Chapter 1: Bone White Magic

A famous pianist once wrote that the white keys of a piano

weren’t purely white, that they had a faint yellow tint
because that was the color of its bones. At least, that was
what I read.

And he reasoned that because you were hitting bones

directly with your fingers, playing the piano was like hurting
both yourself and the piano.

In the end, he concluded by saying a piano without pain was

no piano at all — though he probably didn’t mean it in a bad
way. Still, the association with ‘pain’ always stuck with me
since.

When I first heard Rinko playing the piano, that was the first
thing that came to mind.

First things first: I want to make it clear that the only reason
why I cross-dressed was because I wanted to increase the
view count of my uploads. It wasn’t because I have a fetish
or an inclination towards cross-dressing, and no, it was
absolutely, definitely not my hobby. Not in the least.

I was just an amateur in middle school, one that wasn’t very

good with the guitar or the keyboard, and there were plenty
of people better than me all over the internet. On top of
that, the only songs I played were originals – and without
lyrics at that – so there was no way my videos would get
popular. For me, I would be happy enough if my videos
could hit four-digit views.

So basically I was just doing this for my own enjoyment, and

in the first place, it wasn’t like the number of views
determined how well I performed… At least, that’s what I
told myself, even as regrets and frustrations built up.

But one day, out of the blue, my older sister said something
to me, like she saw right through how I was feeling.

“Wouldn’t you get more attention if you pretended to be a

girl? You’re thin, and you don’t have a whole lot of body hair.
As long as you shave well and only show yourself from the
neck down, it might work. Here, I’ll even lend you my old
school uniform.”

“No, no way, doing something that embarrassing isn’t

gonna get me more views. And besides, the only genres I
play are obscure ones like electronica and acid house —
stuff that isn’t mainstream.”

“Okay, and? Nobody actually cares about the music or

whatever. But you know what they do care about? Seeing a
schoolgirl’s thighs.”

Uh, hello? What the hell do you think my viewers were

watching for?

Still, I owed her a lot, and in more ways than one, so I

decided I would listen to her and recorded a music video
where I cross-dressed — only this once, of course.

But I couldn’t believe what I saw when I reviewed the final

recording.
“See, doesn’t that look good? I told you, you’d pass
perfectly as a girl. Good job me, that outfit coordination is
on point!”

Beside me, my sister was over the moon, marveling at her

handiwork.

It certainly did seem like that was a girl on screen: ‘her’ face
was out-of-frame, ‘she’ didn’t use ‘her’ voice in this
instrumental piece, and the boyish shape of both ‘her’
shoulders and hips were hidden — one under the collar of a
sailor uniform and the other behind a guitar body,
respectively.

So it was with mixed feelings that I uploaded the video, only

for it to reach five-digit views that very same day and six-
digits the next. For reference, the total views of every video
I uploaded before totaled around ten thousand — seeing the
numbers on this upload made me question why I’d worked
so hard for in the first place. Also, as it turned out, most of
the comments were about the thighs or the collarbone, with
almost nobody talking about the song or performance; I
wanted to weep about what the future held for music.

Seeing me the way I was, my sister had more to say.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Mako? I’m pretty

happy with how this turned out, actually. Just look at all
those comments complimenting you! And y’know, since we
share the same genes, and you’re wearing my uniform,
they’re basically complimenting me too!”

“Okay, then how about you be in the video, aneki? I bet

you’ll get even more compliments if you show your face,
too…”
Or so I said rather flippantly, exhausted as I was. But of
course, she sent it packing with a dismissive, “Are you
stupid?”

Anyway, the story doesn’t end there.

They say success is like a drug.

My sister left her uniform in my room, and the views

continued to grow day after day. The number of subscribers
to my channel had also increased over a hundredfold.

They must be expecting more; there were many people like

that, waiting for my next upload.

I hesitated for a while, but in the end, I put back on the

sailor uniform.

As I blankly scrolled through a comments section filled with

different variations of “Uooooohhhhhh thighsss ToT”, I felt
strongly compelled not to quit, especially now that I had
hundreds of thousands of subscribers. Most of them were
probably watching just for certain, unspeakable reasons, but
there were a number of unique individuals among them that
watched for my music – a number that had increased since I
first cross-dressed.

It was three uploads later that the number of overtly

suggestive messages grew out-of-hand, and I began to fear
for my safety. In response, I deliberately indicated I was a
male in my profile, and I changed my name to ‘MusaOtoko’
to make myself seem more masculine. I thought the name
was pretty clever, having taken it from the Muses, the
goddesses of music in Greek mythology. In the end, none of
this helped at all; if anything, it actually made things worse,
since I began getting comments like “It’s even better
because you’re a guy!” It really started to feel like the end
of the world was coming…

Also, as the number of viewers and subscribers I had

continued to grow, I started feeling more self-conscious of
the songs I’d uploaded in the past. I had recorded them
back when I was less experienced than I was now, and it
was embarrassing watching them and seeing what I could
have done better. It was even more embarrassing knowing
that hundreds of thousands of people could listen to these
on a whim, so I decided to just delete all the songs I’d
uploaded from before I started cross-dressing.

But soon enough, videos whose thumbnails showed my

uniform and thighs took their place and filled my channel
page.

Well, this was embarrassing in its own way.

So if I hated cross-dressing so much, why didn’t I just stop?

It was because I was afraid of facing reality — the reality
that the number of people who were interested in only
listening to my music, without my thighs in the picture, was
less than a thousand.

Well, it wasn’t like my real name was showing anywhere,

nor did I intend to play any music other than for my
uploads, so it was only my older sister, nobody else, that
knew who it was behind MusaOtoko. I didn’t need to worry
about being found out… or, at least that was what I told
myself as I continued uploading videos.

But I was far too naive; the real world was so much wider
than my narrow view had fooled me into thinking it was.

*
It happened just after I started high school. I had naturally
chosen music to be my elective course, and in the music
room, I had the opportunity to touch a grand piano for the
first time in my life. I should mention that the music
classrooms in my elementary and my middle school were
pretty small, and they only ever had upright pianos.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to play it, and so, when my

classmates left the classroom for lunch break, I alone hung
back. When they’d cleared out, I sat myself down on the
bench stool.

Now that I was seeing it up close, I realized just how much

bigger this thing was.

At home, I owned a Korg KRONOS LS and a Yamaha EOS

B500, both of which were small enough to be carried over
the shoulder and low enough that I could see anything
behind it. This grand, however, was huge; it was impossible
to see anything besides the glossy black finish of its surface.
Sitting before it like this, I felt an invisible pressure coming
off it, like the grand was a wild beast that would eat me if I
let down my guard.

In addition, the keys needed more force to press down. It

amazed me that pianists made it look so effortless when the
keys felt this heavy.

Without thinking, I began to play the piano – a single phrase

from a personal composition…

“…Huh? Murase-kun? Was that…”

A voice suddenly called out to me from behind, causing me

to spring to my feet in surprise, nearly slamming my fingers
against the fallboard.
I turned around to see the music teacher, Hanazono-sensei,
watching me.

“Oh, uh, I’m s-sorry for touching it without permission.”

“No, that isn’t a problem. What you played just now

though…”

Startled, I moved away from the bench and tried to leave

the music room, but Hanazono-sensei grabbed hold of my
blazer by the sleeve and stopped me from escaping.

“That was from the middle section of MusaO’s Rococo-style

Slash, wasn’t it?”

The moment she said that, I wanted to crawl under the

piano and hide myself away.

She knew…

Wait, hold on, just calm down for a moment. Just because
she recognized that didn’t mean I’d revealed who I was. This
only meant she knew of MusaOtoko, which was fine because
MusaOtoko was just that famous of a net-musician. In other
words, it shouldn’t be surprising that there were people
who’d watched my videos. Right, so all I had to do was
pretend to be a fan, too.

“Y-yeah, wow, you recognized it, Hanazono-sensei? It was in

a video I watched. It’s a nice piece, isn’t it?”

I tried to explain it as casually as I could, but she simply

asked something else.

“You’re MusaO, aren’t you?”

My life was all over now.

“…Huh? N-no, um, I just, uh, saw it on the internet.”

Refusing to give up, I tried another excuse.

“You see, I tried to play the piece by ear on the piano, but it
didn’t sound the same. But you, you played it perfectly.
Identically, even… Hmm, actually, the shape of your body is
quite similar to MusaO’s, especially the lines of your
collarbone…”

“Could you, uh, not do that? Please?”

She suddenly dug her fingers into my collar, and I backed up

on reflex, bumping my head against the blackboard behind
me.

“Oh my, so MusaO really is a boy. And to think, he is also

one of my students, huh.”

Hanazono-sensei watched me, looking carefully over my

entire body.

In the end, I didn’t have the composure to keep her at bay,

so I ended up having to admit the truth.

“Uh, Hanazono-sensei, about all of, um this? You won’t tell

anyone, right..?”

“I’m sure you’ll become quite popular if people found out

it’s you in those videos, MusaO. Actually, did you know
there’s a cross-dressing contest at our school’s culture
festival? I have high hopes you’ll do well.”

“Pl-please, I’m begging you here!”

“Well, it’s not like I’m a demon or something, so I guess I

can keep your identity a secret.”
“Thank you very much!”

“Of course, I do have some conditions.”

Little did I know, that Hanazono-sensei actually was a

demon – a cold-blooded one at that.

In exchange for her silence, she forced me to play the

accompaniment during music class.

First-year music students were supposed to learn the

school’s anthem, but the problem was that the score for the
accompaniment had an incredible amount of notes; the five-
line staff was almost completely covered in black.

“What’s with this score? It looks like it was written by some

middle schooler that just learned how to use a sequencer,” I
said, doing my best not to remember the me from three
years ago.

“So a few years ago, the school decided they wanted to

arrange the anthem for a four-part mixed chorus. They
contacted a local alumni who happened to be attending a
music college and offered a pretty cheap commission. What
came back was this piece full of ill intent.”

“That sounds pretty awful… So? Who’s the alumni? I’ve got
a couple complaints about this piece.”

“It was a woman named Hanazono Misao.”

“You did this! Wait, I mean…”

“So, what was that about complaints? I’m listening.”

“Please excuse my rudeness just now. I actually have

nothing worth mentioning.”
“Just so you know, despite being the composer, I also don’t
want to play a piece this complicated either, but it’s not like
I knew the only job I’d be able to get was one at my alma
mater. Anyway, just get practicing.”

Did I mention she was a real demon of a teacher? After this,

she forced me to play the accompaniment to pieces like
Kawaguchi and Shinjiru. Both were so difficult that I just
wanted to cry.

Besides that, I needed to get used to the weight of a grand

piano’s keys. Because practicing at home wouldn’t be
enough, I started coming to the music room every day after
school let out.

“It took only a week of practice, and you’re already this

good, MusaO. Very impressive.”

I couldn’t find it in me to feel happy receiving praise for this,

especially when I was only doing it because I was being
threatened.

“Could you stop calling me MusaO, sensei? I don’t want

someone to accidentally overhear you and find out…”

“MusaO is just your name abbreviated, isn’t it, Mu-ra-se Ma-

ko-to?”

“Only the ‘mu’ part fits!”

“Anyway, as I was saying, MuraOsa…”

“Who’s MuraOsa? Some sort of village chief? Sounds like

he’s got a village that doesn’t listen to him.”

“…Next week, I was thinking of having the class do an a

cappella of Joseph Haydn’s ‘The Seasons,” she continued,
ignoring my protests, “So make a four-part choral
arrangement out of it.”

Were her demands just going to continue escalating? Would

I be writing an entire opera before I graduated? I felt myself
turning pale as I worried about that kind of terrifying future.

“Hey Murase, why’re you always going to the music

classroom after school?”

“You getting private piano lessons from Hana-chan-sensei or

something? Must be nice.”

“Imagine playing the piano side-by-side, bodies pressed

against each other… I wish that were me…”

The other guys in my class seemed to envy me.

Apparently Hanazono-sensei was a ‘new’ teacher, having

just started on her fourth year. Her name, appearance, and
personality together made her popular among the new
students, having stolen their hearts. As for me, with her
having stolen my freedom instead, I would have happily
given them my place, if I could.

“No, I’m not being taught anything at all,” I answered them

honestly, “I just practice on my own while Hanazono-sensei
does work in the prep room next door.”

Actually, the truth was that Hanazono-sensei spent most of

her time reading manga in the prep room, but I’ll keep quiet
about that.

“Are you practicing together with the accompanist for the

evens group?”
One of my classmates suddenly asked.

“Oh yeah! I heard the accompanist is a really cute girl!”

“What class is she in?”

“Class 4, I think?”

“Man, you guys in music sure got it good. I knew I shouldn’t

have picked fine arts.”

They were getting more and more excited, but I had no idea
what they were talking about now.

“Uh, wait, so you mean some other poor soul besides me

was forced to be an accompanist for Hanazono-sensei?”

“Mhm, that’s right.”

“What do you mean ‘forced’? You should be happier to have

the privilege!”

“That better not mean you’re getting ‘forced’ to do

something else by Hana-chan-sensei!”

“Hey, what the? Let me get in on that!”

The conversation started to veer off-track, so I ignored it

and began quietly organizing everything I knew instead.

So there were eight class groups for each year at our high
school and three art electives to choose from: music, fine
arts, and calligraphy. It wouldn’t have been efficient to hold
art electives for individual class groups since there would be
too few students in it at a time, so what the school did was
split all years’ eight classes into two groups of four each and
grouped the even-numbered class groups together, then the
odd-numbered groups. The two groups would each have a
separate art elective class.

If I understood correctly, just as Hanazono-sensei forced me

to be the accompanist for the odds group, some poor girl
was filling in that role for the evens group.

“I haven’t actually met her,” I finally answered, “The

accompanist for the evens group, I mean. See, I don’t have
a piano at home, so I can only practice at school, but she
probably has one at home since she isn’t around practicing
like me.”

“The heck’s with that? How boring.”

“Y’know, I wish I was in the evens group. I think I’d be more

motivated to sing if I had a cute girl as my accompanist.”

“Better than Murase, that’s for sure!”

It’s not like I was doing this because I want to, y’know…

I ended up meeting that girl sooner than I expected.

It was the last week of April; I had just finished composing a

piano arrangement of Carmina Burana that Hanazono-
sensei had asked for. With the sheet music in hand, I was
headed for the music room after school.

But there was a little trick I’d hidden in the score as revenge
on Hanazono-sensei: it was not meant for solo but with an
accompaniment. I mean, this was Carmina Burana after all!
How was I supposed to arrange a cantata that used a large
orchestra into something that could be done with only two
hands? I needed at least four hands for it! With that
frustration in mind, I arranged this with the intention of
having Hanazono-sensei play the accompaniment, and I
would have her play the extremely difficult bass section. I
really wanted to see her all flustered for once.

But today, it seemed the music room was empty.

I spread the sheet music I had brought with me across the

piano’s music desk and decided to wait.

Coming through the window from outside, I could hear the

jogging chants of the baseball and handball clubs. Then, the
idyllic chime came from the factory across the school,
announcing fresh-baked bread. It was a completely peaceful
afternoon, one without a cloud in the sky.

There was still no sign of Hanazono-sensei, so I went ahead

and knocked on the door to the prep room, located at the
back left of the music room. There was no response, so I
quietly opened the door and found no one inside.

Ugh, what was with that woman? She’d told me to bring it

over immediately after classes had finished for the day, and
now she wasn’t even here.

I had no choice but to wait around for her.

I slipped into the prep room. It was about half the size of a
regular classroom, with a plain business desk and a small
electric keyboard sitting in the middle of the room,
surrounded by steel racks. For some reason, there was also
a sink with running water, a fridge, and an electric kettle in
this room, as well as Yokoyama Mitsuteru’s manga
adaptations of Romance of Three Kingdoms and Water
Margin. It made this the perfect place to pass the time.
I planted myself in a chair and grabbed volume twenty-six of
the Romance of Three Kingdoms manga.

I ended up becoming so absorbed when I got to the Battle of

Red Cliffs that I hadn’t noticed when someone else had
entered the music room next door.

The sound of a heavy chord progression spanning several

octaves crashed through the prep room door, nearly causing
me to drop my manga in surprise.

That was from my arrangement of Carmina Burana; there

was no way I’d mistaken it.

But who played it? Was it Hanazono-sensei? Actually, was it

even possible for anyone to play it perfectly on their first
try? Damn it, I should’ve made it even more difficult.

No, wait, my arrangement was supposed to be played with

an accompaniment. Was someone else playing alongside
Hanazono-sensei?

I quietly got out of my chair, pushed open the prep room

door, and peeked into the music room.

There, the lone figure of a girl wearing our school uniform

was sitting at the bench before the grand piano, with her
back to me. Her slender arms seemed to glide around as her
hands danced about the keys. I found myself catching my
breath in shock.

After all, she was playing by herself.

But once I’d calmed down enough to listen closely, I realized

she omitted many notes from my arrangement. Still, the full
performance I had tested at home with my sequencer was
nothing compared to the violent, boiling intensity that came
from this girl’s play.

I stood there listening in quiet disbelief for some time. It was

as though a thousand hymns praising the goddess of fate
were going off in my head, and I felt almost compelled to
sing along.

However, the performance came to a sudden, abrupt halt.

At some point, the girl’s hands had stopped moving. She

turned to face me, and our eyes met.

Her eyes were so striking that it felt as though I had entered

a soundless vacuum; they were pools of bottomless clarity,
like staring deep into the wintry sea beneath a floe of ice.

“…Were you just standing there, listening the whole time?”

The girl asked as her eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, um, no, I mean, yes. See, this arrangement was

intended to be played à quatre mains, so I was really
surprised when I heard it being played solo.”

“So you were the one who wrote this rather unpleasant
arrangement?”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. She lowered voice as

she continued to speak.

“Are you Musasabi-kun? From Class Seven? Hanazono-sensei

mentioned you.”

“Musa…” I stopped myself; what the hell was that woman

trying to name me?! “Actually, it’s Murase. I’m the
accompanist of the odds group, as well as the one who
writes the arrangements… Are you from the evens group?”

She answered my question with a disinterested nod.

“Is this what we will be playing next?” she asked, pointing at

the sheet music, “I have never before read such an evil
arrangement. If Erik Satie7 lived to be 120 years old, even
he wouldn’t write something as complicated.”

And I, too, had never received such a scathing review

before.

“The chord progression and tremolo in the lower bass clef

are exceptionally bad, like they were written to be
unnecessarily difficult for the sake of harassment. You can
just feel the arranger’s nasty intentions oozing out of the
score.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh of you to say? Surely you could have
said it in a nicer way, though what you said is all true…”

“Is it now? How despicable.”

“Uh, no, I mean…”

At that moment, the door to the music room flew open. The
atmosphere between me and this girl had grown quite
awkward, so I was relieved to have this interruption… At
least until I saw that it was Hanazono-sensei, so the
situation wasn’t actually about to improve.

“Yoohoo! Looks like the two of you were already here, huh?
So? You guys friends yet?”

Were we friends yet, she asked? What did this look like to
her? Was the inside of this woman’s head like a UNICEF box
full of donations or something?!

“Oh, would you look at that, you actually finished that

Carmina Burana arrangement like I asked. Have you tried
playing it, Rinko-chan? What do you think?”

“As the arranger is still with us, I cannot give my honest

opinion of the piece,” the girl said as she pointed at me,
“but I believe it would be appropriate to say that if a cow
were to listen to this, it would start producing gasoline
instead of milk.”

“I would rather you just give me your honest opinion!” I

found myself answering. I didn’t really understand what she
was trying to say, but it was obvious she had meant it as an
insult. Besides, just a moment ago, she was saying worse
things straight to my face!

“It must be quite the piece for you to feel so strongly about
it, Rinko-chan.”

“And why are you trying to make it seem like she was
complimenting it? You know what? It’s fine. I already knew it
was a bad arrangement, so it’s not like you need to act like
it isn’t.”

“That is not what I said. And if I truly did not like it, I would
instead have you confess to all the molesting and peeping
you have done.”

“But I didn’t do any of that! Why are you even treating me

like a criminal?!”

“Only criminals would be able to arrange such an obscene

piece of music.”
“Isn’t your definition of ‘obscene’ a little broad to be using it
like that?”

“Well, if there is nothing else I am needed for, I will be going

home. I already finished what I came here to do, and I would
rather not be in the same room as this nasty person any
longer than I need to.”

As she spoke, the girl turned toward the music room door.

“Now just hold on a minute, Rinko-chan. You didn’t take the

sheet music,” Hanazono-sensei called out to her, pointing to
my arrangement of Carmina Burana, “Let me make a copy
for you.”

“There is no need,” the girl replied, “I have already

memorized it.”

“You’ve… memorized it…?”

The piece was just under five minutes long, and earlier was
her first time seeing and playing it, right? She had to be
bluffing.

She must have noticed my skepticism, because she turned

around and walked back to the bench stool with a look of
displeasure on her face. After sitting, she brushed the sheet
music off the music desk before violently striking the keys of
the piano.

She hadn’t been bluffing at all – she really did memorize the
entire piece, even playing it three times faster than it was
supposed be (probably because she didn’t want to waste
any more time here).

After finishing, the girl quickly got up off the squeaky bench
stool and walked straight out the door, without even
pausing to acknowledge the me frozen in stunned silence.

As the music room door closed behind the girl, I was finally
able to catch my breath.

“It must be nice being able to memorize things like that.

Well, that’s Rinko-chan for you.”

Hanazono-sensei spoke in a carefree manner as she began

picking up the sheet music scattered on the floor.

“So, uh… who was that, exactly..?”

The exhaustion in my voice surprised me as I asked my

question.

“That was Saejima Rinko. She’s a bit of a celebrity in the

world of classical music, but I suppose that isn’t something
MusaO would be aware of.”

“Huh..? So, what, is she a professional pianist or something?

She seems pretty skilled.”

“No, not exactly, though some have said she has the skill to
become a professional. She’s more like one of those child
prodigies, having won all sorts of competitions since
elementary school.”

“Huh, you don’t say…”

I looked back at the now-closed door. A prodigy, was it?

Considering her skills, I found myself agreeing with that
perception.

“So why is a prodigy like her at an average school like ours?

Wouldn’t she be better off attending a more specialized
school? Like one affiliated with a music college or
something?”

“She has her reasons. Not that I can say, of course,”

Hanazono-sensei said with a smirk, “Besides, it just means
that I get to use her as an accompanist while she’s here!”

“What the, you really are the worst kind of teacher, you
know that?!”

“Actually it would be worse to waste that talent by not

putting her to use, and it’s not like making her play along
would affect her skills. Besides, you saw it for yourself,
right? How she casually sight-read this cheeky arrangement
of yours?” Hanazono-sensei said as she glanced at the sheet
music in her hands, “…Wait, this is à quatre mains?”

“Oh, uh… Well, y’know…”

The earlier exchange from Rinko had left me drained and

reeling, so much so that I had completely forgotten about
taking petty revenge on a certain annoying teacher — that
is, it seemed so minor in comparison.

“See, it just felt like a solo pianist wouldn’t be able to

capture Carl Orff’s intensity or the, uh, raw primitiveness of
a full orchestra, or something…”

I cobbled together a pretentious-sounding excuse with

whatever words I could think of.

“Oh? So, what, you want me to play the difficult parts

then?”

“Uh, yeah, well… I mean, sensei is obviously more skilled

then I am, so…”
Yikes, did she somehow figure out my plan?

“Then shall we play?” Hanazono-sensei said as she pushed

me to the bench stool. But for some reason, after I was
seated, she remained standing behind me.

“Um, where is your chair? Are you not going to sit?”

“I will stand as I play,” she replied and pointed at the sheet

music, “After all, my parts are the harder ones, right?”

“Yeah, so you should be sitting on the left side. You’re the

secondo.”

“No, see, the most difficult parts are the bass clef’s left hand
notes and the treble clef’s right hand notes. Since I am to
play those parts, I should do it like this.”

Huh? Wait, um..?

Hanazono-sensei spread her arms to reach the left end (the

bass part) and right end (treble part) while leaning against
my back. And since I was now stuck playing the middle
parts, didn’t that mean I would need to cross my arms and
play the secondo with my right hand and the primo with my
left? It was such an awkward way of playing, especially
since pieces like this were normally played with the two
pianists sitting side-by-side.

“Here we go, and a one, two, three…”

Hanazono-sensei counted off and began playing, and I

quickly quickly followed suit.

But it was hard to focus on playing in this situation. With

Hanazono-sensei’s chin resting gently on my shoulder, I
could feel her breath on my ear, and whenever our range of
notes came closer, it was like her arms coiled around my
neck. Most of all was the sensation of softness pressing
against my back, and it was becoming impossible for me to
follow the score.

The music room door suddenly opened.

It had caught me so off-guard that my hands stopped

moving altogether, though Hanazono-sensei continued this
farce of a performance despite missing all the notes in the
middle. Through the door stepped Saejima Rinko, who wore
a grimace on her face as she walked over in complete
silence. She reached over to grab a smartphone she had left
behind before spinning on her heels and making her way
back to the door.

She paused before exiting, glaring at me with frosty disgust

from over her shoulder.

“So your arrangement is à quatre mains as an excuse to

perform in such an obscene way? You are even worse than I
thought.”

“…N-no, that’s not why…”

But without waiting to hear me finish, she left the room,

slamming the door shut as she went.

“Hey, MusaO, don’t just stand up out of nowhere. It’s harder

to play when you do.”

“And why the heck are you even trying to play in this
situation?!”

“No matter how painful or sad things get, the show must go
on. No music, no life.”
“And I’m at the ‘no life’ part now, socially speaking! She’s
totally misunderstood what’s going on, so this really isn’t
the time to be going all poetic!”

“What is there to misunderstand though? We already know

that MusaO is perverted weirdo, right?”

“Why’s that?”

“Cross-dressing.”

“Wait, no, that’s only because, uh, you see…”

But no matter what excuses I could think of, that was the
bare truth of the matter.

“I mean, it’s true that I, um, did that, but it’s not like I’m
doing it because I, uh, like it. It’s because.. because I want
people to watch my videos, y-y’know?”

“In other words, you’re cross-dressing to get people to

watch videos of you dressed as a girl.”

“N-no, that’s not.. entirely wrong, but my motives are purer

than that.”

“So you’re cross-dressing to show the world your pure and

true self?”

“How did you even interpret it like that…”

I gave up trying to explain further when I realized the

teasing would only continue endlessly this way.

“Anyway, please don’t mention anything about that while

we’re at school. Wasn’t that part of our agreement for my
helping out with the lessons? I keep telling you not to call
me MusaO.”
“But why…”

Hanazono-sensei began to pout with a face full of

displeasure.

“It’s so much easier to call you MusaO though. Maybe we

should think of a new nickname for you.”

“Like what?”
Insect

“Mushikera.”

“How is that a nickname? That’s just a straight insult.”

Sulking

“Mussutoshiteiru.”

“That’s what I want to do, not a name! And whose fault

could it be, huh?!”
Unchaste

“Mussesou.”

“Wait, what? No! For your information, I’ve lived all fifteen
years of my life carefully and modestly!”

“Mussorgsky.”

“Who are you saying will become a bald mountain

overnight1! I’ll have you know, no one in my family has ever
had any hair problems!”

“I wasn’t calling you Mussorgsky to imply that though.

Rather, aren’t you the one being rude by assuming it was an
insult?”

“Oh, uh… Y-you didn’t? I guess that was a little rude of me

then. I’ll have to give him an apology.”
“Actually I meant it in the sense that you’ll end up an
alcoholic and have no luck with women for your entire life.”

“Wait, you’re the one who’s insulting Mussorgsky! You! Not

me! Apologize to him, right now!”

“You get it though, right? Compared to what I can hit you

with, Rinko-chan’s insults are so much tamer. It should be
easy for you to get along with her, so do it.”

“Why did this conversation suddenly become about that?”

Well, compared to Hanazono-sensei, pretty much anyone

would look better.

“Anyway, you say get along with her, but how am I

supposed to do that? It’s not like we have any mutual
connections, nor do we have any opportunities to interact.
We’re not even in the same elective group, let alone the
same class.”

“Actually, the two of you are connected through me,” she

said, pointing at herself, “In fact, both of you might just
relate better to one another than you’d think, as fellow
blackmail victims.”

“It amazes me how confidently you’re saying that despite

being the one who set it all up in the first place.”

She had a smug look on her face, like she was saying I’m
doing this all for the sake of you two, you know, and it was
irritating to look at. Did this woman have any sense of self-
respect?

That being said, I did want to talk to Rinko again.

I looked again at the sheet music spread haphazardly across
the music desk.

I didn’t want to force this hollow sham of an arrangement

onto that genius pianist. But more importantly, I didn’t want
her to believe that I, Murase Makoto, was only capable of
composing crappy arrangements like this.

I ended up spending that entire night rewriting the score to

be a solo piece, and after school the next day, I immediately
made my way to the music room to wait. I had already
asked Hanazono-sensei ahead of time to have Rinko come
over once classes were over.

But it seemed Hanazono-sensei hadn’t told her that I was

the one who asked for her because when Rinko arrived at
the music room, she looked at me in surprise before sighing.

“So it was actually you? What do you want now? If you

called me here just to play your arrangement together,
because playing with Hanazono-sensei wasn’t enough to
satisfy you, then I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. If you have
any complaints about how unlucky you’ve been with women
your entire life, then all I have to say is, it would be better if
you stopped committing sexual harassment. Well, at the
very least, I can lend you my Nemo plushie.”

I wasn’t sure where in her statement I should start from.

“…Why a Nemo plushie?”

“Of all the things you question, it’s that? Hmm, does that
mean you are admitting everything else is true?”
“Like hell I am! I’m asking about the plushie because it
seemed like the thing that would start the least amount of
trouble!”

“As you may know, Nemo is a clownfish. Clownfish are

known to change genders, from male to female, so a Nemo
plushie would be perfect for a boy who finds comfort in
dressing as a girl.”

“That’s not comforting at all! Wait, huh? Why do you know

about that?”

I felt cold sweat run down my back; had Hanazono-sensei

told her? Even after everything? She promised to keep my
secret, and then she just went and blabbed about it?

But Rinko just shrugged.

“A certain ‘MusaOtoko’ is rather well-known within the piano

competition scene. Rumor had it that MusaOtoko was either
a middle- or high-schooler, and yet they performed original
compositions that sampled from obscure composers like
Pierre Boulez and Gyorgy Ligeti — compositions that were
rather indecent, I might add. Still, many people wondered if
that MusaOtoko person was actually a regular competitor,
and if they purposely performed badly just to keep from
being discovered.”

“…Thank you for leaving positive feedback.”

It wasn’t like I was pretending back then; I actually did play

badly.

“In the end, MusaOtoko’s identity remained a mystery. But

yesterday, after reading the sheet music, I noticed
something: the style of your arrangement was very similar
to MusaOtoko’s, and when I went back to watch their
videos, I realized their figure is identical to yours.”

Oh come on, not again. How was it that the world of music
was actually this small?

“So my question to you is, isn’t it difficult to live with

yourself, between that nasty personality of yours and your
obscene sense of music? Or did you think multiplying your
two minuses together would result in a plus?”

“Those aren’t minuses! I only do things because I like to!

Err, wait, I only meant that for the music part, not the cross-
dressing part, so don’t look at me like that!”

“And so? What did you call me here for today? Was it to
force me to play along with your sick hobbies? Were you
going to force me to dress as a girl?”

“You already are a girl though! Ugh, this conversation isn’t

getting anywhere at this rate! Here!”

I handed over the sheet music I was holding. Rinko carefully

took it out of my hands, all the while watching me with a
suspicious look.

“Isn’t this… the Carmina Burana from yesterday? Did you

rearrange it to be a solo piece? There was no need to do
that, I could have arranged the other composition as I
played–“

“I rewrote it because I wanted to do it. Properly, I mean.”

I interrupted her, and she blinked her eyes in surprise before

she looked down at the sheet music again. I could see her
eyes moving as she sight-read the score.
A moment later, she walked over to and sat down on the
bench stool before placing the sheet music on the music
desk.

There was a striking contrast between the bone-white of the

keys against the cold whiteness of Rinko’s slender fingers.

Why was it that this felt so different compared to when I

played? Rinko hadn’t even begun playing yet, but already
there was a special atmosphere about her, one full of
charged anticipation. Well, I knew rests were just as
important as notes, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that
this tense, quiet stillness before the piece began was just as
important.

Rinko’s finger finally pressed down on a key.

Fortissimo

It was a quiet but powerful press, exactly the kind of

contradictory energy required for the first note of Carmina
Burana. From there began a discordant struggle between
orchestra and choir; the sounds clashed in a frenzy, like
bubbles popping in scorching air. I never knew a piano was
capable of such expressiveness, and it was as though the
shine of the grand’s black luster wanted to drown me under
a endless torrent of image after image. How many
hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of bones had gone
into building this instrument? The heartrending wails of
those sacrifices coming from the piano hinted at that
unfathomable number.

The performance concluded at the end of the second

movement, and I had been entranced the entire time,
immersed in Rinko’s breathtaking play. The sound of that
last chord cotinued reverberating through the air, until
finally, a heavy thump like the dropping of a gallows
snapped me out of my reverie. I looked to see what was it
that made the noise and saw it had come from Rinko closing
the fallboard.

The girl in question quietly gathered up the sheet music

from the music desk before turning to me.

“…Is it okay if I take this with me?”

I blinked rapidly, trying to refocus the consciousness that

had been unceremoniously yanked back to reality. I could
still almost hear, or feel the lingering echoes that floated
through the air like ephemeral metal shavings, sending tiny
tingles as they prickled my skin.

“…Uhh, yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

It took a moment for me to respond, and because of how

short and awkward it sounded, it felt like I needed to add
more, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

“This should be simpler than what I wrote yesterday… Have

you not memorized it?”

“What are you talking about?” Rinko retorted, frowning at

my question, “Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to
do it properly? So the least I should do is take care of it
properly in return.”

She soon left, but it was only after the door had shut that
the meaning of her words registered in my mind — that is,
she had said this arrangement as a ‘proper’ piece. Now, it
wasn’t like I could say anything back to her in return since
she was already gone, but knowing that she recognized my
work made all of the previous night’s effort worth it.

I felt relief wash over me as I dropped myself onto the

bench stool.
There was a lingering warmth where Rinko had been seated,
like how the sounds of the piano still lingered in the room.

I carefully opened the cover once more and gently placed

my hands over the keys, but try as I might, I couldn’t muster
the will to play anything. It was as though listening to
Rinko’s performance had sapped it all from me.

She, a pianist of certain caliber, approved of my

arrangement. For now, that was enough to make me happy.
Well, I would eventually have to play the accompaniment to
this in class myself, and Hanazono-sensei would for sure
ridicule and compare my performance to Rinko’s — I didn’t
really feel like thinking about that right now.

Suddenly, another thought struck me.

Saejima Rinko is undoubtedly a skilled pianist, and even

someone like me could see that. And it wasn’t just her
technical skills that were good; no, there was also some
special quality to her playing, some special quality that
made it feel like it was wrong to keep her confined to a
small music room of an ordinary high school in a corner of
Tokyo.

I began wondering about her circumstances.

Why was such a special girl in a place like this?

 Chapter 2: On a Clear Morning in
November

I was reminded once again how scary and convenient the

internet was when after searching ‘Saejima Rinko piano’, I
immediately found recordings of her performances from
past piano competitions. The videos looked like they
belonged to the parents of other competitors, and it seemed
they had uploaded these recordings without her permission.
Still, just as Hanazono-sensei said, it seemed Rinko was
pretty much like a celebrity, and dozens of the recordings of
her performances had tens of thousands of views.

Then again, maybe about a third of all the comments I read

made a pass at Rinko’s appearance, and some were
honestly just plain disgusting to read. Man, there were some
real nasty people on the internet.

That aside, I put on my headphones and closed my eyes to

better focus on listening to the performance.

She was playing Aeolian Harp, from Chopin’s Études. Her

two hands crafted a soft, whispering melody with a beautiful
arpeggio that flowed uninterrupted from start to finish; I
found myself sighing in content as the piece came to a quiet
end. She had already surprised me with the intensity she
had in performing my arrangement of Carmina Burana, but
even that was nothing compared to the impression Aeolian
Harp had left on me.
I clicked on the thumbnail of a different video showing
another of Rinko’s performances. And then another, and
another, listening to each of them one after the other.

It had been a wonderful experience hearing each of them,

but when I finally took off my headphones, I realized my hair
was damp with sweat. I tried to stand up from my chair but
found I didn’t have the strength to.

Listening to all of her performances had left me drained.

I hadn’t noticed even once how much the pieces had been
affecting me; I was completely absorbed, listening in
rapture. It was like a narcotic for my ears.

But that just served to feed my curiosity, making me want

to learn even more why she hadn’t chosen a path that was
more music-focused.

Or maybe I was simply underestimating how harsh the

music world really was, where a performance of that level
wasn’t good enough to be considered professional.

Two days later, I had another chance to meet Rinko at the

music room after school, and I asked her then.

“Why did you choose this high school? Wouldn’t it have

been better to go to a specialized music school, especially if
you wanted to go pro?”

But Rinko answered me with an annoyed grumble.

“…And this is exactly why I didn’t want to be the

accompanist. I don’t want anyone prying into my business. I
should have known I needed to have played even worse to
avoid standing out.”

She had… intentionally played badly?

“Wouldn’t that be impossible?”

I couldn’t help but ask.

“…What do you mean?” Rinko asked, blinking in surprise.

“I just think it’s impossible to intentionally play badly. I

mean, I also play a few instruments, and… Wait, actually,
it’s rude of me to just assume that… Err, what I mean is,
uh…”

I couldn’t find the right words to say and began stumbling

all over what I wanted to say.

“…Well, after a certain level, you’re just not able to play

badly, right? Like your muscle memory is so ingrained that
even if you make a conscious effort to do something wrong,
your body doesn’t listen.”

I stopped myself partway through what I was saying; I was

scared I would accidentally say something really
embarrassing or even completely wrong, so I shut my
mouth and hesitantly peeked at Rinko’s face.

There was a strange expression plastered on her face.

It was a little hard to describe, but, to use an analogy, it was

the kind of face someone would make if they found an
important photo they thought they’d lost underneath the
toilet rug they’d been stepping all over on a regular basis.
Rinko sighed in resignation before sitting down on the bench
stool.

“I had you pegged as an ordinary sex offender kind of

person, but I’m going to have to change my opinion of you.”

“Thanks, I guess? But how is it now?”

Her first impression was probably deep in the minus, so

surely it got better just now.

“You’re now an extraordinary sex offender.”

“It hasn’t changed at all! In fact, it got worse!”

“I don’t think there are many sex offenders out there that
also understand music like you do, Murase-kun. You should
be happier about that.”

“I’d be happier if you listened to anything I said…”

“If people call Beethoven a musical savant, you would be a

musical savage. Isn’t that quite the nice title?”

“It’d be nice if you could find other similarities between us

than just that!”

“Like how both of you cannot and will not ever experience a
lifelong, happy marriage?”

“Can we just move on already!”

Rinko suddenly stood from the bench and walked about

three meters away.

“I said move on, not move away! Cut it out already! People
outside will think I’m actually trying to assault you or
something if they hear me shouting weird things!”
“But that’s pretty much all true, isn’t it? You were the one
who let out a strange yell, Murase-kun, so it makes sense I’d
run away. There’s no changing that fact.”

I mean, it was sort of true. But still, I didn’t want random

people to misunderstand. Okay, let’s calm down here, and
get back to… Wait, what were we talking about again?

“Murase-kun, you…”

Rinko returned to sit on the bench and muttered something

in a low voice.

“You’ve never experienced a live piano concert, have you?

At least one that used a grand, anyway. That’s probably why
you think I can play the piano well, since that was your first
time hearing a grand piano in person or something. Anyway,
allow me to clarify once and for all: my piano skills are not
special.”

“…Huh?”

“What part of that did you not understand? Oh, I know, I’ll
put it in a way a sexual deviant like you can understand: it’s
like when a virgin freezes up during their first time.”

“I didn’t understand that at all!”

“Oh? So you’re saying because you’re a virgin, you don’t

know if you’ll freeze up or not?”

“No, I didn’t say anything like that at all. Actually, can you
stop making everything sexual? Rather, I understood what
you said the first time just fine! I mean, sure, I’ve never
been to a classical-type of concert or anything, but…”
I paused, trying to find the right words to use, but I couldn’t
think of any clever say of saying what I wanted to say. She
was right, after all — this was the first time I’d heard
something like that.

“I mean, what I wanna say is, I think you’re special. Like, I’d
happily give you money to see you perform.”

Rinko was quiet, only giving an intense glare, so I kept

talking in a hurry.

“Uh, like paying money to hear you perform, I mean, play

your music. On the piano. Not uh, anything suggestive or
sexual.”

“Yes, I know,” Rinko answered, though she still sounded

disgusted, “but the fact that you mentioned it anyway,
before I said anything, means you really are thinking of
some perverted things.”

“Ugh…”

I dug myself into the hole this time, and trying to add more
would probably just make things worse. The best thing to do
was to stay quiet and just accept any criticism that came
my way.

“You really need to stop with the sexual harassment,

especially when we’re in the middle of a serious
conversation.”

“You’re the last person I want to hear that from!”

But alas, I could not stay silent!

“Anyway, you just need to know that you have the wrong
idea about me.”
Rinko stood from the bench stool as she spoke.

“I’m not at a level where I could just go pro. And that’s

without considering the people who are much better than
me.”

I sat unmoving, lost in thought; even after she had left the
room, I continued thinking, eyes fixed on the enormous
grand piano and staring at the distorted face that peered
back at me from the reflection of the unblemished dark
surface.

Was it really a misunderstanding on my part? Was I really

overestimating her because I didn’t know better?

I posed such questions to the me on the other side of the

warped, black mirror.

No, that isn’t right, the me on the other side seemed to

answer.

I couldn’t call myself an expert on classical music, but I also

couldn’t lie about what my ears heard — or what my heart
felt. And if anyone heard what I heard, or felt what I felt, but
still called Rinko’s performance ‘nothing special’, I would
sooner believe there was mayonnaise between their ears
than a brain.

Ah, if only I could hear more…

As a content creator, it only took a little fame to start

making connections.

This was no different for me as MusaOtoko, and I was

connected to a number of people within the industry
through social media. I’ve never met any of them in real life
nor did I know how they looked, but we did get along well
through shared musical interests and backgrounds.

Among them was Gureko-san, a college student attending

music school that also uploaded arrangements of classical
pieces. I figured it was possibly they were pretty familiar
with the classical music world, so I contacted them through
SNS.

“Have you ever heard of Saejima Rinko? I heard some

things about competitions and how she did really well in the
middle school brackets.”

It didn’t take long to get a reply.

“I know about her. She took competitions like a storm, and

she even traveled to far-off regional events, taking first
place every time. A lot of people really hated her for it.”

Was that something to be hated for though? And even if

they described her as a storm, it couldn’t have meant she
was violent, so it was probably more like she came in and
legitimately won the prize through pure skill. That had to
mean the others were just jealous, right? Did she give up
her dream of becoming a pro pianist because she had
become disillusioned with how the classical music world
really was?

“So what brought her up?” Gureko-san sent another

message.

For a moment, I considered revealing the truth: that we

attended the same high school. Well, if we were having this
conversation in real life, I probably would have accidentaly
blurted it out, but I was able to hold back because we were
just talking through text. I really needed to be more careful
about not revealing personal information with people over
the internet.

“She was in a competition video I was watching. I liked how

she played, and I was wondering if you knew anything about
her.”

That was the message I sent back; it wasn’t a lie, but I felt a
bit guilty for not revealing the entire truth.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t heard anything about her in a

while. She might’ve quit.”

Gureko-san answered.

“Actually, I do remember hearing she’d missed first a few

times. Maybe she went through a slump? And then ended
up quitting? I’ve felt something like that myself a few times
before. It’s actually kinda a pain-in-the-ass dealing with
everything on that side, and a lot of the times it just makes
you wanna quit.”

A pain-in-the-ass, huh…

Hm, that made sense; I could see it being annoying to deal

with. I mean, the whole thing is basically just gathering a
ton of people — people that have devoted their lives to
playing the piano — and then judging them based on
obscure, illogical standards, right? Playing with the weight of
the hopes and expectations of teachers and adults wound
around every finger was bound to become too exhausting,
even if it were for something like a one-phrase piece.

I thanked Gureko-san for their help and ended the

conversation before leaving my phone facedown as I stared
at the ceiling from atop my bed.
That girl had taken many victories home from that pain-in-
the-ass world…

All of those first-place victories she’d collected had gathered

up, growing like a fragile tree that reached for an empty sky,
until one day, something gave way, and the tree fell over,
revealing rot from within — or something like that.

Honestly speaking, it was a waste.

It was a waste for her to leave her talents to rot; if she really
didn’t want it, then I’d happily take it. If I had that kind of
talent, I might’ve actually been able to cross over the five-
thousand view count without having to resort to something
like cross-dressing.

I picked up my phone again and opened a bookmark I’d

saved of a video of Saejima Rinko at a competition. The
uploader hadn’t included any other information, so I didn’t
know if this was one of the competitions where Rinko hadn’t
placed first. Still, this was back when she was still a middle
schooler; it was hard to believe there were other kids of the
same age that could perform at a similar level. Then again,
Gureko-san said Rinko had been in competitions all over
Japan, so it was possible that Rinko eventually met others
that played at a higher level.

But…

It was dumb to rank music in the first place – at least, I

thought so. Rather, for me, and apparently for many others
too, there were only two kinds of music: the music that you
wanted to listen again and the music you didn’t want to
listen to again. It was as simple as that.

I got up off the bed and onto my feet, walking over to sit
myself down in front of my computer and opening a
browser. I found a recommended video link to start with and
resumed my search for more of Rinko’s performances.

Among what I found tonight, my favorite had to be of

Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 21.

Until today, I’d never paid much attention to Schubert’s

pieces; as a kid, I’d heard a bit of his Unfinished Symphony
but didn’t understand its appeal, nor did I care for his more
well-known works like Heidenröslein and Erlkönig when I’d
heard them in music class.

And yet Rinko’s performance of Piano Sonata No. 21

strongly affected me.

It was a sad piece, one written by a gentle young man that

had fallen ill. Though he never lost his smile, the young
man’s heart crumbled more and more with each passing
heartbeat as he quietly endured the pain that returned from
time to time. And yet, Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 21
wasn’t fit to be a competition piece; it lacked parts that
would demonstrate its performer’s technical skills, yet it was
plainly difficult to perform, and more importantly, it was a
long piece — the first movement alone took twenty minutes
to play. I couldn’t help but wonder why Rinko had chosen
this piece for the competition.

In a related video, another girl in the same competition

performed Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 8, and going by the
video’s description, it seemed she had taken first place with
it.

…Which meant Rinko and her Schubert piece had lost.

Yet, no matter how many times I listened to and compared

the two performances, I couldn’t figure out why Rinko had
lost; to me, Rinko’s performance was at least a hundred
times better. Was it because she chose a piece that wasn’t
suitable for a competition for middle schoolers? Or maybe it
was because her performance had been too passionate –
and therefore exhausting – to follow? Both of those should
have been merits though.

That thought suddenly reminded me of the sheet music still

in my bag, which I quickly fished out.

It was the sheet music for the next choral piece Hanazono-
sensei was forcing on me – one that Schubert composed.

Salve Regina.

It was a four-part choir piece that was performed in praise of

the Virgin Mary. As usual, a piano was the accompaniment…
Oh, it was played in the key of B-flat major, just like Piano
Sonata No. 21; actually, because of the molto moderato in
the sonata’s first movement, I should be able to use its
gentle motifs in the accompanient to Salve Regina.

I picked out a few notes on the sequencer before letting it

play. What came out sounded so beautiful that I found
myself trembling; I felt I could call myself a genius, but I
knew the real genius was the composer — Piano Sonata No.
21 had been a masterpiece, but Salve Regina was no less of
one. I gave a silent prayer in apology to the esteemed Franz
Schubert; I would listen more attentively to his pieces from
now on.

In the end, I spent the entire night writing the

accompaniment, printing the finished score before I made
my way to school while fighting off my drowsiness.

*
Rinko’s reaction upon reading the accompaniment score
was terrifying; she suddenly brought both hands down,
slamming her fingers into different keys. The cacophony of
dissonant notes rang across the music room whose only
occupants were us, and it sounded as though every mug in
the world had shattered at once.

“…D minor, 11th on A,” I said timidly.

“I’m not quizzing you on chords,” Rinko curtly replied.

“…Uhh, okay, but why are you so angry?”

“Does it look like I’m angry?”

“No, but…”

Rinko wore her usual expression, though something about

her seemed a little heated; it wasn’t like her words were
different from how venomous they usually were, and her
demeanor appeared the same as usual.

But… I could tell she was angry.

“I’m actually not angry at all but,” Rinko said, pouting her
lips, “I do think it’d be better if you just dropped dead.”

“So you are angry…”

“Actually, I hope you die of heart failure on a clear morning

in November, after spending your last moments all alone in
the corner of an old nursing home. And despite having lived
to be four times as old as Schubert, you’ll finally realize how
lonely your life was having wasted it all to churn out some
basic minor key chords on your sequencer.”
It was such an oddly specific condemnation that I couldn’t
figure out how to respond, though if I remembered right,
Schubert had passed away at the age of thirty-one. Seeing
my lack of response, Rinko continued.

“So? What were you even thinking, using Schubert’s Piano

Sonata No. 21 as the accompaniment?”

