Rinko also had yet to eat dinner, so we went to the convenience store together to get food before sneaking back to my room. My sister was already in her own room, and my parents had yet to return, so I was able to get Rinko in without anyone noticing.
“Hmm. Your room is pretty much what I imagined it would be like: so full of instruments and scattered sheet music that it’s impossible not to step on something.”
Rinko commented, surveying the small room.
“So if I’m sleeping on the bed, where will you be, Murase-kun? Under the piano?”
“You should be the one sleeping under the piano. Whose room do you think this is — wait, that’s not what I want to ask!”
Rinko had been so nonchalant about everything so far that I hadn’t gotten the opportunity to ask her about what had happened.
“Why do you want to stay over?”
“Don’t talk so loudly. Your sister’s home, isn’t she?”
“Oh… right, my bad.” It became a little hard to tell which of us was the actual resident.
“I got into a fight with my mother, so I ran away from home. Unfortunately, she had already taken my phone, so I couldn’t contact anyone.”
“You… must’ve had a hard time.”
“After running away, my only option was to stay at a bandmate’s house – someone who would understand my situation. But my choices were limited: Shizuki’s family is wealthy and they probably have guards at the door, while Akane has been playing truant until recently meaning things might be a little more strict with her family. The only option left was your house, Murase-kun.”
“What the… That’s one convenient process of elimination you went through.”
“I know how much trouble I’m causing you by doing this, but you are the only one I can rely on right now.”
Damn it! It was so unfair of her to suddenly act all meek and humble at a time like this!
“If you tell me to leave, I will have no choice but to spend the night in the restroom of a public park.”
“…Okay, fine! Do whatever you want!”
“Really? Thank you.”
Rinko answered without even a hint of a smile.
“Next I need to find a place to sleep since you refuse to give up your bed. Could I borrow a blanket? It looks like there’s some space between your chair, the amp, and the keyboard stand. It seems a little narrow, but with my small chest – which you must be famliar with, Murase-kun – I should be able to fit.”
“Ugh, okay, you can sleep in my bed too!”
“Really? Thank you.”
I got caught up in the flow of the conversation and gave up my bed too.
But what was this girl even thinking, spending the night in a boy’s room? Did she believe I wouldn’t do anything (for the record, I would not)? I mean, it did feel nice that she trusted me that much, but…
Even if I wasn’t going to do anything, could she at least be a little more careful?
Whether or not she was aware of my inner turmoil, Rinko nonetheless began taking out the things we had bought at the convenience store and setting them on the table. Then we had a boring dinner in silence.
“So… you know how you missed school today…”
Once we finished eating, I carefully tried to ease us into the topic.
“Shizuki, Akane, and I were all worried about you, so we ended up going to your house.”
“Oh, that’s right. I heard about it afterward, actually. At the time, I’d locked myself in my room because I got in another fight with mother. I was listening to Ningen Isu with the volume turned all the way up at the time, so I didn’t notice anything going on.”
Her taste in music was hard to understand… Actually, is it even wider than mine?
“So I asked her, ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!’ and then another fight started started between us.”
“I can’t imagine you’d go and get into an argument just like that.”
“It’s not much different from making fun of you, Murase-kun. In fact, the only difference is that there is none of my usual kindness to go with it.”
“You’re telling me there’s kindness in what you say to me?! Hey! Why are you making a face like you’re shocked I didn’t notice? I should be the one in shock!”
“It would be nice if mother would respond to me the way you do, but unfortunately, she doesn’t listen and just talks on and on about what she wants.”
Personally I’d rather not be used as a reference in a weird comparison like that.
“…You mean like how she’s, uh, making you quit school?”
“Yeah, like that. And she wants me to go to a specialized music school instead. She doesn’t even know how impossible it is for me, either.”
“It does sound impossible, yep.”
“Although if I put my mind to it, it would be easy to get in.”
