Soft music flowed from the two speakers installed in the TW meeting room.
Although it had the slow tempo characteristic of ballads, it didn't feel boring at all.
The arrangement, perfectly fitting the winter mood, brought warmth to the listeners.
Even though the melody was just a rough humming without lyrics, it didn't feel awkward.
It almost felt as though the company's star artist, Pierre Lemoine, had hummed the guide himself.
As the song played, everyone in the meeting room was consumed by the same thought:
"This is a masterpiece."
The music ended, but no one spoke first.
The room was wrapped in silence, and everyone's eyes turned to CEO Jacques Chevalier.
"...Hmm."
Jacques turned his head to check the laptop.
The song had arrived in the official A&R email inbox just 20 minutes earlier.
Even though they were in the middle of a meeting, Deputy Manager Marc Delacroix had been so excited after hearing it that he'd rushed straight in.
That alone showed how much the entire A&R team had invested in this album.
Jacques looked at his staff with pride.
"Julien Moreau? Is he a veteran composer?"
With a song of this caliber, it had to be a professional.
But the name was unfamiliar.
He asked his staff, wondering if he had simply missed the name before, but they only shook their heads at one another.
At that moment, Team Leader Émile Laurent cautiously spoke up.
"I haven't heard the name either. It doesn't sound like a rookie's work... maybe he's a film composer or someone active overseas?"
"Could be."
Émile's guess was plausible.
Jacques nodded.
Despite being a demo made entirely with MIDI, the song lacked nothing. It sounded as though a live orchestra had performed it.
And the rhythm?
The drum track, which is often considered weak in ballads, had gone through just the right amount of compression and sounded precise.
From the quality of the mix, it was clear the composer had professional-level recording skills.
The arrangement was so seamless that there wasn't a single awkward point.
"It felt like watching a movie."
Though the style was often used in film scores, it worked perfectly as popular music.
With this level of skill, the composer was definitely on par with a seasoned film director.
"A film composer, perhaps?"
Jacques' comment was met with a nod from Team Leader Émile.
"I think so too."
But one question remained:
Why would a composer of this caliber submit a song to the A&R team's public inbox?
Jacques mulled it over and came to a conclusion:
"Well, just because he's a film composer doesn't mean he can't dabble in pop."
Some film composers occasionally ventured into pop music and sold their songs to entertainment agencies.
This was probably one of those cases.
Jacques checked the contact info listed on the laptop screen.
This wasn't something to delegate—he decided to handle it personally.
"Team Leader Émile Laurent."
"Yes, sir!"
"Play the song for Pierre and get ready for the album. He's bound to accept it."
"Yes! I'll also start scouting the composer right away."
"No need. I'll contact him myself. He seems like a veteran."
"Understood!"
"Good. Let's wrap up the meeting."
After everyone left, Jacques picked up the slip of paper on the table. It had Julien's contact info and email address.
"No need to wait."
He picked up his phone and dialed the number.
After a few rings, someone answered.
—Hello? This is Julien Moreau.
The voice on the other end sounded unexpectedly young.
"He sounds young."
Jacques brushed the thought aside and introduced himself.
"Hello, Composer Julien Moreau. I'm Jacques Chevalier, CEO of TW. I've listened to the song you submitted. We'd like to use it. Are you available now? I'd like to meet you in person."
Contrary to his expectations, the response was lukewarm.
—Right now…?
"Yes. If it's difficult, just tell me a time that works for you, and I'll adjust."
After a brief pause, Julien replied:
"Sure, that's fine. I'll give you my studio address—come by."
After the call, Jacques grabbed his car keys and headed for the underground parking lot.
He quickly entered the address into his GPS and set out.
It was already dark.
Only then did he check the time—it was nearly 9 PM.
He chuckled awkwardly.
"Was I too hasty?"
His excitement had made him forget he was working overtime tonight.
"...What was that?"
Julien, having ended the call, reflected on his conversation with Jacques Chevalier.
He'd heard plenty about Jacques' fiery passion.
But asking to meet within 30 minutes of receiving a song—at night, no less?
"He really must be betting everything on Pierre Lemoine's album."
Julien smiled.
As expected.