“Oh, you noticed? I should’ve expected as much.”

“Of course I would. That was a piece I struggled with for

countless hours.”

“I would assume so. It’s a piece you played at a

competition, after all.”

Rinko raised her eyebrows.

“You knew I played it at a competition? But how?”

“I watched a video of it, that someone had uploaded to the

internet.”

Rinko let out a deliberate sigh, one that seemed to sweep

across the keyboard.

“It’d be better if it could all just disappear…”

At first I thought she was talking about the video, but it was
possible she meant more than that; I felt a chill run down
my spine.

“No, but it’s because of the video that I learned just how
amazing of a composer Schubert was. I never knew he’d
written such beautiful pieces, and I have you to thank for
showing me.”
“I didn’t play that piece for you, you know. And I wasn’t the
one who uploaded the video you watched, either.”

“I mean, both of those are true, but…”

“Then, how about I play Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 12 or

maybe Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 for you?”

Both of those pieces were funeral marches in their third

movements. I could almost cry from how thankful I felt.

In any case, it seemed I’d long pushed her far out of her
comfort zone, so it didn’t matter how much more
uncomfortable I could make her; I pushed further and began
asking direct questions.

“So why did you quit playing the piano? You were playing it
so well.”

She blinked once before slowly closing her eyelids as she

simutaneously brought down the fallboard.

“But I didn’t quit.”

She slowly opened her eyes, staring at her hands as she

answered.

“Oh, right,” I thought over her answer before I continued,

“What I meant was, why did you stop playing seriously? Like
going to competitions.”

“Do you really think competitions are that important? No,

besides that, what gives you, a complete stranger, the right
to lecture me about my choices like you’re my parent?”

Her eyes and words were full of pain, and it seemed to me

that her parents had also once questioned her decisions in
the same way. It made sense that they would, but I couldn’t
do anything but hang my head in response.

A complete stranger, she called me…

She made a sound argument, and I couldn’t agree more. I

always thought ranking music was pointless and
meaningless, so by extension, competition results also
shouldn’t mean anything.

I snuck a peek out of a corner of my eye.

From where I stood, I could see Rinko’s delicate fingers

resting on the closed key lid.

It would be such a waste of talent otherwise, and that

thought was why I was meddling. Those with wings were
meant to fly, and, as one of the lowly humans crawling
around in the dirt – one of those that looked to the sky with
longing – wasn’t it natural for me to feel that way?

Rinko continued, her voice almost a whisper.

“And I said this yesterday, Murase-kun; the only reason why

you think I’m skilled is because you don’t know anything
about the piano. I’m not special. My only talent is being able
to move my fingers well enough to make fewer mistakes
than others. But that’s not good enough. The best I could do
was winning competitions at the prefectural level.”

Rinko wasn’t looking at me; her head was bowed, and she
stared towards the foot that rested on the soft pedal as she
spoke. I wanted to shake my head in denial of her words,
but there was no point if she didn’t see it.

“I was always told the same things. That my performance is

unrefined and lacks elegance. That the colors of my tone are
all muddied and how it’s covered in unwanted noise. How
my sounds are dull and lifeless… And I think they’re right.”

“…The colors of your tone?”

I couldn’t help but speak up when I heard her say that.

“You mean like the piano’s tone? But… isn’t that dependent
on the piano itself? Why is a pianist being judged for that? I
mean, in the first place, you just hit the keys and then
sound comes out, right? What does it mean to be covered in
unwanted noise?”

Rinko finally looked up, but when she turned to face me, I
felt myself shivering in discomfort: the forced smile she
wore was all too thin and fragile.

She slowly stood and turned again, whispering as she stared

out the window, toward the empty sky.

“It doesn’t really matter. All I have to do is play the right

sounds. Being an accompanist is more than good enough for
me. What more do you want from me?”

She slowly made her way out of the room; like yesterday, I
sat unmoving, with my head planted on a desk near the
piano as I mulled over her words.

What more did I want from her, she asked?

Wasn’t it obvious? I wanted her to play the piano more. I

wanted to hear her play more.

She said she hadn’t quit, but what I should’ve asked was
“Why haven’t you quit?” It was obvious to me that she was
still practicing regularly at home, especially since her skills
hadn’t degraded compared to how she was in the videos. So
what I wanted to know was why did she continue to train
herself for competitions when she wasn’t going to
participate?

I stood from my seat and weakly reached out to touch the

side of the grand piano. From the other side of its polished,
black surface, I saw a reflection of my thin, wretched figure.

I already knew the answer: because her heart was still in it.

About fifteen minutes later, Hanazono-sensei entered the

music room, and I asked her that same question.

That is, does a piano’s tone change depending on who

played it?

“Oh? What a surprise. So despite using quite a lot of

classical music as reference, you’re telling me MusaO
doesn’t actually know a lot about the piano?”

“Yeah, uhh… you see, I was just copying and using stuff I
thought sounded cool.”

Also, it was convenient that copyright infringement didn’t

usually apply to classical pieces. In the first place, it’s not
like I ever had any sort of formal music training; I was just a
self-taught amateur.

“I mean, I’ve only ever played on electric keyboards, up

until high school anyway. And it’s not like the sound
changes, no matter how you hit the keys, right? Is it
different with a real piano?”

“It’s no different with an electric keyboard. It can change

depending on how you play, see?”

Hanazono-sensei’s answer surprised me.

She brought over the electric keyboard over from the prep
room and began to play. She played an excerpt from a
sonata by Scarlatti with gentle, bouncing grace before
playing the same sample with sharper, more rigid motions.

“You see?” she said, turning to look at me, “Sounds

completely different, right?”

“…I mean, I guess?” I said, unconvinced and thinking, “But

the only thing that changed was how you pressed the keys
though, right? It doesn’t matter how hard or soft you press
down on the keys when the same sound will come out.”

“But there was a difference in the harshness, right?

Wouldn’t that mean the tone of the piano had changed?”

I crossed my arms as I thought about what she’d said.

“Not… necessarily? You could even argue that difference

was just the volume and layering.”

“Which means there was a difference in how it sounded, no?

And isn’t that what music is all about?”

Hanazono-sensei bore down on me with her words,

cornering me with a smug smile on her face.

“When it comes to the grand piano, the differences can be

even more profound. It has a much wider dynamic range,
and the sounds come from strings in resonance.”

A piano’s dynamic range referred to the intensity of the

sounds it could make; for a grand piano, it was possible to
produce a fortissimo strong enough to shake heaven and
earth but also a pianissimo as gentle as falling snow. The
two-hundred-and-some strings within its body produced
resonant sounds in groups of three, making rich harmonics
that would be impossible for an electric keyboard to
reproduce, even if each key were sampled one-by-one.

“But because of the piano’s large size, it’s also easier for
noise to distort the sound.”

“But what do you mean by noise? Like making a mistake

while playing? I didn’t notice any mistakes when Rinko was
playing.”

“See, the thing is, even if you play a piece perfectly, it’s still
possible to create noise.”

As she spoke, Hanazono-sensei cut the power to the electric

keyboard before pressing a number of keys at random on
the now-silent machine. Of course, there was no music, but
there were other sounds: thudding, thumping, creaking,
scraping…

In other words, she was referring to the literal sounds the

keys made.

“Even a motion as basic as pressing down on a key creates

unwanted ‘noise’. There’s the sound of your finger making
contact with the key, the sound of the key bottoming out
and hitting the piano frame, and the friction from the key
returning to its natural position as you take your finger
away, just to name a few. All of this put together creates the
‘noise’ we’re talking about. At best, the noise muffles and
muddles the sound of the strings; at worst, it completely
distorts the sound.”

“Oh I see… I’ve never really thought about it. But that’s all
noise we can’t avoid making while playing, right? Especially
when we’re trying to make stronger sounds.”
“Which is why professional pianists train day and night to
minimize the noise they produce as much as possible,”
Hanazono-sensei answered with a giggle.

It was because I didn’t even know that much that Rinko

made fun of me; I felt thoroughly embarrassed as I thought
back on the conversation we’d had.

“At the same time, everyone feels differently about

unwanted noise. For example, there are some that say
because the sound of the fingers hitting the keys are too
loud and add percussive variance to the music, that noise
should be minimized as much as possible. However, there
are others that claim that very same noise is an important
factor in producing a clear, strong forte note, citing
renowned pianists such as Richter and Horowitz who hit
keys so hard you fear their pianos might just break.
Personally, I love that kind of play; I tried imitating their
technique while in music college, but it was impossible to
produce that kind of explosive sound. Then, when I tried
using my elbows, the professor stopped me, and started
yelling at me about it… Wait, what were we talking about
again?”

“…We were talking about how a piano’s tone could change

depending on how you hit the keys.”

How did a woman like this even graduate from music

college? Some things in life were just too hard to believe.

That night, I was once again scouring the net for more
recordings of Rinko playing the piano.

I had settled in bed with my headphones on and my eyes

closed, letting ripples of sound carry my consciousness
along the darkness. This time there was Chopin and Ravel,
and her rendition of their pieces left me just as shaken as I
was when I first heard her Schubert.

And that was the most important fact of all.

I raised myself out of bed and took off my headphones. The

music abruptly ended, and now all I could hear was the
menacing sounds of the exhausts of the many motorbikes
coming down the Shuto Expressway.

I looked over at the hand that held my headphones by the

band.

She was in a slump, and it was up to me to drag her out of

it. I already had a plan in mind; I hadn’t wasted my early
teenage years sitting in a dark room and staring at the
electronic window of a DTM program for nothing, after all. I
could already visualize the outline of the score I needed to
write.

I sat myself down in front of my PC and put my headphones

back on.

Four days later, during a lunch break, Rinko came to my

classroom — that is, the classroom of 1-7. Having foregone
sleep over the past four days, my brain felt like complete
mush. I was so exhausted that as soon as the bell signaling
the end of fourth period rang, I dropped my head straight
onto the desk and let my exhaustion take over. At least,
until someone grabbed hold of my shoulders and shook me
with great strength, suddenly rousing me from my sleep. In
my dazed consciousness, I flailed around by reflex and
nearly fell out of my chair.
“–Huh? Wha..?”

I made a strange noise. I raised a drowsy face to see who

had shook me only to come face-to-face with Rinko.

My mind was still groggy from the sudden awakening, and it

took several seconds of looking around like a bewildered
idiot before I finally realized I was still in class — and that
several of my classmates were staring at me with naked
curiosity.

And just as the fog was lifting from my mind, Rinko suddenly
put a hand on my face and used her fingers to forcibly
spread my eyelids. Meanwhile, she used her free hand to
check my pulse from my wrist. Her actions were so shocking
that I almost fell out of my chair again.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?!”

As I shook my hand and my face free of her hands, Rinko

stared at me with a look of displeasure.

“You used to come by the music room every day, but you
hadn’t shown up for the past four days. I was worried you
might’ve gotten sick.”

“I, uh, well, sorry for worrying you..?”

But rather than worrying about Rinko, it was actually the

reactions of my classmates that had me concerned. They
were staring at me with a mixture of suspicion and concern,
and I could hear curious whispers guessing about what was
going on.

“Isn’t that the girl from 1-4?” “Why’s she with Murase?” “Oh,
aren’t they the accompanists for music class?” “Woah,
they’re alone together after school?!”
“Would I have gotten on that route if I kept visiting the
music classroom after school?” “Maybe I should change my
elective to music…” “No, don’t, she only acts that way with
Murase!”

I didn’t really understand what was happening, but it

seemed strange rumors were beginning to spread.

“Well, you see, I just wanted to check up on you. After all,

you used to always show up after school just to make lewd
jokes. But after these past four days, I realized it was getting
lonely without you.”

Rinko’s ridiculous words were like a spark that set off the
outrage of my classmates.

“The hell are you doing in the music room, Murase?!”

“Someone get the counselor!” “We need the cops!”

“H-hey, wait a minute! I have done nothing of the sort!” I

desperately tried to placate them as I glared at Rinko, “And
you, stop with those weird lies!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rinko said, her face nonchalant, “I meant he

would make piano talk, not that he would make lewd jokes.
It was an honest mistake.”

“That’s not what it sounded like at all! You were clearly

trying to set me up!”

“Really?” she furrowed her eyebrows with disbelief as she

asked, “Okay, then try saying ‘lewd piano’ ten times fast.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You wanted to prove I didn’t misspeak, right?”

“Ugh…”

I hadn’t expected her to come at me from this angle, and it

seemed I would have to take responsibility for my
accusations.

“…Lewd piano, lewd piano, lewd piano, lewd piano,

loopeeano, loopy… ah, huh?”

“See? It was easy to misspeak, right?”

“Yeah, but just because you’re correct doesn’t mean..!”

“Hey Murase, you can’t just say things to a girl like that!”
“Oh gosh, he really must have been saying lewd things…”

It felt like the rumors had really taken root, so I panicked

and grabbed Rinko’s arm to take her out of the classroom.

Once I brought her over to an empty stairwell, I let go her of

her hand. “So what’s your real reason for coming find me?” I
asked.

“Didn’t I tell you it’s because I was worried? Don’t you trust
me? Have I ever lied to you?”

“You have! A bunch of times! In fact, you just lied two

minutes ago!”

“That was just a difference of opinion.”

I think it’s a bit more than a difference of opinion when the

things you say put me right on the edge of ending my
school life, socially speaking.

“Regardless, I really did come because I was worried. Did

something happen?”
Now, how should I mention it. It wouldn’t be very exciting to
just give the game away, so I put on the smuggest grin I
could muster, pressed my fingers against my head, and
leaned back before I began to speak.

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve been preparing

something that would… take you down?!”

“I believe it. In fact, I would say you’re exactly the type of

person to shut yourself in a dark room for four days just to
plan such a thing, Murase-kun.”

“But I didn’t shut myself away, I came to school like normal

every day! Honestly it’s actually harder to think of a
response if you take me so seriously!”

“Well, it might be easier on you if you didn’t act so weird all

the time or say things that could be easily misinterpreted.”

That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you, woman!

You’re making me want to cry here!

“Erm, well, as I was saying,” I said, continuing after clearing

my throat four times, “Could I borrow some of your time
after school today?”

Rinko’s reply was to blink in curiosity.

 Chapter 3: Paradise Noise

Once classes had let out for the day, I met with Rinko at the
base of the stairwell leading to the roof of the north school
building.

It wasn’t a place anyone usually passed by, so the place was

rather dusty, smelled of mold, and looked pretty gloomy.
Rinko, who arrived earlier, was already waiting with a
grumpy expression on her face.

“So why did you call me here?”

“Well, see, I actually asked Hanazono-sensei if I could use

the music room, but then she said I should be using the
rooftop for my ‘silly duel’.”

“…Duel?”

I nodded and walked past her, heading up the stairs.

I unlocked the door that would open to the roof and turned
the knob. Rays of light beamed down, illuminating the
gloom as the door creaked open, followed by a pleasant
wind that blew in with the faint scent of grass.

The windswept floor of the roof was mostly barren, but

unknown grasses sprouted in bunches where the grout had
cracked, framing the otherwise dull concrete in patch green.
At the center of it all was a lone synthesizer sitting on a
simple, four-legged metal stand.
There was nothing else here but the bright, clear May skies
that stretched out endlessly beyond the railings at the edge
of the building. Meanwhile, Rinko stood in the doorframe,
eyes fixed on the machine. I paid her no attention as I
connected the synthesizer to an extension cord that snaked
down to a wall socket on the fourth floor, and I turned it on.
The green LCD screen played its startup sequence as the
synthesizer whirred to life.

“What even is that?”

Rinko asked, coming to look at it.

“It’s an old synthesizer, the EOS B500.”

“It’s even got its own speakers. How rare.”

She traced a finger around the large black disk on the

shoulder of the instrument.

Synthesizers usually didn’t come with built-in speakers; they

usually needed to be plugged into external speakers and an
amplifier to play sounds. The Yamaha EOS models, however,
were developed based on the idea that people should be
able to use a synthesizer without additional hardware, and
this was the result: a standalone device capable of
producing powerful sounds on its own. On the downside, the
EOS was heavier than the average synthesizer, and it was a
pain having to lug this all the way from home to school.

“Okay, so what now? What about that duel you were talking
about?”

Rinko impatiently asked, so I fished the sheet music out of

my bag and handed it over to her.
It was a short piece, spanning only two pages that would
only take around three minutes to play. I tensed up as I
watched her eyes read the score.

“So, uhh, this is Overture No. 6 in A minor, by Ukrainian

composer Igor Medvechev. As the story goes, he apparently
wrote this piece about a month before his untimely passing
during the Russian Revolution–“

“You composed this, didn’t you, Murase-kun?”

She saw through my lie in an instant, making my eyes spin

counterclockwise in surprise three times over before I forced
out a small cough to try and fix my cover.

“No, like I said, this was written by a Ukrainian composer.”

“You realize the only scores I’ve been reading recently have
all been written by you, right? Did you think I wouldn’t be
able to figure out that it was you who composed this,
Murase-kun? So why are you lying about this?”

“…Please forgive me,” I apologized because, as she said, I

had made up the entire story; no such Ukrainian composer
existed.

“Okay, so what? You want me to play another of your vapid,

hollow compositions?”

“You’re that confident you can do it?”

“If this is the best you can do, then it would–” Rinko was still
reading the score when she suddenly stopped talking, her
eyes glued to the lower right of the page, “…What’s with
this awful tremolo in the coda?”

I acknowledged her question with a triumphant nod.

“That’s the best part of the piece, actually.”

“And how, exactly, are you supposed to play this four-note

tremolo spanning the octave, at this tempo? Does it make
you happy, haphazardly throwing sequences of notes into
the synthesizer that no human could play?”

“Yet I can play it.”

Rinko widened her eyes in surprise before narrowing in

suspicion. But that much I expected; this was a four-note
tremolo starting on an A-E-A and going four notes higher for
a D-A-D chord. The pianist would not only have to fully
spread their right hand to reach the octave span but also
rapidly jump between the two chords, hitting them like a
chiming bell. This wasn’t a passage even Chopin, Liszt, or
Rachmaninoff could play. Yet, I claimed that I could.

“You’re obviously lying.”

“And I’m telling you that’s the truth. And that’s our duel: if
you can’t play it but I can, then it’s my win.”

“That’s our duel? Why does this even matter? What does it
prove?”

I carefully looked over Rinko’s face as I chose my next

words.

“Didn’t I say it the other day? It’s a waste of your skills for
you to just be an accompanist for the class. That’s why, if I
win, I will have you play a song of my choice. I will have you
play it seriously, and I will have you play it right here, using
this synthesizer.”

Rinko let out a weary sigh as she cast her eyes downward.
“And? Why should I play along with this duel of yours?”

“Because if you win, I’ll take care of all the accompanist

roles that you’re assigned for every school event from here
on out.”

Rinko’s expression drastically changed when she heard that

condition.

Because we had to sing the school anthem during each

term’s opening and closing ceremonies, there naturally
needed to be an accompanist for it each time. There were
also other events that involved the school anthem, such as
the entrance ceremony, the graduation ceremony, choir
competitions — it would be played at pretty much every
school-wide assembly. The responsibility of accompanist
should have fallen on Hanazono-sensei, but it seemed that
because she found it too much of a chore, so she had
delegated that responsibility to Rinko. And it was clear Rinko
hated it.

In other words, it was a tempting offer that should move her

to agree to our duel — and I expected her to agree.

After appearing to think it over, Rinko finally spoke.

“I’m not sure about what counts as a win, but basically, if I

cannot play this but you can, then it’s your win, Murase-
kun? And every other outcome is my win?”

“That’s fine by me.”

In other words, if both or neither of us could play it correctly,

that would count as my loss. With those rules, Rinko held
quite the advantage.
“…Don’t tell me you went through all the trouble of bringing
your synthesizer here just to auto-play a preprogrammed
sequence and then claim you made no mistakes in playing?”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’ll be playing the whole thing myself.”

Rinko stared down at the sheet music in her hands, glaring

at it like she wanted to bore a hole through the page. She
must have been playing the piece over in her head. As for
me, all I heard were the distant jogging chants from the
baseball team, the lethargic bellow of the brass band’s
single tuba, and the mechanical creaks of the robot arms at
work in the factory across the school gates.

Rinko eventually handed the sheet music back to me. I

assumed she was going to refuse to play along with my silly
challenge, but just as my despair began to creep in, she
spoke.

“We don’t have a sheet music stand, so hold it so I can see

it.”

I happily moved over to the other side of the keyboard,

holding the sheet music up in a way that would make it
easier to read

Just four bars in, I’d already forgotten this was a duel. The
piece Rinko was playing didn’t feel like a piece I had
composed; it really did sound and feel like the swan song of
a composer executed during the Russian Revolution: the
ephemeral arpeggio in the treble flickered like droplets of
blood splattering the snow, while the booming echoes of the
bass were like the gunshots that tore through the Russian
princesses. As the piece steadily progressed, more of the
tragedy unfolded but without a hint of resentment or pity.
And when Rinko’s hands suddenly stopped after finishing
that intense and rousing climax and returning to the main
motif, disappointment overwhelmed me, and I nearly
dropped the sheet music. Despite composing this piece to
create this outcome, I had found myself disappointed that
things had happened exactly the way I wanted.

Rinko lowered her eyes away from the sheet music and
shook her head.

“…I can’t. I knew it would be impossible, and I was right. I

thought I could play it like I would a glissando since the keys
are lighter compared to a normal piano, but I wouldn’t be
able to do anything to eliminate the sounds in-between…”

I sighed in relief.

“All right, it’s my turn. Just to clarify, if I can play the whole
thing without making a mistake, then it’s my win. You’re fine
with that, right?”

“You know the whole piece?” she asked in return, wondering

if I’d memorized the score. I nodded with hesitation.

“I did compose it myself, after all. And it’s short.”

“Then I’ll just hang onto the score. I will be checking to see
if you make any mistakes.”

Rinko snatched the sheet music out of my hands and pulled

a pen out from her blazer pocket. Suddenly feeling nervous,
I used my tongue to go over the inside of my dry mouth
before swallowing the accumulated saliva in order to
distract myself.

I’ll be fine. I can do this. I had practiced this over the past
few days. This was even a piece I’d composed myself.
So I began to play, but a wave of despair slowly washed
over me as I finished the introduction and arrived at the
exposition. I couldn’t help but compare my performance to
Rinko’s; if hers was a bright star in the night sky, mine was a
plain light bulb. How was it that despite playing the same
piece on the same instrument, our sounds were so different?
The tones we produced were completely different. Maybe
Hanazono-sensei was right about what she claimed…

But even as I began the development section, all the while

burning with embarrassment, I began to feel a strange,
paradoxical joy as I focused on making no mistakes.

Rinko was the real deal after all, being able to produce such
special music even out of a hobbyist-level synthesizer that
first came out over twenty years ago. Having heard her play
made all the effort I’d spent setting this all up feel worth it,
but… that’s all the more reason why, even if I had to push
myself, I would make her admit defeat.

I wanted to see her play seriously, with all her heart, even if
it were just once.

Getting through the frustrating middle section felt like

wading through an algae-choked swamp, but having
finished it, the melody seemed to clear up. The notes I
played traveled up and down the octave, until I closed in on
the place where Rinko had abrupted ended her
performance. It was like coming to the edge of a steep cliff,
one that would, no matter how skilled they were, freeze a
pianist in their tracks.

Rinko, your answer was only partially correct: the keys on a

keyboard were much lighter and easier to play than a grand
piano, and that would make it easier to perform a smooth
glissando – that is, it was easier to have your fingers glide
across the keys to reach further notes. However, as a pure
pianist, that is about as much as your experience can do for
you. On a piano, each key is bound to a specific note on a
specific octave through its hammer; The note above ‘la’ will
always be ‘ti’, and above ‘ti’ will always be ‘do’. In trying to
slide from ‘la’ to ‘re’ as though you were performing a
glissando, there was no choice but to hit the ‘ti’ and ‘do’
between them. And you did understand that much.

And that was normal for a piano.

But we weren’t performing on a piano; we were performing

on a synthesizer.

A synthesizer’s keys weren’t physically stuck playing the

same sound, and it was electronic data that determined it.
In other words, the only reason why the ‘do’ key played the
‘do’ sound when pressed was because it was assigned to do
so out of convenience.

And that meant it was completely arbitrary what notes

played what sound; after all, all we had to do was change
the assignments.

Just before I got to the part with the tremolo, I reached for
the synth panel with my left hand and shifted the tone of
the keys. The sampling was still of the same piano, but what
had changed were the key assignments, so that the other
end of the tremolo was easier to reach. I no longer had to
cross the four-key distance with my right hand, which meant
I no longer needed to worry about hitting unwanted notes as
I played out the tremolo; really, all I had done was move the
‘re’ chord to be right next to my ‘la’ chord.

And so, as my left hand continued its vigorous octave, my

right hand rang its bell. It was a section I’d spent hours
practicing, and the muscle memory I’d imprinted on myself
gave me an opening to sneak a peek at Rinko. A faint shade
of red now colored her blank expression; it was likely that all
thoughts of our duel were probably gone from her mind. The
sound of the notes I was playing had probably chased out
those thoughts, reaching deep inside of her to shake her
very core. Creating, capturing that moment — that was why
I played music; it was like feeling the very pinnacle of bliss –
a bliss not found in any paradise.

I felt myself growing out of breath and my brow dampening

as I arrived at the climbing notes of the coda, building up
until I let it all go to play the final notes that spanned four
octaves across both hands. I felt my insides become ice;
there was one tiny mistake at the end, but did she notice? I
wanted to end things sooner to cover up my mistake, but at
the same time, I couldn’t help but want to savor that final,
fleeting moment; my trembling fingers stayed glued to the
keys.

And in the end, it was only after the echoes had fully faded
away that I was able to lift my fingers off the keyboard.

I used the back of my hand to wipe the sweat off my brow

before I looked up to meet Rinko’s face.

Her lips began to move, but I cut her off by speaking up

first.

“Uh, so… um, yeah, just now, that was just a preset for
changing the note arrangement, but I mean, I still had to
manually change it and still play the tremolo by hand,
y’know? So that definitely doesn’t count as auto-playing at
all, okay?”

I frantically started giving excuses, partly to because I knew

my logic was unreasonable but mostly to distract her from
pointing out that mistake at the end.
“And it’s not like I ever said anything about only using the
keyboard, so really you should’ve known better when I said
we would be having our duel using a synthesizer.”

Rinko stared from the unseemly me to the sheet music in

her hand. After a moment, she wrote something with her
pen before folding the paper up into a fourth of its size and
slipping it inside the synthesizer’s bag.

“It’s fine. This was my loss.”

“I mean, I know you probably don’t want to admit defeat,

but its not like I was cheati– huh?”

“I said, this was my loss.”

I swallowed the words at the tip of my tongue, giving her a

blank stare. Her face was pale, like a moon that hid behind
thin clouds; I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Uh… um…”

“You wanted me to play a song of your choice, right? So

what is it? Let’s get this over with already”

“Oh, right, of course.”

But was this really fine? For her to just let it go like that?
Hadn’t she noticed the mistake at the end?

Well, I shouldn’t think too hard about it; rather, I should just
hurry up and claim my prize before she changed her mind.
With that thought, I grabbed the pair of headphones
hanging from the keyboard stand, handing them over to
Rinko after connecting the wire to the keyboard.

Rinko narrowed her eyes as she tilted her head in confusion.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing them? How will you be able to
hear otherwise?”

“I never said I was the one who wanted to listen. I just

wanted you to play a song of my choice.”

Going by her confused expression, she still didn’t

understand, but I expected as much, so I continued
speaking.

“I thought about you said that day, about how your tone
was covered in noise, and that your sounds were dull and
lifeless. And what I have for you here is something that will
fix all of that. So go on, play a song. The more intense it is,
the better.”

Rinko still had a frown, but she still took the headphones out
of my hand and put them on. Seeing those cans press down
on her luscious black hair must have awakened something
special in me, because I found myself transfixed by the
image. At least, until I realized Rinko was already putting
her hands on the keyboard; I almost forgot to change the
sound source, and in a panic, I quickly hit a button on the
panel.

She started with an arpeggio that began on a C-major

chord, strumming the keys from low to high like the strings
of a harp. Something must have caught her attention
because she suddenly paused to blink in disbelief. She
played the same notes again, this time with a deliberately
softer touch and then a third time with greater force and
speed.

“What’s… going on?”

Rinko turned a puzzled gaze and confused voice over to me.

“Here’s a piano that makes no noise,” I answered, “Specially
made by yours truly. See, what I did was, instead of
recording and sampling as usual, I used software to
calculate then simulate the sound of a piano. That in turn is
what produces the perfect sound, no matter how the key is
pressed. And so, uh, in other words…”

When I saw Rinko’s face stiffen, I stopped myself from

finishing my sentence, instead correcting my words before
continuing.

“Err, in other words, even the quietest sounds can be played

at an insanely high volume.”

For a single, solitary moment, a crack appeared on that

emotionless mask over her face. She turned back to the
keyboard and slammed her fingers down so hard the stand
creaked under the force. Then she did it again. And again.
And despite the headphone isolating the sound to her ears, I
could faintly hear the echoes of an A minor chord spanning
four octaves.

Rinko’s face went through a number of emotions all the

while: bewilderment, relief, and… frustrated hope.

I waited for her to take her hands off the keyboard before
finally speaking.

“This is the sound you wished for, right?”

It must have sounded sarcastic coming from me, but I guess

I actually was being sarcastic. Still, I continued.

“That’s why I needed you to hear it through the

headphones, because no matter what kind of pure sound
you made, any and all external noise will always interfere.
Now, I want you to play something, anything. In fact, it’s
enough if all you do is just randomly hit the keys without
playing anything.”

Rinko inhaled sharply and looked down at the keyboard

again while I continued to watch her from the other side of
the instrument. It suddenly dawned on me that this was an
advantage the electric keyboard had over a grand piano —
that is, being able to see the pianist from the front — and
before me was the greatest demonstration of that
advantage: her long eyelashes cast a shadow that
highlighted the delicate area under her eyes, her shiny hair
flowed like black honey onto and over her blazer, and her
pale, slender fingers preparing to press emphatically into
the bone-white keyboard. Before me was a scene so
beautiful, so ephemeral, that it felt as though time had
stopped.

And before long, that stopped time resumed its flow; Rinko’s
left hand began to move, gently, rhythmically caressing
notes in an octave of G like a mother comforting a newborn.

This was… what was she playing?

With the headphones plugged in and the output source

switched to it, only Rinko could hear what she played. The
most I could do was quietly follow the silent dance of her
fingers across the keyboard, tracing their movement with
my own hands to try and sound out the music. But I couldn’t
do it. Instead, I held my breath and focused on listening,
trying to catch even the quiestest sound that leaked in the
space between the pads of the headphones and Rinko’s
ears.

And finally, I heard it.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing: not a

classical piece but a standard jazz tune — God Bless the
Child by Billie Holiday. The eccentric genius Keith Jarrett had
written a pure, soulful arrangement of the song and played
the piano accompaniment alongside Gary Peacock and Jack
DeJohnette. I never would have guessed that Rinko, having
spent so much of her piano career in competitions and
being so immersed in the world of classical music, to have
picked a song like this. Ah, if only I could listen along; I really
wanted to yank out the headphone cord so the music could
wash me away, but… I had to hold myself back. I dug my
nails into my palm, holding myself back as I reminded
myself that our duel hadn’t been for my enjoyment but for
Rinko to listen to herself. It was good that she picked a jazz
piece to play; because it was easy to lose yourself in the
flow of the music and improvise freely. So I would have her
do just that: play freely, and lose yourself in the sounds of
pure, uncompromised strings.

And when you finally do, you’ll realize it too.

Just as one-hundred-percent pure, distilled water is hard to

drink, so too was the sound of one-hundred-percent noise-
free, undistorted music hard to listen to.

And when that moment came, I would reach over to the

panel and unlease the full power of the EOS B500 to distort,
twist, warp, ignite, and burn down the sounds she had
immersed herself in. And I would paint over that clean,
blank canvas with thick paint – oversaturated colors that
would intoxicate her with a cocktail of sounds.

But that moment never came.

Rinko’s expressionless face didn’t show even a hint of

disappointment as she continued listening to the music
made sound almost one hundred percent free of distortions.
Rather, after playing for a time, she shook her headphones
off, and, as her left hand continued playing the ostinato in G
major, she used her then-freed right hand to reach over and
unplug the cord connecting the headphones to the
keyboard.

The sounds the keyboard had once kept to the headphones

suddenly burst free, out into the world, all at once.

I felt like I could see the air particles all around us come to
life and pulse to the rhythm of the music. The smell of damp
concrete and grass seemed to grow stronger, and the skies
above became so dazzingly blue that tears welled in my
eyes.

Rinko’s right hand returned to the keyboard, and she

resumed her play of God Bless the Child with gusto. I spied
a faint smile on her lips and realized she had begun
humming the lyrics.

Then, Rinko took a deep breath, and her improvisation

softened, taking on a gentler tone. The ostinato she played
in the bass clef now felt more like a steady heartbeat that
echoed up from the feet. The music blended together with
the colorful noise around us – from the blowing wind to the
chirping birds to the rustling tree leaves – creating a sound
that was so vibrant and alive.

“…I had no idea it was possible to have all of these colorful

sounds together.”

Rinko murmured softly as she, without stopping her

performance, looked to the sky and closed her eyes.

“…I had no idea at all. And I wouldn’t have ever known, if

not for this boring, dull sound source you made.”
She said it in her usual thorny way, but it didn’t bother me
this time; it didn’t bother me because I put everything
together specifically so I could get her to understand for
herself.

“There never was ‘unwanted noise’, was there?”

It was as though Rinko’s words had become part of the

song, and her voice resonated with my heart.

Then, her fingers sprang into motion, dancing across the

soft, smooth keys with a fiery passion that seemed ready to
come alight. But no matter how fiercely she struck them,
the fake plastic bones of the keyboard simply accepted it all
to create digital sound in return. Still, there were limits to
what the synthesizer could do, and it wasn’t as though it
could simply cover our ears and our hearts – our souls – and
blanket out unwanted sounds in white. No, so long as we
lived and breathed, we would always hear those sounds, the
sounds of life, all around us — from the footsteps and
laughter of the students below to the engine of a truck
going down the street; from the sleepy cries of the birds
that flocked around the nearby temple, to the clatter of
trains running across their tracks amidst the sound of traffic
signals. Even this small and narrow concrete roof was
teeming with its own music of life: each nameless weed,
tenaciously sprouting from the cracked flooring, shone
bright with the music life – the desire to live. And it was
when we let it all in – when it wasn’t unwanted noise but
music that existed around us – that we discovered paradise.

I felt pleasantly refreshed, as though something had

cleansed me; Rinko and the music she made had created a
perfect, miniature bubble that disconnected her from the
rest of the world. But, though I had done everything I could
to get here, once I arrived, a sense of solitude washed over
me; I stood still, only swaying along in the wind like the
grass around us.

Actually…

Being in this bubble meant I was also part of the paradise.

Was it fine for me to just keeping standing here, doing

nothing? The birds, the insects, even the railroad tracks
were adding their voices, but what about me? Was I happy
to just take in the music like an empty vessel? And what
about the song itself? This was God Bless the Child after all;
was I fine with leaving this groove to the likes of such a
cheap synthesizer alone?

I wasn’t. So I would let myself in.

I closed my eyes to better read the tempo – around 72 BPM.

I waited for a gap in the phrases, then jumped in with an
automatic drum loop I selected on a whim. The beat began
to run, gently blending into Rinko’s piano, and the melody
began to emerge like a sprout emerging from the earth. I
stole a glance at Rinko; our eyes met, and I quickly looked
away, startled.

But she wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t angry either. In fact…

she might have actually had a small smile on her face.

If that was how she felt…

I cut in as she played, changing the sound without

hesitating; I set the phaser to the max, and the dazzling
sounds of an electric grand erupted from the movement of
her fingers. Rinko’s eyes widened in surprise at the
difference, but I wasn’t done; through her momentary
distraction, I assigned an acoustic bass to the lower end of
the keyboard — the song wouldn’t be whole without this,
not when drums alone could not form the beat.

And who would play it?

Rinko only had two arms after all, so the answer was simple:
I would.

I reached toward the keys; I was still facing Rinko on the

opposite side of the keyboard so I would have to play the
instrument upside down. But that wouldn’t be a problem;
having only a single note to press on a low tempo like this
was fine.

By weaving the bass inbetween the beats of the machine’s

monotonous rhythm, Rinko’s melody swelled with the soul
of another sound and gained another layer of complexity.
The first few notes I played were simple enough, as I only
needed to trace her steps, but as I let myself connect with
the melody, my playing grew bolder, deviating from the
basic note and going between it and more complex chords.
Rinko caught onto what I was doing, and her own anchor
notes grew bolder as she began adding her own tension
chords. It became a competition between us as we dared
each other to push the line further along until even a single
misplay would ruin the entire performance, like a tightrope
routine where a single misstep would have both of us
tumbling down. We had to move – breathe – in complete
sync and read perfectly the other’s routine to pass the
responsibility as the anchor.

There was no way anyone could remain calm for long while
doing this.

My heart, my fingers — no, every cell in my body felt more

and more alive with each note I played. I couldn’t take any
more; I reached for the panel and switched to a another
tone: a sound source that mixed a rhodes piano whose
sounds were distorted to the point of breaking with a grand
piano with emphasized peaks. I switched to the high notes,
and the sounds of the keyboard changed, becoming tigther
and more sensitive, almost like it now came from a string
instrument. Rinko continued without hesitation; her melody
would accompany mine at times and become the obbligato
at others. I still stood on the other side of the keyboard, but
though it was difficult to play improvised phrases when the
keys were flipped, I wouldn’t let that be an excuse to stop.
Now that Rinko had taken us this far, I would run alongside
her until the end. Still, the five-octave length of the EOS
B500 was reaching its limits, and it was clear that the
twenty-four polyphon limit was simply not enough. Our
fingers began to clash and tangle together as we competed
for overlapping notes.
After over a hundred refrains this way, a miracle came:
Rinko’s hand clawed its way up the keyboard with a fervor
that had her hair shaking. At that far end, her hand began to
play an unknown tune that was also somehow familiar to my
ears.

I raised my head in reflex; I saw Rinko’s face crease with a

satisfied smile, and I realized what it was: the very same
overture in A minor I had written for our duel. Rinko had
mixed it into the chord progression of God Bless the Child.
And not only had she seamlessly done so; at the climax of
the improvised mix, Rinko shifted her hands slightly over
and effortlessly played the devilish tremolo that had
stumped her before. I felt my breath catch, and it was all I
could do to fill the vacant middle range with thick cords.

There was a real way to play the passage that otherwise

seemed unplayable.

The method was simple enough: all we had to do was play

the piece together. Seeing where we were now, there never
was a need to have gone through all the trouble to create a
specialized sound source, and accepting that left me feeling
like I had been beat — trampled from overhead and
scorched to nothing. Yet, I was still refreshed, as though the
weight had been burned away, and it was after
understanding it this way that I felt my fingers grow lighter.

I felt as though I could continue playing with Rinko for many

more hours.

Honestly, I didn’t know for how long we continued playing,

and, if not for the sudden downpour, we might have
continued playing into the night.

Tiny droplets began falling from the sky, leaving wet spots
on the EOS B500. I suddenly felt them hitting the backs of
my hands and neck, and I instinctively stopped playing to
look up at the sky.
“It’s gonna get wet!” Rinko suddenly screamed. I
immediately shut off the synthesizer and stuffed it into its
bag, hoisting it over my shoulder before sprinting to the
door. Rinko had grabbed the stand and was right behind me,
and the two of us made it back into the school building. We
sat ourselves at the top of the stairs, setting down the loads
in our hands to catch our breath as the sound of rain coming
from outside began to intensify.

Fortunately, there were towels in the keyboard bag that I

was using for extra cushioning, and I retrieved one to hand
to Rinko. It seemed wrong to stare at a girl drying her wet
hair, so I turned away and busied myself stowing the
synthesizer properly.

I heard a giggle come from behind me.

I turned around to see Rinko, towel on her head, shaking in

laughter. It was the first time I’d ever seen her laugh, let
alone like this, and I felt the tension release from my body.
Before I knew it, I was already laughing along.

And we continued laughing together for a time, until Rinko

stopped, got to her feet, and threw her towel back at me.
She began straightening her wrinkled skirt before turning
her eyes at me, no longer smiling.

“…Was that good enough for you?”

For a moment, I didn’t understand what she meant. Was

what good enough? Her performance just now? That was
just us playing together, so —

It was right then that I remembered our duel.

After all, the deal was that if I won, she would play a song
that I requested, and, until now, I had completely forgotten
about that.

“…Yeah, I guess it was.”

I didn’t care about the duel anymore; rather, all I felt now as
regret as the rain washed away all traces of that
momentary, blissful paradise.

“It wasn’t good enough for me.”

Rinko’s sudden remark took me by surprise, and I turned to

face her. Despite seeing her usual deadpan face with its
cold, watchful expression, I could make out the faint spark
of life in her eyes.

“You’re still as shameless as ever, Murase-kun, and the

sound was worse than usual. I hope you’ll do even better
next time.”

As Rinko trudged down the stairs, I watched her in silence

while keeping my disappointment to myself. Eventually, her
footsteps faded from below me, and only the noise of the
downpour kept me company.

I looked over at the keyboard bag that leaned listlessly on

my side, giving a silent thanks to the EOS B500 that peeked
through an exposed part of the zipper. Things hadn’t gone
perfectly in the end, but it wasn’t the instrument’s fault. In
fact, it was my fault — my fault that I couldn’t create a more
convincing sound. We could have had an even better
session if only I could have stepped up.

As for Rinko’s piano…

It hadn’t been that her tone was dirty or that she lacked the
technical skills.
In fact, it wasn’t any of what she’d said the other day. It was
because she didn’t love her own sound. And that was part of
what I wanted to teach her: to love her own sound and to
know that her sound was beautiful enough to go crazy for.

But I alone hadn’t been enough. Not only had our game
been unfair to her, but in the end, the only reason why I won
was because she didn’t notice the mistake I made at the
end.

And then I noticed it.

The array of white keys poking out from the bag beside me
looked like a toothsome smile, but there was something
caught between them, sticking out like a forgotten leftover:
the sheet music for my overture. I remembered Rinko had
scribbled something on it earlier, and now I hastily pulled it
free before unfolding the pages and spreading them out
before me.

I found myself choking up.

There, on the bottom-right corner of the page, right at the

end of the rising coda, was a mark over one of the thirty-
secondth notes. Rinko had been the one to make that
notation; after all, she had held onto the sheet music with a
pen in hand to make sure I didn’t make any mistakes.

And it seemed she hadn’t missed the one mistake I made.

Then why did she didn’t she say anything? She could have
taken the win from me.

“…Hm? Oh, it’s just you MusaO. Where’s Rinko-chan?

A sudden voice caught me off-guard, startling me, and I

instinctively tried to hide the sheet music. Thankfully it was
only Hanazono-sensei, making her way up the stairwell.

“So you won, right? Had to have, considering how intense

that session was. Was that your request?”

“Oh… was it that loud?”

Though the speakers couldn’t get that loud, I should have

expected it to still be loud enough that Hanazono-sensei
could hear it from the music prep room that was directly
below us.

“Hey, what’s with that sad face? Did you actually get carried
away and made a lewd request? Is it because Rinko-chan
punched you for it?”

“Could you not make that kind of accusation right now? It’s
ruining the afterglow of that precious session I worked so
hard for…”

“Hmm, it really was a good session. And you played

together with her, right? That means your plan was a huge
success. Why aren’t you happier then?”

“Well, no… I can’t really call that a success…”

I confessed to her how not only was Rinko unsatisfied at the

end but also how she had noticed the mistake I made while
playing. Hanazono-sensei took a quick glance at the mark
on the sheet music and shrugged.

“She purposely chose to ignore it.”

“…Huh?”

I turned to stare at Hanazono-sensei’s face, blinking rapidly

in confusion. A look of disappointment came over her face
as she began to explain.

“She chose to lose on purpose because she wanted to play

for you. How did you not realize something so obvious?”

“…What? No, there’s… no way…”

“You’re a musician, right? Small-time though you may be,

MusaO, but at the end of each performance, you can always
feel if you played well or not, right? Don’t let words or
actions distract you from that.”

It took a long moment before Hanazono-sensei’s words

finally made sense to me.

She was right; how could I have forgotten? It was all so

simple when I remembered the most important point — that
there were only two kinds of music: the kind you wanted to
hear again and the kind you didn’t want to hear again.

And at the very end, Rinko had even said it herself.

I hope you’ll do even better next time.

In other words, we could do this again.

For a moment, I forgot I was in front of a teacher, and I let

myself fall back onto the dusty floor, sighing as I stared at
the ceiling. The outcome still wasn’t a perfect hundred, but
if that was the result, then I was satisfied with the piece I
wrote and the sound source I created over the past few
sleepless nights.

I continued to relish in that thought until Hanazono-sensei

dispassionately quashed it.
“Anyway, I hate to interrupt your fun, but the vice-principal
will be here soon.”

I was so startled I instantly leapt to my feet.

“What? Why?”

“They heard your fun from all the way over in the staff
room, you know? And then the vice-principal came by the
prep room thinking I was the one playing. I gave him the
runaround, but he already suspected it was coming from the
roof. He did leave, but it was probably back to the staff room
to get the key.”

“Doesn’t that mean he’s gonna be here soon?!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Err, true, but, wait, but you said I could use to roof. Which
means you got permission to use it right?”

“And why would I go through all that trouble? I just took the
key and unlocked it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a teacher? What happened to

setting a good example for your students?!”

“All righty, looks like I gotta run. Oh, and by the way, if you
get caught, you’d better not mention me at all.”

“You seriously call yourself a teacher?!”

“Well, conversely, if you seriously call yourself a student,

then you should be ready to take the fall for your teacher!”

“That should be the other way around!”

But of course, Hanazono-sensei, who had no intention of
covering for me, was already making her way down the
stairs. I quickly slung the keyboard bag over my right
shoulder while hoisting the folded stand over my left and
precariously stumbled my way down. At the base of the
stairs, I spied the vice-principal making his way down the
hall toward me, and I panickedly ducked into a restroom to
wait for him to pass. That really was a close call…

That night, my shoulders and lower back were painfully

sore, having lugged heavy equipment up and down the
staircase. Even so, I ended up staying up all night, working
on that score of mine.

I went straight to the music room after school the next day,
only to find Rinko already there and waiting. Without a word,
I handed the over the sheet music. She took it, but after a
quick glance, faintly snorted.

“Is this what we played yesterday? It’s almost

unrecognizable from what you originally wrote. You should
have just written a new piece if you were going to change it
this much.”

I was happy that she still recognized the piece; despite how
much I had rewritten, it was the same overture in A minor
from yesterday.

“Yeah, well, see, after looking it over, I realized how badly

written it was, since I’d forced in a lot of unnecessary stuff I
thought a nonexistent Ukranian composer would do. It was
all a bit much, and I decided I should just rewrite it the way I
wanted.”

“Hmm…”
“Okay, and?” Rinko seemed to ask with her eyes, but I didn’t
answer. Instead, I nervously turned away and mulled over
the words I had in mind before resolving myself and turning
back around.

“Anyway, so, uh, can you play it? The song, I mean. I
might’ve gone overboard with how difficult it is, and I can’t
really play it myself.”

Rinko’s eyes darted back and forth between my face and

the sheet music. After a moment, she walked over to the
grand piano, sat herself on the bench stool, and spread the
sheet music across the music desk.

She placed her slender fingers atop the keys and, with an
emphatic swing, began to play.

The first note’s pleasant staccato stabbed into me like a

stake. Ah, this is it, I thought to myself, relishing the pain
that came from Rinko’s piano. It was like an exotic liquor
that teased the tongue, a provocative painting that
attracted the eye, a stirring tragedy that roused the spirit; it
was pure music that came from a collision of bone-against-
bone, and the pain was proof that this was true art.

I regretted not making the piece longer — I shouldn’t have

cut the repetition, I should have added more to make the
coda longer — and yet, when we began the numbing
moment that was the climb to higher notes, that final trill on
high cut through it all like the rays of the rising sun splitting
the night fog.

There was nothing I could say, even after the performance

had come to an end. All I could do was sit silently, staring at
Rinko’s hands. She seemed to grow uncomfortable under
the silence, and so she took the sheet music and stowed it
away in her bag.
“It’s a little better than the previous one.”

Only ‘a little better’ huh? Still, that sounded like the highest
praise she could give.

“And I was surprised you changed the tremolo part to be

playable solo.”

“Was it really surprising? I did write this piece with the

intention of having someone play it for me, so of course I
had to make it able to be played alone.”

“Is that so?” Rinko said, tilting her head in surprise though
her voice didn’t show it, “I was actually expecting you to
rewrite the piece to be à quatre mains.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You could use playing together as an excuse to get closer

to my body, and then you’d be free to commit your usual
sexual crimes.”

“I wouldn’t do anything like that! What’s with the slander all

of a sudden?!”

“Didn’t you do something like that with Hanazono-sensei?”

“That was her idea! You’re accusing the wrong person! And I
mean, remember yesterday? We played together, and the
whole time I stood on the opposite side of the keyboard! I
wasn’t anywhere near you.”

“That is true, and I still could hardly believe it. At the time, I
was even thinking, ‘Wow, this Murase-kun really doesn’t
make any moves…’”
“Um, excuse me? Exactly how many Murase-kun do you
know? And why do you look so disappointed?!” I wanted to
add, ‘What happened to your usual blank face?!’ but I left
that part unsaid.