“First you said it was impossible, now you’re saying its easy. Which is it?”
Rinko just shrugged.
“Mother wouldn’t do something like this at random or if she didn’t have a plan. And she knows a few people. As for me, I know how the exams go, so if I really wanted to, it would be easy to pass.”
Any student that worked themselves to death getting into that kind of school would probably be furious if they heard how flippant she was.
“But I don’t want to do any of that, and I don’t want to go to a music school. That’s why I said it’s impossible for me.”
That made sense. It wouldn’t matter how skilled someone is, because if they didn’t have the motivation to pass, they would definitely fail.
“So why don’t you just tell your mom the truth?”
“I did. And then she went off about how it’s my own fault I’m not motivated. Ugh, it’s always like that, too. She just keeps talking past me.”
Rinko let out a tired sigh, and I found myself doing the same.
This situation was getting out of hand.
It seemed completely unlike Rinko to get into an argument with her mother, only to run away from home.
Calmly standing her ground, no matter what, to thoroughly pick apart the opposition’s arguments, even if they were her parents — wasn’t that the kind of girl Rinko was?
Yet the Rinko in front of me, despite talking as she usually did, lacked the spirit I always felt from her. I’d never seen her like this, so I didn’t know how I was supposed to handle her.
And I hadn’t even begun to think about the complicated mess that was her situation at home.
Even so, I needed to find the clue that would help me figure this all out.
“You quit playing the piano before, right? How did you get your mom to stop trying to force you to play back then?”
When I asked, Rinko didn’t seem to want to answer, but still she spoke.
“I did everything I could to avoid the piano, so I wouldn’t have to lay another finger on the keys again. I would throw up whenever I heard the sound of a piano, I would hide in the nurse’s office during music class at school — things like that. Mother eventually began to notice.
“Yeah, that makes sense, especially if you take it that far.”
She had done everything she could to shut out the piano from her life.
Her actions might’ve been purposely exaggerated to force her mother to give up, but at the same time, it also contained her honest feelings. Those honest feelings were there when I first met her; back then, Rinko really did hate the piano.
But now…
“Except I can’t do things like that anymore,” Rinko whispered, hugging her knees close, “I have the band now. I can’t just cut the piano out of my life again.”
I was secretly really happy when she said that.
At the same time, that was exactly why her mother wouldn’t give up that obsession she had of Rinko playing the piano.
It was obvious why, after hearing Rinko play; there was a fiery passion to her playing, a blaze that never actually went out.
“It all started because I played the piano decently well back when I was still learning… and then mother just wouldn’t let it go.”
“I remember she said something about you got an offer to play a concerto with a professional orchestra or something?”
A bitter look came over Rinko’s face as she nodded.
“I got an offer like that back in elementary school, from a television station. It was back when I was taking first place in competitions all over the place. They probably knew how valuable I was, considering my age and appearance.”
It was amazing how confident she was. I mean, I knew what she was getting at, but still…
“That wasn’t the only thing they were wanted, right? They recognized your skills as a pianist, and that’s why they wanted you.”
In response to my words, Rinko drew in her lips and shook her head.
“I’m not a pianist.”
“…What?”
“I’ve never considered myself a pianist. I’m just a person who enters piano competitions.”
I didn’t understand what she was trying to say; how could she not be a pianist when she could play that well?
Rinko brushed her fingers across the keys of the electric keyboard next to her as she continued in a whisper.
“You see, being a pianist is more than just a title. And it’s not just a matter of playing well or playing badly; a person could be the best in the world, playing on the greatest stage in the grandest hall, but if all they did was move the pens of judges, they weren’t playing the piano — they’re just moving their fingers around. But, say if someone played on an out-of-tune piano – something that was abandoned on the roadside – if they could touch the heart of even one person, then, no matter how terrible their skills may be, that person would be a true pianist.”
It wouldn’t matter if the synthesizer they played on was something cheap.
