ZOE'S POV
The wine glass felt heavy in my hands. "What do you mean he destroys students? That's just a nickname, right?"
Kai set his glass down and ran his fingers through his messy hair. "Zoe, I'm serious about this. My buddy Jake went to Berklee before Mercer transferred to your conservatory. He told me stories that would make you quit music altogether."
"Come on," I said, forcing a laugh. "How bad can one professor be?"
"Bad enough that three students transferred out last semester alone." Kai leaned back against the couch. "Look, maybe I'm being dramatic, but this guy has a reputation. He doesn't just teach classical technique – he tries to rewire your entire musical brain."
I took another sip of wine, trying to calm my nerves. "Maybe that's exactly what I need. Marcus always says I'm too undisciplined."
"Marcus is an ass," Kai said flatly. "And his opinion doesn't matter here."
"He's not an ass," I protested, though my heart wasn't really in it. "He just wants me to succeed."
"By tearing down everything that makes you special?" Kai shook his head. "The Zoe I know doesn't need fixing. You need someone who gets your style, not someone who wants to destroy it."
I stared at the wine swirling in my glass. "Tell me more about these stories. What exactly did Mercer do?"
Kai was quiet for a moment, like he was deciding whether to tell me.
"Jake said Mercer would make students play the same piece over and over until they cried. Not because they couldn't play it, but because he wanted them to forget everything they thought they knew about music."
"That sounds like intensive training, not torture."
"One girl had to play Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 for six hours straight," Kai continued. "Every time she tried to add her own interpretation, he'd make her start over. She ended up in therapy."
My stomach twisted. "Six hours?"
"That's nothing. Another kid – a jazz guitarist like me – had to spend an entire month playing only Bach. No improvisation, no personal style, just Bach exactly as written. When he finally got permission to play jazz again, he couldn't do it anymore. He'd lost his creative spark completely. Well, that's partially because Leo hates jazz."
I stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the street below. A couple was walking hand in hand, laughing about something. They looked so carefree, so unburdened by the weight of artistic dreams.
"Maybe losing creative spark isn't the worst thing," I said quietly. "Maybe structure is what I need."
"Are you listening to yourself?" Kai joined me at the window. "You just got into one of the best conservatories in the country playing your way. Why would you want to change that?"
"Because my way got me 'conditional acceptance,'" I said, making air quotes. "Because apparently my technical consistency has concerns."
"So you'll let some professor strip away everything that makes you unique?"
I turned to face him. "What if being unique isn't enough? What if Marcus is right and I'm just noise pretending to be music?"
Kai grabbed my shoulders gently. "Listen to me. I've been playing music my whole life, and I've never heard anyone play piano the way you do. When you improvise, it's like you're speaking directly from your soul. That's not noise, Zoe. That's magic."
Tears pricked at my eyes. "But what if it's not enough for them?"
"Then they don't deserve you," he said firmly. "But don't make that decision before you even try."
I leaned against him, grateful for his warmth. "Tell me more about Mercer. What else did Jake say?"
Kai was quiet for a long moment. "Promise me you won't freak out?"
"I'm already freaking out."
"Jake said Mercer doesn't just critique your playing. He gets inside your head. He'll ask you why you chose music, what it means to you, what your deepest fears are. Then he'll use all of that against you."
"Against me how?"
"He'll tell you that your reasons aren't good enough. That your connection to music is shallow or selfish or wrong." Kai pulled back to look at me. "Jake said it was like psychological warfare disguised as education."
I sank back onto the couch. "Great. So I'm walking into battle with someone who apparently enjoys breaking students."
"Not breaking," Kai corrected. "Rebuilding. In his own image."
"Why do you say that?”
"Every student who survives Mercer's program comes out playing exactly like him. Perfect technique, zero personality. They're like musical robots."
I buried my face in my hands. "Why didn't I research him before accepting?"
"Because you were excited about getting in," Kai said gently. "And that's normal. But it's not too late to back out."
"I can't back out. This is my dream, Kai. And besides, Marcus would never let me hear the end of it."
"Screw Marcus," Kai said with more heat than I'd ever heard from him. "This is your life, not his."
I looked at him, surprised by his intensity. The room felt suddenly cold. "So what am I supposed to do? This is the opportunity I've been working toward my entire life."
Kai said simply. "Don't let him erase who you are."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to face him every day."
He was about to answer when my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number lit up the screen.
"Miss Washington, this is Professor Mercer. I trust you're prepared to begin your transformation. I’ll be watching you at the faculty showcase tomorrow. Impress me. - L.M."
I showed Kai the message. His face went pale.
"Tomorrow?" he said. "But orientation isn’t supposed to start for two weeks."
"Apparently he doesn’t care about orientation."
I stared at my phone, my pulse pounding. Being watched was so much worse than showing up unprepared.
"He's testing you," Kai muttered. "Wants to see how you perform under pressure. No guidance. No warm-up."
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Mercer.
"And Miss Washington? Bring your jazz sheet music. All of it. We might have a bonfire."