“Anyway, I would prefer if you didn’t get arrested, so make

sure you keep your hands to yourself and avoid sexually
harassing anyone other than me from now on.”

“Like I’ve been trying to tell you, I don’t –“

I shut my mouth, stopping myself from speaking further. as

her words registered in my brain.

Did she actually say ‘other than me’? Wait, did that mean it
was fine for me to lay my hands on her? I mean, I wouldn’t
because that was a crime, but if the person in question
allowed it, that makes it not a crime, right? I mean, that
doesn’t mean I can just do it whenever I want, but — hold
on, what the heck am I even thinking about?!

Ignoring or just unaware of my internal panic, Rinko took

more sheet music out of her bag and arranged it on the
music desk.

“Next, I’ll play Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 21.”

“…Huh?”

“It’s part of today’s program. It will last some time, so I

suggest you use the restroom now. I will be playing
Schubert’s Piano Sonata No. 21, Lizst’s Les jeux d’eaux à la
Villa d’Este, Chopin’s Polonaise No. 1, and Beethoven’s
Piano Sonata No. 28.

Wait, she was going to be playing all of that? Right here,

right now? It was going to take a long time to get through all
of it, but what brought this on?

I at least understood what they had in common.

“…Aren’t these the pieces… you played for competitions,

the ones you… y’know?”

“Yep, these are the pieces I couldn’t win with. You’ve

probably heard them already from the uploads by now.”

Guilty as charged; I’ve watched and listened to them all, in

fact. So sorry about that.

“And as frustrating it is to hear about my past failures, it

annoys me even more that certain people are thinking I’m
still sulking over my losses. And that brings us here, where I
will play them all right here, right now. As I am now, I can
definitely play better than I have before!”

I almost burst out laughing but caught myself; I fixed my

posture and took a seat.

I hesitated for a moment but gently clapped my hands,

signaling for her to begin.

Rinko faced the piano, her face composed and determined.

She brought her hands over the keyboard before letting her
fingers sink gently into the keys. The first movement began
with methodical, halting notes, like rippes forming coming
out in long intervals across the water.

The word ‘prayer’ came to mind; the notes that haunted

Rinko like clingy spirits of the dead were finally letting go,
melting away under the purifying rays of the gentle
afternoon sun.
And I was happy to have witnessed that little ceremony of
sorts. After all, for Rinko to discover new sounds, to move
on, she first needed to let go of what she still clung to. But it
wasn’t like letting something go meant it was gone for good;
no, it would return like an echo one day, like a spring shower
that wet the cheeks, like the mating call of birds, or like the
rustle of sprouts poking out of the snow. And I prayed that,
when that time came, I would be with Rinko, listening to her
piano together.
 Chapter 4: Flower in Capitivity

In the entrance hall of our high school was an arrangement

of flowers displayed inside a large glass case.

I was never really interested in flowers, and I usually walked

past the display without giving it a second glance. But one
Monday morning in early May, I had just finished switching
to my indoor shoes, and I was about to make my way to the
stairs when I found myself stopping in front of that same
display case.

I couldn’t move, nor could I avert my eyes from what I saw.

WIthin the display case was a basket full of small red

flowers. There were so many flowers packed together that
their delicate petals seemed to overflow with wild, almost
aggressive elegance, as though the arrangement wanted to
break free from its transparent prison. As I stood gawking,
several students passed by, eyeing me with suspicion.

The bell then rung.

I finally came back to my senses, and I resumed making my

way to the stairs but something bothered me, like the
feeling of having my hair pulled back. I turned to give the
display one last look and noticed the nameplate sitting at a
corner of the case.

Class 1-3, Yurisaka Shizuki

Was that the name of the person who put this arrangement
together?

There was another name beside the one I read, for a

second-year student, but it was impossible to recall when all
I could think about were the calming characters spelling out
‘Shizuki’.

In the evening later that day, as I happened to be passing

by the display case at the entrance hall again, I noticed four
female students standing beside it and talking about
something.

“I don’t think it’s right to have my name here like this since
this was senpai’s work…”

“You keep saying that…” “But you did most of the work
didn’t you, Yurisaka-san?” “I was also mostly following your
advice, Yurisaka-san.” “It even surprised the teacher, you
know? You need to take credit for it, Yurisaka-san.” “Yeah,
that’s right! This arrangement is like pro level! There’s no
way we could have put this together on our own!”

“But… I’m not even a member of the club… I cannot just

intrude on your affairs like this…”

“Nobody will be bothered by that!” “Actually, Yurisaka-san,

have you thought about joining the flower arrangement
club?”

“Your mother is headmistress, isn’t she?” “If you joined the

club, our level is sure to go up!”

I looked over when I heard the name “Yurisaka”; the one

having trouble handling her excited friends was probably
the girl in question – the same girl who put together the
arrangement in the display case. Her back was facing me,
so I couldn’t see what she looked like; still, judging by their
ongoing conversation, it seemed Yurisaka Shizuki wasn’t so
much a clubmember as she was an outside adviser to the
other members..

Yet she was also the creator of that vivid arrangement inside
the glass case at the entrance hall.

I was beginning to wonder what kind of person Yurisaka

Shizuki was. I figured I could start with seeing her face, so I
decided I would purposely slow my walking as I passed the
group of four. However, as I thought about how I could pull
that off, I realized it would look way too unnatural no matter
what I did.

Well, whatever. I didn’t want to make them think I was some

sort of weirdo, so I gave up on the idea and began walking
faster instead.

But as I passed, I heard a small gasp of surprise. I turned to

look back, and my eyes met with one of the girls — Yurisaka
Shizuki. The crimson flowers behind her, looking like they
were blooming in their display case, accented her black hair
in a way that made her seem like she was a part of the
arrangement herself. I found myself transfixed by the sight,
and it felt as though time began to accelerate with the
seasons were rapidly passing us by — spring turned to
summer, summer became fall, fall ended with winter, and
winter returned to spiring.

“…Uh, umm –“

Yurisaka Shizuki motioned toward me and tried to say

something. I suddenly began feeling nervous; what, did she
know me or something? This should’ve been the first time
we’d met.

“Yurisaka-san? What’s wrong?”

One of the clubmembers asked out of concern. Shizuki

turned away to walk down another corridor with the flower
arrangement clubmembers in tow. For some reason, relief
flooded the pit of my stomach when I saw her leave, at least
until I remembered Hanazono-sensei had called for me.
Without a second thought, I turned my attention to the
staircase where I was headed.

My destination was the the storage room, located on the

fourth floor of the north building and next to the music prep
room.

Hanazono-sensei was already waiting for me in front of the

room, and she quickly opened the door and beckoned me
inside.

“Start with organizing the sheet music and the small things,
and put them back on the shelves. When you’re done with
that, I also need you to sort the instruments.”

I glanced up at the dirty ceiling before surveying the room;

pages of sheet music, different instrument cases, folding
chairs, a stepladder, and all kinds of random things were
messily strewn about and piling together on the floor. It was
like an earthquake had hit the room and jumbled the
contents together.

“How did the room get this messy? Were you keeping
monkeys in here or something?”

“C’mon, don’t just assume I made this mess,” Hanazono-

sensei said, pouting her lips, “For what it’s worth, the room
was already like this back when I started working here.”

“Huh… Well, I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“All I used this room for was occasionally napping or playing

video games. I guess I might’ve rolled around a little
whenever I got a rare drop?”

“You actually were part of the reason why it got this messy!”

“By the way, I lost my 3DS somewhere in here. Do me a

favor, and look for it as you clean up.”

I suspected her real objective was getting me to find that

3DS; cleaning the room was an extra bonus to go with it.

“We’ve got the scores to a lot of orchestral arrangements in

here too. That should be useful as MusaO.”

“What the? Why are you saying it like you’re doing me a

favor? You can’t just shirk all of your responsibilities just by
saying –“

“Well, you know how I’m a big fan of MusaO and all; I’ve
watched all your videos before, even the ones from way
back. I just thought that, y’know, since a lot of your early
work is quite reminiscent of Romantic styles, letting you see
a lot of different orchestral arrangements would be helpful.”

She began to babble on like she knew what she was talking
about, but the shiftiness of her eyes admitted otherwise.

“Oh, you’ve watched my early videos before? Play any one

of them for me then.”

I gestured to the small organ in a corner of the room.

Hanazono-sensei’s obviously fake smile began to crumble.
“I mean, I can’t play something on the spot just because
you said to, y’know. And besides, none of your songs have
arrangements that can be done with just a single keyboard,
right?”

“In other words, you can’t play any of them. Well, not that it
matters, ’cause I deleted all of my old videos a long time
ago, so you were lying from the very beginning.”

“Geh. You deleted them?”

“See? You didn’t even know that. I knew you actually never
listened to them.”

“No, no, I really did listen to them! Really! So once you finish
an arrangement, I’ll play it, I promise!”

“I don’t really need that kind of promise, so I think I’ll just let
you organize the storeroom by yourself…”

“Oh, would you look at the time! Looks like I gotta get back
to work! Thanks for the help! I’ll see you later!”

With that as an excuse, Hanazono-sensei quickly made her

escape from the room; I doubted whether she actually had
work to do — she was more than likely to read manga or
play games on her phone instead.

That being said, organizing the storage room turned out to

be surprisingly fun; it was like digging up buried treasure at
every turn. I found the full scores to symphonies by
Bruckner, Mahler, and Shostakovich — scores I’d been
wanting to read — just scattered on the floor. There were
also a number of rare instruments lying around, like a tenor
recorder and even a still-sealed chromatic harmonica. But
the real treasure (in every sense of the word!) was a
complete drum set hidden away inside some cardboard
boxes. There was a bass, a snare, four toms, and even the
hi-hats and other cymbals. I wasn’t much of an expert with
these, but after casually tapping on the snare a few times, I
got the feeling this wasn’t a cheap set. I couldn’t guess its
value, but I knew it had to at least be better than what the
school’s brass band used.

I was mostly done with the cleaning by then, and there was
now space on the floor; finding the drum set had gotten me
extremely excited. I might’ve started getting carried away
because I started seriously putting it all together. From
there, I would have just one tom on the left and only
assemble the standard hi-hat, crash, and ride cymbals trio
together. I didn’t need more additions than that.

I’d already found the drum sticks and stool stashed in a

corner of the room, so everything was now ready. I started
with a simple 8-beat, then a shuffle beat, then some fills. I
stopped after that when I realized I was even worse with the
drums than I’d thought.

The drum itself aside, the quality of its sound was… hmm,
how would I describe it… largely a reflection of one’s control
over their arms, as all of its sounds came from the spot
where the sticks hit. And while I could imagine the sounds I
wanted in my mind, the sounds I actually made were
completely different; as someone who only ever used drums
in a sequencer, the gap between those two points left me
feeling rather disappointed.

Having given up, I returned to sorting the sheet music when

suddenly the door to the storage room swung open.

Turning around, my eyes met with the person who arrived.

We watched each other from where we were, unmoving but
with our mouths slightly ajar; standing there in the doorway
was a certain girl I’d just seen in the entrance hall, in front
of the display case with the flower arrangement.

It was Yurisaka Shizuki.

I only caught a quick glimpse earlier so I hadn’t seen much,

but now that I had a closer look, the first thing I noticed was
the air of refinement about her that made me want to
apologize for daring to make eye contact. I could already
imagine how prim and proper she’d look dressed in
traditional clothes while gracefully arranging seasonal
flowers.

So what did this flower-arranging princess come to the

music storage room for?

“Um, excuse me?” she asked, sounding confused, “I was

asked by Hanazono-sensei to help with tidying up this room”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

“Was I too late? Is the work already finished?”

I gave a sweeping glance of the room before turning back to

face the girl.

“Yeah, mostly, I guess.”

Hanazono-sensei had told her to come?

In other words, out of consideration for me, she had asked

someone to come help? I never would have dreamed that
teacher would have it in her to do something like that.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner to help out,” she said,

with a mixture of guilt and embarrassment in her voice.
“It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it,” I replied. The
genuine concern in her apology was a little confusing.

More importantly, how exactly did Hanazono-sensei end up

asking this girl to help with cleaning the storage room? To
begin with, she wasn’t even in the music class – we were
both in the same odd-numbered class grouping, so we
would’ve been in the same class otherwise – and I didn’t
think Hanazono-sensei was her homeroom teacher either.
Still, from the way she reacted upon seeing me, it seemed
like she knew who I was…

There were many questions about this situation that I didn’t

have answers for, but since they only amounted to personal
curiosity, I stayed quiet and resumed sorting the sheet
music, though I occasionally peeked over to see what she
was doing. Strangely enough, though I’d told her the
cleaning was already mostly done, Yurisaka Shizuki
continued to stand frozen in the doorway. After a moment, I
realized she hadn’t been staring at me working but rather at
the drum set I’d put together.

For what reason, I didn’t know. Were drums some sort of

rare sight? Or maybe she didn’t know much about music
and this was her first time seeing a complete set.

She was gazing at it so intensely that I felt I needed to say

something.

“…Do you wanna try hitting it?”

“Oh, can I?!”

Her face instantly lit up, and she finally entered the room.

The impression I had of Yurisaka Shizuki was that of a

sheltered girl whose heaviest load had to have been floral
shears, so I was just about to come over and explain the
basics like sitting and positioning… when she suddenly
began adjusting the stool herself, surprising me. She sat
herself down and began warming up her wrists before
straightening her posture and placing one foot each on the
hi-hat pedal and the kick pedal. Then she raised her hands,
gripping a stick in each.

The air in the storage room suddenly grew tense —

suffocating, even.

The way Yurisaka Shizuki moved was… well, almost exactly

as I imagined because there was a charm to her that went
beyond even that. She began with a graceful yet bold strike
to the hi-hat, like she was placing the first flower on a
kenzan. What blossomed from there was a dazzling shuffle
beat full of ephemeral ghost notes.

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit me, and I stumbled

backward, bumping into the shelf that stored the sheet
music.

The slender hands that held the drum sticks daintly flitted
between cymbals and toms like a butterfly fluttering about
in search of nectar, but the sounds that came from the
instruments had the force to shake me to the bone.

All I could do was stand there, rooted to the spot and

listening with bated breath.

Though her tempo was constant, the speed with which she
played made it seem as though the room itself was
accelerating. It felt as though that acceleration would crush
the contents of this small room, so removed from the flow of
time we were, even as the reality past the door had frozen
in stillness.
“…Ah!”

Yurisaka Shizuki suddenly let out an surprised voice, and her

hands came to a stop. The groove had ground to such a
jarring halt that it felt as though I had been gracelessly
shoved off a cliff.

“I’m so sorry, I got too carried away with playing.”

She immediately stood and turned to me to apologize, the

shame evident on her face.

“Nah, there’s nothing you need to apologize for. I mean, I

don’t think anyone’s ever used that drum set before, so if
anything, it’s probably happy that the someone really skilled
came along to play it.”

Yurisaka Shizuki stared at me with blank curiosity.

“The drum set… was happy? Are you implying this drum set
can understand human emotion?”

It felt a little awkward to have her take my casual remark so

seriously.

“Err, I mean, I guess if it was like older or well-used or

something… it’s possible?”

I gave her a half-assed reply, taking my eyes off her out of

embarrassment. But it seemed Shizuki liked my answer
because she happily continued talking.

“Oh, that’s what you mean! You’re right! And you see how
it’s a Gretsch Round Badge, right? It does look a little worn,
but you can tell how well-used it was just by the sound! But
I wonder, why was such a wonderful drum set just sleeping
away in a storage room like this?”
“Round, uh, what?”

“The shape of the badge, see? Look, over here.”

She was pointing at the side of the snare drum.

There, attached to the body, was a small and round metal

plate. A small spike protruded from its center, making it look
like a certain chrysanthemum medallion, with the
manufacturer’s name, Gretsch, engraved around it.

“This was the logo Gretsch used in the 1960s, meaning this
drum set is a vintage masterpiece. I’ve never played on one
of these before! And it had that aged, mature sound unique
to Gretsch instruments. It also feels very nice to hit it, like
hmm, how would I describe it… like sinking into a pool of
water? And then there’s the feedback coming up through
the wrists that feels like the vibrations along your collarbone
as you perform a double stroke… Ahh, what an irresistible
feeling!”

She launched into passionate explanation, sharing all sorts

of information. Unfortunately, since I didn’t know much
about drums in the first place, the best I could do was listen
and take it all in, completely overwhelmed.

What was with this girl? I thought she was just a flower
arrangement specialist or something. But going by how she
played earlier and all the things she was talking about, it
was clear that she was just as experienced with drums.

“The tuning seemed focused on jazz. Actually, it happens

that I started learning with jazz drumming, so the sounds
were actually just right for me, though if I had one nitpick, I
actually would have preferred the sound to be a little harder.
Still, it’s not like I can just cut a port hole without
permission…”
“Uh, yeah, right… so you have more of a jazz background
then? Actually, now that you mention it, your playing did
sound like something from Jeff Porcaro.”

I pretended like I knew something about drums for the sake

of my vain pride, so I namedropped a drummer I knew
about. Yurisaka Shizuki immediately brightened up,
practically bouncing on her feet.

“Jeff is one of my goals! I’ve even practiced Rosanna

thousands of times! I’m amazed you could tell just by
listening!”

Uh-oh… that turned out to be exactly the answer she

wanted to hear. I might’ve actually created more trouble for
myself…

And trouble it was, because over the next ten minutes or so,
I was forced to relearn exactly why it was a bad idea to
pretend to know more than I actually did. Yurisaka started
with showing off more of her drum skills and the styles she
knew before quizzing me about drum trivia across its history
throughout the world. And she did it all with a beaming
smile on her face.

“Okay, can you guess whose phrasing I’m imitating? Let me

give you a hint: this is his face!” she said, making a fierce
grimace reminiscent of a deva statue.

“Uh, well, let’s see, that seems like a metal-ish kind of face,
so… Lars Ulrich?” I answered with the name of the roughest
metal drummer I could recall.

“Nope, incorrect! The correct answer is Mike Mangini! Didn’t

you see how I was pretending to hit a cannon tom above my
head?” she explained it like it was common sense, but that
was what bothered me the most; how was I supposed to
recognize that?! “For the next question, I’m going to toss my
stick into the air in different ways after each phrase. Can
you guess which one is Chad Smith’s?”

And with that she began tapping out a laid-back, funky

pattern. As she said, she would pause every two bars to
throw her drum sticks into the air in different ways, sending
them so high up they almost hit the ceiling. Still, she
effortlessly caught them before continuing to the next
phrase. She repeated this a number of times, but while
there were slight changes between each throw, I really
couldn’t tell the difference between them.

“…Is it, uh, the one you did just now?” I answered at
random.

“Nope, that’s incorrect! That one was YOSHIKI’s way of

throwing. You saw how much more the sticks spun in the air,
and how I ran a hand through my hair, right?” she said, but
how was I supposed to know that either? “Okay, next
question! I’m going to play Good Times Bad Times in
Bonzo’s style, but I’ll change to his son’s style after a
random point. Raise your hand when I’ve changed it!” And
how was I supposed to figure that out?! Their styles were
way too similar to tell!

Eventually the painful quiz time came to an end, and I

finished with a disappointing score of zero. However, it was
Shizuki who apologized

“I’m so sorry. It’s because I was so bad at imitating that you

weren’t able to correctly answer any of the questions…”

And she was apologizing for an unbelievable reason. I was

at a complete loss for words, but as I stayed silent, Yurisaka
Shizuki suddenly got to her feet.
“Oh no, it’s already this late! Please excuse me, but I must
be going!”

She gave a quick bow before rushing over to the exit door,
but before she stepped out into the hallway, she stopped to
turn around again.

“U-um,” she hesitated, giving me an apologetic look with

sympathetic eyes, “I had a lot of fun today! Thank you very
much for playing along!”

“R-right…”

It wasn’t even my drum set in the first place, nor had I

actually done anything to deserve it, so I didn’t understand
why she was thanking me.

“Glad to hear it. If you wanna have fun again sometime, feel
free to come back whenever you have the time.”

A voice suddenly answered from over her shoulder, and she

half-jumped, half-turned out of surprise to face the hallway;
there stood Hanazono-sensei.

“Ah, Ha-Hanazono-sensei, I’m so sorry; I didn’t help at all

with any of the cleaning and ended up just playing around
instead.”

Yurisaka Shizuki seemed to shrink with shame as she

confessed the truth, but Hanazono-sensei simply smiled and
wave her hand like she was dismissing the issue.

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s all good. Besides, you basically cleaned
the room all by yourself anyway, right Makoto-chan? And it
wasn’t that hard, right?”
Um, it was actually pretty hard on my own, you know? And
you know exactly whose fault it was, right? Also, what’s with
you calling me Makoto-chan all of a sudden?

But oblivious to my thoughts, Yurisaka Shizuki bowed twice –

once to me and then to Hanazono-sensei – before taking off
down the hall.

“I was listening in over from the next room, but that was
something amazing, wasn’t it?”

Hanazono-sensei, after seeing the girl off, continued to stare

down the hall with an enraptured look on her face.

“Knowing such powerful sounds could come out of a body

that slender really makes you think, doesn’t it? It’s the kind
of sound that’d shock Higashihara Rikiya into running away
barefooted.”

“Yeah, she certainly was something.”

“Um, hello, you were supposed to retort back with ‘But

Higashihara Rikiya always goes around barefooted,’ weren’t
you?”

“You think I know who that is?” I snapped back. I looked him
up later and learned he was a pretty famous and influential
jazz drummer who was known for always performing while
barefooted. But that was beside the point; what I wanted to
say was that both Yurisaka Shizuki and Hanazono-sensei
expect me to know so much more than I actually did.

“What if we soundproofed the storage room so Shizuki-chan

could really go wild on the drums? We’d just have to coat
and seal the door and then apply cloth to the walls…”
“Um, actually I’ve been meaning to ask, but who exactly is
that girl?”

I interrupted Hanazono-sensei’s wondering to with a

question of my own.

“That was Yurisaka Shizuki-chan from Class 1-3. Pretty

talented, right? Lately she’s been coming alone to use a
rental studio owned by an acquaintance of mine, which is
where I first met her. It was obvious how good she is even
from behind closed doors because she’s on the drums, and
her age made her even easier to remember.”

“That’s true, her age does make her pretty memorable, and
her skills are something you usually only see out of veteran
drummers. I’ve only heard her play a little bit, but I don’t
think I’ll forget about it anytime soon.”

“Actually, I was talking about how cute she is.”

“What does that have to do with her drumming skills?”

“Well you see, I really liked how she looked covered in

sweat, with her hair sticking to her forehead after a
particularly intense song…”

I wasn’t asking about your fetishes. Seriously, not one bit.

“But I wasn’t expecting her to also be a student here, and

when I spoke with her, she mentioned having seen me at
the rental studio a number of times, too. We got to talking,
and it turned out we had similar tastes in music. It’s just a
shame she didn’t choose music as her elective.”

Hearing Hanazono-sensei mention it reminded me of my

own curiosity.
“And then, a little while ago, I noticed her with the girls from
the flower arrangement club. She seemed to be pretty
uncomfortable with their hassling, so I pretended I needed
her help with something to get her out of there.”

“Oh, I see…”

Now everything made sense; that explained why Yurisaka

Shizuki had suddenly showed up saying she was asked to
help clean the storage room.

But what did Hanazono-sensei mean by ‘hassling’? Had they

been pressuring her into joining the flower arrangement
club, after I saw their group leave? It seemed easy enough
for her to turn them down, but at the same time, bluntly
declining without minding the other party’s feelings…
wasn’t something I could imagine her doing.

“Oh, by the way, Makoto-chan,” Hanazono-sensei suddenly

called out, interrupting my thoughts.

“Uh, before you go on, why are you referring to me like

that?”

“I mean, I can’t call you MusaO, right? And every time I try
calling you Murase, I say MusaO instead. So I decided it
would be easier to call you by your given name. But really,
it’s because I reflexively change any ‘mu’ words to MusaO.”

“What the… That’s such a stupid reason. Okay, let’s try it

then. What’s the name of the swordsman famous for his
dual-wielding style?”

“Musamoto Musao.”

“How did — Miyamoto doesn’t even start with ‘mu’!”

“Did you know there’s a city at the north end of Tokyo
named Musaomusayama?”

“Hey! You can’t say that! Apologize to the people living in

Musashimurayama right now! The people living in remote
cities are sensitive about that kind of thing!”

“The response I was looking for was ‘Um, actually, the

northernmost city in Tokyo is Okutama’.”

“Do you think a logical counterargument like that is enough

to appease the poor citizens of Musashimurayama?”

“Actually, I think you’re the one being rude to the people of

Musashimurayama now, having said that.”

“Ugh…” I groaned back, without a proper retort; that

actually was rude of me to say. Please accept my apology,
people of Musashimurayama.

“Anway, going back to what we were talking about, Makoto-

chan…”

Hanazono-sensei spoke in the kind of tone you would use to

scold a small child, making it seem like I was the one who
steered the conversation off-topic. Well, I guess that was
true this time; I was a little irritated that it may have been
justified, and so I had no choice but to quietly listen.

“What’s the current status of my request?”

I blinked my eyes in blank response.

“Your request? You mean the cleaning? It’s all done.”

“No, not that. I meant my 3DS! Did you find it?”

“Oh, right,” I said, as I vaguely remembered something
she’d said at the start, “Actually, I completely forgot about
that part. I was distracted by all the other things I found.”

“You completely forgot? The battery’s about to run out! And

I haven’t saved!”

“…How did that happen?”

“See, I was playing like usual when the vice-principal

suddenly walked in! I stashed it away in a panic, but I forgot
where I put it!”

Hanazono-sensei really was a good-for-nothing teacher.

And so the two of us began scouring the storage room

together, until we finally found her 3DS cooling beneath a
shelf, an indicator the battery had died.

“How could this happen… I finally made it to the boss room,

but now I’ll have to restart from the beginning of the
dungeon…”

“It’s your own fault for playing video games at work…”

When I pointed that out, Hanazono-sensei grimaced.

“Ugh, fine! I get it! I’ll just have to take tomorrow off so I can
get caught up!”

The next day, Hanazono-sensei really did take the day off.
She even sent me a message on LINE with the lesson plan
and specific details of pieces we would be practicing, saying
‘Today is just self-study, but I also need you to continue with
the lesson.’ I ended up having to fill-in as a substitute
teacher in addition to playing piano accompaniment and
leading the choir, and I even had to break down and explain
a Tchaikovsky ballet. When it was finally over, I shuddered at
the thought of her leaving the teaching to me from now on,
while she ran away to slack off and play video games.

From that day on, Yurisaka Shizuki began regularly dropping

by the storage room after school to play the drums.

“I knew it… It does feel better to have people listen to me

play… and on a Gretsch, no less.”

“No, wait, it’s not like I can always come and listen to you
play, you know?”

But when I pointed that out, an extremely sad look came

over her face.

“O-oh… I see… If you’re too busy, I don’t want to be a

bother… I’m sorry…”

I started feeling guilty about it and quickly said something

to placate her.

“I mean, uhh, well, I’m usually in the music room next door,
practicing the piano, so if you need anything, you can
always just call for me.”

She still looked disappointed, with a face that seemed to be

saying, ‘So I can’t talk to you if it’s not for something
urgent?’, so I added more.

“Not that it has to be for anything important, I mean. You

could come talk to me for anything, like uh… d-drum trivia
or something?”
Shizuki’s face lit up light a star, and I realized too late I
might have said too much.

“Oh in that case, let’s have a quiz right now!”

She immediately began tapping out a languid but heavy

beat.

“Okay! First question: which Roger Taylor played with this

kind of style?”

“Which Roger Taylor… Uh, the drummer for Queen, right?”

“Bzzt! It was Roger Taylor from Duran Duran! Roger Taylor

from Queen has a habit of leaving the hi-hat open for
layering when he hits the snare, so it’s easy to tell.”

But I actually didn’t know that at all.

Furthermore, Hanazono-sensei had given Shizuki permission

to customize the drums as she pleased, and today, Shizuki
had brought some special tools along to cut a hole in the
skin of the bass.

“So cutting out a port hole makes the sound better suited
for rock music?”

I didn’t know much about drums, so I asked her questions

with what little I did know.

“That’s right, because unlike in jazz, in rock, the bass drum

is the foundation for the beat.”

The bass drum – sometimes called the ‘big drum’ – usually

made deeper and lower sound. However, because basic
rhythm patterns in rock music mostly came from beating
the bass drum, it was preferable to have a crisp, tight sound
than a rich one. To help with producing that sound, you
would make a small hole on the side of the drum to help
with releasing sound.

While I knew a little about the process, this was the first
time I’d ever seen it done. First, she removed the drum
head, then, a compass cutter was used to precisely mark
then cut out a circle about twenty centimeters in diameter
at a slightly off-center spot. After the cutting was done, she
fitted on something like a rubber grommet to cover the rim
of the hole.

“You seem pretty used to doing this,” I said, admiring her

handiwork, “It seemed like something you’d want to go to
the music store for, to ask someone for help with.”

“I think most people actually do ask the store to do it for

them,” Shizuki shyly replied, “But my grandfather told me
that I should be able to do everything myself when it came
to anything related to sound quality.”

It seemed her grandfather was quite the enthusiast himself,

and he even build his own jazz salon, complete with a full
drum set and grand piano, at home. Furthermore, he lived in
a remote part of Ibaraki prefecture, on a spacious plot of
land, so he could freely play as loud as he wanted without
bothering the neighbors. I suspected Shizuki came from a
wealthy household, and learning this confirmed it; I couldn’t
say I didn’t envy her…

“Due to some family issues, I couldn’t stay at home, so I

lived with my grandfather up until last year. Grandfather
was quite eccentric even compared to the rest of the family,
but since he didn’t take sides, it was reassuring to have him
take me in.”
…Huh? Did she just casually mention something really
serious? Something about about family issues?

“And every day was fun. Grandfather was good at playing

the piano, too, and we often played together in sessions.
Oh, I wish I could have lived like that forever.”

Shizuki muttered quietly as she reminisced about happier

times, though I stayed quiet; it would be rude of me, a
stranger, to pry anyway.

She returned her attention to the drum and reattached the

drum head – now with a hole in it – to the frame, tapping on
it to test the sound before speaking further.

“Hmm, I think it should be a little more muted. Let’s

dampen it next.”

Putting things inside the frame worked to dampen the

sound, muffling it and making the kicks feel sharper. Most
people used blankets or something similar to fill the drum,
and Shizuki… proceeded to take out a number of stuffed
animals – a cat, then a bear, then an elephant. She dropped
them into the frame through the hole on the drum head.

“Uh… what? You’re using stuffed animals?”

I asked in surprise.

“Yep. I learned from grandfather that these are the best

things to use.”

“Don’t people usually use blankets or something similar..?”

“He said this: ‘Only use the things you love to dampen your
sounds. Only then, when you feel the pain of kicking what
you love, can you truly put your heart and soul into
drumming’.”

“Uh… right… I’ve never heard that one before. Actually,

what did your grandfather use for dampening?”

“Grandfather wasn’t the type of person to ever mute his

sounds.”

In other words, wasn’t he just saying whatever he felt was

right?

“Well, it’s easy enough to add or remove small stuffed

animals like these, and it’s convenient to fine-tune the
sound this way.”

Huh, so it actually was a pretty good idea to use stuffed

animals.

“Won’t they move around inside as you play and make the
sound all weird?”

“If I just put the cat’s head between the elephant’s hind
legs, then I use the bear’s mouth to hold the elephant’s
trunk in place, and then–“

Did this girl really love those stuffed animals?

But in the end, the tuning did make all the difference, and
the sound of Shizuki’s drumming had improved — I would
even say it had transformed into something greater. So it
was true then, that hurting what you loved through rough
play was a way of improving your skills? Maybe I should try
it; let’s see, I could use that rare trading card I won in an
auction as a guitar pick…
Wait, no, there was no way things worked that way, and the
only reason why Shizuki’s drumming sounds better now was
because the drums were better tuned for rock music. It just
happened that I preferred that kind of sound, too.

“There, now it feels just right.”

Shizuki said contentedly, as she ran a hand along the rim of

the bass like she was petting a dog.

“And when I think about how hard Mii-chan, and Hanako-

san, and Pururin-kun, and Mikey are all working in there…
why, I can’t help but put more into each kick”

Let me get this straight: you put your beloved stuffed

animals into that drum – ones with names, even – and you
kick them around?

“And it’s all thanks to you, Makoto-san. You helped make the
sound even more beautiful,” Shizuki said, turning to me with
a smile.

“I haven’t done anything at all though.”

“You gave your opinions about the tuning. It is rather

difficult to make an objective judgment about the sound by
yourself as you’re tuning, so it really helped to have
someone with a good ear like you. So the sounds these
drums can make now are partly a result of your sharp
senses.”

Was that how it worked? Well, drums were pretty loud, and
there would be changes to the sound depending on how far
away the listener was; in other words, the drummer would
hear things differently compared to the audience. Still, it
was embarrassing for her to praise me so directly like this.
“In fact, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say things turned
out this way because you did so well in training them,
Makoto-san.”

“No, that is definitely an exaggeration! And it sounds so

sketchy when you put it that way!”

“So, um…” Hey, wait, what are you doing, blushing and
looking away like that?! “…I want you to take responsibility
and continue supporting us.”

“What responsibility? Look, uh, I mean, I guess it’s fine since

no one else is really around to listen, but what–“

“If you could help me with the tuning again, from now on…”

“Wait… oh. Ohh… R-right, that’s what you meant, of

course.”

“I can’t do this by myself, Makoto-san. I need you to help by

listening so I can make this kind of sound again.”

“But I don’t exactly come here every day… I mean, I guess I

am here on most days, but there are days where I’m busy
doing something else.”

“Could you tell me what your schedule is?”

“It’s not like I have everything planned out in advance, you

know…”

For example, depending on my mood, there were times I

wanted to rush straight home, while other times I’d feel like
visiting the bookstore along the way.

“Oh, actually, we can exchange contact info and just

message each other over LINE.”
A dark cloud formed over Shizuki’s face.

“I, um, do not have a cellphone.”

“Wait, really? Err, sorry, but… it’s just kinda rare for
someone not to have one these days.”

“Mother is… a little strict about those kinds of things.”

Shizuki lowered her gaze. It was then that I recalled

something the girls from the flower arrangement had said a
few days ago, at the entrance hall display case; I think one
of them said Shizuki’s mother is a headmistress? I could see
how a mother like that, one in charge of a school for flower
arrangement, would be stricter and more old-fashioned than
other mothers.

“Oh, I know! I’ve got a good idea!”

Shizuki suddenly brightened, turning up to look at me as she

clapped her hands together.

“You can put up a sign on the window of your classroom,

indicating if you’ll be able to come by after school. I’ll be
able to see it as I walk down the hallway.”

Incidentally, her classroom was on the opposite side of the

school building, across the courtyard from my own.

“And what kind of sign should I put up?”

“So there was this pillow I saw the other day. One side had
YES written on it, while the other had NO, and…”

“That is absolutely not an option!” How much more naive

could this girl be?!

*
Rinko still came by the music room after school on occasion,
so it was just a matter of time before she encountered
Shizuki. It finally happened one Friday afternoon in May;
Shizuki had dragged me off for another of her drum trivia
sessions when the door to the storage room suddenly
opened.

Shizuki suddenly stopped playing, her eyes widening with

surprise, but Rinko stood motionless just past the doorway
with her arms crossed. She stared at both of us in turn and
did this twice before speaking up.

“Sorry for interrupting your comedy routine.” ¹

“That’s not what this is” I retorted. What exactly about this
was a comedy routine?

“Oh, sorry, I misspoke. I meant to apologize for interrupting

your crime-dy routine.” ²

“Why are you making it even worse? Actually, if a crime

really was in progress, isn’t it more important to stop it than
to worry about being rude?”

“So you admit you were in the middle of committing a

crime?”

“That’s nowhere near what I said!”

“As long as you make it a bread-y good routine.” ³

“And what do you think I knead?! I couldn’t pastry even if I

try!”

“A merry cheer-edy routine then.” ⁴

“Ugh, fine, whatever, I don’t know what you want me to say,
so I give up!”

“If you weren’t committing a crime, then…”

Rinko shrugged her shoulders and looked around the

storage room. Her eyes stopped at Shizuki before turning
back to address me.

“A secret affair, that much is true.” “Huh? But I’m just here
for the drum.”

“Always with the comebacks, but what can I do.”It’s no

different from when you play dumb!”

“You’re more than just normal schoolmates, I’ve gotten the

clue.” “And why are you rapping? From where does it
come?!”

“Now, here is a present, just for you.” “Hey, wait, that

doesn’t even make sense! Just because you ran out of ideas
doesn’t mean you can cheat and throw in a random rhyme–“

But Rinko really did have a present for me; I forced back the
rest of my words and blinkd in surprise before taking the
beautiful envelope she offered to me. A ribbon-patterened
sticker sealed it closed.

“…Um, sorry, I guess. So this really is a present for me? Err,

I’ll accept it, I think? But thanks.”

“Now open it.”

Doing as Rinko said, I carefully unsealed the envelope only

to pull out a bundle of sheet music. There was a note from
Hanazono-sensei attached to it, reading ‘This is a piece the
cheerleading club asked me to write, but it still needs to be
arranged for the wind instruments. Figure out who will work
on this, between you and Makoto-chan.” I realized too late
that I’d fallen for a trap.

“Then, having accepted it, Murase-kun, you shall be

responsible for it.”

“That’s not fair! You wrapped it up all nicely just to trick me

into accepting it!”

“I’ve always believed in your kindness, Murase-kun.”

“And you should be saving those heartwarming lines for

when they’re actually appropriate!”

“Anyway, that’s all I came here for. I apologize again for

getting in the way of your fun.”

But as Rinko turned to leave, Shizuki suddenly ran forward

and promptly tripped over a floor tom, nearly falling over.

“Um, I’m so sorry, but I should be the one leaving. I was the
one getting inbetween the two of you.”

Rinko stopped and turned again, blinking her eyes in

surprise.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Huh? I mean, you made a promise with Makoto-san, right?”

“It wasn’t anything important, just a promise that he would

avoid sexually harassing anyone but me.

“Can you not say it like that? You’re just gonna get her all
confused! And besides, I don’t remember making any sort of
promises!”
“So what you’re saying is you’ll continue sexually harassing
everyone but me?”

“Why do you keep trying to lead the conversation in a way

that makes me sound like a bad person?”

“So, umm…” Shizuki interrupted from the side, hesitantly

speaking, “The two of you are dating, right? Since the two of
you are always together after school, I must be getting in
the way.”

“Uh, what? No, no, we don’t have that kind of relationship at

all.”

“Is that how it is? But everyone in my class is convinced the

two of you had to be dating.”

“Huh? Hold on, why are people in Class 3 even talking about
me? I didn’t think I was anyone worth paying attention to.”

“That’s not true at all. The two of you are actually very well-
known, even among anyone not taking the music elective.
Your session together on the rooftop is still a very hot topic,
and it’s because of it that people consider the two of you an
intimate couple.”

“Whaaaaatttt?!” I buried my face in my hands; thinking

back, there was that one time when we played together on
the rooftop. If the teachers could hear us in the staff room,
that meant other students should have been able to. But
then how would they know we were the ones playing… Wait,
actually, anyone on the third floor of the school building at
the other end would be able to see us, right?

Well, a misunderstanding like this didn’t really bother me,

though it probably annoyed Rinko. With that thought in
mind, I turned to look at Rinko only to see an unbelievable
sight: her face as bright red up to her ears, like a ripe red
pepper.

“They think I’m… dating… Murase-kun..?”

Her voice was shaking too. It was hard to believe what I was
seeing before me.

“You’re completely fine saying things like sexual harassment

over and over, but you get all embarrassed over something
like this?” I unintentionally blurted out my thoughts.

Rinko slowly turned to glare up at me, even as her face still

burned red.

“…And you don’t know a thing about how a girl’s heart

works, Murase-kun”

Hey, wait, you don’t get to imply you’re some sort of

sensitive and delicate woman when you’re the one always
trying to catch me with loaded statements about sexual
harassment.

“Well, I guess it’s kinda embarrassing if they thought we

were dating.”

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed about dating you, Murase-

kun.”

“Then what’s making you blush this hard?”

“Because your very existence is an embarrassment.”

“Huh? What do you mean? Actually, why are you even

coming at me like that for?”

“Phew, I think I’ve calmed down now. It seems making fun of

you really helped, like usual.”
“So you were saying all those things about me on
purpose?!”

“What, did you think I was just saying things at random,

without knowing what I was talking about? Please, Murase-
kun, what good is that head of yours if you don’t use it?”

“Why are you getting at me for all of a sudden? You should

be apologizing!”

Wait a minute, I just realized, Rinko had said ‘It’s not that
I’m embarrassed about dating you, Murase-kun’ — she
hadn’t said it in the context of the rumors, but… had I
misheard her? Or maybe she misspoke? Not knowing for
sure suddenly got me feeling nervous.

“Okay, having had time to calmly think it through, I have

decided no real harm was done. So what about you, Murase-
kun? Do you find it troublesome if people think we’re
dating?”

“No, um, it… doesn’t really bother me.”

“Please be more clear with your answer: does it disgust you

that people think you’re my lover?”

“Why do you need to phrase it like that? I don’t hate it that

much.”

“If you don’t hate it ‘that much’, then how much do you
hate it, exactly?”

“Huh? Why exactly? I mean, I guess if I had to be more

specific, I would say I don’t dislike it?”

“So in other words, you like it?”

“…I guess so, if I had to choose between the two.”

Rinko’s ears instantly turned red again. What was going on

with this girl?

“I can’t believe you would say something so embarrassing

right to my face, Murase-kun. The things you say and do can
be so shameless.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to answer more

specifically!”

“Are the two of you really not dating..?” Shizuki timidly

asked. I wasn’t very amused.

“Does it look like we are? Is this the kind of conversation

people dating would have?”

“Yes, it seems like it.” “That’s how I feel as well.” Hey, just
because you’ve calmed down doesn’t mean you can jump in
like this doesn’t concern you! Is your whole blushing routine
on some sort of switch?

Shizuki dusted herself off; “Once again, I apologize for

disturbing your time together,” she said, bowing her head
repeatedly before leaving the storage room.

Only a frosty Rinko, a bewildered me, and a silent drum set

remained in the room.

“She’s a little too sensitive,” Rinko finally said, staring at the

door where Shizuki had just left, “It would’ve been fine for
her to play the drums while I busied myself teasing you.”

Would it kill you to take notes and be a little more sensitive

yourself?
“By the way, Murase-kun, there was one thing that bothered
me.”

“What now?”

“The girl… Yurisaka-san, was it? She was calling you by your
given name.”

“Huh? Oh… oh, right. She was, wasn’t she?”

Actually, now that Rinko had pointed it out, Shizuki had

been calling me ‘Makoto-san’ from the very beginning. I
hadn’t thought about it because there was something about
her that made it seem perfectly normal.

“It’s because, um, I think it’s because that’s how Hanazono-

sensei addresses me, and she probably just picked up on it
and did the same.”

I found myself speaking with a strange voice and making

excuses. I didn’t know why I was even trying to make
excuses to begin with.

“Oh really?” Rinko said, eyeing me with suspicion, “Well, if

that’s all it was, then that’s that.”

…nor did I know why the situation felt like I needed Rinko to
pardon something I had caused.

“Oh, also, you don’t like being called by names that start
with ‘mu’, right?”

“No, well, that’s not exactly right…”

“Maybe I should start using your given name too then…”

Um, excuse me Rinko-san? What are you saying all of a

sudden?
“Makoto-kun.”

“Hyuh?”

Makoto-kun?”

“Y-yes?”

Makoto-kun!”

“Um…”

Makoto-kun…”

“Hey…”

“Okay, I’ll stop. It was getting a little creepy how moony you
were getting.” ⁵

“What do you — wait, that’s just mean!”

“Oh, sorry. ‘moony’ also starts with a ‘mu’ sound, doesn’t

it?”

“That’s not what you should be apologzing for!”

“Oh well, good luck with the arrangement for the

cheerleading club, Murase Makoto-kun.”

And after abruptly reminding me about the awful task she’d

foisted on me, Rinko left the storage room.

That wouldn’t be the last of Shizuki and Rinko’s clashes (?).

Some days later, after classes had let out for the day, I was
once again in the music prep room preparing the material
for the next day’s class – work that Hanazono-sensei had
forced on me once again. As I went through the tedious
work with a heavy heart, I suddenly heard a delightful triple
stroke bass beat come from past the wall — that had to be
Shizuki.

I gave a silent prayer of thanks for uplifting my mood, and I

continued working, now refreshed, when, from the opposite
wall, a piano began to play — that had to be Rinko.

To my surprise, the two of them were playing in perfect

sync. Rinko was playing the intensely fast fourth movement
of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 1 in F Minor on top of
Shizuki’s metallic beats. Their music seemed to bounce
back and forth in my head, dizzying me with an
extravagantly imbalanced tune. Yet, despite having a room’s
width of distance between them – which should have made
it harder to coordinate their performance – the melded
sounds continued undeterred. It was a great way to fill in
the boredom as I worked, and it felt as though my hand
could continue to work like a machine while I lost myself in
the melody.

But for some reason, there was this strange unease – the
feeling that I needed to escape immediately – that I couldn’t
completely shake off.

How odd; why would I want to stop listening to such an

amazing performance? Wait, no… it was more that them
being so perfectly in sync in rhythm was interesting, and the
performance itself wasn’t.

I’d expected as much though; a sonata like that was meant

for a piano solo, so just adding drum beats didn’t suddenly
make it a great arrangement. That should’ve been obvious
enough, anyway.
Then again, the drummer in question was Shizuki, so she
should be able to pull it off. In fact, if there were a drummer
that could uplift Rinko’s piano even further, I couldn’t
imagine Shizuki not being the one to do it. Was it
unreasonable for me to think so?

But just as the development ended, Rinko suddenly stopped

playing. Meanwhile, Shizuki’s drumming stumbled to halt as
well, though she ended up going over by about a bar and a
half of notes.

Though I couldn’t see either of their faces, it was easy to

picture Shizuki’s look of confusion and Rinko’s dissatisfied
expression.

And so I got out of my seat and gently opened the door to

the music room.

“Oh, Murase-kun, could you do me a favor?”

“Woah!”

Rinko had been standing right in front of the door, even as I

opened it. I was so surprised I staggered backward and
nearly fell over.

“I need you to tell Yurisaka-san that her triplets are too flat
and that she needs to pay closer attention to the
unaccented beats.”

“…Why do I have to?” I asked; the storage room was right

down the hall, so she could tell Shizuki herself.

“Modest and reserved girl that I am, it would be terribly

difficult for me to make such a one-sided demand.”
“And why don’t you ever show me that ‘modest and
reserved’ character of yours?”

“That’s because Murase-kun is special. And it’s because

you’re special that you’re the only one I can rely on at times
like this, which is why I am now relying on you to do this for
me.”

“Don’t try to frame it like you’re sharing a special feeling!”

That being said, I did want to hear the rest of the

performance, so I quietly did as she asked anyway and went
to the storage room. There, after relaying Rinko’s words,
Shizuki’s eyes widened.

“…G-got it! I will do better!”

I hadn’t expected her to so eagerly agree to the suggestion,

but regardless, I returned to the music prep room with
anxiety and apprehension in my heart.

But the performance ended abruptly once again, this time in

the middle of the recapitulation. Shortly thereafter, the door
to the prep room opened, and Rinko walked in.

“Murase-kun, please let Yurisaka-san know that the edge on

her ride wasn’t enough.”

“Why can’t you tell her yourself?!”

But of course, since the performance wouldn’t continue

unless I did something, I grudgingly returned to the storage
room.

“I’ll put more into it!”

But the next time the performance stopped was in the
middle of the exposition, and Rinko once again came into
the prep room.

“Murase-kun, please let Yurisaka-san know that there should

be fills every two bars. She shouldn’t be slacking on that.”

I considered making a string telephone to connect the music

room to the storage room.

“Understood! I’ll do my best!”

Shizuki took the advice to heart, and she continued doing

so, creating this vicious back-and-forth cycle. As for me,
whenever the performance was cut short, it was up to me to
relay the next suggestion to the storage room.

In the end, Rinko never managed to play the sonata to the

end; she gave up, saying, ‘We couldn’t sound anything close
to an ensemble,’ as she left.

“It must be my fault; my playing just wasn’t good enough…”

Shizuki was completely depressed, but I felt partially to

blame; I had been the one to relay Rinko’s harsh words, and
I regretted being so blunt in delivering them.

“I guess I really was getting in the way of your after school

time after all.”

“You weren’t getting in the way of anything at all. In fact, we

don’t really even do anything together in the first place…”

But it seemed my words didn’t register, and Shizuki exited

the storage room, walking away in a slump.

After that day, Shizuki stopped coming by the storage room.

 Chapter 5: Angel and Creep

Since I wasn’t particularly close to Shizuki, I couldn’t figure

out an excuse to visit Class 1-3 to check up on her after
she’d stopped coming to the storage room after school.
Well, it was possible she had gotten bored, became busier,
or just didn’t want to deal with Rinko’s bullying (the most
likely case, if you asked me) — or so I told myself, as I
deliberately avoided the north school building as much as
possible to avoid running into Shizuki. Basically, I didn’t
want to think about the possibility that Shizuki actually
hated me.

But as I spent more and more time alone, I suddenly

remembered it had been some time since I’d last uploaded
a new video to the MusaOtoko channel.