It wouldn’t matter if the stage they played on was concrete cracked by dirt and grass.
As long as it touched —
I quietly stood, walking over to retrieve my laptop before turning it on. I carefully adjusted the volume low enough so it wouldn’t disturb my sister in the room over but high enough for Rinko to hear.
After opening the web browser, I clicked on a bookmark.
The sounds of cheering, stomping, and clapping spilled from the speakers on the desk. Out of that cacophony of noise came the distorted staccato of a rhodes piano.
Rinko raised her head.
It was a recording from the music festival. Our sixth song was a high-tempo number that began with a solo from Rinko. The stage was barely visible behind the sea of raised hands that was the excited audience, though there was an occasional gleam of reflected light coming off a certain PRS guitar that caught the eye.
Even if it couldn’t be seen, I knew; I knew it was there.
It was like a demon was there, up on the stage, on that keyboard. It collected the air, the very pulse of the entire venue, drawing it into the keyboard, blending it together only to scatter it with a feverish frenzy as though its very essence bled from the keys.
“Then the Rinko you are now, the one before me…”
I paused to looked down at her fingertips.
“…is, without a doubt, a pianist.”
But neither her own sound nor my words reached her. As the song came to an end, with a storm of applause swalloing the lingering notes, Rinko quietly shook her head.
“…But is that really true? I wouldn’t say so. I wasn’t the leading performer on that stage, and the energy of the band had been so amazing that it’s easy to make the mistake of thinking that it came from me.”
But the band’s power is also your power; an ensemble isn’t addition but multiplication with each additional member. And there isn’t a split where the leading performer takes some sort of cut while the rest went to the supporting members… I wanted to tell her that, but I couldn’t put it into words.
Or maybe Rinko already knew all that, and there wasn’t a need for me to explain it.
The leading performer…
…and a stage where Rinko could be one.
An idea suddenly came to mind, and I spoke up.
“…It’s not like you started hating classical music itself, did you?”
Rinko stared back at me, her eyes the color of confusion, so I continued talking.
“You just hate the idea of going to a music school, right? It’s not like you’ll only play rock from now on?”
“Of course,” Rinko answered, nodding as she buried her lower face into her arms. “Chopin, Liszt, Schumann, Scriabin — I still love their pieces, and I still practice them.”
“Have you ever thought about wanting to perform up on that stage again, like you used to?”
“For a solo recital..? No, I don’t feel that way anymore. After learning how much more fun it is to play with the band, I decided if I was going to stand on a stage, I would only be there with others.”
“I see… Then what about for a concerto? If you could, would you play in one? Or was that another thing only your mom wanted?”
I saw Rinko’s shoulders give a slight twitch; she looked like she was holding back a bitter smile.
“If I ever had the chance, but… unlike what mother thinks, I believe that will only ever stay a dream.”
“It doesn’t have to stay a dream. We can do it ourselves.”
Her eyes still looked as dark as the depths of a forest, so I continued talking.
“If all you’re doing is classical music, your mom won’t have anything to complain about, right? So all you have to do is set aside band practice and just focus on practicing for a concerto.”
“That… sounds like it would work, but…”
“It’s not gonna solve the fundamental issue, but it will buy us time. Besides, your mom’s just overreacting right now. Probably. Anyway, you just need to play along, avoid making things worse, and get your phone back, let things go back to normal… After that, uhh, we’ll probably figure out something by then….”
Rinko, who had been concentrating on my mouth this entire time, eventually curled her lips at me.
“…Hey, Murase-kun, you’ve been framing all this in a way that makes it sound like you’re purely in it to solve my problems, but be honest: at least half the reason why you’re doing this is so that you can listen to me playing a concerto, right?”
“Ah…”
She figured it out. Did she though? Yeah, she definitely did. I probably pushed it too hard.
“…Yeah, well, rather than half the reason, it was more like 80%.”
So I answered her honestly.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea. At least, I don’t think it is.”
