Chapter 4Even the True Prodigy Can’t Steal My Spotlight

Caleb’s resolve made Dad nod slightly. Mom also smiled, as if she saw a diligently shining raw gem.

“Alright,” she agreed. “If both you brothers have no objections, then so be it.”

Dad happily said, “He is my son after all, good!”

“Tomorrow, you’ll start your studies according to the Red Standard.”

The Red Standard? My hand went limp, and the game controller dropped onto my leg. Lyra also looked over with a strange expression. That was the Forester family’s highest-tier training program, reserved for once-in-a-generation talents, intended to cultivate music masters who would dominate an era. Among our elders, only Uncle Arthur had endured it to the end; he was currently in a sanatorium, trying to channel music from the beyond, hoping to summon the spirit of Qin Shi Huang.

Caleb knew nothing of this. His heart was brimming with the joy of victory. He lifted his chin high, haughtily telling me, “Do you see? The real thing is real, and a fake is a fake. I am the heir of the Forester family!”

“As for you, just wait to pack your bags and get out!”

I, filled with anticipation, clasped my hands together, bowing slightly. “Good brother, it’s all on you! Go for it!” I was genuinely sincere. If he couldn't hack it, I'd probably go back to that difficult life.

The next day, at 5:30 AM.

The night was still deep when Caleb was woken by the intercom next to his bed: “Caleb! Wake up!”

“Time for physical training! One hundred push-ups, one hundred squats, one hundred pull-ups!”

Caleb’s eyes were blank, and he instinctively retorted, “I’m a musician, not an athlete!”

The intercom replied, “You’ll be performing for several hours in a single concert. How will you manage without good physical stamina? Don’t get ahead of yourself and forget the importance of building a foundation. Hurry up!”

Caleb grudgingly got out of bed and started exercising on the small balcony of his suite.

Breakfast time. Caleb shuffled to his seat, his legs trembling. However, what awaited him was a thick stack of sheet music. Mom, watching his training video, said, “You only completed a third of your workout. Now, memorize the first piece in this large Spanish scorebook.”

“I’ll check before lunch. No food if you can’t recite it.”

Caleb’s fingertips trembled. “The first piece is thirty-two pages long! And what are those markings on it?”

“Spanish,” Mom said nonchalantly. “Translations always miss some nuances. Master multiple languages, and you’ll be able to analyze the truest intentions of great composers as much as possible.”

Caleb held back and held back, but seeing me casually eating steamed buns diagonally across from him, he couldn’t contain himself. “What about him?”

Mom was calm and composed. “He’s tone-deaf, so memorizing is pointless. His requirements are lower.”

“But you are a genius with perfect pitch. Sheet music is more important than food.”

I happily picked up a shrimp dumpling, mumbling, “Delicious! Uh, why are you looking at me? Hurry and memorize it, don’t miss out on lunch!”

Caleb’s face flushed red, but remembering his boastful words from yesterday, he remained silent and lowered his head to memorize the score. Today, time dragged on like years for him. Four hours of memorizing followed by eight hours of piano practice, and in the evening, he had to do music analysis with Lyra. At 1 AM, I finished my game and drifted off to sleep. Caleb, clutching a messy score, was sobbing.

Mom slapped the ruler onto the table, disappointed. “It’s only the first day! Your sister proactively proposed this dual-track analysis method when she was eight, and you’re eighteen and can’t learn it? You still think you’re a genius?”

“No, this is too advanced!” Caleb’s eyes were wide, tears streaming down.

“Too advanced?” Mom crossed her arms, speaking coldly. “Leo is tone-deaf, but he never said learning music or notation was difficult!”

“You look down on him, yet you’re not even as good as he is?”

Caleb’s gaze sharpened. A hypothetical rival was more effective than a ruler. He wiped his face, bitterly saying, “How could I be inferior to him? I’m better than him in every way!”

At this moment, I frowned and pulled the covers tighter. Caleb had no idea how outrageous the Forester family’s training methods were. He also didn't know the greatest use of a slacker like me in the Forester family…