And soon enough I had locked myself in my room, huddled

in front of the PC and with my headphones on.

But no new ideas nor melodies came to mind; time simply

crawled along as I wasted hours just dragging the mouse
cursor back and forth over the sequencer window.

Weird… Why was I getting stuck? Coming up with a new

song used to be a smooth and easy routine.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink deper into my mind,

but all I could sense were the sparks that came from the
fierce clash between piano and drum.
Having heard Rinko and Shizuki together up close, I couldn’t
help but feel that the music I’d been making this whole time
– hunched over in the dark all alone – was so small and
insignificant by comparison.

Ugh, this wasn’t a good day to make music; so I’d be better

off stopping here for now. I took off my headphones and
shut down my PC.

My reunion with Shizuki happened ten days after her

session with Rinko, and we would meet by chance outside of
school.

I was making a detour to Shinjuku on my way home that day

because Hanazono-sensei had asked me to deliver a
package. There I was, leaning against the train door with a
cardboard box in my hands and blankly staring at the
mobile game and vocational school advertisements around
the carriage as I rode the Yamanote line. Sunlight streamed
in through the roof on occasion, stinging against my eyes,
but it was otherwise a pleasant sunny day; I had been
planning on going straight home to wash my guitar case
and keyboard bag until Hanazono-sensei happened to catch
me at the shoe rack just before I left. I knew then that my
luck had run out.

“Could you take this over to a studio in Shinjuku called Moon

Echo?”

She had phrased it like a question but handed me this box

without waiting for an answer.

“Give it to a staff member named Kurokawa. You can figure

out the rest from there, so hurry up and go.”
And she hadn’t said a thing about what was in this.

I had looked over the box with the vibrations of the train
against my back. Tape had been haphazardly stuck on to
keep the box closed, but the thing was considerably light
despite its size, making it fairly easy to carry with even with
just one hand. I couldn’t feel anything moving around inside
as I moved it around, which had me wondering: what
exactly was in here?

The studio Hanazono-sensei directed me to, Moon Echo, was

located in the office district of Higashi-Shinjuku; it took up
the entirety of a six-story building, including a live house in
the basement. For a music lover like me, just looking at the
floor guide was enough to get my heart racing with
excitement.

The studio seemed quite busy, and the lobby was full of
band members carrying around guitar cases. As I walked in,
a strange, bittersweet feeling filled my chest; the people
here dedicated their lives to music, just like me. But unlike
me, they put themselves on a stage, played their music and
sang their songs for the world to hear, bathed under a
cocktail of lights. I wasn’t like them; I locked myself in a
dark room, clutching a mouse tight as I organized rectangles
along a sequencer’s piano roll. And unlike them, the only
‘audience’ I needed to interact with was the number that
gradually ticked up at the bottom right corner of the video’s
page.

I forced the self-deprecating thoughts out of my mind and

headed for the counter to the left of the lobby.

Hanazono-sensei was right to say I could figure the rest out

myself; I only had the name – Kurokawa – to go by, but I
instinctively knew that had to be the young woman standing
behind the counter. There was an aura about her that
seemed exactly identical to Hanazono-sensei, with her
flashy looks and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Her outfit
was rather formal – a white dress shirt under a black vest
and slacks – but she exuded a sort of wild charm.

“…Um, excuse me?”

I approached the woman behind the counter and spoke up.

“Is the staff member named Kurokawa-san available at the

moment?”

“…That would be me.”

She hesitated for a moment before answering, and she

looked over the counter to see the box I was holding.

“Oh, did Misao send you?”

“Yes, she did,” I answered; Misao was Hanazono-sensei’s

given name. I was glad Kurokawa-san realized it
immediately.

Kurokawa-san brought me over to a corner of the lobby,

where she took the box out of my hands and proceeded to
open it. Inside was a bright beige blazer, a red-and-white
checkered skirt, and a gathered blouse – three identical
sets, to boot. Were these school uniforms or something?
They seemed a little too flashy though…

“…You’re gonna wear this?”

Kurokawa-san suddenly turned and asked, surprising me.

“Huh? Wh-what?! No way, definitely not!”

“Really? You were making a face like you wanted to.”

What kind of face was that supposed to be?! And I looked
like that? Was there some specific look people had for cross-
dressing?!

“I’m only kidding anyway,” Kurokawa-san continued without

a smile, “We needed a costume like this for one of our
showings tonight, and the only person I could think of that
could pull through was Misao. ‘pologies if there was
trouble.”

“Haa…”

I found myself wondering why Hanazono-sensei had a

costume like this at the ready; in the first place, it was less a
school uniform and more an idol outfit modeled after one.
Kurokawa-san seemed close with Hanazono-sensei, so
maybe she had something on her? Surely it was something I
could use to turn the tables on my whole blackmail solution.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask, but… no, that wouldn’t be a good
idea. I didn’t want to find out what could happen if
Hanazono-sensei found out I had asked.

“Oh, that reminds me. Misao told me to give you something

as thanks for dropping this off.”

“Huh? Oh, I mean… It wasn’t a big deal, so no need to worry

about it.”

“Once the show’s over, you can take a set home with you.”
“I don’t want it!” “It’d be awkward for you to just stand
around waiting until then, so you wanna watch it? It’ll be
2,000 yen, but it comes with one drink.” “You’re charging
me for it? Shouldn’t this have been part of the thank-you
gift?”

I was just about to leave out of exasperation when I spotted

something out of the corner of my eye.
I stopped and turned, only to see the back of a familiar-
looking blazer entering a soundproofed door marked ‘Studio
A1’ at the back of the lobby.

I instinctively had a double take, but the door had already

closed by then, hiding away the person I thought I’d seen.

They were wearing the same blazer I had on; they had a
skirt on, and they had black hair long enough to reach their
waist.

That was when I remembered something else.

“…Someone you know?” Kurokawa-san asked after following

my gaze, “Oh, actually, you’re wearing the same uniform as
that girl.”

“Yeah, uh, well, I don’t know for sure, but…”

I cross the lobby to Studio A1. There was a small, diamond-

shaped window on the door; it would be rude to peek in, and
it would be really awkward if the person inside actually
turned out to be someone I didn’t know.

But as I worried about it, a violent beat hit my ears; the

pressure of the sound coming from behind the door was so
powerful I could feel the vibration against my skin, and the
boom of the kicks was so grainy that it was hard to believe
it came from a single bass drum. But from these sounds
alone, I no longer needed to look to confirm who was inside;
there was no other girl at my school who could play like this
but Shizuki.

But why was she practicing in a place like this? Oh,

actually… I remembered how Hanazono-sensei said she first
met Shizuki at a music studio owned by an acquaintance.
She must have been talking about this place.
But then why didn’t she just come by the music storage
room? She wouldn’t have to pay the rental fee, and the
drums there were of much better quality. Was it because of
Rinko’s bullying?

“Um, about that room over there–“

I was about to ask Kurokawa-san but stopped midway. It

didn’t seem proper to be asking the staff how long a
customer was renting a room for; it would be like asking for
personal information.

“That girl’s usually in there for an hour,” Kurokawa-san

answered me without hesitation anyway. Was she actually
allowed to reveal that kind of information?

“Then, uhh, would it be okay for me to wait in the lobby?”

“That’s fine, but… you staking her out then? Like that? You
should put on a disguise so you’re not so easily spotted.”

Why was she trying to hard to get me to wear that outfit?!

I ended up waiting in a corner of the lobby, wracked with

anticipation. The whole time, I flipped through random
guitar magazines from a nearby shelf as I anxiously checked
to make sure the people around me didn’t think I was
anyone suspicious; if someone did ask, I even had an
excuse ready: I was just running some errands and killing
some t ime here, definitely not stalking a girl! Thankfully,
the only people coming into the lobby were different band
members whose only thoughts seemed to be on the shining,
glamorous stage called their life, meaning they paid no
attention to me at all. I really needed to stop being so self-
conscious sometimes.
An hour passed this way, and then — at 4:56 PM, I stood
from my seat.

I went over and pretended to read the flyers advertising

upcoming live shows all the while keeping the door to Studio
A1 in the corner of my eye. Kurokawa-san, still working the
counter, gave me a suspicious look, but I paid her no mind.
My setup was simple: I would have Shizuki ‘naturally’
encounter me, and I could play it off as a coincidence rather
than have her know I had been waiting the whole time.

I could feel a change in the air pressure as the soundproof

door to Studio A1 opened.

I avoided looking in that direction and focused harder on the

flyers before my eyes – casually now, pretend not to notice.
I needed her to catch sight of me first…

“…Makoto-san? Is that you?”

I heard her voice; I had expected it, but I still couldn’t help
but tremble. I turned to be sure, and there she was: Shizuki,
in the flesh. With her schoolbag in hand, she crossed the
lobby to approach me; her face was flushed with sweat,
mostly from the exertion of an intense session.

“Why are you in a place like this?” she asked, the

bewilderment clear in her eyes.

“Um, you see… Hanazono-sensei asked me to run an errand

for her that brought me here… Actually, why are you here?”

As I played up my surprised act, Kurokawa-san suddenly

spoke up from the side.

“Actually, the kid’s been here since four. Seems like he had
something he wanted to talk to you about, but he wanted to
pretend like running into you was one big coincidence.” Uh,
hello, Kurokawa-san? Why the hell did you blab and ruin my
plan?! Ugh, I should’ve known someone who’s friends with
Hanazono-sensei would be like this!
“…You wanted to talk.. with me?”
Shizuki blinked in surprise; it might’ve just been my
imagination, but she seemed nervous. I hoped it was just
my imagination.

“Uh, I mean… Yeah, actually…”

“Hey, not trying to rush you out or anything, but before you
get into your little lover’s spat, could you pay the bill?”
Kurokawa-san interrupted again. I didn’t have a retort for
her jeer; Shizuki quickly ran over to the counter, apologized
as she paid, then returned to me.

“…So what did you want to talk about?”

“About that. I was just wondering why you haven’t been

coming by the storage room lately.”

We had moved to the corner of the lobby; this wasn’t a

conversation that needed a change of location, but I felt bad
about taking up the sofa again.

“I was embarrassed to have Rinko-san listen to my poor

drumming, so I decided I shouldn’t show my face until I
improved enough to keep up with her.”

“You don’t need to worry about something like that. It’s not
like that’s the kind of place to be having a session together
anyway.”

“But still… Makoto-san, at least answer me this.”

Shizuki seemed to have to forcibly squeeze out her next few

words, all the while looking at me with upturned eyes.

“My performance back then — it didn’t match up well with

Rinko-san, did it..?”
A random thought crossed my mind: if I could casually lie
during times like these, coasting through life wouldn’t get
any easier. But I couldn’t, and that was especially true here,
with music. Because when it to music, my true feelings
always showed up on my face, and it was far too late for me
to look away to hide it.

“It… didn’t. But it was the two of you performing together,

so you can’t say it was only your responsibility.”

“I was the one who didn’t play well, right? I am at least

aware of that much.”

That was all well and good, but could she not just put her
face so close to mine as she spoke? My feelings on that
matter would show on my face… but it was exactly as
Shizuki said; her drumming at the time was dull and
mediocre. From the very beginning, it had none of her usual
appeal, and it even began to worsen under the weight of
Rinko’s requests.

“That’s also because, y’know, Rinko complaining and just

nitpicking small details.”

“No, Rinko-san’s instructions were all very precise and well

thought-out. It was entirely my fault for not being able to
put her words to practice. You were there and listening too,
Makoto-san, so you would know.”

Why did I suddenly feel like I was the one at fault?

“Which is why I decided to do some intense training! I need

to become good enough to keep up with that piano, so I can
once again join in on your alone time together!”

Would it kill her not to say it like that? It wouldn’t be funny if

someome really misunderstood.
“Look, I’ve said it a bunch of times already, but there’s
nothing going on after school between me and Rinko. It’s
not like she comes to the music room every day, either.”

“Are you using the YES and NO pillows to pick days?”

“Please stop with that, I’m begging you here!”

“Oh that’s right! I almost forgot!” Shizuki said as she

clapped her hands together in sudden joy, “We won’t need
to use the pillow because I also have a cellphone now!”

“…That so?”

Shizuki fished something out of her schoolbag; that

definitely was a cellphone, though there was no case on it,
and it was still wrapped in plastic film like it’d just come out
of the box.

“Mother bought it for me last week.”

I blinked in surprise; why had her mother suddenly done

that? I had her pegged as the strict and old-fashioned kind
of parent, one that was tough on her daughter’s upbringing.
Was I just jumping to conclusions?

Shizuki seemed completely clueless when it came to apps,

so I ended up walking her through installing LINE on the
spot. It took some time to get through the verification and
stuff, but we were able to complete registration without a
problem. I wondered if it was fine for me to be her first LINE
contact – for some reason it felt like I was somehow
deceiving her, and guilt tug at my heartstrings.

Once she saw my ID – the only one on her list – Shizuki gave
me a bright smile.
“I always wanted to do this you know, having a LINE
conversation with Makoto-san…”

Did she have some strange preconception about LINE? It’s

just a way of communicating with people, you know?

“Well, feel free to message me whenever, and if it’s too

annoying to type, you can just send a sticker instead.”

“I’ve always wanted to use stickers as well! So how do I use

them?”

After I taught her, Shizuki’s eyes sparkled even brighter as

she browsed the store. She ended up buying a set that
appealed to her strange tastes: cute, deformed animals
dressed in heavy metal outfits. She began sending them to
me at random, and my phone’s notifications continued for a
while after.

“Please send me a sticker back, Makoto-san! Anything, any

kind of sticker would make me happy!”

I was in the middle of deciding which sticker from the

‘Hundred Faces of Pillbugs on their Bellies’ set – a collection
I’d bought on impulse but never used – to send when I
noticed Shizuki was now looking past my shoulder and
toward the entrance of the building. Her expression had
suddenly stiffened up.

“…Mother..?”

I turned in time to see a middle-aged woman wearing

traditional Japanese clothes quietly walk through the door,
and it seemed I wasn’t the only one surprised by how out-of-
place her elegant attire and mannerisms were, going by
how some of the other customers were reacting. I
instinctively knew, even if I hadn’t heard Shizuki’s
murmuring, this was her mother.

“Shizuki-san.”

Her mother spoke in a voice that sounded like ice being

crushed underfoot.

“I noticed you have been falling behind with your training,

and you are more distracted than ever as of late. I did not
expect to find out you have been sneaking off to a place like
this.”

Shizuki seemed to cower behind me, shrinking in fear, but

she mustered up the courage to ask a question in return.

“Mother, h-how did you know I was here–“

Instead of answering, her mother turned a scornful gaze to

the phone in Shizuki’s hand. The implication horrified me;
did she have GPS tracking on that phone from the very
start? Actually, from the very start, had she bought it
specifically to monitor what her daughter was doing outside
of school?

Shizuki’s mother seemed to notice my unease, and she now

turned her intense look at me.

“…Thank you for always taking care of our Shizuki. Are you
in the same year?”

“Um, yes.”

Her overly polite tone was frightening.

“As she may have already told you, Shizuki will one day
become the headmistress of our family’s school. She needs
to earn her teaching certification as soon as possible after
finishing high school, and as part of that process, we need
her to spend more time practicing. While her interest in
music is wonderful, I am afraid she will simply not have as
much time for socializing or playing music from today on.”

She bowed so deeply that I began to shiver. Hey, Shizuki?

Why are you just silently standing there? I tried signaling to
her with my eyes, but she continued standing still, her lips
trembling.

And in the end, the Yurisaka mother-daughter pair left in a

taxi.

I couldn’t forget the apologetic look Shizuki gave me as the

door closed, and I spent the remainder of the evening
feeling sick to my stomach.

When I arrived at school the next morning, the first thing I

noticed was how the flower arrangement had changed.

It was dull and uninteresting compared to the one from

before that I figured someone else had put it together, but I
was in for a surprise when I read the nameplate: Yurisaka
Shizuki. Was this really something she made? It looked so
uninspired, like something that came out of exactly
following the instructions of a textbook. Well, I guess I
wasn’t really an expert on flower arrangement or anything,
so it could be that this was actually too advanced for me to
understand.

Still, I wasn’t about to lie to myself about how I felt.

It was a very well-put-together bowl of flowers, but that was

all; I felt nothing from it.
A random thought drifted across my mind — what if this had
been the flower arrangement I saw that day, the day of that
first encounter with Shizuki?

Things would have played out the same but with one
exception: I would probably not have encouraged her to try
playing the drums. Instead, I would have finished cleaning in
silence before parting ways. I would never have discovered
her drumming skills, and that would have been the end of
our relationship.

And it was all because of the flower arrangement I saw that

day — that arrangement that was like a radiant ball of fire
suffocating within the glassy confines of its small world.

I wondered how she was doing now.

Ever since that parting at Moon Echo, I’d neither seen nor
spoken to Shizuki, not even through LINE. I chalked it up as
a complicated family matter, and, as a stranger, I shouldn’t
be getting myself involved.

The best I could do was to purposely make my way across

the connecting hallway to the north building during breaks
to use the restroom there.

I only had to repeat my plan over a few days before I was

rewarded for my effort, and I came face-to-face with Shizuki
at the stairwell during lunch break.

“…Ah…”

Shizuki had been coming down the stairs when she noticed
me and stopped. From my place at the landing, I awkwardly
smiled up to her as I put my hand against the stairwell wall.

“Oh hey, it’s been a while.”

Her reply was a formal and distant bow.

She had a clear carrying case slung over her shoulder, and I
could see purning shears, a pick, and some wires inside.

“You’re, uh, going to the flower arrangement club right

now?”

“Oh, yes…” she gave an apologetic nod as she answered,

“Senpai and the others wanted me to guide them again, just
a little more.”

If she already made plans, then I couldn’t do anything about

that. It’s not like I had a special reason for seeing her —
actually, I came here without a reason in the first place.

“That so? All right, good luck.”

I waved, planning to go downstairs when the sound of

footsteps chasing me from behind caused me to turn
around.

“Please wait, Makoto-san!” Shizuki called out to me,

aggressively skipping down the remaining three steps of
stairs between us, looking like she wanted to keep me from
leaving, “I’m, um, sorry for what happened last week!”

Her sudden rush had been so surprising I nearly bumped my

head against the wall stepping back.

“…Uh, what? I, uh… I don’t think there was anything that

happened that you need to apologize for.”

“Back at the studio, you had to see something

embarrassing…”
“That didn’t really bother me, but I was worried about you.
That was your mom, right? Did she scold you afterward?”

“She did…” Shizuki answered hesitantly with downcast

eyes, “and she also said I should be focusing more on my
‘actual responsibility’ than on music.”

Was that supposed to mean the whole flower arrangement

thing? What’s with that? She’s just a high schooler!

“And she forbade me from ever going back to the studio… I

have no choice but to give up on the drums.”

“But why?!” I found myself yelling, unable to hold back,

“That’s just a waste of your talents, your skills! At least she
only knows about the studio, right? So it’ll be fine if you
practiced somewhere else — no, wait, you could just
practice with the drums in the storage room!”

But Shizuki slowly let her head drop before answering as

though she were squeezing her next words out.

“I’m still not yet at the level where I’m ready for Rinko-san
to hear me play again… Maybe the god of arts is trying to
tell me I shouldn’t be doing both flower arrangement and
music at the same time – that I shouldn’t be half-heartedly
dividing my attention between the two.

“The only kind of god that would say that is one that should
shut up and be ignored” – was what I wanted to say, but I
swallowed those words. I felt myself getting angry; it was
the same as back then with Rinko — it was irritating for
someone as mediocre as me to have to see someone with
real talent throwing it away like this.

“So is flower arrangement that important to you? Is it so

important that you would give up the rest of your life for it?”
At the time, I hadn’t realized just how cruel those words
were. Shizuki visibly winced, like I had struck her.

“…It’s part of the family business, so…”

“But you don’t actually like it, do you?”

“Th-that’s not how it is…”

“Then explain that flower arrangement that’s up at the

entrance. It doesn’t even compare to last week’s, so how
can you say you–“

I stopped myself when I realized what I was saying. Why had

I said all that? I didn’t know the least about flower
arrangement, let alone Shizuki’s own circumstances, so
what gave me the right to condemn her like this? I felt my
embarrassment rise through me, but because I couldn’t
bear to face Shizuki like this, I turned and pressed my
forehead against the wall instead, all the while regretting
my words.

“…No, uh, sorry, that was wrong of me to say… I shouldn’t

be lecturing you when I don’t really know anything.”

“No, um…” I could almost see Shizuki’s bashful smile

through the mixed emotions she answered me with, “What
you’re saying is right. It’s obvious to anyone looking that
this week’s arrangement of kasumisou, koutenguwa, and
doudantsutsuji is no good at all.”

“Err, I wouldn’t say it’s no good, but uh…” I carefully picked

what words to say next, “I guess I just preferred last week’s
arrangement because it was, um, more flashy, or
something?”
“I feel the same, but the advisor for the flower arrangment
club didn’t and said the arrangement was actually too flashy
and strayed too far from what is traditionally taught.
Furthermore, if I was to assist with the club, I needed to
make arrangements better suited for high school students. I
tried doing that for this week’s arrangement, following their
direction, but the result was… Well, I know better than
anyone how much I still have to learn…”

I was at a loss for words; if it was just following instructions,

then Shizuki definitely did everything perfectly. That
arrangement was so blatantly a textbook example – without
any sort of creative or adventurous spark – of what would
come out of a high school club. And that was the sort of
direction that I found myself completely at odds with.

“Which is why I have to focus more on flower arrangement

from here on out.”

I turned back in time to see a soft smile of melancholy float

across Shizuki’s face, like frost that formed over a window
on an early winter morning.

“Still, it was a lot of fun to have Makoto-san listen to me

play and to perform together with Rinko-san. From now on…
it would be fine if it only happened occasionaly, but I hope I
can hear the two of you performing together again, even if
it’s from somewhere far away, out of reach.”

And with that, Shizuki walked past me, going down the
stairs.

The sound of her footsteps faded into the distance, beneath

the noise of the school during lunch break. All I could do was
scratch the back of my head and sigh as I leaned against
the wall, looking up at the dark ceiling.
*

Later that day, when I filled Rinko in about Shizuki, all she
had for me was a glare of contempt.

“So you had nothing more to say and just ran away?
Pathetic, absolutely unbelievable. You’re always able to
blabber nonstop about nothing, but where does that silver
tongue of yours go when it comes time for something
actually important, huh?”

“And why do you have to say it like that?”

“Moreover, does it not bother you? Do you not feel anything

when you see someone with that kind of musical skill and
talent about to give it all up?”

Uh, hello? I don’t wanna hear that coming from you, a

walking example of that very same scenario.

“Of course I do, and it frustrates me so much. But still, it

didn’t seem right to try and interfere, which is why I didn’t
say anything. And wait, hold on a minute…”

I studied Rinko’s face out of curiosity.

“If you’re referring to Shizuki as ‘someone with that kind of

musical skill and talent’ doesn’t that mean you are
acknowledging her? So why were you so harsh with her
back when the two of you were performing together?”

“I never said anything bad about her playing in the first

place,” Rinko said as she curled her lips into a scowl, “I was
just pointing out the areas she was falling behind in. If I
really thought she didn’t have the skills, I wouldn’t have said
anything in the first place.”
“…I guess that’s true.”

“Likewise you may think I only ever tell you off, Murase-kun,
but I have also pointed out where you can improve, right?
Besides, I wouldn’t be making fun of you if I didn’t think you
could live up to my expectations.”

“…That’s also true… Wait, no! I know what you’re trying to

say, and I’m not falling for it! You’re always making fun of
me anyway!”

“So is this it then? You’re just letting Yurisaka-san go just like

that?”

Rinko continued, ignoring my protest as usual. I

absentmindedly scratched my head.

“‘Just like that’, huh… I really don’t want to, but…”

“You’re still hesitating? Even after all the times you dragged
Yurisaka-san off for a late night tryst in the music storage
room?”

“There was no ‘late night tryst’ nor did I ‘drag her off’! I just
listened to her play the drums after school! Stop trying to
ruin my reputation!”

Thankfully classes had long let out for the day, and as usual,
we were the only ones in the music room. My reputation was
still safe for the time being.

“So what are you planning next? Since you’re a pervert

whose only standard is if the woman in question is
breathing, I assume you’ve already exchanged LINE IDs with
Yurisaka-san.”
“What are you trying to say… I mean, I guess I did get her
LINE info, but…”

“See? What did I tell you?”

“Okay, but what’s your point? If my goal really was just to

flirt with girls, wouldn’t I have tried to get your ID first?”

“I was just about to get to that.”

Rinko crossed her arms, nodding sagely as though she were

acknowledging something obvious. What did she mean by
that?

Her eyebrows furrowed with irritation.

“Why, exactly, do you have Yurisaka-san’s LINE ID but not

mine? I honestly cannot believe you could have done such a
thing.”

“I’m even more confused than ever before why you’re

angry.”

Rinko suddenly held out her hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“…Why?”

“I’ll message Yurisaka-san on LINE for you, since you don’t

know what to say.”

“What the… Is that really a good idea…”

“No need to worry. All I have to do is say all the usual sexual
harassment-esque things you do and maybe throw in some
obscene stickers to go with it.”
“That is exactly the kind of thing I would worry about!”

“But Yurisaka-san would probably be even more confused if

the sexual harassment coming from your LINE ID also had
‘from Saejima Rinko’ attached to the messages.”

“Why can’t you just leave our the sexual harassment part?”

“True, true, I suppose I must. It’s decided then: when you

lend me your phone, I won’t use it to send anyone a
message that could be taken as sexual harassment.”

So you decided it just like that? But how? And for what
reason?”

Still, I was getting a little tired of our exchange not getting

anywhere, so I just unlocked and handed my phone over to
Rinko. She frowned when she saw my phone wallpaper.

“What’s with this scary-looking bird? You have some weird

tastes.”

“I just think shoebills are cute, that’s all! Leave me alone!”

Rinko opened the LINE app, and, after tapping at it for a

minute, poked me with my phone to indicate she was done
using it. As I took my phone back, I glanced at the screen to
read the message she wrote.

This is Saejima Rinko from Class 1-4. I borrowed Murase-

kun’s phone to contact you. You don’t need to think too hard
about my relationship with Murase-kun. I would like to speak
with you regarding your decision to quit playing the drums,
so please come to the music storage room after school
tomorrow.
…Was the bit about our relationship really necessary?
Actually, because of how Rinko wrote it, Shizuki was more
likely to do the opposite.

“Okay, what now? What’re you calling her over for?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To play together. So don’t forget to bring

your guitar and effects unit tomorrow.”

The next day began with rain that felt warm enough to have
been boiling water that hadn’t fully cooled off.

I left home with my trusty partner – a white Washburn Single

Cut guitar – slung across my back in a soft case. Among my
guitars, this one had the fewest quirks to its sound, and
because Rinko hadn’t told me what songs we would be
playing, it would be for the best to use my most well-
rounded guitar.

Unfortunately, my beloved instrument, safe and dry in its

vinyl bag, was also a major inconvenience to the other
passengers on the Saikyou Line, packed like sardines
already, due to its size. I squeezed myself against the door
and apologized in my mind to the people I’d inadvertently
inconvenienced.

And then there was all the attention I started getting in

class.

“That your guitar, Murase?” “Never knew you could play!”

“Oooh, lemme see!” “Play us a song!”

…Which was why I didn’t want to bring my guitar to school,

to say nothing of how I was nearly late and of the rain.
Fortunately that also meant the bell for first period ran
shortly after, and everyone took their usual seats. As for
me, I stashed my guitar in a gap between the lockers and a
wall before returning to my seat.

It was hard to focus on the lesson, so I ended up spending

the time gazing through the fogged-up, rain-slicked window
at the drizzle outside.

Across the courtyard, I could see the gentle rain washing

down the wall of the north building. I imagined the row of
windows was like one long film strip, with one window
representing one frame. Going from the far right to the far
left of the building would be enough for one and a half
second of screentime.

With each passing break period, I took my phone out to

check LINE.

I had been checking for messages from Shizuki, but nothing

had changed from yesterday; the only reply was a solitary
‘Okay’.

It was a short and simple message, but I couldn’t guess how

she might’ve felt after sending it. Had she been surprised?
Confused? Or maybe even frightened?

I was waiting for classes to end for the day, and the passing
time flowed like the raindrops on the window, moving at a
slow crawl until, in a single breath, the droplet suddenly
found itself sliding down all at once, only for the process to
repeat itself with another raindrop. Did I feel this way
because of the anticipation? Was it fear?

After all, I had no idea what Rinko was planning to do with

Shizuki.
I mean, I knew Rinko was trying to get Shizuki to play the
drums again, but were Shizuki’s issues really something that
could be solved by making some music? Back when I
brought Rinko to the rooftop, that had worked because
playing was directly correlated to a personal, emotional
hang-up she was going through. Compared to now, where
the issue involved not only a family matter but also
Shizuki’s own future, what could a single session do for
that? In the first place, was it really fine for us to get
involved, to try and change it at all?

The bell finally rang.

The boisterous rush of students standing from their seats

brought my attention back to the class. I did my best not to
think too much harder about it, and I retrieved my guitar
from its hiding spot before leaving the classroom.

Shizuki had been the first to arrive at the storage room, and
she was on her knees by the bass drum, in the middle of
detaching the drum head.

And beside her was a brand-new, hole-less drum skin.

“Ah, Makoto-san.”

Shizuki, noticing my entrance, stopped what she was doing

to turn and give me a bow.

“What’re you doing?”

“Well, since I was the one who selfishly went and cut out a
port hole, I thought I should replace it.”

“But why? It wasn’t that big of a deal, and it wasn’t like

anyone else was gonna use these drums.”
“Still, I decided I wouldn’t be playing these drums–“

“No, no, wait, hang on, you read that LINE message, right?
We’re playing a session together with Rinko today. Look, I
even brought my guitar for it.”

Shizuki’s eyes widened in surprise. Wait, why was she

surprised?

“…A session? But why…? I thought she just wanted to talk

with me.”

I turned my head to stare at the ceiling as I tried to recall

what the message had said exactly, and I realized Rinko had
never explicitly mentioned having a session. It was possible
she thought Shizuki would decline if she said something
about it. Actually, no, it would’ve been better to just invite
her over on the pretext of playing a song or two rather than
the ominous message she ended up sending. In fact, as I
thought about it, it was more surprising that Shizuki ended
up agreeing to come in the first place.

“She actually meant to say she wants to play together

today, so let’s get these drums set up again. I’ll even help
you out with the tuning and stuff again.”

“…But…”

Shizuki cast her eyes downward and brushed along the rim
of the hollow bass drum with a fingernail.

I went ahead and picked up the stuffed animals Shizuki had

removed before returning them to the drum. Next I
reattached the drum head and hoops and finally retightened
the bolts.
“So, how should we tune it this time?” I asked, forcing
myself to sound more cheerful than usual. I figured in this
situation, it was better to keep the conversation simple and
force it onward without giving Shizuki the chance to have
second thoughts about playing. It was a good plan… maybe.

“Um, well,” Shizuki hesitated, but it seemed her eyes had

regained some of their clarity, “I know it should be tuned,
but… it really depends on what songs we’ll be playing. I
would need to re-tune the drum to match the song.”

“Haha, funny that you mention it, since I don’t know what
we’re playing either.”

It might’ve been late to feel this way, but I was starting to

get irritated with Rinko. From the start, why hadn’t she
explained anything? She even dragged me into this only to
leave me in the dark! And to top it all off, despite calling us
together like this, she was the one who had yet to show up.

Left with no other choice, we ended up tuning the drums

according to my preference like we always did. After that,
Shizuki took her seat on the stool, repeatedly stepping on
the hi-hat pedal to test its stiffness all the while looking like
she was about to walk across a frozen lake.

Meanwhile, I took my guitar out of its case and connected it

through my effects pedal to the Roland amp that sat in a
corner of the storage room before turning it on.

Now, how was I supposed to tune the guitar? It would be

much harder to tune compared to the drums if I didn’t know
what song we would be playing.

But as I thought that, the faint sound of a piano suddenly

came across the wall.
It was a quiet arpeggio, a simple harmonic progression that
faded in and out every two bars like light, gentle steps.

That had to be Rinko; she was playing from the music room
two doors down the hall, but…

…this wasn’t enough to tell what song we would be playing.

I turned my attention to Shizuki, still seated behind the
drum set. She held her sticks at the ready but had a look of
confusion similar to the one I was probably wearing.

But before long, Shizuki took a deep breath and added to

the piano, starting with a simple 2/4 beat. After a few notes,
she seemed to sense Rinko’s dissatisfaction from beyond
the wall and added a sixteenth backbeat with the kick from
the second loop on. The hesitant footing she had earlier
began to dissipate as she played.

And just like that I understood what the song was; the
drumming became smoother at about the same time, so
Shizuki must have figured it out as well. I realized now why
Rinko hadn’t told me what song we would be playing, but I
knew what I needed to do with the guitar and effects.

I quickly adjusted the effects pedal and set its volume to

zero so as not to disturb the gentle rhythm. After slinging
the guitar strap over my shoulder, I began to mumble the
lyrics to the song almost to myself; I was loud enough to still
hear myself over the crashing of the drums but not so loud
that my voice might muddy their sound.

When you were here before

Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so fuckin’ special

Creep by Radiohead.

It was a song from when they were just five students from
Oxford dreaming big dreams, not yet the monster band they
would go on to become, the same one that broke new
grounds in the icy sea of music like an unstoppable
icebreaker. Thom Yorke had apparently written this song on
a university bench, while in the throes of melancholy from
watching people indulging in young love around him. It was
a song that went on to define Radiohead and stamp their
name over the world — and a curse that shackled them.

As I hummed along to Rinko’s piano in the distance, I

imagined what it must have been like back when they first
made this song. They were gathered together, listening to
Thom’s sample, then Colin and Phil laid the foundation with
simple but powerful rhythm, then Ed strung together the
gentle and clean arpeggios. They might’ve known at the
time — that this would be the song to be listening to, the
one that would draw crowds to their shows; it had it all: the
melody was sweet and catchy, and the lyrics that could
hook listeners in.

But the band’s fifth member – Jonny – was looking down at

his Telecaster, frowning with disapproval from behind the
other members.

So what was I supposed to do with my guitar here? Layer it

over the long tones? Fill in the gaps of the vocals with an
obbligato? It was all too mundane, and all that we’d get was
an ordinary performance — it would be like fireworks,
climbing high on the charts for one glorious moment before
fading away, forgotten into nothing. Would everyone really
be satisfied with that?

Like hell I was fine with that. I would break us free.

And I realized then that was the role Rinko had assigned me:
to throw my vulnerable self right into the song and let my
emotions that grew from nothing break down the walls. And
that was why she hadn’t told me the song beforehand —
knowing would have dulled the energy I could bring forth.

But this was fine too. I’ll play along.

I stomped down hard on the effects pedal, bringing up the

sound pressure. It felt as though every molecule of air had
become charged with excitement. Without looking back, I
could sense Shizuki – still playing – felt the same; she knew
how the song went, and we both anticipated what would
come in the two bars before the chorus.

I tore through the strings with my pick.

The distorted sound that came out wasn’t so much music

anymore as it was the ominous shriek of a train whose
wheels were scraping against the track and threatening to
derail. I did this once, then twice, then a third time as a
lead-in to the scream of the chorus.

I released the mute and strummed an open chord, and then

I launched into the vocals, straining my voice to channel
every last ounce of passion I could into the lyrics.

But I’m a creep

I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
It suddenly dawned on me that our song still continued
strong, unbroken. The walls around us seemed like they
would crumble under the force of the distortions, but I
projected my voice into them as though to stop the
collapse. Then there was the dazzling reverb of the ride
cymbal and the heavy thumps of the ride drum to support
my voice, having fallen back when the piano had stepped
forward. I snuck a peek to my side and caught a glimpse of
Shizuki, with glistening beads on her long lashes and radiant
bronze wings shining on high. There was no emotion on her
face; it was as though it had flowed out to the music.

And I could still hear the piano in the breaks of the song. It
was unbelievable; we were so far from Rinko, separated by
concrete, distance, misunderstandings, and yet…

The second round chorus arrived, and it felt like I was being
torn apart. Shizuki’s harsh, violent rhythm closed in on me
from the side, my fingers felt numb, raw, and bloody, and
my throat ached with a dry, desperate thirst as I continued
to sing the self-loathing lyrics of the song. And inbetween it
all, where I stopped singing, the piano returned like a
surging tide, closing the distance between us as well.

I didn’t need to look back at Shizuki, not that I had the

leeway anymore. Her feelings came through clearer than
ever through the repeated intrusions of sound — yes,
intrusions. It was a pitfall to try and sync up together,
especially for the drummer that didn’t need to match the
others. And that was the true essence of music: coming
together only to strike, to hurt, to devour, to steal
everything from each other. Each member was like a
crashing wave, threatening to sink everything under water,
but as each wave grew fiercer and fiercer – selfishly taking
more and more – they would all come together to become a
great river that split the earth.
And the three of us were that river now, cutting through the
plains and heading straight for the mouth that opened into
the wide, free sea. I extended the sigh of the feedback for
as long as I could, not wanting to let the reverb go out so
quickly. From the side, Rinko’s piano formed the waves that
ebbed and flowed while Shizuki’s cymbals crashed against
the waves to scatter as grains of light. And finally, I gave the
last verse, spitting it out like a final act of defiance to the
sky.

I don’t belong here

Thom Yorke was the odd one out among his peers, at odds
with their obssession with football or nightclubs, romance or
volunteer work. But then he found a place of his own: a
studio of rust, smoke, and electicity. And it wasn’t just a
sanctuary for himself; no, here was also where his four
fellow friends and enemies challenged each other and
supported each other, where body and soul came together.
That was Radiohead.

As I quietly zeroed the guitar’s volume, Shizuki followed and

silenced her cymbals by pressing a palm against them, and
the piano in the distance faded into the concrete walls. The
air of the storage room finally began to settle.

I dropped my guitar pick into my chest pocket and took a

deep breath before checking on the left hand that still
gripped the guitar’s neck; try as I might, I couldn’t move my
fingers very well — they had cramped up and were now
stuck to the strings. On the fingerboard was a faint sheen of
sweat that seemed to reflect a pattern of light.

With a little effort, I was able to peel my hand off the guitar,
and I proceeded to wipe my palm off on my pants.
As I unslung the guitar from my shoulders, my eyes
suddenly met with Shizuki, who was beginning to stand from
her seat.

Her face, already cherry pink, blossomed rose red with

embarrassment, and she quickly got to her feet. WIth sticks
still in each hand, she gave me a deep bow.

“…Thank you very much for playing with me.”

“Huh? …Oh, uh, of course. I feel the same, so thank you

too.”

I wasn’t expecting her to thank me, so I only managed a

half-hearted reply. After hearing my answer, Shizuki quickly
stowed her sticks away in her bag before exiting the room.

Now alone in the room, I stood around, absentmindedly

fidging with my guitar.

That performance just now… I think it went well.

Still, that didn’t mean anything had changed – or would

change, even. I could even say I was hoping for too much by
expecting change to happen.

I dropped down to sit on the floor and placed the guitar

down flat before me. After individually wiping down the
strings with a cloth, I returned it to its vinyl case.

The storage room door suddenly opened; I turned to see

who had entered, expecting Shizuki to have returned, but it
was just Rinko, stomping in with large steps. She looked
around the room with an irritated expression on her face
before speaking to me.

“What happened with Yurisaka-san?”

“…She went home, probably. Why are you angry? Was the
performance not good enough?”

“It was perfect, actually. And so intense that I felt like I

would suffocate at some points.”

“That’s good then.”

“No, it’s not. I was actually planning to lecture her.”

“A lecture? For what? What would you even say to her..?”

“I would tell her its stupid to give up on the music she loves
this much for something as basic as personal issues.”

Seriously, was this girl purposely forcing herself to disregard

her self-awareness?

“Well I suppose if Yurisaka-san has already left, there’s no

choice but to lecture you instead, Murase-kun.”

“About what?”

“Your guitar was fine, but I didn’t hear your voice. Did you
even sing?”

“Of course I did! In the first place, it should be obvious that

you wouldn’t be able to hear me all the way over in the
music room, especially between the loud drums and guitar
and the lack of a microphone! Actually, it’d be weirder if you
could somehow hear my voice from two rooms over —
supernatural, even!”

“So you’re saying you’re okay with letting Yurisaka-san hear

you sing but not me?”

“Is that what this is about? Why are you even angry about
that? …If you really want to hear me sing then, uhh, I mean
I could sing right now. It’ll only have a guitar for
accompaniment though.”

Rinko’s face twisted in a frown; it was an exceptionally

terrible look, one that described the feeling of finding a
cockroach on the plate after finishing a meal.

“I’ll pass. I imagine hearing it would give me the creeps. In

fact, it seems a little crazy to me that you’re perfectly fine
singing the lyrics to Creep to a girl. Are you really that
shameless? It’s probably like the fifth worst thing you could
give as a present.”

I mean, that was just the lyrics, right? I understood where

she was coming from, but she could have said it in a nicer
way…

“Just for reference, what’s the fourth worst thing?”

“Fourth is ‘A List of Movies That Changed My Life. Third is a

custom mug with the specific details of ‘100 Things I Love
About You’ written all over it. Second is…”

“Okay, okay, I get it already! I’m sorry for asking, it was my

mistake!”

The answer to a number of questions I still had would come

the next week, as I stepped into the school’s entrance hall.

The first thing I saw was a new flower arrangement in front

of the shoe rack, and the sight of it left me speechless and
standing motionless in awe.

There was no longer a glass case enclosing it. A white cloth

now covered the top of the table, and atop the cloth was a
large bowl containing shirakaba branches boldly tied
together and surrounded by crimson shakunage flowers that
seemed to almost to be dancing around the branches. It was
an exceptionally tall piece, which may explain the lack of a
case this time, but to me, it felt more like the branches and
flowers were so overflowing with vitality that they had
broken free of the glass on their own accord. And yet,
despite the freedom the arrangement exhibited, there was
nothing crude or base about it; no, that one bowl was like a
secret forest that thrived on a distant star.

And the arrangement was so great that it partially obscured

the nameplate crediting the creator; I only saw the last
character of the name, but it wasn’t like I needed to see it to
guess the creator.

I purposely slowed down after I passed the arrangement, as

I made my way to the stairs. I imagined the flowers and
branches grew more the longer I kept my eyes off it, so I
ended up taking more and more backward glances as I left it
behind. In the end, that contrast of dull white and vivid red
stayed in my mind for a long time.

It was after school now, and I was busying myself with

cleaning the guitar amp in the storage room when the door
violently opened.

“I’ve come to play!”

Making a gallant entrance into the room was Shizuki.

Now, in addition to her schoolbag, she carried a second

handbag that contained not only the usual drumsticks but
different mallets and brushes – drumstick substitutes for
different techniques.
“Now, without further ado, it’s time to get in the way of the
special afterschool time you two are having!”

“Haa…”

I was glad she did come back.

“And like I’ve been trying to tell you, Rinko doesn’t actually
come here every day. In fact, she doesn’t come here more
often than she does.”

“Which means today is just me and you, Makoto-san? That’s

also convenient in its own way!”
But just as I was about to ask what was so convenient about
that arrangement, the sound of a piano crashed through the
wall.
It was a rapid fire fortissimo so clear that for an instant it
seemed like there were no music prep room separating us.
Actually, wasn’t that the fourth movement of Chopin’s Piano
Sonata No. 2 – the funeral march? That Rinko… what was
she even so mad about?

But the sudden, savage boom of drums drowned out any

further questions; Shizuki had begun playing, beating hard
on the set like she was trying to compete. As for me, I was
caught right in the middle of this brutal but perfect
ensemble that threatened to grind me into dust; there was
no doubt that I was the intruder here.

And so I reluctantly and quietly left the storeroom, doing my

best not to be noticed. It wasn’t like I could do anything — I
had no guitar, no microphone, and most importantly, no
talent. It simply wasn’t a place for me; I belonged in the dirt,
creeping along back home to my dark room, where I would
write new songs, practice until my fingers bled, and make a
vow as I watched the angels dance in the sky: one day, I too
would sprout wings of my own and join them.
 Chapter 6: Husky Voiced Zashiki-
Warashi

I realized recently that the vocalists I like all have certain

characteristics to their voices.

First and foremost was having a powerful voice. It might’ve

been because I grew up listening to hard rock, but thin, soft
voices just didn’t resonate with me.

Second was having more of a boyish timbre, one with a

youthful innocence to it. A voice that was powerful but
heavy and brutish just didn’t have the same appeal; the
voice needed to be able to convey a sense of longing for
something far out of reach.

Next, the voice also needed to be able to produce darker,

gloomier tones. A voice that was only capable of light and
bright tones fell short of reaching the depths of my heart.

And lastly, the voice needed to have a more feminine

coloring to it; being able to mix together sweet and bitter
vibes or sharp and gentle tones was what coaxed magic out
of sound.

Suffice to say, there weren’t many people in this world

whose singing voice covered those points.

And with singers like Freddie Mercury, Michael Jackson, and

Chester Bennington gone, I long believed I’d never have the
opportunity to find my ideal vocalist.
Little did I know how easy it actually was to find that voice.

Furthermore, it would be somewhere unbelievably close by:

Moon Echo.

After the incident with Shizuki, I began regularly visiting

Moon Echo.

That Creep session we had made me realize just how bad I

was with the guitar, so I decided I needed to practice a little
more seriously. But I couldn’t just play without an amp
because it would be harder to spot mistakes or catch sloppy
pickings. Of course I could just put on headphones in lieu of
an amp, but there were times I just wanted to feel the
explosion of sound on my skin.

And with each visit to Moon Echo, I got to know Kurokawa-

san better.

“Huh, Misao was right, you really will do anything I tell you.”

She’d said that after asking me to sort the storage closet,

take down old flyers, repair equipments… Wait a minute,
rather than getting to know her better, wasn’t I just
becoming her errand boy?

“Anyway, Studio A2 is free until 6 PM, so feel free to use it.”

— though, I couldn’t really complain since she compensated

me for it.

At first I’d wondered why Kurokawa-san could just let me

use a vacant studio for free, but then I found out she was
actually the owner of Moon Echo, despite her young age. It
seemed her father was a pretty wealthy landowner, and this
property came from that; Kurokawa-san just worked
reception for the fun of it. Knowing she not only owned this
building but also turned it into a music studio with an
additional live house had me feeling pretty jealous.

“Is it really something to be jealous of? You wanna try being

the owner then?” she asked me once, after I’d brought it up.

“Huh? Uh, I mean, I guess it would be an ideal way of

putting food on the table.”

“Should I take that to be your marriage proposal?”

“Excuse me? H-how did you come to that concusion? You

shouldn’t be, um, making jokes like that, especially when
the other staff members might overhear and
misunderstand.”

“Did it sound like I was making a joke? How else would you
become the owner? You planning on saving up the money to
buy the place off my old man? Or are you gonna start as a
part-timer here and work your way up the ladder? Neither of
them will work out, so that leaves marrying me as the most
practical, ideal option.”

“What you’re saying might be true, but there’s stil a bigger

issue to address…”

“Well, it was just a joke.” “I knew it! You should’ve said that
from the start!”

And she would tease me like this all the time. It was like
having another Hanazono-sensei around, and it left me
exhausted every time.

“That reminds me, what happened in the end, with the

Yurisaka girl?”
Kurokawa-san casually changed topics, all the while keeping
her usual calm expression. It made sense that she would
ask; seeing Shizuki’s mother come in like that to retrieve
her daughter would worry anyone who saw it happen. Still…

“I actually don’t know what happened either.”

“How does that happen?”

“Shizuki hasn’t said anything about it, and since it’s a family
matter, I don’t think it’s a good idea to pry.”

“Huh, I didn’t expect a cross-dressing pervert to know how

to be considerate.”

“Cross-dressing has nothing to do with being considerate!”

Wait, why did she know about that? How much did she
know?! Was it because of Hanazono-sensei? Had she
mentioned MusaO? Unfortunately I couldn’t press her about
that or else, assuming she didn’t know much, she might
start asking more questions.

“Either way, that means she gets to keep playing the drums,
right?”

Kurokawa-san moved on with her question, but as I was

about to answer, the shadow of a person came through the
door.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

It was Shizuki. She was still wearing her school uniform, so

she must have come here straight after class. She spotted
me after coming through the door and came over with a
blush on her face. Since I could use the studio for free, I
figured it would a good opportunity to practice alongside
drums, so I invited Shizuki to play.
“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, Makoto-san! The flower
arrangement club meeting went on longer than I expected.
Ah, Kurokawa-san, I’m sorry for what happened the other
day!”

Shizuki bowed deeply to Kurokawa-san, who blinked in

surprise. After a moment, she curled her lips with a satisfied
expression before nodding and pointing to the door that led
to Studio A2.

There was one other thing I noticed ever since I started

coming to Moon Echo.

I always saw the same customer hanging out in the lobby.

Actually, I didn’t know for sure if they were a customer or
not, but they were always squatting down beside the potted
plant in the corner, either closely listening to something on
earphones or reading so intensely from a tattered band
score as if devouring it through the eyes. They looked about
the same age as me, wearing a baggy shirt and hot pants
that ended just above the knees. I couldn’t figure out their
gender at a glance; their lips looked too soft and their lashes
were too long to belong to a guy, but shape of their eyes
and jawline were too sharp to be a girl’s. I figured I’d be able
to tell by the sound of their voice, but either they were
always alone or I just never saw them talking to anyone.