My voice – my argument – did get weaker though.
This time, Rinko gave a clear laugh.
“That is so like you, Murase-kun.”
I thought about apologizing right then, but Rinko had more to say.
“…But that’s what I love.”
Her words left me dumbfounded. The embarrassment came in a moment later, and I turned away to hide it.
“No, um… I’m just glad you’re not angry, I think?”
“That reaction only gets 20 points.”
“What do you even want from me then?”
“So how are we going to do it then? A concerto isn’t exactly easy to organize.”
I was relieved when she went back to the concerto. I brought the laptop closer to Rinko.
“We’ll have the rest of the band cover the orchestral parts.”
“Is that.. even possible? Wouldn’t it just ruin the piece?”
“Of course it’s possible. Don’t go underestimating the history of rock now, little miss classical music.”
I’d said it as a joke, but Rinko didn’t laugh; instead, she anxiously pursed her lips. I felt a twinge of panic and forced myself to continue in a more upbeat tone.
“Anyway, what’s important now is picking the right piece. We need a piece that’s both something you want to perform and something that fits you.”
I plugged my pair of earphones into the laptop, handing one of the buds to Rinko while putting the other in my ear.
What followed was an hour of pure happiness.
We looked up all kinds of piano concertos and listened to them, and Rinko played a few on the electric keyboard. This one’s no good; this one isn’t right either; this might work, what about another from the same composer: this is pretty good — our conversation kept going back and forth as we swam through the ocean that was the history of classical music.
And we soon arrived.
“What do you.. think of this one?”
After putting our sweaty heads together for so long, I wanted to be sure.
“This.. is what you want to hear me play?” Rinko asked, pressing a finger against the screen of the laptop.
“Yeah, I think it’s perfect.”
“This one is going to be very difficult, I think.”
“I’m prepared for that,” I said, completely bluffing. To be honest, this wall that stood before me was pretty intimidating. But that was fine, because we also had two other reliable members to help us… probably.
“All right then.”
After a long pause, Rinko finally murmurmed her answer.
“I guess I can try.”
Once we made our decision, relief overtook me with exhaustion flooding my body and mind. I cast a tired glance over at the time to discover the last train of the night had long since gone.
The last train… had long since gone…
Rinko let out a yawn that was indistinguishable from a sigh.
“…I was hoping to borrow the shower, but I don’t think that’s possible. I guess I’ll just have to go to bed like this.”
“Huh? Ah, b-but…”
I did say she could stay for the night, but that had been in the heat of the moment. Now, seeing a girl in my bed like this left me so nervous I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to turn off the lights? Oh, is it becacuse you changed your mind about the bed? Well, since you were so helpful today, I don’t mind if you come and sleep next to me.”
“Wh-wh-what are you even saying?!”
My voice cracked as I spoke.
Just then, my phone vibrated, and I literally jumped to my feet in surprise.
The call was from Shizuki.
“…Hello?”
“…Ah, Makoto-san? I apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour, but it seems Rinko-san has disappeared. Her mother contacted me earlier, and, um, she seemed really upset. She thought either I or Akane-san might have been sheltering her, and…”
I looked up to the ceiling.
“Rinko’s here with me.”
An incredibly loud noise came from the other side of the phone.
“…Shizuki? You okay? Did something happen?”
Her breathing became audibly ragged.
“…N-no, nothing happened, just that a three-meter-tall pyramid of stuffed animals fell over, and that surprised me.”
What was even going on in that girl’s room?
“So you’re saying Rinko-san is over there? Like in your r-room, Makoto-san? Or…”
“Oh, yeah, I meant Rinko’s with me at my place. It’s a long story, so. –“
Another loud sound came from my phone, causing me to move it away from my ear.
“What happened this time? You okay?”
“I-it’s nothing, I’m fine. I just fell over in surprise.”
Isn’t that not nothing?”