"Well, I should at least prepare something to drink."
He opened the fridge, took out two canned coffees, and folded his portable cot into a sofa.
Knock, knock—
He stood up.
"You've arrived at your destination."
As the GPS finished guiding him, Jacques parked his car in a narrow alley and looked around.
"Is this really the place?"
He double-checked the address, but it looked nothing like a place where a studio would be.
An old, quiet alley next to a traditional market.
With a puzzled look, he pushed on a rusty blue iron door.
Inside, a staircase led down, dimly lit by halogen bulbs.
Julien had said the studio was underground—this must be it.
Jacques slowly descended and stopped in front of a gray metal door. He knocked.
"Composer Julien Moreau!"
A moment later, the door opened, revealing a young man.
Jacques was momentarily stunned.
He had expected a seasoned composer in his 30s at least.
But the person in front of him looked like he was in his early 20s.
"Oh, CEO Jacques Chevalier?"
The voice matched the one he'd heard on the phone. Jacques quickly composed himself and greeted him.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Jacques Chevalier, CEO of TW. Are you Composer Julien Moreau?"
"Yes, that's me. It's a humble place, but please come in."
Following Julien into the studio, Jacques was once again surprised.
"He works in a place like this?"
The space looked more like an old bomb shelter than a studio.
The floor was worn terrazzo, the walls were hastily covered in white putty, and the texture still showed through.
One wall bore a crude graffiti of Jason Mraz.
"Please, have a seat on the sofa. Coffee okay with you?"
Nodding, Jacques sat and looked around.
It was indeed a studio.
On one wall, there was a computer and some instruments.
But the setup was extremely basic: a worn keyboard, an audio interface, a MIDI interface, and an old XV-3080 module.
Even the speakers were just five-inch monitors.
"Did he really make that track with this setup?"
When the flickering fluorescent light caught his eye, Julien approached with the coffee and looked at it apologetically.
"Ah, sorry. Haven't had time to fix that."
He pulled up the chair from in front of the computer and sat across from Jacques.
He opened a can of coffee and continued:
"Is this urgent business? I was a little surprised by the sudden call."
Snapped back to reality, Jacques finally looked at Julien properly.
Short hair, thick eyebrows, high nose bridge—a good-looking young man.
Not short, either.
"So this young man made that track?"
Taking the coffee, Jacques smiled.
"Sorry again for calling so late. Honestly, I loved your song so much I had to meet you right away."
"I'm glad you liked it. I hope Pierre likes it too."
Jacques' eyebrow twitched.
The song was clearly tailored for Pierre Lemoine.
At first, he'd assumed it was the work of a veteran, but now he realized:
This young man, likely in his early 20s, had written a song perfectly suited to a specific artist.
Even experienced composers struggled with that.
"Who is this guy really?"
The young composer in front of him was clearly extraordinary.
And the way he carried himself—unshaken even in front of a company CEO—exuded quiet confidence.
Jacques liked him more and more.
Despite his age, Jacques wanted to keep this talent close and see how far he could go.
But he had only heard one song, Snowman.
Wanting to be sure, Jacques hesitated but asked politely:
"Julien, if it's not too much to ask, could you let me hear some of your other tracks?"
Julien smiled brightly and nodded without hesitation.
"They're songs I made just yesterday, so they might not be as polished as Snowman. But if you don't mind, I'll play them."
In fact, Snowman was also made in a day. The others were more like warm-ups.
To Julien, they needed a lot of refining—but he didn't mention that.
"Please do."
Julien pulled his chair back to the desk and opened his music software.
He began playing the songs, one by one.
...
When the final song ended, Jacques couldn't speak for a while.
He was stunned.
A genius beyond genius… no, a monster.
When he first came here, he planned to offer a contract for Snowman and, if Julien seemed promising, maybe scout him exclusively.
Since they were meeting at the studio, he figured he'd get to hear more songs.
He had even brought the contract—just in case.
But after a few minutes of conversation, he was sure:
"This man must not slip through my fingers."
Then, after hearing the music, his thinking changed again:
"Julien Moreau must be secured, no matter what."
He was willing to bet his entire fortune that this young composer would soon take the French music industry by storm.