But for me to pay this much attention to a girl like this

probably meant there was something attractive about her —
and yeah, to clarify, the mysterious guest actually was a
girl, though I wouldn’t learn of the fact until later.

“So what’s the deal with the kid, the one that’s always just
sitting there?”
At some point I offhandedly asked Kurokawa-san about her,
and she glanced over at where I indicated, spotting the girl
in the corner.”

“Oh, that’s just our resident zashiki-warashi.”

“What.”

I moved my head back and forth about three times,

switching between staring at Kurokawa-san and the girl in
the corner.

“Yeah, I asked that one to stick around, ’cause having a

zashiki-warashi is supposedly good for business. So you can
see ’em too, huh? Guess you’ve got a pretty sharp spiritual
sense.”

“Wait, huh? What?”

“That was meant to be a half-joke.”

Which half was the joke then? The part about the spiritual
sense, right? Right?!

“Kid’s not part of any band but gets gigs with groups. Can
fill any role too, and pretty well even. I heard it doesn’t cost
the group much either.”

“Oh really,” I thought over what Kurokawa-san said; I didn’t

expect there to really be people who offered that kind of
service, and for someone that seemed my age to be doing
something like that? And if she could fill any role, that
probably meant she was in high demand.

Then again, it wasn’t like I was part of a band, and in a way I

could also play any instrument myself – through the PC
anyway. Basically, there wasn’t any reason for me to get
involved with the girl Kurokawa-san called a zashiki-warashi.

And yet, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, and from that day
forward, I would be on the lookout for her whenever I came
to Moon Echo.

By now, most of the practicing I did at the studio was with

Shizuki. Well, she’d been coming to Moon Echo for longer
than I had, so this was just the natural progression of things,
probably.

“The Gretsch is the better drum, but I have to hold back

when playing at school because there are still people
around. The storage room isn’t perfectly soundproof, either.”

Shizuki acted all shy as she answered. I almost wondered

aloud what there was for her to hold back only to remember
how she had played — and how powerful it was. In fact, I
should remember it well: sharing a small studio with her for
a session always felt like I was running the risk of being
splatted into the wall under the pressure of Shizuki’s full-
power drumming.

It was currently after school in early June, and I had arrived

at Moon Echo with Shizuki in tow as usual. We were done
with the usual check-in about five minutes before five
o’clock. After taking the rental equipment from Kurokawa-
san, we made our way to the stairs when my gaze drifted
around the lobby as usual.

There, in the corner beside the couch, was Moon Echo’s

resident zashiki-warashi. She was sitting on the floor, with
her usual earphones on, absentmindedly staring up at the
ceiling like a student at rest in gym class.
What’s this?’ I found myself thinking.

There was something strange atop her knees.

“FOR SALE: WILL DO ANYTHING. PRICE NEGOTIABLE – VERY

CHEAP.”

…It was a sketchbook with those words on it.

“Makoto-san? Is something wrong?”

“Do you happen to know them?”

Shizuki followed my gaze.

“…Hmm, I might have seen them before? Probably a

regular.”

Before I realized it, I was heading for the sitting zashiki-

warashi. She lowered her head as I approached, and her
gaze dropped from the ceiling to my face.

“Oh! Umm,” the zashiki-warashi half-rose, “Are you a

customer?! How can I help?!”

That was the first time I’d heard them speak, and it was like
granulated sugar in my ears – coarse but sweet – though I
still couldn’t tell if its owner was a boy or a girl. The
oversized t-shirt they had on also did well to obscure their
build.

“Like my sign says, I’ll do anything you want and provide

any kind of service! And if price is the problem, I’m more
than willing to negotiate!”

The zashiki-warashi aggressively pushed herself forward

toward me as she spoke; as she drew closer, I could see the
bare skin of her collar cheekily peek out from the oversized
neckline of her shirt — more than that, even! Not that I was
trying to sneak a glimpse or anything! But it’s because I
could see the valley between the hills that I realized the
zashiki-warashi coming for me was a girl. I immediately
turned to face straight ahead – only to meet with her eyes –
so I craned my neck away to hide where I’d been staring.

“No, uh, that’s not what I –“

“Makoto-san?”

A voice called to me from behind as something else tugged

at the sleeve of my blazer.

“Y-you can’t be doing things like that, Makoto-san! Soliciting

minors is a serious crime!” Shizuki cried.

“What are you…”

“What I’m saying is, you shouldn’t be going around having

women provide you with ‘service’ in exchange for money!”

I think you owe all the women working in the service

industry an apology, right now.

“I can do any sort of play you want!” the zashiki-warashi

continued with a grin, using her hands to pantomime vague
up-and-down motions around an imaginary – possibly stick-
shaped – object in the air, “Plus I’m pretty confident in my
technique!”

“N-no!” Shizuki’s voice cracked, “The way you’re describing

it – play or techniques or whatever – is too lewd!”

“I’m pretty sure she’s just talking about music,” I answered,

slightly confused. I mean, those motions were like
readjusting her grip on a guitar neck, weren’t they?
“Rinko-san said I needed to keep you on a tight leash,
Makoto-san, or else you’ll go around committing sexual
crimes. And she warned me how you’d try to get out of it by
giving different excuses with that smooth tongue of yours…”

“That’s a false accusation she’s been trying to pin on me.

And what did she mean, smooth tongue?”

“It’s honestly better than a man who’s only good with his
mouth!”

Um, could you stay out of this, miss zashiki-warashi? You’re

only making things worse.

“But me, I’m good with my hands and my mouth! I can do

vocals or play mostly any instrument. Oh, but wait, is mister
smooth tongue here in charge of vocals?” she rattled on,
but did she just call me ‘mister smooth tongue’ when we
didn’t even know each other? “So is it just the two of you
practicing together? Need a fill-in? Maybe a bassist?”

“Uh, actually no, we’re fine as we are.”

I politely declined her offer, but now she looked sadder than
ever. I felt rather guilty as I turned back to Shizuki.

“See? We were only talking about bands and music.”

“O-oh, I see. I apologize for my misunderstanding.”

“If you really wanted it, I guess I could also offer the
services you had in mind though,” the zashiki-warashi
suddenly piped up again, but I didn’t need her to keep
adding onto the misunderstandings! I mean, now look what
you’ve done: see how red Shizuki is now!
I wasn’t sure how much deeper into this swamp of a
conversation I could sink if we kept talking, so I hastily
grabbed Shizuki by the wrist and pulled us to Studio B3. As
we left, the sincere voice of the zashiki-warashi called out to
us from behind.

“If you need a hand, feel free to call on me! I’m available at
any time!”

An hour later, Shizuki and I finished practicing, and we

returned to the lobby in time to find the zashiki-warashi
talking to the members of another band.

“I can help with your session! I’ll even give you a discount!”

Shizuki and I exchanged glances; I was sure I had the same

confused look she did. There sure were a lot of strange
people in this world.

“Ah, so you met Akane-chan then? You got her services?”

The next day, I mentioned the zashiki-warashi to Hanazono-

sensei, and she responded in turn.

“So you know who she is? I guess Kurokawa-san did say you
were the one who brought her in.”

“Yep, she was one of my students back when I was still a

private tutor. She’s a bit of a recluse but smart. I taught her
so well that she easily got into a private middle school, but,
well, she ended up skipping classes all the time just to do
music stuff.”

She went to a private middle school? Doesn’t that mean her

parents are pretty well-off? Offering her services (?) the way
she was had me assuming her family might’ve been
struggling with money.

“I met her again for the first time in a while last year, and
she hadn’t yet figured out where she wanted to go despite
being in her third year of middle school. I casually asked her
to try coming here for high school, so you can imagine my
surprise when she actually got in. If I remember right, she’s
in Class 4.”

She also attends this school? And she’s in Class 4? I looked

over at Rinko who was sitting beside me; the three of us
were here in the prep room going over next week’s lesson
plans, and it seemed Rinko was more focused on the sheet
music, not paying attention to what Hanazono-sensei and I
were talking about. She seemed to notice my staring and
looked up.

“Akane? I don’t remember anyone with that name in my

class.”

So she actually had been listening to what we were talking

about.

“So even in high school she’s still skipping classes, huh?”

Hanazono-sensei noted as she took a leisurely sip from her

cup.

“Kurokawa did mention that girl’s been coming to the studio

pretty often lately. Did you know she can play pretty much
anything? Ahh, my job would be so much easier if only she
came to class.”

“You mean because you’d be able to slack off even harder

by delegating even more of your responsibilities? And isn’t
that the reason why we’re here? You’re having us help with
the lesson plans just so you can skip the next two weeks of
class, right?”

“You really do get me, MusaO. Must be from having known

each other for so long.”

It has only been two months though.

“My hands are tied here, y’know? A bunch of sequels to

some big name series are coming out next week, like a sort
of video game tidal wave. This is no time to be working.”

“Are you for real? You’re skipping work to play video

games?”

“No, not just for video games! I’m planning on sleeping all
day, and reading manga too!”

“I actually don’t care either way, but..”

Rinko coldly replied. You should care though! We’re the ones
she’s foisting her work on! But Rinko ignored my unspoken
plea and pointed at the sheet music from the bundle of
papers in her hand..

“…were you serious about this? Having every student

currently taking the music elective to participate in a Bach
cantata for the music festival in the third term? They’re
usually forty minutes long.”

A cantata is a longer piece with multiple movements and

combines the wind and string orchestra with the choir,
sometimes with a soloist. It was the kind of performance
that was beyond the skill level of high school students.

“Haven’t you seen how motivated everyone has been? It’s

become a hot topic in the staff room too, and now they’re
also looking forward to it. I even told them I got MusaO to
write the arrangement! Do you know how sad they’d be if I
have to tell them MusaO said he changed his mind and
didn’t want to do it anymore?”

“And what about me? Don’t you feel bad about foisting all
that work on me?”

“I do, and I feel so, so bad for poor, little MusaO, who has to
do all that work himself.”

“Why does it sound like you’re just badmouthing me?!”

“Aw, that’s just your paranoia speaking. I haven’t even said

what it is that makes you so pitiable,” Hanazono-sensei said
with smirk on her face as she poked my cheek, “But since
you’re so curious, I would have to say its the size of your
breasts.”

“This is normal for a guy.”

“Says the cross-dresser.”

“Um excuse me, Rinko-san? I thought you weren’t

interested in our conversation? Why are you suddenly
coming at me like this?”

“Sure, we can stop talking about the cross-dressing and

instead focus on the cantata then.”

It was strange for Rinko to to withdraw so easily, but just as

I thought that…

“So about the cantata Murase-kun has arranged; the

prelude comes across as too long, but since the original is
the same, its not like the arrangement was dressed up. We
can at least cross off this much because everything but the
piano here is just dressing. However, there are some lines
we cannot cross when it comes to the prelude, so we can’t
dress it down too much. Still, since this is an arrangement
of a Bach cantata, the score happens to cross over at some
parts, we can just address them as they come up.” ¹

“Weren’t you gonna stop talking about cross-dressing?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been talking about the cantata the
entire time.”

I could only grind my teeth together in frustration; I’d

forgotten this woman is a she-devil that hides her teasing
behind that frigid face.

At that moment, the door to the music room opened, and in

walked Shizuki

“Sensei, I’ve gathered a list of people who volunteered to be

in the cantata!”

She placed the pages in her hand on the desk – three A4-
sized sheets with a list of students’ names and their class. It
looked like a variety of classes and years, too.

“Woah, I wasn’t that serious when I mentioned it, but you

really went and got this many people.”

Hanazono-sensei said with a detached voice, like it didn’t

concern her in the least.

“What’s all this? Volunteers for..?” I asked, peering at

Shizuki’s face.

“I was asking around, seeing if anyone was interested in

volunteering for the cantata at the music festival,” Shizuki
replied, looking proud of herself, “And it turns out a lot of
people were interested, even those that didn’t choose music
as their elective.”

“Hmm…”

I read through the list again and saw the very first line was
Yurisaka Shizuki, Class 1-3. Wasn’t calligraphy her elective?
Did that mean the names here were all of students in
calligraphy or fine arts? With this many names, the choir
would be three times the size of what I originally planned
around.

Wait a minute, wouldn’t that also mean…

“And the one taking on the very annoying job of training

these people… will be you, right Hanazono-sensei?”

“It’ll be you, of course.”

“What? Why?”

“Those students aren’t in the music elective, meaning

they’ll have to practice outside of clsas time, right? That’s
past my teaching hours. In other words, someone will need
to volunteer to help our volunteers.”

“And what makes you think I would volunteer for that?”

“True, Murase-kun isn’t the kind of selfless person that

would go out of his way to help others,” Rinko coolly added
from the side.

“Huh? Excuse me, Rinko-san? What did you just say?”

“I said you are an unselfless person.”

“Why does a word I’ve never even heard before do so much

emotional damage?”
“Fine, how does unselfless cricket sound?”

“Turning it into a straight insult doesn’t make it hurt any

less.”

“Well, I suppose if you really don’t want to do it, then I

guess I have no other choice but to do it myself.”

“Oh sure. In fact, it would be great if you do.”

“I’m already busy enough practicing for the piano

accompaniment that I have very little time left and now I
have to deal with teaching our senpai which would be a
considerable mental burden on my poor shy self to say
nothing of the fact that I’m not even the one who wrote the
arrangement so I’d also have to spend extra time that I
don’t have but then I would have to account for learning and
practicing the piece which will mean cutting into the time I
set aside for my own practicing after school which in turn
will result in neglecting my other responsbilities to try and
catch up on practice meaning my grades will drop which will
negatively affect my chances of getting into college or
finding a proper job meaning my whole life and future is in
jeopardy, but of course, Murase-kun, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, fine, sorry! I’ll do it then!”

“You will? Well that’s a relief.”

“Wow Makoto-san, you sure are nice to Rinko-san… I’m a

little jealous…”

“Does this looks like I’m playing favorites with her?! I’m just
desperately trying to survive against her mental attacks!”

“Oh also, um, sensei!” Shizuki suddenly turned to

Hanazono-sensei, “Would it be possible to change my
elective to music..?”

“Huh?” Hanazono-sensei blinked in amazement, “You want

to change this late into the year? You don’t want to do
calligraphy?”

“That’s right, it’s mostly because I can practice during class

but I also want to specifically take your class. It’s not just
me, either; there are plenty of people who are interested in
changing their electives to music. They were all interested
after hearing good things about the class.”

“Oh really? They heard good things? What sorts of things?

Tell me,” Hanazono-sensei said, a pleased look coming over
her face.

“Things like how the lessons are so thorough that you can
tell how much you improve with every class, how the
accompaniment is very good, and how the explanations
during music appreciation lessons make them interested in
learning more about classical music. They’re hearing about
it from the students who are currently in the music
elective.”

“So about eighty percent of that is thanks to me and

Rinko..?”

I wasn’t sure if I should’ve kept that detail to myself, but I

found myself speaking it aloud.

“And since I was the one who raised and nurtured your
talents, that means it’s all thanks to me!” Hanazono-sensei
smugly declared, leaning back with relish; I secretly hoped
she would learn back far enough to fall over and hit her
head, but alas. “Anyway, sorry, but I don’t think you’ll be
able to switch electives this late into the year.”
“Oh… Of course it is…” Shizuki said, letting her shoulders
drop in resignation, “I knew I should have taken it from the
start.”

“What about calligraphy? Didn’t you choose it because you

like it?”

I asked, but Shizuki shook her head.

“It was mother who told me to take calligraphy, because she

said it would be the best way to improve my understanding
of flowers.”

Oh, I could definitely see her mom saying something like

that to her.

“Well, you can always take it in your second year.”

Hanazono-sensei said, undeterred, “Though, who knows if
I’ll still be working, considering how much I’m not now.
Ahaha!”

“And if you know exactly how much you’re slacking, would it

kill you to actually work more!?” I found myself raising my
voice in response.

The first time I heard Akane perform would be on that

following weekend.

Kurokawa-san had me doing chores around the studio, and

as payment, she would allow me to watch live performances
for free; as I mentioned before, Moon Echo had not just
private studios for rent but also a live house in the
basement.
It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but up until now, I’d
never before been to a live event.

I mean, the artists I liked fell in one of three categories: they

were already dead, they would never come to Japan, or they
never performed live. Well, I was a lazy frugal person to
begin with, so instead of putting in the money and effort to
attend a single event, I preferred to spend it on a new
instrument or on tinkering with one in my room, in private.

And so I found myself attending my first live on someone

else’s dime.

To be honest, I wasn’t really interested in watching a group

of amateurs perform, but Shizuki, who was also with me,
was strangely excited.

“I’ve never been to a live event before, so I’m really happy

you’re with me, Makoto-san!”

There was no way I could just refuse to stay when she had
that sparkle in her eyes.

The basement was about as big as a full basketball court; as

we passed through the thick, soundproof doors, I spotted
the drink counter to our right, a PA booth in the left corner,
and a mic stand and drum set hiding in the dark stage
straight ahead.

There was still some time before the show started, so the
only people in here were staff members in the middle of
setting things up. Purple smoke swirled about above us,
around a naked airduct that snaked along the ceiling. The
smoke, the stinging scent of alcohol, and faint pink noise
mixed together, filling the room with a sort of oppressive
excitement.
And soon enough, more and more guests began pouring in,
quickly filling the dimly lit basement — there must have
been over a hundred people in here. There was the
occasional gleam from someone’s mascara, smartphone, or
some sort of accessory; it came together with the growing,
noisy voices of the people, bubbling and swelling like a
rising, boiling sea.

I mentally kicked myself for assuming attending a live

performance was no different from listening to it through
headphones; I felt my skin tingling, and it wasn’t from the
air. My throat felt suddenly parched, and I felt a strange,
choking heat rising through me.

I was already getting this excited about an amateur, joint

performance by three bands in a small venue… If this had
been a big concert for a band I loved – one whose ticket I
worked tremendously hard to earn – I might just explode in
a blaze of excitement.

And then colors dyed the darkness.

A cocktail of lights cast their beams every which way,

illuminating several shadows of people atop the stage. The
guitars they held glimmered sunburst and surf-green, and
for a moment, the mic’s feedback rang like a howl that tore
over.

“Good evening,” the man onstage, who seemed to be a

vocalist, gave his casual greeting. He seemed to be about
college-aged and popular, too — there were screams of
excitement coming from young women in the audience. The
guitarist and bassist beside him also looked pretty stylish,
so they might’ve been popular as well, but…

“Makoto-san, look! It’s her!” Shizuki whispered excitedly to

me, pointing toward the stage.
My eyes followed her finger over to the drummer.

It was Akane.

She was wearing a plain black t-shirt that made it seem like
she was melting into the darkness at the back of the stage;
if I didn’t focus on trying to spot her, I would have missed
her under the glare of the stage lights and shine of the
cymbals.

And without missing a beat, she raised her sticks high in the
air and tapped a count to four to start the music.

On that day, the only thing I saw was Akane’s expressions,

and the only thing I heard was Akane’s voice.

To be honest, none of the bands were worth remembering —

I would even say they weren’t worth the cost of a ticket. But
to my surprise, Akane had performed with all three groups:
as a drummer for the first, as a side guitarist for the second,
and as a bassist for the third.

It wasn’t that her performance didn’t stand out out but the
opposite: she seamlessly catered her playing to mesh with
each band’s mediocre performance, so much that I would
periodically forget she was there on stage.

In other words, it was an amazing performance by being

unamazing.

She played for three different bands, in different styles, as

different roles, and yet she naturally blended in with each
group like a chameleon. It wasn’t the kind of thing an
ordinary person could pull off.

Now I understood — she was skilled enough to make money

from it, but personally, I felt it was a waste of talent. How
did she even pick up those kinds of skills anyway?

Ultimately, I couldn’t find it in me to enjoy any of the bands,

boring as they were, nor could I remember anything other
than Akane’s performance — I couldn’t even recall if the
songs were in Japanese.

“Wasn’t that amazing?”

After the show, when we returned to the entrance, Shizuki

excitedly began talking about the concert.

“But Akane-san… her guitar and bass were just perfect. She
was so perfectly in sync with the other members of each of
the groups. I wouldn’t have guessed she was just filling in
for them.”

“It actually got me a little depressed, seeing someone able

to do that and then thinking about how I compare to them
with my half-hearted skills…”

“Um, well, I do think I’m still better at the drums!”

Shizuki suddenly stopped and turned to face me as she

spoke up; I widened my eyes in surprise.

“I mean, yeah, but… I already knew that.”

“So you don’t need to hire Akane-san as a substitute for me!

Nor do you need to hire her for any other kinds of services,
okay?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

In the first place, I’d been going to the studio to practice

beside Shizuki’s drumming, so it wouldn’t make any sense
for me to pick up someone else to be the drummer.
“That’s a relief,” Shizuki answered with a smile, “I would be
sad if you were arrested for sexual crimes, Makoto-san.”

Hey, wait, I’m the one feeling sad that you think that little of
me. And can we not talk about that kind of thing right now?

“So… what now, Makoto-san?”

Shizuki glanced at me with upturned eyes as she asked.

What now, huh? I looked up to see that the dull and narrow
strip of sky visible between the buildings had gone
completely dark.

“It’s already this late, so shouldn’t we be going home?

Unless there was something else?”

When she heard my response, Shizuki widened her eyes in

surprise before sighing as her shoulders fell.

“Makoto-san, there is something important I need to tell

you.”

“…S-sure? What is it?” I said, instinctively bracing myself for

what came next.

“Don’t forget: you should not be doing anything illegal! But!

As long as what you are doing is not illegal, then it’s fine!”

Wow, that was anticlimatic. It was so mundane that I

wondered if I was missing something. But did she really
need to shout it out? It’d caught the attention of a few
passersby, who were now looking at us in curiosity.

“I know that much, so…?”

“No, I don’t think you do, but I’ll just leave it at that! I’ll see
you tomorrow! Thank you for today!”
Shizuki gave one last pout before stepping out to the main
street, hailing a cab, and getting in. I tilted my head in
confusion as I continued making my way to the station.

But that night wasn’t over quite yet because by chance, I

suddenly encountered Akane at the station.

It was peak rush hour now, with office workers and students
filling the station, and yet she had caught my eye among
the crowd. She had on a plain black shirt, her short hair had
no extra decorations in it, and she was completely empty-
handed and carrying no instruments; it was a wonder how
she stood out. Even the people around us were sneaking
glances at her, but the girl in question minded none of it
with her eyes to the ground and her earphones on.

Well, we weren’t exactly acquaintances, so I didn’t intend to

make contact with her even if we ended up on the same
train. However, Akane suddenly lifted her head and caught
sight of me; for some reason, she wove through the crowd
and came over to me.

“Why if it isn’t Mister Smooth-Tongue! What a coincidence!”

Could you stop calling me that already…

“Um, I have an actual name, you know — Murase Makoto.”

“Oh, haha, oops! So it’s Murase Makoto, huh? All right, so

Makoto-chan for short!”

The heck’s with the -chan? And what do you mean for short?
Since when did we get that close?

“Going home after another day at the studio, huh? Oh,

actually, did you come to watch the live show?”
“Uh… Yeah, I did. Kurokawa-san gave me a free ticket, so I
figured I might as well stick around to see it.”

“Really?! Sounds nice! I was performing, but I bet you didn’t

notice, did you?”

“No, I did notice. It was obvious since you were in all three
bands.”

Akane awkwardly scratched her cheek with a fingertip.

“Ah, haha… That’s not good. I’m supposed to be the hired

help, so I can’t have the audience paying attention to me.”

“You weren’t standing out exactly, but…” I began but

quickly stopped myself. It was hard to put into words, and I
wasn’t even sure I should be mentioning it in the first place.
However, Akane was staring closely at my face with a
curious look on hers, and the pressure pushed me to
continue. “What I mean is, it’s because of how unnoticeable
you were that I noticed you. How do I explain it… um, the
way you kept the rhythm steady and the grains of sound in
line really helped raise the level of the performance? It was
amazing. Although I’m, uh, sorry to say, but the songs didn’t
really interest me. I was more interested in your
performance, actually.”

But though I seemed to randomly rambled on, Akane

covered her mouth with both hands as her face turned
bright red.

“You, huh..? Wha…”

A strange voice came out from behind her fingers. Had I

said something bad? As I tried to think of what I’d just said,
the train arrived, and the noise of its arrival drowned out
Akane’s voice.
The crowd of boarding passengers swept us along into the
train, and the two of us ended up all the way at the door on
the opposite side. We were in awkward positions: Akane’s
face, still blushing red, was right against me, while my own
cheek was pushed right against the window on the door.
There might have been room to move, but this position
made it less awkward to stay put than to try and put
distance between us.

“You really noticed all of that? I mean, I’m happy you did,
but I’m also kinda embarrassed, too.”

As the train began to move, Akane answered with a bashful

smile.

“But shouldn’t you have been paying attention to more than

just that?”

“Well… You’re the only one I was interested in, so…”

“Wow, you actually went and said something like that, and
here we are with less than five centimeters of separation
between us. You feeling all right?”

I should be the one asking that; what are you even talking
about?

“But now you know, right? You understand perfectly the

skills I’ve got. So how do you feel about hiring me for the
next time?”

I turned my eyes toward the window, already feeling

exhausted from her soliciting.

“Nah, we don’t really need anything like that.”

“Why not? You’ve only got that drummer girl with you, right?
And the two of you are always playing good stuff, like Pink
Floyd and King Crimson, but it’s not really popular — in a
good way, I mean. In other words, hiring me is definitely a
good idea because you’re getting more people.”

“Now hold on, why are you saying it like that?”

“You really don’t get it?”

“I do! And it’s frustrating to admit, but I do! But that doesn’t
mean you can just add ‘in a good way’ to the end and act
like you didn’t just say something bad!”

“Anyway, playing those kinds of songs isn’t gonna make you

any lifelong friends – I mean that in a good way, of course –
but at least you’ll have a bassist.”

“Why did it get even worse?!”

“I can play the guitar, the keyboard, or really anything you

want. Don’t you wanna see?”

As I struggled to find an answer, the train arrived at the next

station, and many of the passengers exited, opening more
space between me and Akane.

“First of, why are you so enthusiastic about wanting to

help?”

I asked, but Akane seemed to find it difficult to answer,

shifting her gaze up and away.

“I just, well, I wanted to learn from and experience as many

different styles as I could. And then I’d be invited to play
more often.”
It was a reasonable enough answer to stop at, but now I was
curious about Akane’s sudden lack of confidence so I
pressed further.

“But with your skills, I think most bands would be more than
happy to have you as a permanent member instead of just
as a temporary fill-in. In fact, you could probably even start
your own band and recruit your own members quickly
enough.”

Akane gave an awkward, forced smile.

“I’m fine without any of that. There’s not really any sort of
music I really wanna play or anything. To be honest, I’m
happy just being invited to play.”

That was a little hard to believe. There was no music she

wanted to play? Then how had she developed her skills this
much? What drove her? What motivated her to practice so
much then?

“And if I can make some money along the way, then even
better,” Akane said with a laugh.

“Are you that desperate for money?”

“It’s not that I need the money; rather, it makes me happy

just earning it. That’s why my prices are extremely low, and
I’m even open to anyone wanting to ask for a smaller fee.”

“Um, just for reference, how much did you charge those
three bands you played for, to help out with the show?”

With a proud look on her face, Akane told me a number that

was three times lower than what I expected — and I was
already expecting a small amount. I felt myself getting
angry at the three bands that played earlier.
“So? What do you think? You interested in my services
now?”

“Like I said, I don’t need it. We’re not planning on doing a

live performance. I’m just there to practice playing
alongside the drums.”

“I see…”

Her expression changed to disappointment, and she leaned

listlessly against the door, staring out the window. Beyond
her semi-transparent profile in the glass, the flickering of
streetlights the train passed seemed to draw a solid trail of
light against the darkness of the night.

Why was she so aggressive in selling herself to me? Did she

act this way with everyone, or was it because I was close to
her in age?

“Well, if you ever change your mind, come find me! I’ll be at
Moon Echo, at the usual corner. Yep, just little ol’ me, down
on her knees like she’s sitting out gym class, teary-eyed and
listening to Coldplay!”

Could also not describe it in a way that makes me feel guilty

about it, all the while wearing that innocent smile on your
face?

When the train stopped at the next station, Akane

announced, “This is my stop! I’ll be seeing you later!” and
skipped out through the doors to the platform. I followed
behind her, bewildered as she stared back with a blank look.
It started feeling awkward, so I averted my gaze after a
moment. I heard the doors close behind me; the train
departed, and the noisy sounds of its wheels on the tracks
slowly faded into the distance.
Akane doubled over in laughter, holding her stomach. The
eyes of other passengers who’d also gotten off at this stop
gathered on us.

“So we actually got off at the same station.”

“It seems that way…”

“Maybe we live close to each other? Kurokawa-san did say

we go the same school, right? Well, not that I’ve been
attending class or anything.”

Oh yeah, there was something like, wasn’t there?

And like that, we left the station together and began walking
along the same road. I worried that we might’ve actually
been neighbors the whole time, but then a new problem
presented itself: with the night growing darker and with
people gradually dwindling around us, I began to think
about what would happen once we ran out of conversation
topics and had to walk on in awkward silence.

“So, uh, why haven’t you been going to school? Did

something happen?”

I asked as we walked, trying to keep the conversation going.

But the moment the words left my mouth, I instantly
regretted saying them.

“I mean, never mind, you don’t need to answer that! I’m

sure you’ve got your own problems to worry about, and it’s
not like you’d want to share them with a random stranger,
right?”

“Ahaha, nah, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that from the very
beginning, I’ve never gone to school. That’s all.”
Akane answered softly, as she skipped ahead with light
steps.

“I just don’t understand how everyone just goes to school

every day.”

“…Huh?”

“I mean, it’s not like anybody ever said anything, right? Like
telling them to go and attend, or not going? Personally, I
always wondered why that many people bothered to get
together in the same place like that, like what are they even
trying to accomplish?”

I heard what she said, but I honestly couldn’t understand a

word of it.

But I knew, in that moment, that I had brushed against the

innermost and most vulnerable part of this girl’s heart.

I continued walking along the dark street in silence, quietly

staring at Akane’s back. At some point, either she had
slowed down or I was walking faster, but I suddenly realized
I was walking ahead – about half a step – of her. And each
time we passed under a streetlight, our two shadows
seemed to overlap and stretch like the hands of a clock
before melting into the darkness behind us. The awkward
silence felt like lead weights around my feet, and I cursed
my insensitivity; I wasn’t a kid, so I should be able to speak
with better consideration for the people around me.

And we went on like this, in silence, until the shadow of an

apartment building where I lived peeked out from beyond
the alley.

…Huh?
Akane was still with me. Were we actually neighbors?!

“…Uh, so, I live over there,” I said, pointing to a row of lights

floating in the darkness, “Do you live around here too?”

“Nope. I live in 6-chome“

Wasn’t that on the opposite side of the National Highway?

So why did she follow me all the way here?!

“I just… followed you. Because I didn’t want to go home

tonight…”

I backed up about six meters away from her. What the hell
was this girl saying all of a sudden?

“Haha, just kidding!” Akane suddenly admitted, giggling. “I

just wanted to try saying that at least once. I mean, it is true
that I don’t wanna go home, but it’s not just for tonight. I’m
used to spending the night outside, so you don’t need to
worry about it. See you around, Makoto-chan!”

Akane waved as she ran off, and her figure seemed to melt
away into the darkness once she left the glow of light
coming from an overhead streetlight.

I let out a deep breath and began walking the final stretch
home. Today had been extremely tiresome.

“You’re just letting her go? Not bringing her in?”

A voice suddenly called out to me from the side, causing me

to jump in surprise. It was just my older sister.

“I was even gonna keep it a secret from mom and dad.”

“N-n-no, I mean, wh-what are you even talking about? It’s

not what you’re thinking!”
“The girl even said she didn’t want to go home, and yet
here you are. You really have no balls, do you?”

From when did she start listening? I looked over more

closely at my sister; she was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts
and had a plastic bag in one hand. It seemed she had just
returned from a trip to the convenience store. What awful
timing.

“Y’know, lately it feels like girls have just been gathering

around you. Is it because of your cross-dressing? Maybe I
was just that good at polishing you up with make-up.”

“That has nothing to do with it!”

I tried to leave the conversation at that by walking away

and taking bigger steps, but unfortunately, since our
destination was the same, my sister quickly caught up and
wouldn’t stop questioning me about Akane until we finally
got home. Today really was extremely tiresome.

The next time I saw Akane was on the Monday of the

following week. On that day, I was once again at Moon Echo
with Shizuki in tow as usual — and also Rinko, who had
come along on the pretext of making sure I wasn’t sexually
harassing Shizuki behind closed doors. Slander aside, since
Rinko had come along, she couldn’t not play anything, so
she ended up on the synthesizer. Despite being a classical
pianist, she had quite a repertoire to draw from – anything
from rock to jazz – and our impromptu three-man session
turned out to be even more fun than when it was just me
and Shizuki.

And after finishing our productive hour together, we

returned to the lobby in time to overhear a familiar husky
voice in an argument.

“What do you mean, ‘I’ve done enough’? The deal was

supposed to go on until next month!”

“– And that’s what I’m trying to tell you! We don’t need you
anymore!”

“But why? The songs for the next show are the same as
before, so I can do them just fine!”

It was Akane. Three young men surrounded her in the usual

corner of the lobby, but the atmosphere was far from
peaceful. Those guys looked vaguely familiar, and after
digging through my memories, I realized they were the
members of one of the bands Akane had played with, on the
night of the live show.

“Was my performance really that bad? If so, I can practice

even harder so…”

“It’s not that. Well, it is, in a way, but, y’see…”

The man hesitated to continue. The other guests in the

lobby were beginning to gawk at them, so the band
members seemed to just give up and left the building with
sullen looks on their faces. Akane, having not given up yet,
gave chase and called out to them; “Wait!”

An unpleasant atmosphere seemed to fill the lobby.

Rinko, who didn’t know that was Akane, looked over at me

with a questioning look that asked, “What’s going on?” while
Shizuki timidly approached the exit as though to peek at
what was happening outside, only to suddenly plunge
through. I was also worried and quickly followed along.
Akane and the three men had stopped just outside the
building and by a roadside tree. The men were carrying
guitar cases, making Akane’s petite figure seem even
smaller and more vulnerable than usual.

“Well… I didn’t really wanna say this, but…”

I heard one of the guys – the vocalist most likely – start

talking to Akane.

“You were actually holding back, right? Playing in a way to

match our level? That really hurt our pride, y’know.”

Shizuki, who was trying to decide if she should get closer,

suddenly froze in her tracks. I did the same.

“And I mean, I know we’re not that skilled or anything, but

it’s even more frustrating to know that you’re doing
something like that to us.”

“…But, I’m just…”

Akane tried to give an answer, but the words to her

response seem to just wither away.

Shizuki and I had both been in the audience that day, so we

understood what they meant — if anything, performing on
the same stage probably made it even more obvious. Of
course, there were better ways to bring it up, especially
considering how well Akane had so seamlessly blended in
her playing to match theirs…

…but in the end, no matter how well the words were

sugarcoated, Akane herself knew what the accusation
meant.
That night, Akane did not put her one hundred percent into
the performance.

“It was really nice for you to fill-in the way you did, and it
really felt like it was helping us improve and all, but… Well,
it feels like this kind of thing wouldn’t be good for us in the
long run.”

And with those parting words, the three men quickly left.

After letting her head hang low for a time, Akane rubbed her
face with the back of a hand and sighed, and she turned
back toward the studio — in other words, toward us. Our
eyes met, and her face flushed crimson; I could see traces
of tears in the corner of her puffy eyes. Without another
word, she suddenly turned on her heels and ran off toward
the main street.

Shizuki, Rinko, and I only exchanged silent looks.

 Chapter 7: More Sinful than
Diamonds

Hanazono-sensei told me there was only one student at this

school who attended the same middle school Akane had.

“If you’re that curious, you should hear it for yourself.”

There was a clear look of bemusement on Hanazono-

sensei’s face as she said that, and though it was irritating to
have to play along, I found myself going to Class 1-1 during
lunch break anyway.

I was looking for a girl named Morishita-san, and she turned

out to be a lively-looking girl with naturally curly hair and
sporting a tan. A racket bag hung from the side of her desk,
so I assumed she was a member of the tennis club.

“Why do you want to know about Kudou-san?” Morishita-san

asked, tilting her head — Kudou was Akane’s family name.

“Uh, you know how she’s one of our schoolmates, right?”

“I guess? I remember seeing her back during the entrance

exams, but not since then. Has she been skipping classes all
this time? Being truant again?”

“Oh, yeah. I was told something similar happened back in

middle school.”

I said as I nodded in understanding, all the while putting

together the excuse I would use in my head.
“Basically I was told to try and get her to start coming to
school. Apparently Kudou-san is something like an
acquaintance of Hanazono-sensei, from music class. I mean,
this is supposed to be Hanazono-sensei’s responsibility, but
she pushed it off onto me…”

“Yeah? Sounds rough.”

That was a complete lie, but she believed it without thinking

twice. Wait a minute, was it because people already knew
Hanazono-sensei had me running around as her personal
errand boy? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that…

“Hmm, I guess it’s fine,” Morishita-san said as she looked

around the class. The other students were watching us with
curiosity, and Morishita-san gestured to the door, probably
suggesting we should go elsewhere to have our
conversation, and she walked out. I quickly followed her.

We stopped at a stairwell, and Morishita-san began telling

me what she knew about Kudou Akane.

“It’s not like I’m close to her or anything, so I don’t have all
the details,” she began, clearing her throat, “As far as I
know, while she did skip class all the time, she still
occasionally came to school — at least until second year
anyway. She was always being called to the principal’s
office, too. But anyway, the one class she’d never miss was
music class every week. She was really good at the piano,
so the teacher had her do the accompaniment, but then
Kudou-san would play it in a really flashy way, without
persmission. Basically, Kudou-san did whatever she wanted
in middle school.”

That was so close to what I was expecting that I almost

laughed aloud.
“It was during first year that some upperclassmen invited
her to their band, and they ended up performing at the
school festival that same year. It was really exciting to
watch, but I heard she got into an argument with those
same upperclassmen, and the group ended up disbanding.
But I mean, the show was so popular that people were
hoping they’d come back to perform again the next year.”

Morishita-san’s expression grew noticeably darker.

“Later, I heard she formed another band with others in the

same year, but I’m not too sure of the details — just that
they changed members pretty often. A guitarist friend of
mine tried to play with them once, but they quit because
practice was getting too intense.”

Morishita-san sounded more and more troubled as the story

went on, so I interrupted her with a question of my own.

“…Did she play at the school festival? In second year, I

mean.”

But Morishita-san simply shook her head.

“Kudou-san completely stopped coming to school from the

second term on, and her band didn’t continue for much
further even after recruiting new members. I heard they
always ran into trouble one way or another, and it was most
likely Kudou-san acting out like a problem child.”

Morishita-san stopped there, and I mumbled a vague thanks

before leaving the stairwell.

As I walked down the corridor, I thought over what she’d

said — Akane was a problem child, huh? That was such a
convenient catch-all term, sticking it on like a label for trash
that would be taken far away. It was the kind of word that
makes others look away, keeps them out, and then fades
from memory. And it’s obvious why: everyone was already
busy trying to handle their own problems.

So why wasn’t I doing that too?

After all, Akane was just someone I’d randomly met at a

studio, someone with whom I’d exchanged very few words
with — a stranger in all sense of the word, whose family
name I didn’t even know until a few minutes ago. If the
existence named Kudou Akane were to disappear today, my
life would continue on as usual tomorrow, the day after, and
every day after that.

And yet, the memories and sounds would remain.

The Akane that I heard that night, I didn’t know for sure how
diluted her playing was from holding back, but… that sound
still had a charm of its own — one that continued to haunt
my ears to this day. If the existence of named Kudou Akane
were to disappear today, the greedy, petty side of me would
forever fantasize what Akane’s one hundred percent serious
performance sounded like. But that was all it would be: a
pointless expectation I could never catch, like a kite that
soared higher and higher off its broken string.

And my life would continue but with days tasting far more
bitter.

Lately, I’ve been spending my lunch breaks at the music

prep room. It’s convenient; there’s hot water readily
available for cup noodles, and I could work on the
arrangements Hanazono-sensei forced on me.

Speaking of Hanazono-sensei, she was never at the prep

room during lunch break; she might’ve just been going out
to eat or something. Still, because she was absent, I could
quietly concentrate on writing arrangements at this time
without having to worry about much else — at least, until
Rinko and Shizuki started coming here with their lunches.

“Since you probably don’t have any friends, Murase-kun,

you might just choke on your lunch in your loneliness and
die if I leave you alone,” or so Rinko had said.

“But don’t worry, Makoto-san, because if that happens, I’ll

be here to shove a vacuum cleaner down your throat to
suck out the clogged food. You can rest easy!” Shizuki had
added. I mean, really though, if you wanted me to rest easy,
you could just leave me in peace.

And so, their regular appearances shattered the quiet alone

time I otherwise enjoyed. It was helpful today, as I was able
to share with them what I’d learned about Akane from
Morishita-san; they had also been there to see Akane’s
outburst, and they would have eventually brought it up.

“So you’ve been running around all day, trying to learn

more about her?” Shizuki asked, turning pale. Was there any
reason to be so shocked? “It seems like you go around
helping out any girl you see having trouble, Makoto-san.”

“It’s not just any girl though,” Rinko coldly pointed out,
“There was me, then you, and now this girl. I believe we all
share something in common.”

“Oh, now that you mention it…” Shizuki suddenly covered

her mouth with a hand and her eyes widened in shock.
“That’s the problem! You keep going around helping every
girl you see, no matter how close you are to them, because
they’re beautiful!”

“Huh? What? Wait, I don’t know what you’re talking

about…”
“Are you saying we aren’t beautiful then?”

“How did that become the question?!”

“Look me right in the eye and answer honestly: do you think

Yurisaka-san and I are not beautiful?”

She fixed a gaze right at me as she asked, and I found

myself looking away only to face Shizuki, who was staring at
me from the other direction. I quickly turned back only to
meet with Rinko’s face again. There was no escape; I had to
answer.

“Well, um… obviously, compared to, uh… I mean, even

without a comparison, the two of you are beautiful, I think,
yeah…” What was I even saying here?!

“Unbelievable. Aren’t you embarrassed saying something

like that straight to a woman’s face?”

“And you’re the one making me do that!”

“Makoto-san, please say that to my face as well! And at

least five times!”

Hell no. What, you find pleasure in shaming me or

something?

“No need to worry, Yurisaka-san. I’ve already recorded the

embarrassing things Murase-kun just said on my phone.”

“Delete it! Delete it right now! Smash your phone! And

erase it from memory, too!”

“Trying to help a girl based on her looks is pretty much

sexual misconduct, you know? That means this recording is
incriminating evidence, so I will not be deleting it.”
“What do you mean, sexual misconduct?! And who even
said I was trying to help based on her looks, anyway?!”

“Then, if it’s not about her looks, why are you trying so hard
to help Akane-san? Please explain yourself, Makoto-san!”

Why was even Shizuki joining in on the bullying now?

So I had no choice but to explain that weird feeling I’d been

getting ever since I first heard Akane perform. And to be
honest, that ended up being more embarrassing to explain
than having to compliment a girl’s beauty right to her face.

But once I finished explaining, Shizuki gave a solemn nod.

“…I understand.”

“Which part?”

“Why you’re doing all this — how you feel about how she
performed back then, and how she hadn’t been playing
seriously. It comes down to you wanting to hear how she
sounds if she were to go all-out, right? That’s all of it?”

“Yeah… basically.”

I wasn’t too happy with Shizuki simplifying it to just ‘that’s

all of it’, but the more I thought about it, that was the very
basis of it: that’s all of it — I just want to hear her play.

“…That’s really all of it?”

Rinko pressed again. I involuntarily shrank beneath her

intense, questioning gaze but shakily nodded my head.

“Then I suppose I will allow it.”

And why do I need you to allow it?

“…I mean, well, I know it might be a little late to be saying
this after snooping around this much, but I’m not sure if it’s
really okay for me to be sticking my neck into things like
this.”

“It really is too late to be worrying about that,” Shizuki said

in exasperation, “Especially when you’ve already stuck
yours even deeper into me…” Hey, wait a minute, don’t
leave out the neck part; now it just sounds inappropriate.

“I’m sure if Murase-kun were to drop dead here on the spot

and reincarnate into a dog, only to die again and be
reincarnated as a frog, he would still croak on and on about
how ‘it might be too late, but…’ like always.”

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but it was clearly
meant to be an insult.

“I’ll be counting on you for this one, Yurisaka-san.”

“Of course. I know exactly what to do.”

“What do you mean, ‘counting on her’?” I asked; did I miss

something? Actually, why did Shizuki understand but not
me?

“I’m here to help make sure you don’t somehow end up all
alone with a certain girl and accidentally do something – like
physical contact – that can be taken as sexual misconduct.”

“Okay, the slander in that statement aside, how exactly did

you convey that kind of message through just eye contact
with Rinko?”

“Because Rinko-san and I are good friends, of course.” “This

is the power of our friendship obviously.”
“What a bunch of liars! How can the two of you be that
close when you haven’t even known each other for that
long! In fact, the two of you literally met for the first time
just the other day!”

“Friendship isn’t measured by time but by depth, Murase-

kun. But I suppose you, friendless that you are, didn’t know
that.”

“Ugh…” I was at a loss for words, desperately trying to think

of something to refute her with. Who was she calling
friendless, anyway?! Just because I spent my lunch break in
the music prep room instead of having a fun time with
others didn’t mean I had no friends! Actually, wouldn’t that
mean these two were in the same situation? That seemed
like a good enough counterargument to use, but before I
could open my mouth, Rinko continued.

“Furthermore, Yurisaka-san and I share a special bond, as

fellow victims of the same criminal.”

“But I’ve done nothing to either of you!”

“Oh? But I didn’t even mention your name, Murase-kun.

Perhaps you have done something wrong? Something your
guilty conscience is pushing you to admit?”

I had no words.

“Makoto-san, when you said ‘to either of you’, isn’t that

implying you’ve actually done something to someone —
someone other than us?”

That’s it, I’m so done. I need to get out of here. I’ll just work
on music while eating in the restroom from now on.
“Okay, well, we should leave it at that, Yurisaka-san. If we
keep teasing Murase-kun like this, we won’t have enough
time to eat lunch.

“Was that like your own way of saying itadakimasu or

something?”

“Yep.” “There’s no way!” Saying something like that every

time would ruin the meal!

And with that, they took out their lunches and began to eat.
It would’ve been too awkward to try and leave now, so I
reluctantly turned my attention back to the sheet music as I
munched on bread.

“So, going back to what we were talking about,” Shizuki

began as she peered at my face. There was actually no
need to go anywhere, but if that’s what you really wanted,
you should actually go back, to your classrooms. “I would
like to hear Akane-san playing serious as well.”

“Oh, uh… right.”

She really did mean to go back to the conversation; my

head was a complete mess from all this.

“That’s what I was saying, but… I guess we’re gonna have

to hire her? Then again, it’s not like that means she’ll just go
and play serious for us…”

“Please leave that part to me. I have an idea.”

Shizuki proclaimed, confidently puffing out her chest.

*
That being said, I also haven’t seen Akane at Moon Echo
recently.

Despite visiting the studio more often than ever, I had yet to
spot Akane in her usual corner. I started to worry and even
asked Kurokawa-san about it, but she seemed just as
worried and in the dark.

“She hasn’t shown up since that day, actually.”

That day’ probably referred to when she had that falling out
with the band she played for. I guess it was obvious that
Kurokawa-san would’ve been aware of it happening.

“And it seems all three bands that’d hired her all fired her,
too. I knew she would be depressed, but I didn’t think she
would also stop coming here, too. And if our zashiki-
warashi‘s gone, that’ll put the business at risk.”

“Huh? All three… fired her?”

Shizuki was also with me at the time, and we exchanged

glances when we heard.

“Did they all… have the same reason?”

I answered Shizuki’s murmur with a silent nod. It was very

possible, considering how brilliantly boring Akane had been
on the guitar, bass, and drums. It was possible that, during
the after party, the band members got together and started
badmouthing the non-present Akane, and how that
eventually led to all three groups agreeing to cut Akane off
then and there.

In fact, I could already imagine it.

I didn’t realize I was lost in thought until Kurokawa-san
called out to me again.

“Oh yeah, don’t you live in the same neighborhood as her?”

“Huh? How’d you know that?”

“I heard from Misao.”

Hey! A student’s address is supposed to be private

information!

“If you happen to run into her, tell her for me that there’s
nothing she has to worry about and she’s welcome to come
back at any time.”

“…Haa.. Well, all right. If I ever see her, I’ll mention it.”

We left the studio not too long after, but once we were out,
Shizuki immediately rounded on me.

“So she’s your neighbor?”

“Not exactly… We don’t even live in the same neighborhood

exactly, just that we get off at the same station. I live at 2-
chome, but her house is at 6-chome.

“And how do you know about all of that?”

I quickly answered Shizuki, who had a strange, uneasy look

in her eyes.

“I happened to ride the same train as her one night — the

night after the live show, actually. We talked for a bit, that’s
all. Oh, and I just want to make it clear that I wasn’t secretly
following her around or anything like that!”
“Um, yes, of course. I don’t think you’re the kind of person
that stalks girls, Makoto-san.”

I awkwardly scratched my head seeing Shizuki’s surprised

expression. I did regret preemptively trying to make an
excuse, but really that was only because everyone’s been
treating me like a criminal lately.