“S-so how far did the two of you go?”
“How far? And where exactly were we supposed to be going? Didn’t I just say we’re in my room?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
While we were having this nonsensical conversation, Rinko suddenly poked me on the shoulder.
“Who called? Was it Shizuki?”
It seemed Rinko was guessing based on the hysterical voice that had been coming out of my phone. I then explained how her mother had noticed her disappearance and was now looking for her; Rinko let her shoulders drop low as she let out a sigh.
“That’s too bad. I was pretending to hole up in my room all depressed before sneaking out, but it sounds like she found out sooner than I expected.”
Well of course she would; if she didn’t even come out to use the bathroom, her mother would eventually start getting suspicious.
“Give me the phone. It’ll be faster for me to explain to Shizuki myself.”
I trusted what she said and handed over my phone. What a terrible mistake I made.
“…Hello? Shizuki? It’s me. Yeah, that’s right, I’m in Murase-kun’s room. …No, I’m the one on the bed. I did suggest we share the bed, but of course he refused, so you don’t need to worry.”
“Aren’t you just making things worse?!”
I tried to take my phone back, but Rinko nimbly dodged my hand as she continued talking.”
“…I see. I’m sorry for worrying you. …Yeah, I’m fine. …Thanks. I’ll be giving the phone back to Murase-kun then.”
I took my phone back and put it to my ear. For some reason, the first thing I heard was Shizuki breathing heavily from the other end.
“Since there are special circumstances, I will let this go just this once! But I will have to lie to Rinko’s mother and say Rinko spent the night at a net cafe to cover it up.”
“Right, yeah, thanks for your help. I’m really sorry for causing all this trouble.”
There wasn’t a reason for me to have to apologize, but after I heard Shizuki’s menacing tone, the words just came out of my mouth on their own.
“Oh, and I know this isn’t a good time to be bringing it up, but I decided we need to do another performance as soon as possible — within the month, ideally.”
“Why are you suddenly telling me something this important over a phone call?!”
Her protest was perfectly reasonable and justified.
“I mean, I wanted to let you know as soon as possible. And, well, it’s a going to be a performance with a special gimmick to it…”
I began explaining how we would be doing a piano concerto with the three of us as support. As soon as I finished, Shizuki began speaking at a rapid-fire pace.
“That sounds amazing! I can’t wait! My heart’s thumping like crazy, getting all nervous and restless and angry!”
…So she was still angry, huh…
“Okay, then as compensation, I will be allowed to visit your room next time, Makoto-san!”
I wasn’t even sure what the compensation was for; it wasn’t like I had inconvenienced her in any way. Also I’d rather she didn’t see my room; it’s so messy that it’s actually a little embarrassing to have people over.
“Anyway, I have training in the morning, so that is all for now,” Shizuki said, and she hung up.
But this long, long night wasn’t over yet. After I set down my phone, I was feeling about tired enough to just fall asleep when my phone began to vibrate once more.
“Makoto-chan? Hey, I just heard from Shizu-chan that Rin-chan’s staying at your place.”
It was Akane this time. I had to hold back the urge to throw my phone into the fridge.
“…Yeah, well, a lot of things have happened…”
There really were a lot of things, but I didn’t feel like explaining all of it since I just wanted to sleep. Unfortunately, Akane wouldn’t let me off that easily.
“That’s not fair! I wanna get comfy in your room too, Makoto-chan! I’m so jealous!”
What was there to be jealous of? It’s not like Rinko was just here to relax. Besides, today was the first time this had ever happened.
“Okay, since there’s nothing I can do about it now, I’ll settle for having a remote slumber party instead! Which means you can’t go to sleep, ’cause we’re talking until the sun comes up!”
I was hoping she would just let me sleep in peace, but at the same time, I knew it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t tell her about my decision; after I did, she had become so excited that, though I couldn’t see it, I was sure she was jumping up and down in excitement, and she really wouldn’t stop talking about it. While this was all going down, Rinko was quietly sleeping in my bed, her eyes shut tight. That girl, was she even aware whose fault it was that I had to go through all of this?!
