Leonardo walked out of the counselor's office with frustration, scrunching his petition into a paper ball.

"I can't just force you on a new mentor. You'll have to find someone willing to accept you."

He groaned, remembering the female counselor's strict business-like voice. So, what if he wanted to change majors in the middle of the semester and on his last year for that matter?

He walked out the executive corridor, his brows fixed in a somewhat permanent frown as he wondered where in the world, he was going to find a new master to take him so late in the year.

He had started out as a violin major when he first set foot into the college, but then he switched to be a piano major, and now yet again he wanted to change his major to conducting and composition.

It wasn't far-fetched that Leonardo was a prodigy. He was aware of it himself, though the fact made most of the mentors he was put under irritated rather than impressed.

He walked through the hallways, passing Claire, a fellow piano major. She turned towards him, giving him a worried look.

He ignored her, heading towards the lecture rooms in determination to find—or rather, blackmail a mentor into taking him.

He stopped at the first door, watching through the transparent glass as Madame Magritte put four new students through a sonata. He frowned, shaking his head as he eliminated her from the list of potential mentors.

He didn't like her methods. Besides, she preferred new and unlearned students she could easily 'program' to perfection. There was no way she would be pleased to have a proud student like Leo under her.

Leo continued observing ongoing classes, eliminating potential mentors one at a time. It's not like he felt the teachers weren't qualified, he just felt certain people fared better with certain mentors.

He stopped at the door of Marie's class with a smile. She was a cute small girl with a pixie haircut that he admired. She was playing her flute with a look of concentration as she read the music from the sheets.

Maybe he could go to her teacher? He was a plum short master that respected a student's personal touch in their music.

Leonardo shook his head, convinced that such a teacher was really not for him. He needed someone who was strict but not too strict.

He continued his walk through the hallways, stopping to check on various classes. He'd stopped at a slightly opened door.

What's this? He thought to himself as he tried to make sense of the fractured music piece. It sounded familiar, like a recent concerto he'd been asked to play.

He watched through the crack as a young man around his age continued to play without music reference.

Slowly the fractured feeling the piece invoked started to sound more personalized and rawer. It was no longer a fault but a logically induced error that brought about sharper and clearer tones.

He watched in awe as the man continued to seemly play without looking at the piano. The man's dark hair fell over his eyes in the impression of a thin curtain as his hands continued to dance on the piano's keyboard.

At the end of the piece he watched as the master who he had not observed before got up and approached the student; praising but at the same time giving light criticism.

Leonardo's throat went dry. He wanted to play like that. He wanted to personalize his own music to that extent. He wanted to conduct something like that.