“That being said, Makoto-san, let’s have you try wandering

aimlessly about 6-chome over the next few days. You might
just ‘coincidentally’ encounter Akane-san.”

“Huh..? Uh, sure, I guess…”

Wasn’t that pretty much just stalking? Wait, no, I didn’t need
to point that out; I didn’t want to suddenly twist the
conversation in that direction. And it’s not like I had any
better ideas either.

But even if I did happen to come across Akane, then what?

What was I supposed to do? Shizuki apparently has a plan
for this, but when I tried asking, all she said was…

“For this kind of plan to work, the less each person knows,
the better it’ll work out!”

That only made me more anxious. Did she really have a

plan..?

That being said, 6-chome covered quite a wide area, so it

was pretty unlikely I’d run into Akane ‘by chance’ just by
walking around the area after school. Stil, I persisted for the
next three days, taking a detour through the area on my
way home, before I started believing this way was hopeless.
So then, what could I do about it?

For starters, Akane was a student at our school, so it should

be easy enough asking Hanazono-sensei for her address,
right? …but I mentally kicked myself for considering it. That
was private information, so what was I thinking? Hadn’t I
just gotten mad at Hanazono-sensei for giving out private
information a few days ago? And besides, finding out her
address like that and staking out her home really would be
stalking. It would probably freak Akane out, and I couldn’t
follow that up with inviting her to come to the studio. First
and foremost, I needed to make it seem like encountering
her was a complete coincidence.

I had stopped to take a seat on a guardrail, letting out a

deep sigh as I considered my plan. It was late afternoon,
and the June sun was making things hot and humid. If I
carried on walking aimlessly in this weather, it felt like I
would melt into some kind of slug.

It’s time to think.

What would Akane do right now?

Would she lock herself in her room, all depressed? Nah, she
didn’t seem like the type to do that. Nor did she seem like
the opposite, the type to instantly switch moods and go off
to have fun; if Akane were like that, all happy-go-lucky, she
wouldn’t have had trouble fitting in, wouldn’t have gone
truant or become a zashiki-warashi looking for work.
Basically, Akane carried her darkness and her wounds
around with her.

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine from that thought; who

was I to make these kinds of assumptions and speculate
about her inner thoughts? I’d met Akane only a few weeks
ago, and we haven’t talked a whole lot either; what did I
even know about her, anyway?

I pinched at my pants, loosening them from my sweat-

soaked legs to try and draw in air.

Let’s calm down; I didn’t need to beat myself over that right
now. I just needed to figure out what I can do.

The first thing I knew for sure was Akane’s skill as a

musician. She could play any instrument well, meaning
she’s put in the time, effort, and passion to music — and
much more than I did. That meant she wouldn’t just
abandon it.

She also regularly joined groups’ practice sessions as a

helper, as a way to play as much as she wanted without
having to pay studio rental fees; she wasn’t with any group
now, which meant there was no one who could cover that
fee anymore. This actually was significant because the
prices are quite expensive for a high school student (a detail
I almost forgot since I had been allowed to use studios for
free in exchange for helping out). With that in mind, if Akane
wanted to continue playing the guitar no matter what, what
would she do?

I had to figure that out for myself too, at one point, long
before I’d gotten into the world of computer-generated
music. My parents had gotten me my first guitar, and I’d
spent all day happily strumming away, only for them to kick
me out of the house because it was too noisy. That day, I
got on my bicycle and rode around while carrying my case,
and…

I realized there was one place she had to be.

I hurried back home, went to my room, and slung the guitar
case over my shoulder. As I ran past her, my mom called
out, asking “What about dinner?” I answered, “I don’t need
it!” over my shoulder and quickly made my way back
outside.

By the time I arrived at the riverbank, the sun had already

set, and I could feel the damp night air sticking to my skin. I
could see the silhouette of the railway bridge against the
backdrop of the indigo sky, with an occasional streak of light
and shriek of metal – from a passing train – cutting through
the darkness.

I parked my bike on the side of the path, and as I

dismounted, I could feel the heavy guitar case dig deeper
into my skin where I’d slung it over my shoulder; it hurt a
little. My sweat made my body feel all clammy, but I
nonetheless began making my way down the overgrown
slope to the base of the riverbank, amidst the smell of wet
grass.

There were a number of sounds around me; I could hear the

sounds of a rake going over a baseball field, of an elderly
man walking past me alongside his three large, round dogs,
of the summer insects chirping in melancholy beneath the
shadow of overhead grass. I slowly turned my head round
and round, looking out into the darkness of the twilight.
There was the wind too, of course, and it blew a chilly air
across the river and into me, sapping my body of heat.

How long has it been since I last came here? I used to pass
by this place all the time because my elementary school
was nearby, and I saw all kinds of people — some practicing
on their instruments – guitars, trumpets, trombones,
saxophones – some doing vocal training, and even some
that brought speakers along to play music as they danced to
the beat. This riverbank was a sanctuary, one where there
was no need to worry about being judged or about making
noise — where people were free to pursue their passions.
The child me from all those years ago held a secret
admiration for those kinds of sights taking place here.

And Akane probably wanted a place like that.

Now that she had no place, with no band wanting her,

Akane might have fled here, with her loneliness and
frustration as close to her as her instrument and her thirst
to play.

When I was still making my way here on bike, I was

absolutely certain this was where I would find her. Now, as I
walked along the path along the river, past the grass, with
the sound of flowing water and the quiet of cooling darkness
soaking up the heat of my enthusiasm, my thoughts began
settling down. I started to doubt myself; there was no way
she would be here — nothing could be that convenient, and
it was silly to assume Akane would be here just because we
were similar in age, lived close to here, and played music.

The overpass bridge seemed as far away as ever, and it

never seemed to grow any closer no matter how much I
walked. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot began to
fade as my own steps slowed; the quiet returned, only to be
broken by the echo of a passing train that left another
unbroken trail of light across the darkness of night.

I was suddenly aware of my gnawing hunger by how my

stomach was contracting.

It was stupid of me to come here, like this. I knew how hard

it was going to be to find Akane, and yet I still ran out,
skipping dinner; I only had regret and helplessness to fill my
stomach with. The weight of those feelings, combined with
the heavy guitar case on my back, seemed ready to crush
me, even as I dragged my feet along.

But worst of all, the hunger and exhaustion began to bring

out the worst in me: the critic and the cynic.

Did I really care about listening to her one hundred percent

performance? Was it really worth all this? How did I know
that dull performance that night wasn’t her best? It could’ve
been one unjustified expectation I was putting on her, and
she didn’t have anything beyond that.

That was all possible; the best I had was that empty answer.

Even so, I still wanted to hear it. And the truth was, it didn’t
matter if it was 55% or 87% or even 1200%. I actually just
wanted to hear more of Akane’s sound. But right now, she
was so unstable, so ephemeral that she might really
disappear like the zashiki-warashi she appeared to be if I
took my eyes off her. And when she was gone, all I’d have
left is my imagination — her fingertips on the instruments,
her breathing in the performance, her strokes, her
passages…

That’s when I heard it.

At some point, I had come to a complete stop, simply

staring at my feet. I looked up.

There, ahead of me, a thick, concrete girder supporting the

overhead bridge, cast a black shadow in the gloom, a
shadow darker than the darkness of the night around me. I
traced the line of the girder down from the bridge it
supported down a path that came from the river path I
walked. And then I noticed it: a murkier gloom in the space
between the bridge and the slope, right against the girder.
The sound of a guitar had come from there, I was sure.

I kicked off the gravel, breaking into a run and racing to the
shadow under the bridge. It felt as though the cold air was
biting into my skin as I ran, and I felt the ground under my
feet turn soft as I reached the damp grass. I climbed the
slope, stopping halfway up to catch my breath, and I peered
closely into the darkness, where I heard the guitar.

And there she was: Akane, before my very eyes. She sat
leaning against a block on the steep slope, one knee
propped up as she cradled a guitar the color of night on her
thigh. Her head was slightly nodded, eyes downcast as she
strummed the strings of her instrument. like she was
caressing a newborn. What song was she playing? I could
pick out the simple chords that made it, but there was
another, unfamiliar sentiment in the sound; the notes that
carried that feeling floated through the darkness like faint,
grainy motes of light.

And then a new melody seeped out, soaking the night.

It was Akane’s own voice — she was humming. The sound

clung to, wrapped around the sparkle of the metal strings of
her guitar, and then it reached me, filling me with a
mysterious sensation. Time seemed to rewind, rolling back
the night to when the western sky bled crimson as the
setting sun melted over the horizon and stretched the
shadows of the bridge before me longer and longer —

And then the illusion broke.

The song had stopped, and only the sound of grass rustling
in the dark remained.
“..Hm? Is someone there?”

A voice called out, and I stiffened.

“…Makoto-chan?”

I could tell Akane had put aside her guitar and was getting
to her feet. I thought for a second about running away, but I
scolded myself for my hesitation. What was the point of
running now, having come this far? I’d even found her, like I
wanted. I had to properly face her now.

“…Uh, yeah, it’s just me.”

I hadn’t expected to find her here, so I hadn’t prepared what

I would say; in fact, I still couldn’t figure out what to say in
the first place. All I could focus on was the sound of
someone walking across the grass, and before long, Akane
had come out from under the shadow of the bridge to stand
beneath the dim lights.

“Wow, Makoto-chan, what a coincidence! So what brings

you here? Oh..!” She seemed to have caught sight the
guitar case over my shoulder and excitedly pointed to it;
“Could it be that you also come here to practice? Am I in the
way?”

“No, that’s not –“

“Really?!” Akane said, her upturned eyes looking at me with

a soft expression, “Then, can I listen to you play? Just little
ol’ me, down on her knees like she’s sitting out gym class,
y’know?”

She really liked that expression, huh? But, uh, it’d be a little
weird having a girl wearing hot pants that exposed most of
her legs sitting beside me… Wait, no, this wasn’t the time to
be thinking about something like that. First…

I unslung the load from my shoulder; I let out a sigh of relief,

finally able to shed the weight of an empty case of lies off
my back.

“Y’see, this is just a, uh, prop that I brought along.”

Akane tilted her head in confusion; she didn’t seem to

understand the implication of my answer, so I continued.

“It was so I could pretend meeting you here was a

coincidence. Like, y’know, I just happened to be practicing
the guitar at the river bank, and I run into you by total
coincidence, right? I mean, it wasn’t because I was looking
for you or anything, or… Well, I mean, it would be kinda
embarrassing to admit, so…”

“Hwa? So… you really were looking for me? Wait, why would
you even tell me that if that was gonna embarrass you? I
mean, now you’re making me feel embarrassed…”

“Haha, yeah…”

Let’s just not add any more to it; I’m already at least three
times more embarrassed than you are.

“Either way, I’m not very good at pretending anyway.”

“You probably shouldn’t have bothered bringing that case

along in the first place,” Akane said, her body shaking with
laughter. She was completely right.

“Well, I mean, I always wanted to try practicing along the

riverbank,” I shamefully tried to make another excuse, “And,
uh, a lot of people practice here, and I think playing outside
like this would be a new, different kind of experience.”

“So you like doing it outside?”

“I’m pretty sure you saying that is way past purposely trying
to create a misunderstanding.”

Akane laughed some more, but it seemed awkward and

stilted, like she was forcing herself to laugh. She finally sat
back down and laid back on the grassy slope.

“But, um, anyway, you said you were looking for me? Why?”

“Well, you see… I noticed you haven’t been at Moon Echo

lately, so I was wondering if something happened.
Kurokawa-san’s pretty worried about you, too.”

“Wait, really? Ahaha, I think I can see why, since I’m always
at the studio. Although I’m not sure what she has to worry
about since I’ve only ever used other people’s money to
rent a room. I’m pretty sure I’m not affecting sales.”

“It’s more that you paid your dues by doing your part as the
store’s good-luck charm bringing in customers, but also it’s
completely natural to worry when someone who’s always
been around suddenly disappears, even if there wasn’t
anything like sales involved” — or so I wanted to say, but I
couldn’t get the words out. Akane’s laugh was too hollow for
me to so casually answer.

“And rather than worrying, I thought Kurokawa-san would be

mad at me. You know, after that scene I made at the store
and all that…”

“Of course not. That… that wasn’t even your…”

“It was my fault. You don’t know how many bands I’ve left in
the same way. Haha, I guess I just never learn, huh? I’m so
sick of myself, always half-assing things like that, even
though it’s obvious people will figure out what I’m doing. I
deserve to be fired like that.”
And I’m willing to bet that if you did go all-out, that would
actually ruin the concert, and they would’ve fired you then,
too.

“Besides, I’m just the fill-in anyway. It’s not like the group is
disbanding just because I’m gone. They’re just letting me
go. Maybe it’s just naive of me to assume I’m worth any
help in the first place… I mean, I don’t really charge a whole
lot… No, maybe it’s just wrong for me to be taking money in
the first place…”

Akane curled up in place for a moment before righting

herself to a sitting position.

“So, um, did you need anything from me, Makoto-chan? Did
you finally decide to hire me? I’m feeling real down right
now, so now’s your chance! If you show me even a little bit
of pity, you’ll get yourself a huge discount!”

I bit my lower lip and turned my gaze down.

I didn’t mean to pity her — or maybe that’s the only way

this all looked. Either way, I definitely didn’t want her to
think this was my pity. But I didn’t know what to say, how to
answer; maybe she was right after all, when I couldn’t even
find the words to refute her.

I sighed down toward my feet, like I was spitting out stale air
that’d been stagnating in my mouth.

Actually, I didn’t need to think too hard about this. More

importantly, I’d found her; that was the best I could do for
now.

“…Yeah, I think I do want to hire you.”

To my plain answer, Akane’s face took on an undescribable
expression — something like pained relief, one that came
from finding a puddle of dirty water while dying of thirst.

“Can you come to Moon Echo tomorrow?” I asked.

“Okay. What will we be playing? Should I bring any

instruments?”

“…Sorry, but I don’t know the answer to either of those

questions. I’m making the request on behalf of someone
else — the drummer girl, y’know, the one that always
practices with me.

Akane’s expression darkened.

“…I see.”

Later that night, as I munched on my dinner – a CalorieMate

– I was hunched over in front of my PC, typing different
things into the search engine of my browser. I was trying to
figure out what song Akane had been playing under the
bridge.

But I only heard a few phrases of the song; I recalled some

of the chord progression, but I had nothing else to go by.
There was no real way to search for it.

…No, wait, I wasn’t completely out of luck; I did hear her

humming it. I wasn’t sure if it was the beginning or some
middle part, but it was about two bars’ worth. There was a
convenient thing called ‘hum-to-search’ nowadays, where
you could hum or sing a part of the melody into the
microphone, and the search engine would find songs that
sounded similar to what it had in its database.
That being said, I could count the number of notes in those
two bars with both hands, and it wasn’t a guarantee that
the song itself wasn’t an indie work. I didn’t have high hopes
for it working out as I hummed into the mic, but when an
immediate result popped up, I was once again humbled and
in awe of modern technology.

Same Side by WANDS.

WANDS… WANDS?

I might’ve heard of them before. They’re a Japanese group,

from before I was born. Some of their pop rock songs had
been big hits, but the song Akane was playing earlier had a
completely different feel to it compared to what I was seeing
now. I started to think there was a mistake with the search
results.

I pulled the song up on a video site and had it play.

It began with a dry guitar stroke and the feedback sound

dragging it along; it was a song of murmured passion. After
hearing it here, I knew this to definitely be what Akane had
been playing.

I let the song play three times, stopping myself from

listening to a fourth replay and opening a new tab for the
search engine.

Just what was with this song?

Their group was the poster boy of the kind of

commercialized rock that sold well in that late bubble era,
with all the drama and commercial tie-ins. What had
changed to make them blow up like a vivid twilight-colored
explosion?
And why did Akane choose this song?

Before I knew it, I was already opening iTunes and searching

the store. I pulled up the WANDS discography, skipping
down the list to pick out and purchase Same Side. I set the
player to repeat the song as I put on my headphones. As I
closed my eyes, I pictured a river whose waters were
beginning to become dyed in the many colors of the setting,
evening sun. Then the guitar began to play, gently sanding
away at the corners of my consciousness.

I leaned back in my chair and let the song completely

immerse me in its melody.

On the evening of the next day, Akane arrived at Moon

Echo, carrying a black guitar case on her back, an
exceptionally large one. When they saw her enter, the
regular customers in the lobby grew noisy.

“That’s…” “Haven’t seen her around lately…” “Wasn’t she in

some sort of trouble?”

She nervously glanced around after coming through the

automatic doors leading into the lobby, but relief flooded
her face once she caught sight of me beside the counter.
But once she noticed Shizuki and Rinko nearby, I saw the
unease begin to color her eyes.

“Kudou Akane-san, correct? My name is Yurisaka Shizuki.”

Shizuki gave a graceful, elegant bow before gesturing with

her hand toward Rinko.

“And this is Saejima Rinko. We are both students of

Hanazono-sensei.”
“…Misao-san’s… students?”

Akane visibly relaxed, probably from hearing a familiar

name. On a side note, Shizuki wasn’t officially a music
student, but I didn’t need to bring that up right now.

“Basically, this is a gathering of fellow victims of Hanazono-

sensei,” Rinko added in a subdued manner, “I heard she
was your tutor, so I’m sure you’ve been exploited and taken
advantage of just as much as we have. That makes us
comrades.”

“Exploited..? I don’t think I have. The most I’ve had to do for

her was help with her college assignments or with listening
and transcribing music.”

And that was exactly what we meant by exploited. That

teacher though, it seems she was just as corrupt then, in
her part-time days, as she is now.

“It just looks to me that you have the kind of personality

that others will take advantage of, Akane-san!”

Shizuki said in a rather high-handed but forced manner.

“And so I’ll be making good use of you today. However, I will

pay you in advance, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“…Uh, sure? But thanks.”

“And we have already reserved a room.”

The room in question was Studio D6, the largest one Moon
Echo had. There was a built-in control booth for all the
recording equipment, and the wall to the left of the drums
was all mirrors — I was guessing this room was intended for
dance practice. As for me, it was all a little embarrassing,
since I was in the kind of situation most boys could only
daydream about: being alone in a room with three girls of
the same age.

Thinking back, up until this past spring, all the music I made
was by shutting myself in a dark room, staring at a monitor
and clicking away with my mouse. And now, only three
months later, so many things had changed. It was a little
overwhelming wondering what else might the future hold in
store.

“So, um, the song we’ll be playing is..?”

Akane asked as she set her guitar case down, looking at

each of us in turn with upturned eyes.

“Actually, before we get started, let’s handle your fee,”

Shizuki said, interrupting her, “Please confirm the amount.”

Shizuki retrieved an envelope and handed it over. After

opening it and checking the contents, Akane’s eyes widened
in shock.

“Wait, I can’t take this much money!”

I could make out the contents from where I stood: a thick

stack of 10,000 yen bills. I turned to stare at Shizuki, my
mouth gaping. What was she thinking?

“Please do not worry. As flower arrangement costs quite a

bit of money, mother gives me a generous allowance every
month.”

“Ooh, I’m so jealous — wait, no, that’s not the problem

here…”
I couldn’t help but add my own thoughts, but Shizuki
continued anyway.

“Akane-san, you’ve ruined quite a few bands in the past,

right?”

Akane stiffened up upon hearing Shizuki’s words. I turned to

stare at Shizuki; I hadn’t expected her to say something so
blunt to someone she hardly knew.

“And all the bands that hired you in the past all fired you,
right?”

“…Y-yeah.”

“In my opinion, all of that is your own fault. And it should be

obvious why.”

I wanted to say something – Shizuki was being way too

harsh on her – but Rinko, who had been quietly setting up
the synthesizer, shot me a threatening glare as though to
say “I’ll strangle you if you interfere”. So I stayed quiet.

“Y-you’re… right,” Akane awkwardly replied with a sad

smile, “I always thought I just needed to try a little harder,
because I was always afraid I’d never live up to people’s
expectation. And because I was so afraid, I tried to offer
myself as cheaply as possible.”

“Which was not the right thing to do.”

Shizuki answered sharply, so much so that Akane blinked

her eyes rapidly in bewilderment.

“You see, my mother is… the headmistress of a certain

school specializing in flower arrangement.”
Shizuki’s eyes turned downcast as she began to speak, and
her melancholic voice seemed to wrap around the entire
room.

“In case you weren’t aware, flower arrangement requires a

lot of money, but my mother, when it comes to the tools or
clothing for the work, never allows herself to settle for
paying less than what she believes she should. Conversely,
she also demands very high fees before taking on a job, and
she does not compromise on that cost, not even if the
request comes from an acquaintance. This is because of our
pride as a family known for the art of flower arrangement.
And when my mother started giving me this unusual
monthly allowance, she also said this: ‘Spend as much as
you need but only on those who know how much they are
needed’. In other words, she meant people who sell
themselves short will find themselves bought by those who
are already cheap.”

Akane widened her eyes in surprise, while Shizuki raised her

head back up and used both hands to squeeze the envelope
against Akane’s hand.

“And this amount of money is what I believe you are worth. I

judged your skills to be worth at least this much, and I’m
rather confident in my eyes. This also means that I will be
expecting you to play at a level that is worth this amount of
money.”

Shizuki stared squarely back at Akane, who stood still in

dumbfounded silence.

“Or perhaps you’re not confident you can meet my

expectations? It would not be a problem if that were the
case; you are free to run along home. I would only have
myself to blame for my embarrassment, having made a
wrong assessment.”

“And if you do leave, you must promise to never interact

with Murase-kun again,” Rinko suddenly added.

“Oh, that’s right! Like Rinko-san says, if you run away,

please do not ever offer lewd services to Makoto-san ever
again!”

…The building tension in the atmosphere suddenly and

completely collapsed with that.

Akane remained unmoving for a time, with her head still

bowed. An uncomfortable silence filled Studio D6.

Eventually, she squatted down to her knees and opened her

guitar case. Inside was a large guitar – a Gibson ES-335 Blue
Burst, a masterpiece among semi-acoustic guitars that
could handle anything between jazz and rock. Since she
didn’t know what songs we would be playing, it made sense
for her to bring this, an instrument with wide range and able
to play all kinds of sounds. At the same time, it was like a
representation of herself, curled up quietly unused in a
corner of the room while waiting for someone to come along
and give it a role.

“…Fine. I’ll do it.”

Akane answered as she traced the neck of her guitar with a

finger.

“But what will I be playing?”

“I will let you decide, Akane-san,” Shizuki replied. If not for

the gentle tone of her voice, her words would have seemed
much colder and crueler.
I snuck a sidelong glance at Akane’s puzzled face; if I was
remembering right, she once said there wasn’t anything in
particular she wanted to play. It was possible those were her
true feelings on the matter, which explained why she was
just standing there, unmoving while holding her deep-sea
blue guitar close. I have to admit, I predicted both Shizuki
leaving the song choice to Akane and Akane being too
shocked and unable to pick a song.

No, wait, calling it a prediction wasn’t right; it was more like

this was the expectation I preferred to have happen.

I knew how despicable I could be, but there was nothing I

could do about it, even if I pretended I could. Suffice to say,
I was hoping for Akane to end up like this, at an impasse
and unable to make a decision.

Because if she was…

…I could have her play another song — that one song,

specifically.

“Actually, how about…”

I spoke up as I pulled an instrument out from my own guitar

case.

“…that song you were playing yesterday, on the riverbank.

You should sing it.”

Akane turned to face me. She had the look of a lost cat in
the rain, and her expression remained just as cloudy even
after seeing the bass guitar I held in my hands.

“I only have a single night’s worth of practice though.

Playing the bass, I mean.”
Which of course meant my skills with the bass were
nowhere near good enough to support Akane. She fell silent,
staring down at her own guitar.

But there was one other thing I needed to say.

“You know, back when I saw you helping with that live show,
I realized something. It’s true that you can play most
instruments, but… what you want most of all is to be the
vocalist, right?”

The only reaction she showed was a very slight trembling of

her shoulders.

I didn’t say any more, and instead turned away to plug my

bass into the amp before tuning it like I was making a
prayer.

Rinko, following my lead, placed the synthesizer on a stand,

connected the sustain pedal that was at her feet, and
plugged the shielded cord into the mixer.

Only Shizuki remained unmoving, still waiting for Akane’s

answer.

Akane finally lifted her head as I connected the microphone

to the mixer. The short burst of feedback that came out left
the room feeling airless.

The two exchanged no words; instead, Shizuki gave Akane’s

face a pointed look and nodded before walking over to the
other side of the drum set to sit. At some point, without my
noticing, drumsticks had appeared in her hands.

So in the end, we’re doing another session — or so I

thought.
But really there was no other method than this — this was
the best we could do. For us, words were unreliable,
imperfect, misleading; they could become distorted,
warped, broken, or even nonexistent before reaching
another’s heart. But music — that would never happen to
music. There is no inherent meaning in music, but it was
because of that fact that the hearts of the performers could
shake the hearts of their listeners, resonating together to
create a collective fantasy simply through hearing the same
waves traveling through the air.

Akane finished her own tuning and went to stand before the
mic.

The tense atmosphere seemed to crackle with electricity.

A small, slender hand swung the pick it held across the

strings. From the strings came the pleasant, but cold and
lonely thrum of a melody. It was like scooping up water from
a river dyed red in the rays of the setting sun, only to let the
water fall back down through open hands and spread
fingers.

And then Akane sang, like spitting her voice into the
microphone.

It was only one phrase, but it still brought a tears to my

eyes. It called back to the things I’d lost – the scenery I’d
longed for in my childhood, the fleeting lights I would
continue to lose, the distant stars I would never reach. Her
voice contained the feeling from all of that.

…Ah, I can’t be losing myself in the sound; I focused harder,

waiting for a break in the song as I put more strength into
my grip on the neck of the bass. The rough feel of the metal
strings digging into my finger brought me back to reality,
though only slightly.
When the chord progression started, I also began plucking
at the strings.

The low bass sounds I quietly added felt so distinct that they
surprised even me, but I soon realized the sound didn’t
come from me alone; from behind came the gentle beat of a
bass drum and hi-hat, and from the side was a faint and
refreshing organ like mist on an early summer morning.
Without any exchange among us, Shizuki, Rinko, and I all
began playing from the same starting point, like we were
individual streams that joined together at the mouth of a
valley to become a single river.

Neither Shizuki nor Rinko should know this song; Shizuki

maintained a basic rhythmic pattern while Rinko played only
the middle notes in the perfect fifths of the chord
progression so as not to disturb it. The two of them were
fumbling around in the dark; I had to be the one to lead
them.

But Akane, without a thought to my concerns, stomped on

the effects pedal as she not so much strummed as violently
clawed the strings of her guitar. The sound that exploded
from the ES335 seemed to crack and distort like
superheated noise; the song, like the murmuring pot of
bubbling water up until that point, instantly became a
boiling cauldron in the span of two bars. Shizuki, picking up
on the rise in temperature, jumped into action and tore
through the misty veil of the organ with a frenetic intensity.

Akane seemed to surge forth from the cracks in the noise,

her voice electrifying the studio through the mic. I could
hardly breathe, barely holding on to the syncopation of the
bass as the chorus twisted and turned between major and
minor keys. Rinko, too, seemed to be fighting, pounding out
her obbligato as though to keep feeding more sound to the
melody that threatened to swallow everything whole.

Ah, what passion it had — it was a truly special voice,

singing a truly special song.

Same Side by WANDS.

A long time ago, two young men, enamored with hard rock,
were picked up by Being Inc, one of Japan’s leading
entertainment companies. They were given a name that
referred to certain magical sticks before being thrown into
the middle of the rapidly expanding bubble economy. Being
Inc. pumped money and effort into one pop song after
another, prettying it all up with tie-ins to dramas,
commercial, and anime. Their sales reached dizzying
heights – one million, then another, and then another – but
it came at a cost: that whirlpool of magic exhausted,
crushed, and squeezed those two men.

This wasn’t the music we wanted play. This wasn’t the

future we imagined. This was for someone else’s
convenience, someone else’s music, someone else’s
everything!

That’s it. We’ve had enough.

And so, for their tenth single, they decided they would do it
all on their own. They hummed tentative lyrics over the
phone, strummed the strings against their bare fingertips,
and wove the chord progressions by hand. They wrote their
song like they did in the past, by capturing the fires of their
yearning and passion in the confines of the notes.

The result… was Same Side.

It was no surprise that this song was special to the two men.
And it didn’t sell.

It reached the number two spot on the charts, selling over

200,000 copies; from the perspective of the present day
21st centure, that was like an impossible achievement, but
during that time, with Being Inc. sweeping through the
industry like a storm, that kind of result was a mark of
failure. It was the public’s answer to the two men who put
their purest faces and emotions, without any
embellishment, out there. The public didn’t want to see the
sweat and blood of effort. They wanted to see stars with the
magic of pop. If they had to see scars, the only liquid to
come out had to be fizzy soda.

So just like that, the two men snapped their magic sticks
and broke away from the band.

And yet, their song would remain, and so long as someone

found value in it, the song would continue to echo. We had
yet to be born when the two that wrote this song suffered –
when they were breaking, when they struggled to shape
their sound. But here we were with the song that lived on
across the gap in our times, even crossing over the barrier
called the turn of the century, to connect and resonate with
our hearts.

That… was Same Side.

What was Akane feeling right now? What selfish illusion did
she have? There was no sin, no mistake in that thought.
Making music wasn’t speaking words — it could thrive in the
darkness that swallowed words and it could soar into the
heights that words couldn’t reach. There wasn’t any right or
wrong to it; they only had desires to their name, and
Akane’s desires were her own.

And now here I was, on that Same Side.

The sound of Akane’s bestial roar lingered along the
reverberation of the cymbals as the song came back
around, and she eased up on the effects pedal, returning to
the clean tone from the beginning. By now, Shizuki and
Rinko no longer needed to hold back, having understood the
song after the first chorus. Now, the gloom of the organ
helped Akane’s coarse voice stand out, and the snare
drum’s broken sounds meshed together with the distortion
of the guitar as though the two were falling together into
the darkness. As for me, I was desperately trying to keep up
with just basic chords, barely keeping my head above the
frenzied swell that was the second chorus as I clenched my
teeth against my frustrated joy. It was at a point that in the
third chorus, Rinko had quietly begun supporting the guitar
solo and controlled the swell that signaled the finish.

And then the stillness returned.

After waiting for the lingering echoes of the other

instruments to fade out in the air, Akane hummed the
ending phrase as she played the final guitar arpeggio.

When she finished, she awkwardly wiped the sweat from her
foreheat, and placed her guitar on a nearby stand. It felt as
though the unmoving time finally resumed its flow.

Akane and I simultaneously looked back at Shizuki, who still

sat buried behind the drums The girl in question was calmly
adjusting the grip tape on her sticks. I felt Akane’s gaze shift
towards me – it felt a little heavy to be receiving that look –
but we had the same unspoken question: how was that
performance?

Shizuki’s long eyelashes fluttered as she slowly,

emphatically blinked before raising her face.

She gave me a suggestive smile before turning to Akane.

“…That was probably worth around 1500 yen.”

I didn’t understand what she was saying at first, but I saw

Akane sag her shoulders from the corner of my eye.

That was Shizuki’s evaluation of the performance then —

only worth 1500 yen? It hadn’t even come close to the
advance payment she made.

“And about 500 yen of that,” Rinko said as she fiddled with
the synthesizer settings, “is thanks to my hard work.”

“…Um, well… I’m sor–“

But Shizuki interrupted Akane’s dispirited apology.

“Which is why, since we’ve reserved this room for two hours
today, I’ll have to get my money’s worth out of you! The full
amount!”

After a few seconds of ticklish silence, Akane raised her

head again.

“Of course! And I’ll give you the service you paid for! I won’t
ask for any breaks!”

“Personally, I will need an occasional break, so if you could,

please choose mostly songs that don’t require a piano,”
Rinko languidly commented. Akane answered her with a dry
giggle as she picked back up her guitar and slung its strap
over her shoulder.

“Also, Akane-san,” Shizuki continued in a renewed tone,

“You seemed to be paying close attention to Makoto-san
during the performance just now. If you have something to
say, please say it now, loud and clear.”
“….But, um…”

Akane fidgeted in place as she looked between me and

Shizuki; it was true though, I had noticed her staring
towards me a number of times earlier.

“It is precisely because of that unnecessary consideration of

yours that you were always fired you know, Akane-san!
That’s why you need to learn to clearly and honestly
express your opinion!”

“Ugh… F-fine then!” Akane suddenly rounded on me, both

hands balled into fists. “Makoto-chan, you suck at the bass!”

The next thing I knew, I was on my knees, hugging my bass

close as I curled up on the floor.

“That’s the spirit, Akane-san! Let him have it! Tell him how it
is!”

“You play so bad that I start thinking I should be playing the

bass instead, but that would mean you would be playing the
more difficult guitar part, so what are you trying to make me
do, Makoto-chan?!”

“See? Doesn’t it feel good to let it all out like that? It’s what
happened with Paul McCartney! He didn’t try to hide the fact
he was better at the guitar than John and George or that he
was better at the drums than Ringo. And that was one of the
reasons why the Beatles broke up!”

Wait, what kind of follow-up was that supposed to be?

“…Is he all right? Makoto-chan’s looking more like a turtle

than a person now.”
“Don’t worry about it, Akane-san, you can continue putting
him down! Once he’s hit rock bottom, I’ll comfort him to
bring up my favorability. It’s a foolproof strategy!” “The
cruelest one here is actually you!” “Oh dear, I wasn’t
supposed to say that part out loud.”

Shizuki exaggeratedly covered her pale face, but that was

probably just part of the act.

“How did things come to this,” Rinko suddenly murmured, “I

never expected I would be jealous that Shizuki is better at
teasing Murase-kun than I am.”

“Why are you so weirdly competitive over something like

that?!” “Actually, I’m not teasing him at all. This is me being
serious!” Uh, hello, Shizuki? That’s even worse?

“Um, well, even if Makoto-chan sucks at the bass, at least

he’s good with his mouth.”

“Is that supposed to be your way of making me feel

better?!”

Akane gave a pleasant, bell-like laugh before leaning

towards the mic to say the magic words that would bring
the horseplay to a close.

“– Okay, next song!”

As the guitar riffs began, the music came to collect the

oxygen in the room as payment, and nothing was left for
conversation. And just like that, the glissando of Rinko’s
piano and the thump of Rinko’s fill-in jumped into the
flowing rush of music; I couldn’t let myself fall behind them
for this song. It was an old classic, back from when Paul
McCartney, practically breaking the group apart after his
merciless criticism drove Ringo Starr to temporarily quitting,
took up the drums himself to compose this song.

Back in the U.S.S.R.

And of course, the three women here didn’t know how to

hold back, leaving me no choice but to cling for dear life on
the supersonic jet bound for the Soviet Union, praying I
wouldn’t be shaken off.

On the Monday of the following week…

The rain that poured incessantly over the weekend had

finally stopped, leaving behind the prickly weather that
meant the rainy season was finally ending. The hydrangeas,
growing rapidly among the shrubbery, greeted me with a
bright, vivid red that seemed to reflect the color of the heat
– a sign that summer was coming.

And just outside the school building, before the entrance

hall, I ran into the person I least expected to see.

“Morning, Makoto-chan!”

A familiar husky voice and aggressive face greeted me. It

took me a moment to realize who I was looking at — after
all, this was the first time I’d seen them dressed in that
familiar school uniform.

I could hardly believe it, but it was Akane.

“…What’s with that face? You do remember we go to the

same school, right..?”

“…Oh, um, r-right.”

Passing students began giving us curious looks as they
walked around the two of us standing in place in front of the
gate.

“…So you’re not skipping class?”

“Did you not want me to come to school?” Akane asked in

return, pouting.

“No, not that.” Rather, I didn’t want her to not come to

school, I thought. “I was just wondering, like, why did you
suddenly decide to come to school?”

“Shizu-chan told me I shouldn’t be offering my services like

that, and it’s not like I could just sit around hugging my
knees as I waited for customers, right?”

Hey, don’t go randomly saying ‘offering your services’ like

that. It would cause a misunderstanding with anyone who
overheard you.

“And so that’s when I decided I should try taking high school

a little more seriously, or something like that. And you know,
I realized that by coming to school, I’d also get to see you,
Makoto-chan, and Shizu-chan, and Rin-chan. Oh, and of
course Misao-san is here too.”

“Oh, I see… Well that’s good to hear.”

Was it really that easy for her to break out of her truancy
loop? I really hadn’t expected this to happen, and it was
even more surprising that she was this calm about it despite
having skipped so much school to begin with. In the first
place, didn’t she have a real reason not to be coming to
school? As I thought about it, I realized her expression
actually did seem a little stiff, and I could see her legs
tremble from below her skirt — actually, it was also a little
strange that she’d been here ready to greet me, instead of
going on ahead past the gate.

“Ahaha, but, well, having said that, I’m still a little nervous,
y’know?”

Akane seemed to have picked up on what I noticed, and she

gave a forced, shy smile.

“So yesterday, when I told my mom I was going to start

attending school, she started to cry. And when I called the
homeroom teacher, they started crying, too. Gosh, I wish
they didn’t set the bar so high. I’m already having a little
trouble with coming to this place full of strangers. Aw man,
what ever should I do?”

It was obviously things wouldn’t go perfectly; even now, her

regrets and her darkness were still beside her.

Even so, I was also there, on the same side.

“…The music room.”

My dry throat could barely squeeze out my words, and I

paused to clear it before starting over.

“You can come by the music room whenever you want.

Either Hanazono-sensei, or I, or… everyone you know will be
there, for the most part.”

The expression she had in that moment was the first time I
saw her genuine smile.

“…Yeah!”

I watched Akane’s back shrink as she ran off to the Class 4

shoe racks; two figures were already there and waiting,
having already changed to their indoor shoes.

“Good morning, Akane-san! You really did come to school

after all!”

“You didn’t think I would?”

“Well, you probably don’t know where your classroom is or

where the restrooms are, or what your classmates’ names
are, or how to put on your gym clothes, but until then I’ll
support you.”

“I think I at least know how to put on gym clothes, but

thanks!”

Oh right, Rinko was in her class and Shizuki was in the next
one over. I didn’t need to worry about anything at all, not
that I was in a position to be showing off to her anyway.
Actually, wait, did Akane already tell them she’d be coming
to school? Just when did the girls get this close? Why didn’t
she tell me anything?

Oh well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

I made my own way to the shoe racks for Class 7; I already

had my boring life on the same side.

And just like that, the bell rang; with the sound of many
students’ footsteps behind me, I quickly switched to my
indoor shoes before running for the stairs.
 Chapter 8: Summer Once Again

“You haven’t made any new MuStuff in a while, have you?”

It happened at lunchtime, with the usual suspects gathered

at the music room to discuss the choir practice schedule.
Hanazono-sensei suddenly dropped that bombshell of a
comment out of nowhere.

“What’s mustuff?” Shizuki asked, but before she could

speak further, I stood with enough force to knock over my
chair, grabbed Hanazono-sensei’s hand, and dragged her off
to the music prep room.

“It’s not like I dislike pushy guys or anything, but when

people are watching…”

“You know that’s not what this is about! Shizuki and Akane
don’t know anything about the MusaO stuff, but that doesn’t
mean you can go talking about it in front of them!”

“Oh, you figured out MuStuff referred to MusaO stuff.

Anyway, isn’t it about time you uploaded something new?”

“Of course I would! Especially when its such a weird word

coming from you! But that’s not the point! How many times
have I told you that you’re supposed to keep it a secret –“

“Wh-wh-what’s this secret you’re sharing with Hanazono-

sensei?!” “What’s MusaO?”
It was then that I realized the prep room door had been
opened, and Shizuki and Akane were peeking in through the
crack, their faces vertically aligned. From behind them, I
could see Rinko wearing an expression of resigned
exasperation. All I could do now was bury my face in my
hands.

Shizuki and Akane were excitedly watching a certain video

on a smartphone.

“Is this really you, Makoto-chan? Why are your legs better-
looking than mine?”

“To think such a charming woman has always been this

close to you… and you’ve been seeing and touching her
naked body every day! How indecent of you, Makoto-san!”

So how am I supposed to take a bath when I can’t see or

touch myself?

“Well, it’s not like you could’ve hid it forever, so isn’t it

better this way? To reveal it now and only take a little bit of
damage?”

It was irritating to see Hanazono-sensei act so nonchalantly

when she was the one to cause all this. Or, wait, actually,
wasn’t I the one who got them curious? That would mean I
can’t blame her for this…

“But there sure are a lot of views,” Akane commented as

she leaned in closer to the smartphone. “I wanna hear the
song a little better. You mind if I use headphones?”

And after getting permission from the phone’s owner – Rinko

– Akane plugged them in. She gently pressed the ear cups
closer and began bobbing her head to the rhythm. A huge
smile grew on her face, making me feel even more
embarrassed.

“This is some good stuff, Makoto-chan!”

Akane complimented the song when she was done listening,

and she handed her headphones off to Shizuki.

“Your thighs weren’t the only good thing about the video —
the music was good too! I always thought you weren’t very
good at playing, but you’re completely different in this
video! Is this the power of post processing?”

She might’ve meant it to be a compliment, but I wasn’t

happy to hear it.

“Isn’t this… this is the song we practiced in the studio,

right? This is such a good arrangement…”

Shizuki murmured; from the look in her eyes, the music

coming from the headphones completely captivated her.

“We should play one of Makoto-chan’s songs together!

You’ve got a bunch of others, right? With the four of us
together, there’s so much more we can play, and it’d be fun
to make a music video together!”

Akane was bouncing in place with her hands on the desk.

“That’s, well… I’m not so sure…”

“I think it would be a wonderful idea.” Rinko was

uncharacteristically on board with the idea. “And of course,
since he would be composing for us, surely he won’t do it
half-heartedly and miss out on important details like he
usually does, right?”
“Hey, don’t make it sound like I do that all the time. You
know at the very least, I always properly annotate the sheet
music for the accompaniment you play, Rinko.”

“I suppose that is true, which means this will go well since

you’re also doing this for me. I am, after all, very important
to you, Murase-kun.”

“Wh-why are you saying it like that? Look, you’re making

them misunderstand!”

Shizuki blushed furiously with her hands over her mouth

while Akane was leaning closer with excited curiosity.

“Oh, I hope the two of you don’t misunderstand,” Rinko

calmly said, “When I say I’m very important to him, I mean I
am an irreplaceable part of him.”

“…Are you purposely making the misunderstanding worse?”

It really sounded like that was what she was trying to do.

“For example, like the pineapple in sweet and sour pork, the
lemon in karaage, or the tangerine in hiyashi chuuka…
That’s how irreplaceable I am to him.”

“None of those even go well together! You don’t need them

at all!”

“You’ve just made about four billion people your enemy,

Murase-kun.”

“There are more people that like having lemon with their
karaage than there are Christians?!”

“Don’t worry, Makoto-san, I’m on the side that prefers

having the dish without that!” Shizuki suddenly joined the
conversation. “And, um, If say one day we were to, um, get
married, I’ll be sure to make sweet and sour pork without
pineapple for you every day!”

Can you make anything aside from sweet and sour pork..?

“Ooh, me too, me too! I’m on the same side!” Akane piped

up, energetically raising her hand, “So if you make me your
wife, I’ll be sure to eat everything but the lemon in karaage
for you!”

“The only thing there besides the lemon is the karaage

itself! That’s the main part! And aren’t you supposed to be
letting me eat that?!”

“You really want to make me your wife then? But what about
Shizu-chan? Are you planning on marrying us both?”

“This is just a hypothetical situation!”

The girls continued to surround me on all sides and

mercilessly attack me, up until the bell rang, indicating
lunch break would be over in five minutes.

“Today’s fifth period is gym class, right?”

Shizuki suddenly jumped out of her seat in a panic. Rinko

and Akane stood up as well after they looked at the clock.

“I don’t remember where the locker room is!” “Let’s go

together then.”

“I should get going as well. See you after school!”

And just like that, the three of them quickly left the music
room. What a relief…

Their backs seemed to shrink into the distance as I watched

them from the music room windows, making their way down
the hallway.

Two weeks had passed since Akane began attending school.

Of course, she was still worried about the attention from
other students, so she found it hard to stay too long in her
classroom; if Rinko hadn’t been in the same class, Akane
probably would have started skipping school again. Still,
with Rinko coming to the music room on lunch breaks and
after school, Akane naturally followed along.

And, as Hanazono-sensei had previously announced (?), she

made Akane an assistant and quickly put her to work.
Hanazono-sensei claimed it was to help Akane better
readjust to school and to have her interact with more
students, but I doubted it was out of altruism. In fact, it was
more likely to me that Hanazono-sensei just wanted to make
life even easier for herself.

Well, in the end – I took another look out the window.

Akane and the others passed by other first-year girls in the

connecting corridor; the girls smiled and waved to Akane,
who responded in kind.

Akane was also making her own effort to get used to school,
and she was moving forward, one step at a time.

But in exchange – though I wasn’t sure if that was the right

way to describe it – I’ve been feeling more listless than ever.
Over the past few months, with the seasons changing from
spring to summer, I’d met these three girls one after
another, became drawn to them, and experienced all sorts
of trouble. And thinking back, I hadn’t actually done
anything special; it was all just running around, wearing
myself out physically and mentally. With everything finally
settling down, it seemed I couldn’t help but feel a little
emptier now.
These were days where nothing happened.

They were days of just going to school, attending classes,

taking care of Hanazono-sensei’s tasks, stopping by the
studio on the way home — a series of quiet days.

It was a pretty good life. I should be satisfied with it. But

what I felt wasn’t peace of mind or calm tranquility — no, I
felt fatigue, and it all felt so languid and dull to me.

Ah, no, I can’t just dismiss it like that. Really, it had to be the
fault of having to deal with so many weird situations all at
once that I’m feeling this way. What I have now is a normal
life, so I should try harder to readjust my own thinking.

Anyway, it was about time for me to return to my classroom.

I stood from my seat and began gathering my lunch items

together when Hanazono-sensei spoke up.

“So why don’t you give it a try, MusaO?”

“…What are you talking about?”

“Just now, y’know, about making a video with everyone. I’m

sure you guys could put together something incredible.”

“Whaa… I mean, those three are really good, but that’s the
thing; it doesn’t feel right for me to use them in one of my
videos.”

“Why not? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to perform

together if you just asked. Besides, you’re all part of the
same band now, right?”

“We’re a band..? That… doesn’t sound right.”

“Huh?!”
Hanazono-sensei let out an uncharacteristically strange
yelp. She looked over at the double doors the girls just left
from before turning her gaze over to me.

“You’re telling me that, despite always spending time

together during breaks and after school, despite all the
times you guys have gone to the studio together, you
believe you’re not a band?”

“I don’t remember ever putting one together.”

“Okay, so if you’re not a band, then what are you doing at

the studio together? Some sort of naughty group stuff? I
should have Kurokawa put in some cameras to keep an eye
on you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Wow, I can’t believe how cold MusaO has been to me

lately, either. Is this what happens when someone starts
getting popular with the girls?”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.”

“…You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’ve got pocket tissues if you need any.”

Hanazono-sensei cried her crocodile tears, and when she

was done, she handed me back an empty plastic wrapper —
she’d used all my tissues. I began to wonder if there was
anyone more fitting of the word ‘childish’ than this woman
right here.

“So as I was saying, you guys pretty much are a band

together. You’ve even got the roles covered.”
Hanazono-sensei changed topics so easily that found myself
momentarily lost.

“But I don’t count because I don’t add anything to the

group. They’re still missing someone to play either the
guitar or the bass.”

“Really? But you’re doing the most important job,

contributing the most to the group as the songwriter.”

“We’ve actually never played any of my songs before,

because there aren’t any vocals to them.”

“That is true… but wait, why haven’t there been singing

parts before? Is it because you didn’t want people finding
out you’re actually a guy? Then again, you’ve never done
vocals, even before you started crossdressing. It’s not like
you’re bad at singing, right? I heard from Shizuki-chan that
you’re actually pretty good.”

“Huh? But… no, um… it’s…”

I felt my gaze swimming; I suddenly remembered singing

once, right beside Shizuki, when we had the Creep session.
But back then, I’d only sung out of necessity.

“…I don’t really like the sound of my voice.”

“Hmph.” Hanazono-sensei pouted with displeasure. “Well,

you’ve got Akane-chan now, so it’s not like you have to
avoid using vocals anymore. But anyway, it’d be a waste
since you’ve got these great girls with you. If you made a
music video, especially one with lyrics, wouldn’t you get a
ton of views? I bet you could probably hit ten million or
more.”

“Ten mil–“
I gulped on reflex; ten million seemed exaggerated, but one
million was definitely doable. With three genuine high
school girls at my disposal – unlike me, the faker – and their
level of skill in music… Wait, no, I have to calm down and
really think about this.

“I’m not sure about trying to boost my views by taking

advantage of that detail…”

“Oh come on now. Weren’t you the one who started it?
Crossdressing to get a few more clicks?”

She delivered a perfect argument, one I couldn’t deny.

“That being said, if you get those three to show off their
thighs like MusaO does, I’m sure you could tack on another
digit in viewer count. And even if you didn’t, I’m sure you’d
manage with just the song, right?”

“No, but…”

I paused, thinking about how to explain what bothered me.

It was true that I’ve been spending more time with those
three, in the studio and here in the music room. Still, asking
them to participate in making a new MusaOtoko video was a
little… How would I put it…

“Making them play what I want is, well, it feels like a waste
of their talent, like conceited of me to ask.”