But what I should have done at the time was pay better attention to her…
The situation might have seemed pretty funny, what with Shizuki and Akane calling one after the other to mess with me, but I should have noticed how strange it was that Rinko would be so quick to stop talking and go to sleep.
Not to mention how she had been so quick to apologize and so quick to thank me, and then she even went and said something like “I guess I can try.”
…because that night, Rinko was more vulnerable than she ever had been.
At some point, she rolled over and had her back to me.
If I had been paying better attention, I would have noticed her faint trembling then. Unfortunately, I would only realize something as important as that later, in bitter hindsight.
*
The tickets sold out the same day they went up for sale.
“That wasn’t fun at all!”
Akane was strangely outraged after seeing what happened.
“These were tickets to an amateur band’s self-planned event! For a single-band show! At a venue with a max capacity of five hundred people! The only advertisement it had was an online announcement! How does this kind of event even sell out?!”
“What are you so unhappy about? Shouldn’t we be grateful?”
“For amateur shows, hitting the ticket sales quota is so tight that you end up having to ask your friends to buy one too, but you still can’t sell more than ten tickets on your own so the remainder comes out of your own pocket! You don’t get how lucky our band is! You know, if we never have struggles, we’ll run into problems down the line!”
“I think it’d be better if we don’t have to struggle though…”
“Well, I was always just a helper, so it’s not like I’ve ever had to help out with ticket sales myself!”
…So where did her preaching even come from then?
“Weren’t you worried, Makoto-chan? Personally, I was prepared to have to deal with a ton of unsold tickets.”
“Of course I was. Besides, our programme is way too niche.”
I looked down at the flyer in my hand.
Below the title – Paradise Noise Orchestra: First Solo Live Show – and printed in bold letters was…
Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor.
Anyone seeing this probably thought something like “What the heck is this?!” to themselves.
Most of our viewers probably didn’t know what kind of song this was, so I was a little hesitant about announcing it beforehand.
But it didn’t feel right to do that; I wasn’t about to surprise an audience that would’ve have been looking forward to a high-spirited rock number or a sugary ballad with a Prokofiev piece, so I made it clear in our announcement.
It was possible the people who found out about us through our channel or the music festival wouldn’t be interested in watching us perform an unfamiliar classical piece, so I was already expecting a worst-case scenario where we wouldn’t sell even a single ticket.
But after opening the lid, the result had been our tickets becoming sold out.
“I did not expect us to be this popular…”
Shizuki seemed more emotional than usual as she scrolled through her phone.
“It looks like there are people reselling our tickets. We didn’t have anything in place in case of that, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s not like we have the freedom to worry about something like that happening.”
I tiredly shook my head, remembering everything that happened over the past few days, after deciding we would hold our next live show.
A week had passed since the night Rinko ran away from home.
She went home the next morning, telling her mother she would stop going to band practice and would instead focus on classical music. Having “reconciliated”, it seemed Rinko was able to regain her peaceful life.
On the other hand – and it was strange to say – my life was the opposite, having become a hectic mess from all the things I had to get done.
First was finding a venue. There were a limited number of places with a grand piano, which was how we ended up with our current venue and its high capacity. Next was handling ticket sales and promotions, which brought attention and requests for interviews from online media outlets…
And of course, there was still preparing for the performance itself.
My everyday life had become so turbulent lately that I even used class to catch up on sleep.
“Didn’t I tell you to use our place’s live space? You guys even asked me to handle promoting the event and all.”
Kurokawa-san was watching us from behind the counter when she spoke up.
Kurokawa-san was the young owner of Moon Echo, the music studio we always used for practice. We were indebted to her for a number of reasons, so we wanted to hold our show here to contribute to sales and attract more customers. Unfortunately, we absolutely needed a grand piano this time.
