The grand practice hall is filled with a cascade of complex yet beautiful notes. At the center of the room, playing on floating piano keys, is Crème Brûlée Cookie. His brows were furrowed in intense concentration, fingers dancing across the keys with a speed and precision that seemed almost impossible. He seemed to be in the middle of a particularly difficult passage, completely lost in his own world.

Suddenly, the melody halts with an abrupt, sharp chord. He hits a single, wrong note.

“Tsk!”

The pianist lets out a sound of frustration, dropping his hands from the keyboard and pressing his palms against his eyes. He mutters something under his breath, shaking his head. “The crescendo… it must be flawless.” Crème Brûlée Cookie akes a deep breath and poises his fingers over the keys to start the entire section over again.