Hanazono-sensei stared at me for another long moment

before letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Murase-kun, you really…”

It’d been so long since she last called me by my family

name that I stared back at her in mute shock. She didn’t say
anything further; instead, she just turned to look at the
clock. There were only two minutes remaining until lunch
break ended; I couldn’t stick around for any longer.

But as I exited the music room, Hanazono-sensei spoke

again.

“It’s thanks to my wonderful personality that such talent has

assembled here, so I’d like to enjoy them to the fullest.”

“You didn’t even do anything!”

But Hanazono-sensei’s only answered my retort with a wink,

as I closed the door behind me.

Ugh, she just says whatever she likes. It was purely by

coincidence that Rinko, Shizuki, Akane, and I happened to
meet. Hanazono-sensei had nothing to do with it.

But as I headed for the stairs, I stopped to look back toward

the music room.

Did she… really have nothing to do with it?

Rinko and I had met through Hanazono-sensei, and we

naturally got to know each other since we were both
unwilling assistants working together on things Hanazono-
sensei left for us.

Shizuki was already acquainted with Hanazono-sensei, and

my first interaction with her was when Hanazono-sensei
sent her to help me with cleaning the music storage room.
Sensei did actually bring the two of us together there.

Akane was a regular at Moon Echo, a studio owned by

Kurokawa-san, who is also a friend of Hanazono-sensei. And
the only reason why I went to that studio was because
sensei sent me there on an errand.

So one way or another, it was because of sensei that we

met.

Had she been planning this the entire time?

Haha, no way, right? Surely I was overthinking it — this was

all just a bunch of coincidences.

But…

At that moment, the sound of the bell grabbed my attention

like a blow to the head, and when I returned to my senses, I
broke off into a run. That had been the chime indicating
classes were resuming; I was definitely late now.

Regardless of Hanazono-sensei’s pushing, I was also

thinking lately that it was about time to upload a new video.
There were quite a few comments and private messages
from people eagerly waiting for more uploads, and the
growing subscriber count hadn’t slowed down at all.

But as I sat in front of the synthesizer, wondering what kind

of song I wanted to write, I kept thinking back to the session
I had with the girls.

And I especially kept thinking about Akane.

She has my ideal singing voice.

The truth was, the first five songs I uploaded were all
supposed to have vocals, and I even wrote the lyrics to
them. I ended up keeping them purely instrumental
because, as I said to Hanazono-sensei in the music room, I
didn’t like the sound of my own voice.

But now I have Akane.

I used my hands to play different notes, humming a verse in

some wordless language and searching for the right chords
as I wrote down pleasant-sounding phrases on the score.
It’d been a while since I last dove deep into the music for
myself like this. I could feel the smooth sensation of the
pencil drawing on the five-line staff, the rising heat of the
headphones against my ears, and the faint ache of a
swirling melody behind my eyelids; it was all so familiarly
pleasant.

The words to the melody seemed to come out on their own,

and the two seemed to fit each other perfectly. I’d always
thought it was a little exaggerated when liner notes
explained how ‘the music and lyrics were written at the
same time’, but I was beginning to believe it actually true.

I spent most of the night making a track for the demo tape.
To record the singing, I shut myself in my closet and threw a
futon over my head before putting out a few lines into the
mic. It’d gotten so hot that I felt my earlobes might just
explode from the heat.

Finally, I returned to my PC for the mixdown, set the

generated music on repeat, and lowered the volume to the
minimum before getting into bed.

A faint singing voice began to flow from the table speaker.

Within the darkness before my closed eyes, the voice didn’t

sound like my own. It might have been because I was
imagining Akane’s voice and how it would sound.
I wanted the three of them to listen to this as soon as
possible. But at the same time, I was also scared of having
them hear it. The clash of these two contradicting feelings
made a strange kind of shuffle beat to accompany the song
coming from the desk. Eventually, my eyes closed, and I fell
into a short, shallow sleep.

“– Let’s play it.”

The next day, during lunch break in the music room, I had
everyone listen to what I made. The first to voice their
approval was, surprisingly, Rinko.

“But the piano arrangement is quite awful. I’ll have to fix it.
It would be quite rude to the vocalist Akane otherwise.”

In the seat beside her, Akane blinked in surprise when she

heard Rinko.

“Wait, I’m the one who’s singing this? Didn’t you write this
song because you wanted to do the vocals, Makoto-chan?”

“No, the vocals are meant for you, Akane.”

“Really? But shouldn’t you be the guy here?”

“I set the key to a male voice pitch just for the demo, so I’ll
change it to something that fits your voice better.”

“That’s not what I meant. What I mean is, are you really
okay with giving up the role? You know it’s the most popular,
right?”

“It’s not like I’m making music just to be popular…”

“But Kurosawa-san said that every boy that plays in a band
does it to become popular.”

Oh right. I guess you’d see those kinds of people pretty

often if you run a studio.

“We don’t need Makoto-san to be any more popular than he

already is,” Shizuki insisted, “In fact, it would be a problem
if more came along.”

If more what came along? Besides, I have the right to be

popular too, right?

“Then, if Akane is on vocals, what will you be doing, Murase-

kun?”

Rinko calmly steered the conversation back on track.

“Right, right – if we’re recording, then there’s nothing for

Makoto-chan to play, since I can do both the guitar and the
bass parts.”

“It’s not like I have to perform. I’ll just do the sound

engineering since we’ll need one. I can just play the guitar
or the bass during rehearsals.”

“The bass then! Please do the bass!”

Shizuki vigorously leaned closer to me as she spoke up.

“The bass and drum are both part of the rhythm section, so
it’s like our two hearts will become one. You could even call
it our very own first duty.”

“…I don’t think this is the first time we’ve done something
like this though?”
“It’s a well-known phrase! You should know these kinds of
things!”

What are you getting so upset at me for…

“Well, I guess I can play the bass then.”

“Then it looks like we’re going to Moon Echo today! Let’s

see, should we reserve about four hours then?”

To my surprise, we finished recording the new song that

very day.

After classes let out, we went straight to the studio, and the
first thing I did was demonstrate the song’s chord
progression. I left them to decide the finer details of their
parts of the arrangement, and we started playing. The
sounds had been so detailed that it didn’t feel like it was
anyone’s first time playing through the song, and I couldn’t
help but tremble with excitement.

“Wouldn’t it be better to have the piano start the intro?

Then we can have the guitar come in unison four bars
after.”

“Let’s give it a try. But I don’t want it to sound like German

heavy metal. I think we you should use the effects pedal a
little more, to make it sound a little more rustic.”

“But then the four-on-the-floor won’t fit, right? We should

have it come in with this kind of pattern.”

“That sounds great!” “Okay, now play just the hi-hat at the
start.” “Then, once more, from the top!”

…And like that, the arrangement became more and more

polished. As the lowly bassist, it was all I could do to avoid
making any mistakes.

“We could use a sequenced orchestral accompaniment,

right? You brought a laptop with you, so let’s try using one.”

Akane pointed at the laptop bag I’d left in a corner of the

room.

“I mean, I do, but…”

The arrangement was evolving before my very eyes, so

there was no choice but to adjust the programmed track as
well. Still, I didn’t want to waste even a single second of the
boiling heat in the air, so I took my laptop out and sat
against the wall, hunched over the screen as I worked
quickly to update the sequenced accompaniment.

“Shizuki, have you ever played with a click track?”

“I have not. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. This is an

accompaniment you wrote after all, Makoto-san.”

I wasn’t sure where her confidence was coming from. In

order to synchronize the preprogrammed track with the
band’s sounds, the drummer would play while following a
click track using earphones — that would serve as a guide
for the tempo. It was quite difficult to do for anyone not
familiar with it, and even matching the tempo wasn’t
necessarily good enough; the drumming might end up
sounding too mechanical and the groove would just
disappear.

— But it seemed there was no need to worry about Shizuki.

Her drumming never lost the powerful energy it started
with, from the first rehearsal, and it was as though she
wasn’t just playing alongside the orchestral
accompaniment; it was more like the orchestral itself came
out of the drums.

“I’ll use what we just recorded for the guide track,” I said as
I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

And with laptop in hand, I locked myself into the control

booth.

My part as a performer was done. All I had to do now was

record Shizuki’s, Rinko’s, and Akane’s parts separately.

I put on the headphones and began listening to the

rehearsal just now, starting with Shizuki’s drums, Akane’s
bass, and Rinko’s piano. On top of that, I added the three
guitar parts – all played by Akane – and then Akane’s vocals
that also covered the chorus. It was pleasant working each
sound, like filling in the spaces of a rough sketch and seeing
a vivid world of colors come together.

And before I knew it, the light beside the door began
blinking red — we only had five minutes left of our rental
time. The four of us quickly packed up our things and left
the studio.

We made our way to a family restaurant, where I put

together a quick mixdown on the laptop and listened to the
finished track. Everyone was eager to hear it for
themselves, but of course, as the one who did the mixing, I
had the honor of hearing it first. I got goosebumps listening
to the song, even as I made some last few adjustments.

“…And it’s done. Who’s listening first?”

I carefully put the headphones on the table, and the three of

them simultaneously reached for it before stopping in
surprise: Rinko narrowed her eyes as she shrugged, Shizuki
hesitated and shyly withdrew, and Akane wore an
embarrassed smile as she retracted her arm.

“Um…” “So how about…” “Hmm…”

All three of them expressed their uncertainty at the same

time. Shizuki aside, I hadn’t expected Rinko and Akane to be
so reserved. Did it really matter who went first?

“We should do it by join order, so Rin-chan goes first.”

Akane pointed toward Rinko, who quietly nodded and
reached for the headphones.

“Join order? What do you mean?” I asked.

“The order we joined the band in, of course.”

“We’re… not a band, are we?”

I instinctively reacted to her question in the same way I had

with Hanazono-sensei.

“We’re not a band?!” Akane exclaimed in a loud voice,

causing a waitress and nearby diners to look our way, “I
thought the three of you were already a band, meaning I
joined last.”

Shizuki and Rinko exchanged glances.

“…There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“I just wanted him to be with me as I practiced the drums. In

other words, Makoto-san is for my own, personal use.”

And can you not try and sneak in weird things in the middle
of the confusion?
“I mean, if you want to officially become a band, the three
of you together are enough. You don’t actually need me for
that. Besides, I didn’t even play anything today.”

“But that’s because we were just recording today… Oh, I

know! If we do a live show, then Makoto-chan would have to
play too, right?”

“A live show? No way, what are you even saying? We don’t

have any sort of plan involving a live show. Besides, try
listening to it,” I said, gesturing to the headphones, “There
really isn’t a point to me being there.”

The three exchanged complicated looks with one another.

What was there to be unsatisfied about? Was it really that
big of a deal to be a real band? Well, I guess I could
understand how excited they must have been to go to the
studio together and record a song.

And I mean, if they would just listen to the song right now,
they’d understand what I meant.

Rinko ended up putting on the headphones first. When they

were over her head, I started the music from the laptop. For
the next four minutes, we sat in silence as Rinko quietly
stared at her drink, a glass of iced tea that was wet from the
condensation. The whole time, aside from tapping her finger
to the beat, Rinko sat motionless.

Before long, she removed the headphones and handed

them to Shizuki, who sat beside her.

For another four minutes, Shizuki pressed the headphones

against her head, and her eyes seemed to glaze over, as
though she were staring off into the distance, while her right
foot softly tapped along to the rhythm of the song. When
she finished, like Rinko before her, she wordlessly took off
the headphones and passed them to Akane.

Akane also remained silent, but her eyes seemed to widen

as she began to lip-synch, tracing the lyrics of the song. And
she too followed the rhythm of the song by flapping her
hands like birds in love in time to the beat.

Akane was also silent when she took off and handed the
headphones back to me. The lingering silence at the table
was starting to make me feel uneasy.

“So, uh… that was just a tentative mix, so the quality isn’t
all that great, so, um, yeah, I can make it better after I get
home. I don’t think the real thing will be as bad, but… uh,
was it really that bad?”

Akane blinked in surprise. Shizuki reacted similarly but

suddenly looked away in an apologetic manner. Rinko
sighed and began to speak.

“It’s not that its bad… Well, saying it wasn’t bad also isn’t
right.”

“…Um, okay? Which means..?”

“I’m really sorry, Makoto-san,” Shizuki suddenly apologized,

looking at me with upturned eyes. “I must have caused a
misunderstanding with how I reacted. It’s just, I was at a
loss for words for how it sounds.”

I gulped on reflex as I nodded.

“Hey, are you gonna put it out there? This, I mean. Or are
you just uploading this online?”
Akane, completely restless, got to her feet and leaned over,
putting her face closer to mine.

“Like, are you putting this on your channel, Makoto-chan?

It’ll be popular, I guarantee it. And people will probably do
their own covers of it.”

“Uh… Well, no, I mean… I didn’t have any part in making

this, so…”

“But you’re the one who wrote the song and the lyrics,
Makoto-chan!” “Makoto-san, you produced this! Actually, we
can call you the producer now, can’t we?” Hey, no, don’t do
that; that sounds way too pretentious.

“The most amazing part about this song,” Rinko suddenly

spoke up, pointing to the laptop, “is that despite playing no
part in the song, and Akane’s voice standing out the most,
you can definitely, instantly tell this is a song Murase-kun
wrote.”

Akane and Shizuki nodded along to Rinko’s words.

“Actually, what I thought about while singing was how

Makoto-chan should be singing too.”

“The feeling I was getting from hitting the drums was the
same as what I felt during all those sessions we had
together, which was why I didn’t have any problem
matching the rhythm.”

“That’s, well… I mean, you already knew from the start that
I wrote the song, so…”

“Which isn’t true at all,” Rinko said, beginning to look fed

up. “But if that’s how you really feel, then upload it to your
channel without any context. If it really didn’t sound like
your song, your followers will be able to tell there’s
something off.”

“Y-yeah… I wonder about that…”

I was beginning to suspect they were just buttering me up

so I would upload it to the MusaOtoko channel.

“But if I’m gonna upload this, I need something to put on

screen…”

“I have just the thing, actually. I was recording the rehearsal

with my phone just in case something like this happened!”

Shizuki proudly showed off her phone. What did she mean,
‘just in case’? What was she even thinking would happen?

“I had it on the bass amp so that I could get a close-up of

Makoto-san!”

— or so she said, but I wasn’t in the frame at all. Well, I had

expected as much; she had placed it much too close so I
ended up outside of the shot. When she realized that,
Shizuki paled and fell to her knees in defeat on the
restaurant floor.

“It looks perfect,” Rinko said, cool as ever, “You can see all
three of us in this shot, and it should be easy to sync the
timing of the audio to this since both are going at the same
tempo.”

“We have the laptop here, so it can be done now, right?”

They made it sound so easy, but I still did what I had to do.
Really, all I had to do was match the start of the video with
the sound. When I was done, the three of them listened to
the song once more but this time with the video up.
This time, they shared their thoughts immediately.

“…Hmm, how would you describe this? It’s, well… you

know.”

“Right?! It’s just like a music video!”

“The low video quality gives it a real soulful vibe.”

I had to agree; the results had taken me by surprise, even.

The whole thing had a certain feel to it: there was the slight-
angled tilt on the camera, the keyboardist was only showing
their back, the drummer was just out of focus among their
set, the guitar vocalist kept moving their arm in and out of
the frame… With a little more editing, it would look like a
genuine music video.
“Let’s upload it like this! I want the whole world to see it!”
Akane was drawing closer and closer to me in excitement,
until she was practically clinging onto me.

“No, wait, we can’t just let everyone’s faces be shown on

the internet…”

“It’s fine, you can’t even see it clearly!” “It’s not that big of
a deal to me.” “I just wanted to have Makoto-san’s face be
in the recording…”

None of them seemed to mind the problems I had, but

somehow I was able to escape their pressuring and run
home with my instruments and laptop.

Once home, I shut myself in my room, put together a proper

mixdown, and carefully listened to it on repeat while
watching the recording. The result certainly was good; it
would be a waste to just keep this for ourselves.

But still…

Rinko and Akane might have said otherwise, but it still didn’t
feel like this was a song I wrote — that was why I was
uncomfortable uploading it like it was my own work.

Just then, a notification sound went off, and, in this dark

room where the only source of light was the laptop screen,
the light of a screen coming from the smartphone sitting at
the edge of the desk blinked on.

I picked up the phone to see I had received a message from

Hanazono-sensei.

“You made a new song, right? I wanna listen to it, so hurry

up and upload it already!”
I tilted my head back to stare at the dark ceiling. She
must’ve heard about it from Akane.

Since I already opened the message, if I left Hanazono-

sensei on read for too long, I would have to worry about
what she might try and do.

“We did, but I don’t feel like I did any of the work, so I’m not
sure I should upload it to my channel. If you wanna listen to
it, I’ll just bring it to school.”

I received her reply less than twenty seconds later.

“Don’t worry about that, just upload it. Also, I’ll be taking
the next two weeks off, starting tomorrow, so I won’t be at
school for some time.”

She would be gone for two weeks? That would mean there
wouldn’t be a proper music class until after summer break
ends. Seriously, how hasn’t Hanazono-sensei been fired yet?

“By the way, if you don’t put it up, I’ll start spreading a
rumor about how MusaOtoko is taking a long time to upload
new content because he’s busy undergoing gender
reassignment surgery.”

I chucked my phone at my bed.

Then, I grabbed a nearby pillow and buried my face into it,

wondering what could I do to dodge Hanazono-sensei’s
threats. That didn’t last long; it was too annoying to think
about for long. Well whatever, maybe I should just upload it;
it’s not like anything bad would happen nor would I lose
anything by doing so.

With that in mind, I went and grabbed my phone before

sending LINE messages to Rinko, Shizuki, and Akane,
confirming I had their permission to upload the video.

In no time at all, all three of them replied, despite it being

quite late at night by now.

“I already said I was fine with it.” “I’m looking forward to it!”
“It’s time to make our worldwide debut!”

I let out another sigh as I returned to my PC. I made final,

careful adjustments to the mixdown, added subtle effects to
the video, and inserted captions. The date was about to
change as I finished, but just before I pressed the upload
button, I realized there was something I still had to admit to
myself.

I… also wanted to show this to everyone in the world. I’d

been making excuses left and right all day, but ultimately I
didn’t actually want to keep something so amazing hidden
from the world. In fact, when Hanazono-sensei had
threatened me, I felt a sense of relief wash through me
since that gave me an excuse to upload the video.

I was so pathetic.

As Rinko suggested, I left the video description empty. As I

stared fixatedly at the spinning cursor indicating the
recording was being uploaded, I felt a strange heat rising
out of my stomach. It was too late to stop it now; I’d always
felt this mixture of excitement, anticipation, and fear
whenever I uploaded anything, but for some reason, it felt
especially noticeable this time.

When the uploading and processing was complete, I

checked the video page to verify it was working properly.

View count: 1. It was the very first one.

Counting from the demo tape stage on, I must have listened
to this song hundreds of times by now. And I listened to it
once more, until the seek bar was completely red. There
was no issue.

I roughly closed the lid of my laptop, took out a set of clean

pajamas and underwear, and left my room.

My heart wouldn’t settle down even after the shower; in

fact, it was more like my body was still ablaze even after I
left the bathroom. I ended up drinking an entire litre of
barley tea from the fridge.

By now, people around the world – tens, maybe hundreds of

people – were listening to that song. How would they take
it? Will it move their hearts? Was the song truly special, or
did our conceit make us get carried away?

I needed to stop worrying about it, and so I crushed the now

empty bottle of barley tea before throwing it into the trash.

I returned to my room, crawled under the blankets, and

closed my eyes. I could still hear the faint echo of Akane’s
singing in my ears.

I woke up the next morning to find something outrageous

had happened.

The curtains had done nothing to stop the harsh morning

rays of the sun from coming into the room, so I got out of
bed with a grimace and opened my laptop.

After looking at the view count of last night’s upload, I

refreshed the page, thinking there had been a mistake — it
stayed the same. It was hard to believe it, so I restarted the
browser just in case, and… the number didn’t get any
smaller.

There were 600,000 views and counting, and the comments

section continued on and on, no matter how far I scrolled; I
could practically feel the excitement coming from the
screen. The comments were much different than usual, too:
though the number of high school girls had become three
(and real ones, at that), not a single comment mentioned
them. Instead…

“I cried after watching this…” “I’ve had this on repeat all

morning!” “Watching it gave me chills…” “Was this done by
pros or something?”

The unending stream of compliments left me reeling.

But it seemed these didn’t come from my regular

subscribers — not that they would write things like this; no,
these were from first-time viewers. I did a little more digging
and found the video was going viral across several social
media platforms.

That day, it was impossible to pay attention to anything in

class. When the morning break came around, I would check
in on the video, watching as the view count and comments
climbed higher and higher. I would say about 20% of what I
felt was joy, but the remaining 80% was closer to fear; I saw
the girls of my class gather together, overhearing things like
“Hey, have you seen this yet?” and “This is going crazy right
now!” They were watching my video on their phones, going
by the sounds, and I just wanted to run away, not wanting
to handle this on my own. I prayed for lunch break to come
even a little sooner; whether it was with Rinko, or Shizuki, or
Akane, or even Hanazono-sensei, I wanted to share the
feelings coming from this phenomenon and ease the burden
on my heart, even if only slightly.

As soon as the bell rang for the end of fourth period, I raced
out of the classroom to the music room.

“Oh there you are, Murase-kun. I was just thinking about

how popular the video is getting. You must have been paid a
good amount based on the views, but don’t I have a share in
it?”

I ran into Rinko in front of the music room, and she started
talking about something with her smartphone in hand.
Strangely enough, the heat I had been feeling all morning
seemed to dissipate, and I was finally able to calm down.

“…Huh? Oh, right, uh…”

“Makoto-chan! It’s amazing: your vid’s already got over a

million views!”

The sound of another voice and set of footsteps echoed

down the hall to us; I didn’t need to turn around to know
Akane had arrived.

Meanwhile, Shizuki was already inside, but she didn’t seem

to notice us enter the music room. Instead, she was
clutching her phone with both hands and muttering
something under her breath.

“…The comments are too normal. If they stay this way…

Maybe I start pushing them by saying something like “Show
us the real MusaO!” or like “Give us MusaO thighs!”…

“What are you doing..?”

“Hyaauu?!”
Shizuki sprang out of her chair, and her phone clattered to
the desk, nearly falling to the floor.

“N-nothing at all! I-I’m not doing anything bad or a-

anything!”

Shizuki made quite a pitiful sight, furiously blushing as she

tried to defend herself.

“I wasn’t trying to manipulate the comments or anything, or

like trying to get people to demand pictures of Makoto-san
crossdressing! And, umm, like this comment, this one, and
this one, and that one aren’t mine!”

So all of those other comments were yours? Also, what’s

with cherrypicking all the comments about thighs? How free
were you to do this…

“And would you look at that,” Rinko said with a sigh as she
snuck a peek at Shizuki’s phone, “There are people talking
about how there are three of MusaO now and how they can’t
figure out which is the real one. Not one of them has
guessed the real MusaO isn’t on-screen. It seems your
crossdressing passed perfectly. Good for you, Murase-kun.”

“That doesn’t make me happy at all, you know…”

“Some of them mentioned my singing! They even said my

voice is really cute, Makoto-chan!”

And what are you so happy about?

“I can’t believe it’s gotten this big in less than a day. What
do your DMs look like? Are the messages there even more
passionate?”

“Oh, right. Let me check those right now…”

I took out my phone to find my channel had received over a
hundred private messages in the twelve hours that’d passed
since uploading the video, and now the dashboard was
practically overflowing with notifications. I opened them
one-by-one to find messages that were longer and more
heartfelt than the comments, but before long, I began
skimming through them since there were too many to read
for now.

But my hand stopped after I opened the third-to-last

message.

The message was as follows:

How do you do? I am Kakizaki, from Naked Egg Inc.

Kurokawa-san from Moon Echo Studio told me about your

channel, but allow me to first apologize nonetheless for
suddenly messaging you like this.

Our company, Naked Egg Inc, plans and organizes music-

related events, and it just so happens that we are inviting
internet artists to participate in a live event on the 28th,
29th, and 30th of August. After taking the opportunity to
listen to your channel – MusaOtoko’s – latest song as well as
your previous songs, we believe you are exactly the kind of
artist we are looking for to carry the next generation of
music. Thus, we cordially invite you to appear at our event
—

I read over the whole thing a second time, but my mind had
blanked out and still couldn’t process the message. I almost
unconsciously showed the message on my phone to Rinko
and the others.

“…So this live show — its a paid event and sponsored by a

corporation?”
“They’re inviting Makoto-chan, right? But since we were all
performing in the video, where does that leave us?”

“The message said they heard about you from Kurokawa-

san… Would Hanazono-sensei know something?”

I turned to stare at the music prep room door after I heard

Shizuki’s question.

“Speaking of, where is she?” Akane asked.

“…Oh, right. So last night Hanazono-sensei sent me a

message saying she’d be taking the next two weeks off,
starting today,” I said, recalling her text.

“What the, another break? I’ve barely even seen her in class
since coming to school again. Most of it’s been self-study
stuff with Rin-chan as a substitute, and then I had to help
out, too.”

“That’s just the kind of person she is: a no-good teacher in

every way.”

I let out a tired sigh and put away my phone.

“So? What now then?”

Rinko stared straight at me and asked.

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?”

“The invitation. Are you going to do it? Or are you going to

refuse?”

“I mean, even if I accept, it’s not like I’d be the one on

stage. I wasn’t even playing in the last video, either. They
probably thought we were a band, and just sent the
message assuming that.”
“Then we just need to form a band. And I don’t really mind
either way, going out.”

“Ooh, me too! I wanna go!” Akane’s eyes glittered like stars

as she rocked back and forth in her chair.

“Being together with Makoto-san on the stage… sounds

wonderful…” Shizuki’s eyes were also sparkling but in
rapture.

“That’s right! Since it’s a live show, Makoto-chan will have

no choice but to play the guitar or the bass! Everything
worked out like I said it would!”

Hey, no, wait, why were you guys so enthusiastic about this
all of a sudden, especially Akane?!

“But Rinko… you’re fine with playing in front of people?”

“Shouldn’t that be obvious? Are you trying to imply

something? I’ll have you know that in terms of playing in
front of an audience and hearing their applause, I definitely
have the most experience among us.”

Now that she mentioned it, I had forgotten Rinko used to

participate in piano competitions.

“What about you, Shizuki? Isn’t your mom going to be angry

again? The event’s going to be livestreamed, and if she
found out you were part of rock concert kind of thing…”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Mother stopped trying

to interfere with my music after last time,” Shizuki said,
completely nonchalant. “All I had to do to silence her was
show her my work.”

“Silence her..?”
“Yes. You see, it is a little embarrassing for me to say it
myself, but my flower arrangements have been improving
ever since. Mother finally understood that my playing the
drums is what made the arrangements come to life, so she
stopped trying to stop me. And for better or for worse,
mother’s only concern was only ever about the flowers,
though I do respect her dedication to it.”

Was that what had happened..? Come to think of it, we often

practiced at the studio until late into the night, but I never
heard anything about Shizuki being in trouble.

Wait, doesn’t that mean…

…I’m the only one worrying about it like this?

“…Do you not want to perform on stage, Makoto-chan?”

It was a little daunting to be asked directly like that.

“Murase-kun was the one they asked, so I think he should

be the one to make the final decision.”

It was even harder to make it after putting me on the spot

like this…

I’d never thought of ever performing live before, and I

mean, was it really surprising? This was me we were talking
about: the guy who spent his time alone and hunched in
front of a computer in the dark, cutting and pasting musical
notes to hide his awful guitar playing, who used every trick
in the book to ‘write’ a ‘song’.

I let my head drop to avoid making eye contact with Rinko,

Shizuki, and Akane.
“…Sorry, but I just remembered I forgot to bring my lunch.
I’ll go grab it right now.”

I lied and ran away from the music room.

After classes let out for the day, I went alone to Moon Echo.

Kurokawa-san was on the other side of the counter as usual,

but she waved me over when she saw me enter the lobby.

“Misao told me about your new song. Looks like it’s gonna
be your big break, huh?”

“…Um, yeah, right.”

“The video footage though, that was shot here, right?”

“Oh… y-yeah. I’m sorry we did it without getting permission

first.”

Come to think of it, we had done all the recording without

checking if it was okay with Kurokawa-san. Were we in
trouble now?

“It’s not that big of a deal. If anything, it would actually be

good for publicity, so you should actually mention the video
was shot here at Moon Echo.”

“Haa…”

“It shouldn’t be a problem if the studio became famous,

right? Your faces weren’t showing too clearly in the video, so
random people probably wouldn’t figure out who you guys
are.”

“I guess that’s true, but…”

I suddenly remembered why I came to Moon Echo today and
drew closer to Kurokawa-san to whisper a question.

“I got this message from someone saying they’re an

employee of some event company. They sent me a message
and said they knew me from you –“

“Oh, Kakizaki? Yeah, I knew him from back when I was in a

band.”

So he really was an acquaintance of Kurokawa-san, and just

like that, my goal in coming here was complete.

“So he already contacted you, huh? Guy works real fast.

Misao was like “This song is actually so good! We gotta
make it more popular. You know anyone in the industry?”
and I remembered Kakizaki was having trouble finding
people for some event of his, so the timing’s pretty good.
He might seem like the kind of guy who’s only good at
saying things that sound good, but I can vouch for him; you
can trust him.”

“I… see…”

So this was more of Hanazono-sensei’s meddling? I felt my

shoulders slump over.

The truth was, I came here because I wanted Kurokawa-san

to say something like “I don’t know anyone like that” so that
I’d have an excuse to turn down the offer.

But since it turned out this way instead, it became even

harder for me to refuse.

“You don’t wanna do it? It’s gonna be a pretty big event, and
some of the people in it have already made their debut. It’s
a great opportunity for you guys, isn’t it?”
And there she goes raising the hurdle some more, making it
still harder for me to refuse.

“And you know, Misao really wanted to see you guys

perform, no matter what. I really think you guys should do
it.”

“It seems a bit much to do this just because Hanazono-

sensei wants to see us perform… Couldn’t she just, you
know, come to the studio if she wanted to listen to us play?”

Kurokawa-san’s eyes suddenly widened, and she inhaled

sharply.

“Misao… hasn’t told you guys?”

I tilted my head in confusion; A shadow seemed to come

over Kurokawa-san’s face as she spoke with a lower tone.

“Hasn’t told us what?”

“The reason why she won’t be at school anymore– because

she’s in the hospital.”
 Chapter 9: Paradise Noise (Reprise)

I came to school early the next morning and headed straight

for the music prep room. The door wasn’t locked, but that
was just a premonition of what was to come; it was the peak
of summer, but a chill came over me as I walked in: the
shelves lined with manga, the desk covered in game
consoles, the electric kettle, the mugs, the piles of sheet
music and papers all over the electric keyboard — all of it
was gone, and the room was now clean and empty.

I felt my mind go blank. I stood still in the doorway, letting

my gaze wander around, trying to find any trace of the
room’s previous inhabitant.

But it was as though Hanazono-sensei had never existed…

“…Oh, you must be Murase-kun. Is that right?”

A voice came from behind me, and I turned around with a

start; it was the vice principal.

“I believe you were the one who has been helping

Hanazono-sensei with music class, correct? Did you come
here to get something? We cleaned out the room just
yesterday, I’m afraid.”

As he spoke, I noticed a number of textbooks in his hands —

music textbooks for each year.

“We will have a replacement teacher from the second term

onward, but unfortunately, that means the rest of this term
is all self-study. I will try to keep an eye out for the class, but
since I do not know the subject very well, Murase-kun, I will
be relying quite a lot on you.”

The inside of my mouth was so dry that no voice would

come out, no matter how hard I moved my tongue or lips.

“A… replacement teacher..?”

I was finally able to speak up, though it was only a few

words. The vice-principal looked at me in surprise.

“Hm? I thought she would have informed you, but just to be

sure, did Hanazono-sensei not inform you?”

“…She didn’t.”

I hadn’t heard anything, least of all from Hanazono-sensei.

“I see. Long story short, Hanazono-sensei is dealing with a

very difficult illness at the moment. She often spends time
taking tests at the hospital; I believe it was an issue with her
pancreas? Unfortunately, I do not know the name of the
disease nor the details relating to it. I do know that she has
been doing her best to continue teaching between repeated
trips to the hospital, but recently it became too difficult for
her to keep it up so she chose to resign. We were planning
on letting you all know about it today, but… she really did
not tell you? It really is quite an unfortunate situation.”

I remembered Kurokawa-san had said the same thing

yesterday.

“So Misao hasn’t told you or the girls? That’s just insensitive
of her. Ugh, if she weren’t so sick, I’d go and slap her for
that.”
On the other hand, I couldn’t even feel angry about it — I
had just stood there in stunned silence.

And the clues were all there; why hadn’t I realized it sooner?
It didn’t matter what kind of teacher Hanazono-sensei was,
no teacher would be allowed so much time off just for
leisure. And besides…

The vice-principal looked like he had more to say, but I

simply bowed my head and walked back to the stairs.

I couldn’t think much more, and my feet ended up carrying

me not to my classroom, but to the front entrance. Other
students were beginning to arrive, and they gave me
strange looks as I changed back to my outdoor shoes. I left
through the back gate, by the parking lot, to avoid curious
looks.

I didn’t have a destination in mind, so I began aimlessly

walking through the shopping arcade to avoid the harsh
sunlight. I mindlessly milled about the area: past the bus
terminal at the front of the station, around the air-
conditioned bookstore, and through the convenience store.
It was already way past time for classes to start, but I didn’t
feel like going back. This was the first time I had ever
skipped class since high school began.

It was surprising how shocked I was from having heard the

news.

I mean, shouldn’t I have been relieved to learn that the

person who always used to tease me, mess with me, laugh
at me, cause endless troubles for me had disappeared?

So why did I feel this way?

Before I knew it, I found myself crouching under the shadow
of a multipurpose building’s emergency exit stairwell. There,
I sent a LINE message to Hanazono-sensei: “Please contact
me”. I couldn’t think of what else I wanted to say besides
that, and thinking back, this was actually the first time I
tried to get in touch with Hanazono-sensei myself. I gripped
my phone in tight anticipation and waited. My message
remained unread.

After staring at the unchanging screen for another fifteen

minutes, I finally worked up the courage to call. All I got for
my trouble was a hollow, unanswered ringing tone.

As I began to wander through the streets that smelled of

burnt asphalt, I would periodically dial Hanazono-sensei’s
number – at least once every hour. It wasn’t like I expected
her to pick up, but I felt like if I didn’t do that, time would
grind to a halt, and I would be stuck in this midsummer
afternoon.

Finally, on the fifth call, the ringing suddenly cut off.

No sound came through for a time, but the noise of the cars
around me made it too loud to hear, so I rushed into a
nearby bank. The sudden silence and rush of cold air left
tingling pain on my ears.

“..Now look here, Murase-kun.”

From the phone came a nostalgic voice. I could already see

her sullen expression.

“I’m in a hospital, you know that? Which means I can’t just

pick up the phone every time I get a call. You understand
why, right? I mean, I know you’re probably feeling all lonely
without me, but…”
I stayed silent, letting that voice continue unabated so I
could let its sound soak deeper into an important part of my
brain. And I wanted to be sure this wasn’t just some
auditory hallucination.

“…Murase-kun? You there? Can you still hear me? Wait,

what if this actually isn’t Murase-kun. Did your cat dial my
number or something? Yikes, if that was true, then I’ve been
babbling on to a cat this entire time. Oh no, how
embarrassing…”

“…It wasn’t a cat that called you. I can hear you just fine.”

I heard a loud crash come from her side of the call. I’d
probably surprised her and caused her to knock something
over, or she probably threw her pillow at the wall in anger.

“You should’ve said something sooner then! You’ve got a

real nasty personality, MusaO.”

“Th–…” Rather than apologizing, I could feel my anger

rising, “That should be my line. You’re the one with the
nasty personality, keeping quiet about all of this. What’s the
matter with you, not mentioning anything about something
this important?”

A soft sniffle came through the phone. Was she… crying?

There was no way…

“…I’m sorry.”

She spoke with a voice so soft that it seemed likely to

crumble away with sand after a single touch. I gulped in
response; her voice didn’t sound like it came from behind
tears, but the dryness of it made it that much more painful
to listen to.
“…Which hospital are you at?” I asked, trying to ease my
own sore throat.

“…I don’t wanna say. Sorry, but… I don’t want you to see
me like this.”

The usual lightheartedness she spoke with was gone from

her voice. The inside of my chest began feeling like it was
sizzling with heat.

“Up until I checked myself in, I kept asking the doctor, if I

was still able to continue working despite these hospital
trips, but… well, I’m the one who knows my body best, so I
already knew it would only get harder and harder. And I
couldn’t bring myself to tell you guys the truth, not when
you all were having so much fun together…”

In the music room, during lunch break and after school, it

had just been me at first. Then Rinko started showing up,
and then Shizuki came along, and even Akane after she
began attending school. We wanted a place to belong, and
we had gathered to make that place ourselves.

“It looked like you guys were having so much fun, and…
yeah, it was fun for me too, so how could I bring up
something like this? And just like that, as I dragged my feet
along without telling you guys, it was too late. Things got
worse. I had to quit as a teacher. And now I’m in the
hospital.”

“But… what about just, a leave of absence? You can come

back to school… once you’re all better, right?”

My voice felt heavy, like storm clouds gathering for an

evening shower that would soon knock against the screen
door. It was all too ominous.
“The principal and vice-principal said the same, but… I don’t
even know if I’ll be able to go outside again. And I couldn’t
do something as indecisive as leaving my position up in the
air like that; it would be rude to the replacement teacher.”

It felt as though something unpleasant was making its way

down my throat. Was her condition that serious?

“Ahaha, well, it’s not like I’ll die anytime soon, so don’t you
go worrying so much. Still… it would’ve been nice to be able
to get through the rest of the school year. Especially since I
was the one who pushed to have that cantata ready for the
music festival…”

Her voice seemed to be falling away, fading into silence,

and I instinctively reached out to the empty air in front of
me. My hand caught hold of nothing but air.

“So… if… if the replacement teacher is okay with it, can you
lead the cantata in my place? I’m sure everyone’s already
looking forward to it, and we gathered so many people to
participate… If you and Rinko-chan could, maybe, help them
all practice from now on as well…”

What was with that pathetic tone? It bothered me so much

that I began gnawing on my lip; where was the usual
arrogance she had?!

“…I’ll do it,” I answered, holding back my feelings, “Whether

or not the new teacher agrees to it, I’ll make sure it
happens. We’ve already planned out the practice schedule
over summer break, so there’s no more backing out. Rinko
and I will make sure it goes well. And if necessary, we’ll
even use music class in the second term to work harder on
it. Isn’t that… isn’t that why you’ve been pushing so much
work onto us?”
“Ahaha. That was like maybe 40% of what I intended…
Okay, maybe more like 80%, and it really did make things
easier for me.”

I tried to think of a snappy comeback, but I couldn’t find the

right words.

“But, y’know, Murase-kun, the remaining percent… or

rather, the real reason was because I sincerely believed you
could do it, that you could accomplish anything I had you
do. And see: no matter how difficult the problems were, you
would struggle and struggle, but then you would come up
with a plan, and it would all work out. Don’t you see how
you helped those girls? Especially Akane… I still can’t
believe you actually got her to start coming to school.”

“But… none of that was me. I didn’t do anything like that. All
I did was ask other people for help, and –“

“No. It was because of you. And that is the entire truth, the
one that I know.”

It was as though Hanazono-sensei was sending a heartfelt

prayer, a passionate appeal to my heart.

“And every time you accomplished another thing, I was just

so happy. Oh, I know you always complained and argued
over everything, but in the end, what matters is that you did
it. Oh, that reminds me, I listened to your new song. Thank
you for uploading it. And it seems you didn’t need me to
meddle with your affairs this time; you’re already well on
your way to becoming a real celebrity.”

So that was more of her meddling; she was the one who
asked Kurokawa-san to connect me with someone in the
industry. But for what purpose?
“And you know what? You deserve it. That’s just how
amazing your song really is. And your performance, it
should be out there, for the whole wide world to see. I
wanted to see it happen, as soon as possible. But… Well, I
don’t know for how much longer I’ll be able to just leisurely
browse the internet like that.”

I shook my head. I knew there was no way to convey that

action to her, that nothing would be communicated if I
didn’t speak. And yet, my words just wouldn’t take shape.

“This will probably be my final, selfish request to you, so I

hope you can find it in your big heart to forgive me like
you’ve always done. This is good-bye then, Murase-kun. I’ll
always be rooting for you.”

With a click, the phone went silent. I leaned harder against

the wall and slowly dropped to the floor in a crouch. A
uniformed, female employee from the information counter
came over, wearing a concerned look, and I remembered
where I was: a bank. I quickly stood up, bowed my head in
apology, and exited the building. When I came outside, the
harsh sunlight was still strong, beating down on me as
though it wanted to pound me into the asphalt.

But this time I wouldn’t stop moving. I knew where I needed

to go.

As I passed through the school gates, I heard the chime of a

bell; I looked up at the large clock on the outer wall of the
connecting hallway to find I had returned in time for lunch
break. Still covered in sweat, I ran inside the school building,
switched to my indoor shoes, and made my way to and up
the stairs.

When I arrived on the fourth floor, I near crashed into

someone who had come running from the other end of the
hallway.

“Hyah!”

We caught hold of one another and spun a full turn as

though we were dancing a waltz before coming to a stop.

It was Akane.

“– Makoto-chan? So you did come to school! I was just about

to go looking for you!”

Akane admonished me, sounding angry. From her direction

came the sounds of two more pairs of hurried footsteps.

“Makoto-san, I heard you haven’t been around since

morning. I was wondering where you may have gone,”
Shizuki said.

“You weren’t answering your phone or reading LINE, either,”

Rinko said, sounding displeased.

“Oh… Right… Sorry, that’s my bad.”

It seemed I’d run myself so ragged that I didn’t even notice

anything from my phone.

“So Makoto-chan, about Misao-san…”

Akane began to speak, but she seemed to notice something

in my expression and stopped.

“…You already knew? Were you the only one she told then?”

I shook my head before answering Rinko’s question.

“…I only learned about it yesterday. From Kurokawa-san.”

“I see. We only found out earlier this morning, from the vice-
principal.”

Nobody said a word; we didn’t need to. All four of us shared

the same feelings, though likely in different proportions: a
murky, muddy mix of frustration, regret, and helplessness.

I entered the music room and made my way back into the
prep room. It seemed like had become emptier since my
earlier visit in the morning. A thin film of dust had already
begun to settle on the empty shelves, and the only thing
remaining on the bare desk was a coffee stain in the shape
of a mug’s bottom.

Rinko lifted the lid of the electric keyboard and began

tracing each key with her fingers.

Shizuki stood in place, staring at a cut glass flower vase that

had been left behind on the cupboard.

Akane was at the window, pressing her cheeks against the

curtains as she stared absentmindedly down at the
courtyard.

Imagine a loose bit of lint, hanging off a stray thread. It was

easy enough to pull apart, but then it turned out to be part
of the core knot; everything fell apart and unraveled once
that single, seemingly unimportant bit was pulled away.
That was what it felt like now, and there was no returning to
how things used to be. In this empty room, lacking its
former life and sound, we who gathered had no words to
share yet we remained connected through a mutual,
lukewarm feeling of helplessness.

Would we… really never see her again?

She’d said something about making a final request of me,
but wouldn’t it have been fine to keep contact?

I took out my phone. There had been four missed calls: one
from Rinko and three from Shizuki — just them. On LINE, I
had unread messages from Rinko, Shizuki, and Akane.

Oh, she might’ve sent something to the MusaOtoko channel.

I remembered she would frequently check the page, so I
opened a browser and navigated over. It seemed the video
had now exceeded two million views with a comment
section that had inflated so much I had no interest in
reading it. Meanwhile, the direct message tray now showed
a three-digit number of unread messages.

But there was nothing there from Hanazono-sensei either.

I placed my phone on the desk, screen-side down.

The cries of the cicadas filled the room like an evening rain
against the window. Despite my light sweat, I could feel a
slight chill coming; if only it would actually rain — rain hard
enough to paint the world over in grey, to drown out all
other sounds, to wash away everything beyond the window.

But of course my wish was in vain, and all I got was the
noise coming through the window.

It was at that moment that a song began to play.

The eyes of the four occupants in the room focused in the

same direction: at the smartphone on the desk.

It might have been because I’d pressed somewhere on the

screen as I placed it down. The song that played was one I’d
heard hundreds of times; the chord progression, the riff
pattern, the breath of the fill-in, the intertwining melody of
the chorus — it was all so familiar, like they were parts of
my own body. That was our song.

I used my fingers to strum a set of imaginary strings.

Rinko’s fingers began walking, in search of the bones they

were meant to hit.

Shizuki’s elbows and knees trembled in anticipation of a

beat they were supposed to follow.

Akane’s lips traced the lyrics of a song though they only

tasted air.

The truth was, I already knew what I was to do, what I was
to say. There was nothing else but that one thing, in fact.
And from the very moment my phone call with Hanazono-
sensei had ended, I’d known it all.

I just wasn’t able to muster up the courage back then.

Before the song ended, I spoke up.

“– Let’s do it. The live show.”

The girls turned to look at me, and their gazes were so

heavy, I couldn’t help but dodge their stares by looking
down at the phone that was still playing music, though at a
lower volume now.

“Hanazono-sensei wanted to hear our performance, so let’s

try participating in the live show.”

I lifted my head.

From where I stood, I saw Rinko and her composed

expression; Shizuki with her shy smile, and Akane with her
wide grin. The three girls nodded in simultaneous approval.
*

When I met Kakizaki-shi from the production company for

the first time, his reaction had been one of surprise.

“Wow, so you really are a man? Haha, I wasn’t expecting

that.”

It was a Monday at the end of July; we met up at a cafe in

Shinjuku, and that was the first thing he said after we
introduced ourselves.

“Oh, I mean, I did read your channel description and all, but
the person who appeared in every video of yours looked like
they were a girl, so I thought the description was just saying
you are a man in order to get more attention, oh also, all of
your videos have been purely instrumental aside from the
latest one, and the singer in that one is a girl, so I
thought…”

I couldn’t really blame him for that assumption; I’d deleted

everything I had from before I started cross-dressing. There
were probably quite a few people who thought the same
way he did.

It was just as Kurokawa-san said: Kakizaki-shi was the type

of person that always had something positive to say. He
looked to be about 34 or 35 years old with tanned skin and
an athletic build. He also seemed to be the type to sweat
quite a lot; despite the fact that we were sitting in an air-
conditioned building, he constantly wiped his forehead with
a hand towel, though that did nothing to dim the passionate
glint in his eyes.

“Oh, and you really are a high schooler, huh? That’s great
because high schoolers usually have the best marketability
since its easy to establish a brand and image. What about
the three girls in your latest video? They’re your fellow
bandmates? Oh, so you guys were performing together!
Wait, they want to appear in the event too?! That would be
great!”

It felt as though the temperature in the store had risen two

degrees.

“We have already put together a schedule for you, MusaO-

san – err, would it be fine to call you MusaO-san? Ah,
Murase-san? Then, Murase-san, we are planning to have you
appear at the start of the first day of the event, with a forty
minute timeslot. Would that be all right? Since you are a
student, we did not want to schedule your appearance at
too late of a time.”

Forty minutes? And we’ll be the headliner? This was turning

out to be a bigger deal than I expected, and that thought
made me tremble; I had been under the assumption that
we’d only be playing one or two songs after all. Kakizaki-shi
noticed the worried expression on my face, but he
interpreted it in the opposite direction and had more to add.

“I sincerely apologize if the allotted time is too short, but

please allow me to explain: since we have a total of twelve
performers over our three-day event, there simply is not
enough time for any encores.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that the time is too short, it’s just… we
don’t have enough songs to play for that much time…”

I stopped mid-sentence before continuing.

“…which is why I’ll have to start working on more songs

now.”
“How wonderful! Then there should be time for seven or
eight songs, and that includes time for the MC! Oh, before
we go any further, we need to discuss the matter of the
fee.”

His excessively positive and upbeat personality aside,

Kakizaki-shi gave off a reliable and trustworthy vibe; Once
we finished discussing rehearsals and necessary equipment,
he asked one last thing.

“By the way, what name should I put down for your group,
as the performing artists?”

“Huh?”

“You see, if it were you alone, it would be fine to appear as

MusaOtoko, but you will be performing as a group, correct?
See, our president watched your videos, and his mind is set
on your group being an all-girls’ band, and while that is fine
since its mostly true, I think it would still be better to
introduce yourselves as a group. Though, if I may be
completely honest with you, the president rather dislikes the
MusaO name and wanted a more marketable name — he
was even planning on coming up with a new name himself. I
apologize if he comes off as a little selfish, but I also believe
it is important to make sure you are aware of his
intentions.”

“Haa..”

“Oh, I mean, I am very sorry for how incredibly rude of me

to bring it up. I completely understand if you do not want to
drop the MusaOtoko name, since that is who you are famous
as, Murase-kun, so feel free to just ignore what I said.”

“Ah, n-no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I immediately apologized for the misunderstanding my
careless reaction had caused.

“You are right though, and I was just thinking that. Since
they’ll also be appearing, I’ll have to ask them too.”

I brought the topic up the following week, when we had

gathered a family restaurant after another practice session
at the studio.

“…A band name? Hmm.”

Rinko had a rather indifferent reaction to the topic.

