?'
He pressed the talkback button.
"Claire, could you play the chorus solo—no backing?"
She nodded and performed again. Her tone was pure, crystal-clear.
"...Was that enough?"
Julien nodded with a soft smile.
'She's making a beginner's mistake...'
He hesitated, then decided honesty was best.
"Claire, could we talk outside for a moment?"
She stepped out, slightly wary.
Julien sighed.
"Your performance is technically fine. But emotionally, it's missing something. You need to feel the story behind the music—not just play the notes."
Her expression stiffened.
But after a moment, she nodded and returned to the booth.
She exhaled deeply.
'Does being a composer mean you know everything?'
She gripped the bow, irritated.
Session work always went like this—composers criticizing details they didn't understand.
'He thinks I'm just going through the motions? That I don't feel anything?'
Next to her, the second violinist whispered:
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
But her face betrayed her irritation.
She glared at Julien through the glass.
He had a gentle, even cute face. At first, she'd found him likable. The rushed recording schedule had annoyed her, but the music was decent.
Yet his tone was starting to grind on her.
'What does he know about my playing?'
She took a breath and reset her posture.
'Composers are all the same.'
Pretending to understand everything.
Julien would be no different.
She started playing—exactly the same as before. Tone, tempo, expression—all identical.
Surely, he'd say:
"See? Now that you added emotion, it's better."
But she didn't even finish before his voice came through:
"Claire."
Music stopped.
"Did you understand what I asked? That was exactly the same. If this continues, we'll have to stop for today."
It wasn't a complaint—it was conviction.
Claire was stunned.
'He's... really listening?'
She met his eyes. No accusation. No pressure. Only focus—and belief.
"Claire, let's do this right. Let us feel something. Without that, this song loses its meaning."
His tone was firm—but sincere.
In that moment, she realized she'd misjudged him.
He wasn't just another composer.
He wanted to bring out something real.
"Think of a snowman. Cold on the outside, but warm and gentle inside. Childhood. Innocence. Quiet comfort. Bring all that into your sound."
He paused.
"You can do it. I know you can."
His words sparked something inside her.
She took a long breath.
Cold, but warm... like a snowman.
She closed her eyes.
And began again.