“I’ve heard that when it comes to deciding on a group

name, the members of the band always get into fights with
each other, and it’s normal for it to get bloody.”

“What kind of biased facts are you learning… though they

were sort of right: a name isn’t something you just
immediately decide on.”

“If it’s about band problems, just leave it to me!” Akane

proudly exclaimed, though it wasn’t something she needed
to be proud of. “I even remember a group that disbanded
because they couldn’t agree on a name, so based on my
experience, the best way to settle any disputes is through
rock-paper-scissors! That way, the losers won’t have any
room to complain!”

“…Before we do that, I want to hear what sort of names you

have in mind, Akane.”

“Huh? I mean, I’m not that picky about the name, y’know?”
She furrowed her brows as she thought it over.

“Let’s see, I want something like ‘death’ or ‘dark’ or ‘killer’

or… ‘blood’, or ‘madness’ in the name. As long its got any
two of those, I’m fine with anything.”

“And none of those are any good, so let’s not decide with
rock-paper-scissors…” Honestly, a one-in-four chance of
ending up with a name using any those words was too much
of a risk.

Shizuki was next, speaking hesitantly.

“How about taking the names of flowers for our band? I

thought long and hard over it, and it’s always been my
dream to form a band.”

“Hmm, using the names of flowers? That sounds good, since

it’s a girls’ band. What did you have in mind?”

With the idea coming from Shizuki, I was expecting

something short and appropriate. Then she took out a
notebook and pen and began unhestitatingly writing a
ridiculously long string of characters.

“So I was thinking ‘Mandarake-Makamandarake-

Manjushage-Makamanjushage‘. What do you think? Doesn’t
that sound cool?! Those are the names of the four heavenly
flowers mentioned in the Lotus Sutra, and it’s where the
other name of the higanbana comes from. In other words,
four flowers for four people. Isn’t that perfect?”

“No.”

“B-but why?!”
I shouldn’t have to explain why: it was hard to write, hard to
read, and way too long.

Rinko sighed in exasperation before speaking up.

“I have a suggestion to make.”

“Ugh… Well, as long as you make it reasonable…”

She returned an intense glare.

“Many bands add ‘Orchestra’ to their name. I like how

pretentious it sounds, so I would like to add that to our
name.”

“Oh, you mean like ELO.” Her reasoning was a little rude,
but I was relieved since it was a rational idea.

There were bands like the Electric Light Orchestra, the

Yellow Magic Orchestra, and the Brian Setzer Orchestra…
Yeah, I had to agree; they all sounded pretty cool.

“It’d be great if we can abbreviate it with three letters!”

Akane, who didn’t seem to have reflected on her

suggestion, suddenly jumped in. I was about to stop her
before she could segue into a weird name like Dark Madness
Orchestra or something, but then Shizuki also spoke up.

“Adding ‘Orchestra’ to the name sounds like a great idea. A

few jazz bands do the same thing, too.”

“Hmm, so what would be good… How about N-G-O?” “That’s

short for non-governmental organization.”

“What about P-K-O?” “That’s the United Nations’ peace-

keeping organization.”
“U-N-O then.” “That’s just UNO, the card game.”

As Akane and Shizuki had their unproductive exchange,

Rinko turned to look at me.

“Since you were the one to start the band, it’s really up to
you to decide on the name.”

I did feel a little pathetic that I was the only one who hadn’t
come up with any ideas.

‘Orchestra’ — so we have to decorate the name of our own

little orchestra with the word itself, huh?

Until recently, my ‘orchestra’ consisted of just myself, with

the sequencer and synthesizer software on my PC. I
believed music was something to do alone; I was an
embodiment of that idea, after all. But in the end, the music
a single person makes in the moment… only affects one
person. You see, music was a mysterious thing: having two
or three or even more people play together wasn’t a simple
matter of addition; it was more like a complicated
multiplication operation. That was why putting a decimal or
a negative number into the mix could destroy the whole
thing, but at the same time, the reverse was also true: the
product could grow and create an unimaginable level of
energy that could reach even the very edge of the universe.

But whatever that product was, it all only began after a

meeting between two — a meeting where two hearts
connected, where their touched one another. And it was the
same for us: when Hanazono-sensei brought me and Rinko
together, that had been the start of it all.

And it all began… at that place.

When I looked back at Rinko, I had a feeling she was
thinking the same thing – about the same place – as I was,
the place where it all began: that lonely patch of grass and
moss and asphalt, separated from the world by a little
perimeter of fence. It was the place that opened up to the
sky above; it was a sky that became anywhere we wanted to
go, but it was also a sky that became everywhere we
couldn’t go when the winds that blew in the clouds of a
rainstorm that washed away the sounds of our piano on that
afternoon.

“…Paradise Noise.”

I whispered, almost inaudibly.

As quiet as it was, that caught the attention of the three

girls around me.

“Paradise Noise Orchestra.”

I wiped the condensation off the side of my cold glass of

oolong tea with my hand and used a wet fingertip to write
three letters of the alphabet on the table: PNO.

“I like that,” Rinko answered, as the other two exchanged

glances before smiling.

The venue was a large and stylish live house located in

Ebisu. Its ground floor housed a cafe, a fashion boutique,
and even a store for merch. Apparently the underground
level could seat up to 1,000 people; even someone like me,
unfamiliar as I was with live houses, knew this was a pretty
high-end venue. After all, there weren’t a whole lot of these
kinds of places that could hold four digits’ worth of people in
it.
The day of the event had arrived, and in the early afternoon,
we gathered at Ebisu Station. We would be arriving a little
early to the venue to scope it out and get a rehearsal in.

Rinko, Shizuki, and Akane were all dressed in white hot

pants with matching, close-fitting tube tops; it was a perfect
summer outfit, and their exposed shoulders and legs were
so dazzlingly bright that it was hard to know where it was
okay for me to look. Had they coordinated their outfits? As
for me, I was dressed in my usual dull T-shirt and jeans.

Well, I was just a lowly bassist anyway, without a solo part

even, so it actually didn’t matter; people would be here for
the girls, and they probably wouldn’t even notice me.

Our destination was near the station, but this was the first
time I would see it. Inside, its clean and modern-feeling
interior was overwhelming; it was completely different from
the cramped and dirty live house in the basement of Moon
Echo. The PA booth looked like a spaceship’s cockpit, with a
walkway that extended to the center stage. Three huge
displays hung from the ceiling, and there was even space in
the side- and backstage to hold equipment.

We started walking down the staircase, to find that the

venue was still being setup; there was a staff member
mounting a heavy-looking tall electronic board under one of
the larger displays.

“Okay, we’re testing now! Send a comment through!”

A staff member called out, and after a moment, a line of

text scrolled on-screen: “Uooooooooh thighssss ToT”. It
continued moving, coming in from the right and
disappearing to the left.

“Ahaha! I bet that guy’s a fan of MusaO!”

Akane laughed as she read the message.

“Where did that message come from?” Shizuki asked.

“I heard they would be livestreaming the concert, and so

that board will be displaying viewer comments that are sent
via the streaming website in real time.” Rinko was
surprisingly knowledgeable about how this all worked.

In short, our audience weren’t just the 1,000 people in this

live house; no, there would be tens, possibly even hundreds
of thousands of people listening in. I felt a rising tension
climb up my back.

I finished descending the stairs. At the landing, I stood still,

to bask in the tense air about the venue.

Soon it would be showtime. I suddenly found my feet frozen

in place and my knees trembling. Meanwhile, the trio
passed me by, completely calm and casually chatting with
one another as they walked passed the staff member and
onto the stage. It wasn’t until Shizuki turned around that
she noticed me still standing in place.

“Makoto-san?”

“…Ah, oops, I’m fine.”

I slapped my thighs to psych myself up and then quickly ran

over to catch up to the others.

“Hmph, a little nervous?” Rinko said, rather meanly.

“Well yeah, of course. What about you guys? How are you
all still so calm when we’re gonna be playing at a venue like
this soon?”
“The venues where they hold piano competitions are usually
bigger than this.”

“This is my first time playing for something this big, but it’s
all about being able to experience it! I can’t afford to be
nervous!”

“I’m kind of just used to greeting tons of people during

exhibitions, so its no big deal.”

Oh, so it was just me getting all flustered. How pathetic, get

it together, me!

“But the three of us are no match for you, Murase-kun.”

“…Huh?” I stared blankly at RInko’s face.

“I mean, you’ve already performed for over a million people,

right?”

“Exactly! It’s like you’re in a completely different league

compared to us.”

“I mean… You’re not wrong, but it’s not like that was done
live. Not to mention it was over the internet, so…”

“To think he cross-dressed at the same time too! How crazy

is that?!” Um, excuse me, Akane-san? Can you not say that?
And so loudly?

But that was enough to ease my tension, and now it was

time to focus up. We had spent most of summer break doing
rehearsal after rehearsal, after all.

I thought back over the past month and a half, the

memories coming back in bits and pieces.
Because we didn’t have enough songs to play for the event,
I desperately wrote new ones, composing as though my life
depended on it. We also recorded them, and I uploaded it all
to the MusaOtoko channel. The video part stayed the same;
it was at the same studio, and of course, I didn’t appear in
any of them. By now, the debate on which of the girls was
the ‘real’ MusaOtoko had mostly died down, thanks in no
small part to rebranding the channel name, from MusaOtoko
to Paradise Noise Orchestra. By now, there were
overwhelmingly more people who subscribed to the channel
after we began uploading as a group — most of them
weren’t even aware the channel used to be about a single
person who cross-dressed and only played instrumental
songs. And that was how it should be; nobody needed to
pay any attention to me — this was perfectly fine. Everyone
was right to be crazy about Akane, Rinko, and Shizuki
instead. All I needed to worry about was playing the bass as
I had practiced, nothing more.

“Ah, thank you for coming!”

I heard a voice and looked up to see Kakizaki-shi from the

production company, running towards us.

“Will you need a change of clothes? Oh, you’ll be going up

like this? Sounds good, sounds good; you all look great, very
cute. Rehearsals? Yes, of course, you’ll have time for
rehearsals in a moment, so head on over to the waiting
room and drop your stuff off.”

Today was the first time he met the girls, but to me, it felt
like we’d already worked together many times before,
because of his positive attitude.

At least, until we exited the waiting room after leaving

behind our belongings. Kakizaki-shi approached us once
again, now with a gloomy expression on his face. Did
something happen?

“Please forgive me!”

Kakizaki-shi suddenly got on his knees and prostrated

himself on the floor.

“…Wh-what’s wrong?”

“You see, our company president, he really wants PNO to be

marketed as a girls’ band, and he’s even more adamant
about it after seeing the three of you in person like this.
And, well, it’s not that he does not want Murase-kun to
appear on stage, but rather, he wants you out of the
spotlight, so closer to the drums, where the lighting is not as
strong…”

Kakizaki-shi’s sudden request had me dumbfounded.

In other words, they wanted me out of the way, to simply

pretend I was just a supporting member.

“I am very, very sorry for bringing this up on the very day of

the event, but please, would it be possible for you to
consider it?”

As I watched Kakizaki-shi put his head to the floor, I realized

I felt strangely calm. He did have a point: it would be more
appealing to showcase us as a high school girls’ band, one
without unnecessary male presence. And I mean, the fans
were actually here for the girls, not me. Furthermore,
Kakizaki-shi was going on and on about how it was the
president’s demand and all, but something about that
seemed fishy to me; it was possible he also wanted to
exclude me, but he was using the nonpresent president as a
cover to avoid causing a stir or provoking a direct
confrontation. By now, I was calm enough to to consider
that possibility.

“But Makoto-chan is a part of the band… the leader, even!

Without him, we wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t exist as a
band in the first place!”

Akane did nothing to hide the frustration in her voice.

“I am very aware of that…. Nonetheless, our president

refuses to change his mind. In fact, it might even better if, in
the future, we have Murase-san take on a producer-like role
and support the band from behind-the-scenes.”

It just kept getting worse and worse.

It was then that I looked to the stage and realized what they
had done: Rinko’s keyboard now sat at the center of the
stage, while Akane’s mic stand was much further to the
right. The heck was this? I only had a bitter laugh for how
ridiculous this all was — they’d already rearranged
everything to set the stage for a three-man group. They
didn’t actually need our decision, which meant they already
prepared my spot too: right beside the drum set, in a dark
corner surrounded by monitor amps.

“I don’t… care that much. I’m just the bassist anyway, and I
have no solo parts to worry about, either.”

“What the?! Makoto-chan?! Why are even you…”

“If Murase-kun is fine with it, then I have nothing more to

say,” Rinko said indifferently.

“I have no problem with it either, since that means Makoto-

san will be attached to me the entire time!”
Shizuki approved for some reason, another
incomprehensible, Shizuki-ish reason. She was aware that
neither of us could play our instruments if we were that
close, right?

“Thank you very much! Oh, what a relief!”

Kakizaki-shi bowed his head again with so much force that it

seemed like he might accidentally crack the floor with it.

“Oh! And it seems the rehearsal prep is all done! Now, if you
would just follow me, we can confirm your positions and the
check the lighting!”

As Kakizaki-shi’s loud footsteps faded away, Rinko turned to

scowl at me.

“…What?” I timidly asked.

“You’re really sure about this? Didn’t you take this offer
because you decided you would stand in the spotlight?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I don’t have to stand out at all.

Actually, as the bassist, I really shouldn’t be standing out at
all. As long as the rest of the band gets to stand out, that’s
enough for me.”

“…That’s not what I mean. Ugh, you really haven’t improved

at all, have you?”

“Wh-what’s with you all of a sudden? I must have gotten

better at playing the bass after all that practice! I mean,
Akane is still better for recordings and all, but you know,
since we’re performing live now, there’s no choice but for
me to play.”

“That’s not what she meant, Makoto-chan.”

“Yep, that definitely was not what she meant.”

And now Akane and Shizuki are jumping in , too. What was I
missing?

“Actually, I’m perfectly happy this way, too, since I get to

have Makoto-san all to myself now!”

“Shizu-chan! You spoil him way too hard!”

Their little argument continued even as they got on the

stage. Honestly, I had no idea what they were talking about.
Did they really want me in the spotlight that much? Weren’t
you guys the ones complaining about how badly I played
the bass? That I needed to practice more?

“Okay, PNO, you’re up!” a staff member called out, “Please

begin setting your equipment up!”

I hurried after them, onto the stage.

As the start time drew closer, the floor of the waiting room
seemed to tremble with activity. I took out my smartphone
and began browsing social media sites; there were a
number of posts about attendees arriving at the venue.

I gave the waiting room another once-over; there were four

groups performing today, including us, though we were the
only full band. The other performers were two soloists and a
duo, meaning there were a total of eight people in the room
now. They were all older men, but despite having just
introduced themselves, they wasted no time getting overly
familiar and cozying up to Akane, Shizuki, and Rinko.

“I’ve listened to all your new songs, y’know. You’re the real
MusaO right? I always knew you were actually a girl! There’s
no way a guy has a body that good.”
“That’s not me, actually. I just sing the vocals, but I do wish I
could compose music and write lyrics!”

“What? Really?! That’s hard to believe. Well, we don’t really

have time right now, but I’m down to hear more later.
Everyone’s coming to the afterparty, right? I know this one
good bar, my friend owns it and all.”

“No, sorry. We’re still high school students and all, so we not
only can’t drink but we have a curfew to follow too.”

But the girls easily turned them away: Akane expertly

declined their advances, Shizuki kept them at a distance
with her ladylike behavior, and Rinko just ignored them —
they all had their own way of handling it. As for me, I was
quietly sitting alone in a corner of the waiting room. The
others probably thought I was like an assistant to carry their
equipment or something; not that it mattered, really. Still,
since they left me alone, I could focus on calming my
nerves, mentally reassuring myself that nobody would
bother sparing a second glance at me.

The door of the waiting room suddenly forcefully swung

open; a staff member appeared in the doorway.

“PNO? You all ready? It’s time to go!”

Akane, Shizuki, and Rinko all stood up at once. I almost fell

out of my chair in surprise.

“All right! Let’s get the audience pumped!”

And with that, Akane waved goodbye to the other

performers, and we left the waiting room together. She sure
was used to performing in live shows like this. It was
reassuring to have her with us, since I could just follow the
brightness that was Akane while hiding in the darkness
beside Shizuki.

But as soon as we entered the stage, that naive belief was

completely gone. A storm of cheers came from the
audience, and the lights above and below violently swung
here and there, casting their glow in every which direction.
Everywhere I looked, the lights that cut through the dark
created a sharp contrast of visuals. Meanwhile, tension
charged the atmosphere around us; the sounds of shouting,
applauding, and stomping seemed to build and build. It
didn’t matter if the lights and other settings were the exact
same as during our rehearsals; the stage had become a
completely different place.

Akane waved to the audience then picked up her PRS

Custom 24 from its stand. As she slung the strap over her
shoulder, she casually looked back at us and flashed a big
grin as though to say, “Let’s start by hitting ’em with
everything we’ve got!” Shizuki returned a smile and sunk
into the seat behind the drum set, while Rinko gave her a
pointed look before taking the high seat at the two-tier
keyboard stand. As for me, I exhaled strongly, forcing out
the stagnant breath I’d been holding before taking my place
in the dim shadows beside the drum set, with my Precision
Bass in hand. It was all strangely familiar, handling the
rough thickness of the instruments neck and the weight of
the strap hanging over my shoulder.

Then came the four-count.

Just like that, the piano riff took off running, pushing its
dazzling tune to the very limits. Rinko’s fingers
demonstrated their superior technique, they wove an
electrifying chord progression whose complex syncopation
brought out the inner voice of the two-tier keyboard.
Meanwhile, the beat of the hi-hat began to scratch the
surface of the music, and the guitar arpeggio intertwined
with the looping phrase, sneaking ninth and eleventh notes
into the gaps in the melody as though it was playing a knife
game. The excited cheering had died down, but that lasted
for only a few short moments before returning, crashing
down on us like a tsunami. I felt a tingle crawl up my spine;
anxiety, expectations, excitement – they were all
indistinguishable from one another, practically melding
together into a homogenous flow as I lost myself in the
dynamics of the music. It wasn’t just me that energy pulled
in; there were also the thousand attendees in the audience
and the millions of viewers watching the stream.

Then the song gushed from Akane’s lips.

I still distinctly remembered what she had said during our

last practice at the studio, before the day of the event: the
stage is alive, so until you step onto it, you can’t know what
to expect. And she was right; it pulsed with a life of its own,
taking the meaning of ‘live show’ quite literally. And within
our palms, beneath our feet, within the depths of the lights
that shone on us, the music was also breathing, beating,
trying to grow and grow. What we were doing now wasn’t
something as gentle as playing music; no, it was riding a
thick, sweet storm — a storm that shaved my very being
into pieces that dissolved in the storm’s power.

And it felt truly amazing.

It was as though the blood in my body had become bubbly

champagne. I desperately clung to the one thing that kept
me anchored in reality: the sensation of the thick metal
strings writing in my left hand. Yet I continued walking that
tightrope of feeling, as I had Shizuki’s chiseled beat to hang
onto against the torrent of sound that threatened to wash
me away. Meanwhile Akane’s silhouette leaped high into the
air, within the backlight; her guitar solo had become an
electric serpent, tearing through everything on stage before
leaping into the audience and slithering through the gaps
between people as it left its chaotic mark everywhere it
went, before finally flying off.

Amidst the raining motes of light, Akane grasped the mic

with both hands and began to sing once more.

In the eight bars of the second chorus, it was only the bass
and the drums supporting the vocals. This is fine, I thought
to myself, as I played the obbligato in the gaps between the
vocals. This is fine, I kept thinking, when I heard Shizuki
beside me, protecting me. I could hear Akane’s singing
voice so very clearly, and I felt my own mouth
spontaneously begin to move and synchronizing with hers.
But I had no microphone, so no one could hear me; my
voice was buried so deep within the our band noise that I
couldn’t hear it myself. The drowned song, with nowhere to
go, squirmed painfully through my throat.

Akane’s small figure spun into a jump, and her hand, raised
on high, slammed the pick hard against the strings of the
guitar. The cheers from the audience quadrupled in volume
when Akane landed herself and the finishing notes of the
song. I could see beads of sweat dotting her face, glittering
under the light as they dripped away. Her breathing was
ragged, and her throat most likely burned with exertion. But
Shizuki didn’t let up, not for the band nor for the audience; a
short moment after the song’s finish, four powerful snare
beats began to shake the venue once more.

I wouldn’t let myself be thrown off here either.

I swallowed the saliva that had pooled in my mouth and
dove into the rhythm once more, engraving a falling melody
over the syncopation of the bass drum. The glissando
coming from Rinko’s keyboard chased after us like a
relentless assault, tearing through the mud that was the
voice of the audience. It was like I was drowning under the
ceaseless rain of light and sound, and its intensity made it
difficult to keep my eyes open.

Let it rain more, harder — enough to paint me over, to wash

away the resentment, the frustration, the regret. That was
what I wished for.

But the rain would soon come to an end.

“–‘re Paradise Noise Orchestra! Thank you for listening!”

Akane’s voice brought me to my senses. I raised my head;

the lights coming from the ceiling lamps looked melted and
distorted, as though they had passed through some sort of
water filter. I wiped the sweat that clung to my forehead and
eyelids with the back of my hand.

What was with the jet-engine-like explosion that has been

going on for some time now? My still-addled brain tried to
process what I was seeing as I slowly turned my head; oh,
right, I was on a stage, and the rough, black box I leaned on
was the bass amp. That would mean that noise I was
hearing, that came from where the intense lights were
shining, had to be —

— the applause, the whistles, and the unintelligible shouts

coming from the audience.

Ah, it was finally over.

We played all seven songs, and since we continuously
played through our songs, there had been almost no space
for the MC to cut-in. There was a pleasant numbness over
my hands and feet, and I felt as though I could just melt and
become a stain on the stage floor. Was I able to walk? Could
I return to the backstage on my own? I unslung the bass
from my shoulder and left it on the stand, rubbing my back
against the equipment as I moved from one dark area to the
next – the back of the still-warm amps. There, I felt I could
finally breathe again, though it still felt as though my
essential fluids were leaking out of my ears.

The harshness of the darkness around me began to clear

away, now that I was hidden in the backstage.

“Great work out there!” “How amazing!”

“That was totes sick!” “It made me wanna cry!”

“Thank you very much!” “It was a lot of fun!”

A lively exchange between the staff members and my

bandmates was flying over my head. I felt as though I were
about to slip, to tumble onto the floor.

I turned to peek at the stage through the narrow gaps in the

equipment. The stage lights had dimmed, but a faint glow
had appeared in the audience. Meanwhile, staff members
were hard at work, running around to prepare the next
performance.

Was this… was this the end? Did I do it properly? I guess I

did; I did everything as we had practiced, and I didn’t stand
out. The effort I had put into practicing over the summer
had paid off.

But I still had doubts.

Was it really fine to let it end like this? I felt like I had missed
something, something really important. Actually, now that I
thought about it, why had I even come on stage in the first
place?

Oh, that’s right; it’s because I wanted her to hear our song. I
wanted to it to reach her. Had it reached her?

Something kicked at my restless heart. Then it did it again,

and again. Who was doing this? It hurt, you know? What
more do you even want from me?

I looked up again and saw.

It had come from the audience: the sound of a thousand

people, stomping their feet and clapping their hands in
perfect synch to create a swelling, primitive rhythm.

“…They’re calling for an encore.”

I overheard a staff member whisper.

The other three staff members who had been preparing the
stage suddenly stopped working, leaving the equipment
behind as they rushed into the side stage.

“Should we go ahead with an encore then? They’re getting

really hyped for one, but…”

That reverberating rhythm had become a continuous set of

strong, steady beats, like a piledriver pounding out a
building foundation. For a moment, I wondered whether how
it was possible for humans to create such a sound with just
their hands and feet.

“I don’t think we can do the encore though,” someone else

said.
“There’s still a little time left, but…” Was that Kakizaki-shi’s
voice?

“I mean, it’s fine even if it cuts into my time. The audience

is all fired up, so let’s kick it up another notch!” That voice…
I was sure it belonged to the next performer.

“…What should we do, Makoto-chan?” Akane asked, looking

over at me.

“Is there anything left we can play?” Rinko asked, cool as

usual.

“We’ve already played every song we had planned though,”

Shizuki added.

That was true; there was nothing left in our repertoire since
we’d played all of our original songs. That meant we’d done
everything we could, right? That was enough, right? Those
thoughts came to me over the buzzing of the audience. I
brushed away the beads of sweat that still clung to my
eyelashes and I let out a rough breath.

Then, at that moment, my eyes suddenly went over to the

electronic display board that hung high at the back of the
stage.

The screen was displaying real-time comments from the

streaming site, and right now, lines of text scrolled on by
like a flash flood of words.

But when my eyes had landed on the board, one message

stood out from among that choked flow.

Let me hear you sing, MusaO.

It had to have been my imagination, or so I doubted; there
was no way such a perfect coincidence could happen. There
had to be tens of thousands of comments from the internet
going by, so how was it possible that the timing of my
looking at the board had matched the appearance of that
message — one that had to have come from that person.

There was no way such a convenient miracle would happen.

But…

Something within me began making a knocking rhythm,

perfectly in-sync with the echo of the thumping floor that
was the audience’s call for an encore.

It had been my own heartbeat, pounding painfully hard

against my chest.

…why couldn’t this also be a miracle? What about

everything that happened before? There was my meeting
with Rinko. There was helping Shizuki, and there was pulling
Akane back to her feet. And finally there was how we ended
up here, on this stage. It had been one miracle after
another, and it was all because of that person.

So, because of that person, I would believe in this miracle,

too.

I could already picture it in my mind’s eye: sloppily crossing

her legs on a bed in a hospital room, holding a tablet in her
lap with earphones on, and looking down at us with a smile.

The words she said, during that last phone call, came back
to me.

— And your performance, it should be out there, for the

whole wide world to see —
She had said that in a uncharacteristically thin and weak
voice. Despite having arrogantly ordered me around, telling
me to do this and that over the past few months, in that
moment, she hesitatingly uttered those fragmented, fleeting
words, as though whispering a prayer.

— I wanted to see it happen —

I had yet to fulfill that promise.

…MusaO. MusaO!

The sound of new voices brought me back.

The message I’d seen on the display board had disappeared

under the deluge of more messages, and yet, the voices
began to shout out similar messages: let me hear you,
MusaO. That’s right, what about MusaO?! Get out here,
MusaO!

Yeah, I could hear it. It was the voice of reality, the

desperate shouts of young men, coming from the very front
of the audience.

“Bring out MusaO! Shouldn’t he be here?!”

The pounding that demanded an encore began dwindle as

the audience grew confused from the voices.

“Who’s MusaO?” “Someone from that band?” “Is that one of

the girls?”

All kinds of voices rose above the low volume questions, like
bubbles beneath the water.

“No, that’s wrong!” “MusaO’s a guy!” “I came out all this

way just to see MusaO!”
I felt another shiver run down my spine, and it felt as though
the sweat on my face had cooled to freezing.

MusaO, MusaO, MusaO!

The chanting began before I knew it. A thousand people

were once again clapping their hands and stomping their
feet in rhythm, but now they were also calling my other
name. Could you guys cut it out? And weren’t most of you
new followers anyway? The only people who actually knew
about our past should be the two or three people who had
spoken up earlier, so why was everyone getting carried
away and calling out my name? Was this the magic of a live
show? Or what Akane had meant about the stage being
alive and unpredictable? In that case…

At the edge of my vision, I saw the name the audience was

chanting also appeared without pause on the display board.
It felt as though a hot wind was pushing at my back,
threatening to blow me skyward, to send me hurtling
through an unfamiliar sky.

Somebody suddenly tugged on my arm, bringing me to my

feet.

I turned to see who it was — Rinko. She stared straight at

me for a time before motioning with her eyes…

…toward the stage.

Shizuki giggled before retrieving the drumsticks she had

stowed away in her back pockets.

Akane slapped me on the back, to encourage me.

The three of them weren’t going to make a move on their

own; they were waiting for me.
Everyone was still waiting for me — including that person.

I acknowledged them with an awkward nod and turned on

my heel before walking out of the sharp shadows of the
equipment into the intense glare of lights. I carefully
stepped over the cords snaking across the floor, making my
way through the sweltering darkness and passing under the
cymbal stand. Then…

…I stepped out into the spotlight.

The cheering poured down on me like a rain of fire, as

though to set me aflame. The voices that had called my
other name had broken into an overwhelming surge of
passion. How was it that there was not even a hint of
confusion to be found in the two thousand eyes that were
focused on me? Was it really me they wanted? Hadn’t their
aggressive call for an encore because of Akane, Rinko, or
Shizuki? Why were they staring, shouting so excitedly at the
appearance of an unknown, high school boy? Was it not
because the heated momentum of the live performance
urging them on, because they just wanted to make noise
and get rowdy?

Or…

Was it really me, that they wanted?

I shambled over to the mic stand, but when I tried to speak,

my throat suddenly hurt like I was peeling off a scab. I
forced down some of my saliva to cover up the pain before
choking out my words.

“…Sorry for anyone disappointed, but MusaOtoko… is

actually me.”
What came out were words so pathetic that I surprised even
myself with how they sounded. However, what returned
from the audience was cheering four times louder than
before. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to that;
how had Akane done it, standing up here, in this position of
dazzling loneliness, all this time?

“…And, uh,” I kept licking my dry lips, desperately trying to

keep them moist, “Well, like I said, I’m sorry if I disappointed
anyone, but I actually am a guy.”

The abrupt burst of laughter scared me, so daunting that it

was. What should I do? What was I supposed to do?

“So, um… I mean, I appreciate calling for an encore, but,

um… well, we actually don’t have any more songs ready to
play.”

“Anything’s fine! Just play something!” a voice from the

audience cried out.

That’s right; what they wanted wasn’t some speech or

anything.

Now that I’d come out, right into the spotlight, I had to sing.

I picked up Akane’s guitar from the stand beside me. The

solid weight of the PRS Custom 24 felt pleasantly cool in my
hand. When I slung it over my shoulder, the strap was
comfortably tight, like it held me in its embrace.

“So… I’ll be playing the first song I ever uploaded, and, um,
it’s just an instrumental guitar solo. It was, uh, originally
supposed to have vocals, but… anyway, sorry if it’s not any
good, and –“
The sound of a piano suddenly cut in, putting an end to my
hesitant words.

It was the sound of a Rhodes piano, distorted and muddled

to its limits. The dull tone came across sleepily and
ominously, as though it were echoing in a dream within a
dream within another dream.

I held my breath as I looked to the left of the stage; at some

point, Rinko had reseated herself at the keyboard stand,
pressing her delicate fingers into the keys to create an
rhythm that flowed like an ephemeral wave. That was my
song, the very first song I uploaded, back when my channel
was still newly-created, before I started calling myself
MusaOtoko. It was the song that started everything.

In the next loop, a stealthy, rhythmic pattern joined in, a

stiff beat coming from a bass drum and hi-hat from behind
me. This, too, was no illusion; I took a look behind me, and
there, between the shimmering cymbals and toms, was a
smiling Shizuki.

In the third loop, the bass stepped in, walking along as

though to gently accompany the beat. I could feel the heat
and breath of a presence behind me; I didn’t need to look to
know Akane now stood back-to-back with me, gently
strumming my Precision Bass.

It was as though the song I kept in my head was coming to

life exactly as I had imagined it, on this very stage. What
else could this be, if not paradise? And how? This wasn’t a
song we ever played before; it was a song I’d long deleted.
How did the three of them…

No, now was not the time for questions like that. There was
music we had to play right now. At some point, the rhythmic
clapping from the audience blended seamlessly with
Shizuki’s drums, becoming part of the overseeing backbeat.
The stage had been set for my song, like seeds that were
ready to sprout, and there was one more thing I had to do.

I held the grip tighter as I took a step toward the mic.

The lyrics to the song – the words I’d abandoned so long ago
– overflowed from between my lips, and the tears below my
eyes threatened to follow. My voice – the one I hated so
much – took on the colors of Rinko’s, Shizuki’s, and Akane’s
sounds and transformed into something so precious that it
seemed to burn to behold. Meanwhile, under my hand, the
muted strings seem to pulse stronger with every pick.

Each verse we played shaved away at my body, only to

shatter into countless tiny fragments. Each of those
fragments held a single thought and a pair of tiny wings.
Though those wings could only flap along feebly, they cut
through clouds, crossed over oceans, and tore through the
night to deliver the sparks that would shine their individual
colors. They would reach where ever their destination
wanted them to be, even to that person’s side.

The strings reverberated like sunlight cutting through the

clouds to reach the sea’s surface and blended together with
my singing voice. The ever-flowing ostinato spread like a
brilliant kaleidoscope from Rinko’s orchestration. Then,
when we approached the climax of the chorus, Akane
stepped toward the mic, bringing her lips close as if coming
in for a kiss, and intertwined her voice with mine in
harmony.

My singing voice was becoming buried in tears. Not yet; I

could still give more. I could still climb higher. I could still go
further.
Akane’s voice supported me, pulling me along to better
advance through the clear dark sky. I couldn’t tell if I was
rising or falling; were the sea of lights that filled my vision
from the stars above or from the city below?

The song came to an end upon the horizon.

Our orchestra had sailed through the calm ocean, riding on

the lingering echoes of the wind. The beats Shizuki played
from the snare began to fade as well, with the kicks halving
and halving until they simply vanished, leaving only the
shimmering afterglow that was the hi-hats final echo.

I, too, gently strummed the final open chord before turning

back around amidst the dwindling echoes. I raised an arm,
looked at Rinko, then Shizuki, then Akane, and brought my
arm down.

The applause was a torrent that beat down on my sweaty

nape. Akane lowered her instrument to give me a thumbs-
up. Shizuki was on the verge of tears, her eyes ready to
overflow from the emotion. Rinko walked towards me, gave
me a pat on the arm, and quickly exited to the sidestage.

I carefully wove my way through the tangle of equipment,

but I would turn to look back at the audience, over and over
again, because the droplets of water that hung from my
lashes, indistinguishable between sweat or tears, were
blurring my sight. And what I could see through it were
countless motes of light floating over a sea of dark.
 Chapter 10: The Place Closest to the
Sky

I spent the remainder of August without ever stepping out of

my house.

After the live show, I’d slept the entire next day away, and
my whole body had been sore when I woke up, to the point
where even taking a shower was a struggle. It felt as if I had
used up an entire summer’s worth of energy in that forty-
minute performance.

After lazily flopping back into bed, I watched the recording

of the live show over and over again, to confirm I had done
everything properly. Surprisingly, I had not done too badly; I
supported the songs as I should have. Furthermore, I was
practically invisible from the audience-side; despite the
spotlights illuminating Shizuki and her drum set, the area
around her was perfectly dark, like an empty void, to say
nothing of the monitor amps blocking the view. The neck of
the bass did show up on occasion, but anyone who didn’t
happen to know would not have noticed a bassist there. For
all intents and purposes, we had appeared to be a
glamouros, three-girl group.

Actually, I came out on stage for the encore after our

performance, against the request of the event organizers. I
wondered if that had caused any problems; it was hard to
say because after the show had ended, Kakizaki-shi came
around to tell us things like “Good work!” and “That was the
best!” and I hadn’t heard anything since from him.
Oh well. It wasn’t something I needed to worry about.

Though to be fair, I hadn’t been in contact with the other

three in the band either. Finishing the live show had left all
of us so exhausted that we immediately split up afterward
for the night. We hadn’t made any plans for after the event
either, but we would be seeing each other in school again
anyway come September.

How they were able to harmonize with me, for our encore
song? — I intended to ask, after we had finished, but in the
end, I didn’t. It felt like if I did, the miracle that happened
that day would no longer be one.

Just like that, summer vacation came to an end – like a

sudden blaze that burned itself out – and the second term
began.

I was really worried about going back to school; the live

show we performed in had been streamed all over the
internet, and my face was clearly visible in it. The event had
been pretty big on social media, and several news sites
even had featured articles on it. It was very possible at least
some of my schoolmates had seen it.

And my fears were spot on, because on the morning of

September 1st, as soon as I walked into the classroom, my
classmates had me surrounded.

“Hey, Murase, I saw the concert!” “You were amazing!”

“Didn’t know you were in a band, man!”

“And wasn’t that Saejima-san from Class 4 with you?” “Wow,

I knew you guys were a thing!” “Hey, you played on the
same day as Kuwata-P and Hidetaka-P, right? You got their
autographs, right? I’m so jealous! I’ve always been a big
fan!”

But as they bombarded me with questions, the bell chimed.

The questioning was on hold since the class had to make
their way to the gymnasium for the opening ceremony, but
it immediately resumed on our way back.

Thankfully, the commotion only lasted until the first break

period, and it was surprising how quickly my calm and
peaceful everyday had returned. Girls from other classrooms
did come by, but the most they would do was peek in
through the doorway, spot me, and giggle and whisper
amongst themselves before running away. Apart from little
things like that, my life was nice and quiet.

It felt somewhat anticlimatic.

“…The heck’s with you, Murase? What, were you hoping

they’d make a bigger deal out of it or something?”

“Are you for real? You already have people jealous of you
being in a band, and it’s not enough? Come on, man!”

When I brought it up, the guys in my class had other ideas.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” I said, to excuse myself, “It’s

like, well, I thought people would’ve been more surprised,
like how I upload my songs online and stuff… I don’t think
I’ve ever mentioned it to anyone.”

“I just found out the other day though.” “Yeah, and it’s not
like it was that surprising anyway, y’know?”

Huh? ‘Not that surprising’? What’s that supposed to mean?

“You see, Murase, we already know you play like every
instrument, you can sing, and you even write the music for
music class.”

“Yeah, right? Like I don’t think anyone would’ve been

surprised if you’d told them you were a semi-pro or
something already.”

“Speaking of music class, you’re pretty much teaching it

yourself, aren’t you?”

What the heck? That’s whats going on? I let out a tired sigh.

Since they know about my channel, they must have found

out about the cross-dressing, right? So why haven’t they
brought it up yet? Wait, oh no; I really hoped they wouldn’t
say “Oh, seeing you cross-dress wasn’t that surprising
either, haha!” or something…

No, no, no, let’s think about this a little more calmly. I should
be fine; the MusaOtoko name and the old channel
description that said I’m a male are completely changed and
gone. In other words, it’s safe to assume that if they
watched any of the older videos, without any prior
knowledge about the channel, surely they would just
assume the person playing in the video was Rinko, Shizuki,
or Akane! Okay, that’s definitely how it had turned out.
Phew, my social life was safe for another day…

I flopped over on my desk, melting with relief as my

classmates peppered me with more questions.

“Oh that reminds me, have you talked to Hana-chan-sensei

lately, Murase?”

“Oh yeah! How’s she doing?” “We wanted to go visit her,

but do you know which hospital she’s at?”
“Ah, sorry, but I don’t really know…”

I shook my head, and their faces grew disappointed.

It wasn’t like I didn’t feel the same; I was expecting

Hanazono-sensei to contact me after the live show, either
through LINE or with a DM to the channel, but to this very
day, the start of the second term, she still had yet to send a
message. It was painful to imagine the possibility that her
condition had grown serious enough to keep her from
staying in touch with us.

When classes ended for the day, my feet began taking me

over to the music room without my realizing it.

I had walked across the connecting hallway with the

overbearing sun beating down on my back and climbed the
stairs to the fourth floor. I entered the music room in time to
see someone coming out of the attached prep room.

“…Ah, are you Murase-kun? Err, Murase Makoto-kun, that

is?”

The person coming out of the music prep room was a young
woman who, upon noticing me, jogged over. This was
Komori-sensei, the new music teacher. Apparently she was a
fresh graduate out of a music college, though she didn’t
quite look the part; she could probably even pass as a high
schooler with the right attire, but on the other hand, the
office attire she had on didn’t suit her at all. The principal
had introduced her earlier, during the opening ceremony,
and she gave off a kind of cute newbie vibe that already
made her a popular topic of conversation. That aside, how
did she already know my name?

“I’m the new music teacher, Komori. It is nice to finally meet

you.”
She gave a deep bow.

“Hanazono-senpai told me all about you, and she also said

that if I ever needed help with the lessons, I should look for
Murase-kun from Class 7. I’m sure there will be times in the
future, where I will be depending on you, Murase-kun, so
thank you in advance!”

“Um, yeah, sure..?” I couldn’t help but wonder if that was

really okay; wasn’t she supposed to be the teacher? “…Wait,
did you say Hanazono-senpai?”

“Ah, yes, I was her underclassman back when we were in

music college together. After I graduated, I couldn’t find a
steady job, so I had to settle for part-time work. Back in
spring, she called me up saying she had a job for me as like
a replacement, so I went over and listened to what she had
to say.”

Oh, I see, Hanazono-sensei’s underclassman, huh…

Which meant this was just another part of the arrangements

she’d already made, this time for the person that would be
replacing her. This also explained why she had me and
Rinko take care of music class all the time: when the time
came to bring in her replacement – that is, her freshly-
graduated underclassman from music college with no
teaching experience – we would be able to assist. It was
annoying that she was leaving this behind for us, but…

Oh, actually, it was possible that Komori-sensei know which

hospital Hanazono-sensei had checked into, or maybe at
least she has a message from her.

“Komori-sensei?”

“Oh! Did you need something?”

“Would you happen to know how Hanazono-sensei is doing
right now? I haven’t heard anything, nor do I know the
hospital she’s staying at.”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t know either,” she answered,

lowering her gaze, “I think she just doesn’t want anyone
seeing her.”

“…Did she… um, did she tell you anything else? Like
something about me, or…”

Komori-sensei shook her head.

“I haven’t heard from her since the start of summer break.”

I let my shoulders fall.

“Oh, but she did say I should ask you if I needed help with
the second term classes, Murase-kun. And I think she also
mentioned there was something for you, and how you would
‘know what to do’.”

Komori-sensei passed me a key with a plastic tag as she

spoke.

The tag read ‘North School Building Roof”.

As I stepped out onto the rooftop, the intense sunlight

mercilessly beat down on me. A faint scent of grass and
sand hung in the air, and the sky stretched endlessly
beyond the borders of the fence in a painful shade of blue.
The nameless flowers that once clung tenaciously to life in
the gaps between the concrete blocks were yellowed from
the summer heat.

A strong gust of wind blew in, peeling away the heat that
clung to my skin and sending it off into the sky.
I hadn’t been up here since that duel with Rinko. Hanazono-
sensei had taken the key from the staff room back then,
but…

There was ‘something for me’, but what could it be?

I had no idea at all, and it wasn’t like she’d ever mentioned

anything before.

I used a hand to shade my eyes as I looked over the rooftop.

Nothing really stood out among the sparsely growing grass,
the bare concrete, and the fence around me.

Did she really just rope a new teacher along to play a prank?
I sighed in exasperated frustration, but when I turned
around to make my way back down the stairwell, I found it.

There, stuck on the door at eye-level, was a small white

square — a sticker. Printed on it was a geometric pattern of
numerous black squares.

A QR code..?

I held my breath in anticipation as I took out my phone and

scanned the code with my camera app.

The browser app opened, and after an agonizing moment of

connection lag, the site finally loaded. It was the same video
hosting site I used. A list of videos with similar thumbnails
appeared.

I tapped on the first video.

A familiar room appeared on screen. A lustrous, black grand

piano took up more than half the screen, but a blackboard
with a five-staff notation on it was visible in the remaining
space while in the foreground was a cream-colored tabletop
— there was no mistaking the scratches on the blackboard
or the stains on the carpet, two things I saw on a daily basis.
This was the school’s music room.

Then a shadow appeared, looming over the piano’s keys —

a person.

Their face was out-of-frame even after sitting on the bench,

but I could tell who it was after seeing those hands, hands
that pushed me around and messed with me all the time —
hands that also pushed me forward from behind.

Those hands were at rest on the lap when they suddenly

jumped to the piano and began to dance over the white
keys.

Her fingers played a repeated broken chord, like splashing

water, in the key of D. It softly emphasized the vivid melody
that floated out from the piano. I reflexively held my breath;
I knew this song. I knew it better than anyone else because
it was the third song I had ever uploaded to my channel,
and it was from before I started calling myself MusaOtoko. It
was a song that I created then shamefully deleted when I
realized how bad it was. But here it was now, completely
rearranged for a piano solo. No trace of what it was should
have been there, and yet I could still hear it if I just listened
carefully.

I swiped a finger across the screen and went to the next

video, then the next, and the next. They were all my old
songs, music that I’d birthed into and spread across the
world, before killing them, smashing them into nothingness
myself. And yet here they were, with a different but
nostalgic sound breathing new life into the once-dead
songs.

And then it hit me, something that person had once said:
So once you finish an arrangement, I’ll play it, I promise!

I had forgotten about that promise until just now.

But now I knew; I knew that person really had been

watching me, had been listening to me, had been with me
for a very long time. And in a way, she really did know me
better than I knew myself, in a way that also explained
something else: how Rinko, Shizuki, and Akane had been
able to support me during the encore. They must have also
heard this. And I could already imagine the sleepy afternoon
in the sunny music room where it happened; I could even
vividly imagine how it happenend. I could already hear her
going off and saying, “And I know MusaO the best. I know
him better than any of you. And I know things about him
that you could only imagine.” She would boast on and on
like that before finally sitting herself at the piano, and then
she would gently bring the songs from my beginnings back
to life through those keys, just like how she was now —

I felt a lump of heat suddenly form at my chest and rise to

my throat. I felt my breath catch, and I paused the video.

I pulled my earphones from my pocket, connected them to

my phone, and put the other end in my ears.

I tapped the play button once more. In my ears was the

song of migratory birds, birds that crossed the seasons, the
winds, the clouds to return from beyond the sea. It was a
song that belonged to me yet was not mine.

The channel description had the following written in it: We

will continue recording the remaining songs, one by one.
Please subscribe to the channel.

And then I read the channel name: MisaOtoko. I tried to

choke back the rising laugh, but it spilled out anyway. Heh, I
get it: Misao. And furthermore, we were only off by one
sound.

I approached the fence, pressing my forehead against it as I

leaned in. I spied the cream-colored walls of the school
building and the burning green tips of the courtyard gingko
tree. From beyond the school gates, the occasional gleam of
light coming off passing cars on the road would burn my
vision. Beyond that was the bamboo thicket that surrounded
the temple, then the roofs of houses that flickered in and
out of the haze of heat. As my eyes looked out further and
further, the city seemed to melt into the summer sky,
making it impossible to distinguish the boundary between
the two. Amidst all of this, the piano that played in my ears
felt as though it was coming directly from the music room
under my feet.

Then came a voice.

It was a voice that called my name; I turned to where it

came from to see three girls walking together through the
connecting hallway. They waved up at me, and I waved
back.

I switched off the music and removed my headphones. I can

still feel the sound of the piano that played — it could have
been coming from the music room on a distant spring day or
from a hospital room on a summer day somewhere else.

I leaned my back against the fence and closed my eyes,

letting the sunlight touch down on my eyelids as I listened
carefully. In this brief moment before they came to join me,
amidst the sound of wind, machinery, and breathing, I
searched for the melody of the fountain of paradise. It was a
nostalgic voice, a forgotten song, a whisper from a
nameless flower, and perhaps even the beating of my own
heart.

<Fin>
 Afterword

It has been over ten years since I wrote my first novel about
music, and just like this, that one, Sayonara Piano Sonata,
was also under the Dengeki Bunko label. Oh no, I totally
didn’t just name drop the title and label to get you to buy
the series. While it would be much more enjoyable to read
the two of them together, I wouldn’t possibly make such a
brazen request in the short confines of this afterword,
definitely not. That being said, thank you for purchasing this
book.

Since I’m writing another coming-of-age story around music

after such a long time, I reread Sayonara Piano Sonata to
recall my initial inspirations, and I couldn’t help but notice
the vast changes that had happened since then. I mean, the
main character was still using a Walkman to listen to music
on CDs, you know! And when I checked the publication date,
it said 2007, the year when the iPhone first came out! It’s
amazing how far we’ve come since then, and it’s even
possible some of you readers have never actually seen a
CD! Speaking of which, I’ve gotten rid of most of my CDs,
and I’m not even “buying” songs anymore. Now I enjoy my
music entirely through subscription services.

On the other hand, some things just don’t change.

After signing up for a subscription, I felt like it would be a

waste if I didn’t listen to as much music as I could, so I
started a “listen to a new artist every day” goal for myself. It
just made me realize how narrow my tastes are. In the end,
this lasted about two months, and the only new artists I’m
still listening to from back then are David Cook and
Lifehouse.

There is this sad theory that says your music tastes are
completely shaped during your more sensitive and
impressionable teenage years and that they won’t change
after that aside from how your senses will deteriorate with
age. I mean, I didn’t want to age in terms of my hobbies and
interests, but it seems I might have unintentionally proven
that theory. I think I want to cry now.

Speaking of the passage of time, another big change is the

new editor from Dengeki Bunko I’m working with from
hereon. Yuasa-shi has been taking care of me ever since I
won the Rookie of the Year Award so they’re something like
my foster parent in the business, and I’ve been in their care
for fifteen years. Yuasa-shi also brought in an amazing
illustrator, Akinashi Yuu-sama, of whom I’ve been a fan ever
since Love, Election and Chocolate. I am deeply moved to
have them illustrate this humble work of mine. And to my
new editor, Mori-sama, I look forward to working with you in
the future as well.

March 2020 Sugii Hikaru

 Credits

EPUB/PDF:

https://animestuff.me/

Translation:

https://headcanontl.wordpress.com/

Telegram:

https://t.me/animestuff2023