“But a grand, huh? I can’t guess what kind of live you guys are planning with it.”
She continued speaking languidly.
“And miss very important pianist hasn’t been coming in lately. Did something happen? She quit?”
“Nah, nothing like that. She just hasn’t been able to come out lately because of stuff going on, but things should be getting back to normal starting today –“
Just as I was answering her, three notification sounds played at the same time; it had come from the phones of us in the band.
There was a LINE message from Rinko.
“Mother suddenly told me she found a new piano teacher.”
“I’m supposed to meet them today.”
“She might get suspicious if I refuse. She might be suspicious of me already.”
“I won’t be able to make it to practice today. Sorry.”
The three of us looked up from our phones at the same time.
Shizuki looked like she was about to cry while Akane wore a sullen pout.
“We only have… two more rehearsals remaining, right..?” Shizuki murmured.
I could only give a weak nod in return.
At the end of the day, we were still only students attending a high school our parents paid for, and we weren’t in a position to devote our entire lives to music. There would be a proficiency test next week, and between that and the time spent working on an arrangement, there hadn’t been much room to schedule practice sessions.
Furthermore, we hadn’t been able to play even a single note of the arrangement with Rinko yet.
“…It’ll be fine. We just need to play together once, and we’ll be able to match each other. We’ll have it down.”
I gave comforting words despite having no basis for them.
We had practiced a number of times by recording our rehearsals and playing along the recording, so we at least knew the flow of the song.
But being able to execute it properly during a live performance was a separate issue.
“This… isn’t gonna happen on the day of, right..?”
Akane unintentionally asked an ominous question, and she immediately clapped both hands over her mouth after realizing what she said while giving me and Shizuki a look of apology.
And unfortunately, that terrible prediction would come true.
*
The venue we would be playing at was a medium-sized live house in the city center, one that professionals also frequently used.
It wasn’t as big as the one from the music festival back in August, but it was still quite spacious; I was already feeling its size during the stage setup, and I would probably feel it even more clearly during the performance. Looking down from the stage at the audience with the lights dimmed was like staring into the sea at night.
“PNO, you guys ready for the sound check?”
The staff member in the PA booth called out to us.
“This isn’t a setting I usually have to work with so it’ll take a little longer, but… where’s your piano person? They’re still not here?”
They looked over at me, then at Shizuki, then at Akane, and finally back at me.
I averted my gaze before giving a vague answer.
“…Not yet. She’s, um, running a little late, but we can go ahead with the sound check with just the three of us.”
Rinko hadn’t come.
In the end, she hadn’t been able to make any of the rehearsals, and now the day of the event had arrived, without us having practiced together even once.
It seemed her mother suspected she hadn’t actually given up on the band and even resorted to personally taking her to and from school by car every day. Ultimately, it was impossible for Rinko to secretly come to the studio while under constant stalker-like scrutiny.
Since this was just a single-band show, there would be plenty of time for a final rehearsal. I had intended for us to do a first and last practice together here, before the real thing.
An unpleasant chill began to creep over my stomach.
I checked my phone again. There were no new incoming calls, and it looked like she hadn’t read our LINE messages yet, either.
The ill feelings that had settled in the pit of my stomach began to churn and boil in anger.
Was she really not coming? Did her mother take her phone again? Was she not allowed out of the house? What was even happening? No parent should have the right to try and stifle their own child like this.
“PNO, please come on over,” another staff member called to us. We headed out onto the stage and began going through the sound check. As the PA walked us through the process, I stole glances at the entrance every fifteen seconds or so.
When it came time for our final rehearsal, Rinko still had yet to appear.
“…If she doesn’t make it…”
Akane sounded reluctant as she adjusted the height of her mic stand.
“We will have to adjust the programme. won’t we?”
I looked over at Shizuki and nodded.
We only had to change it a little bit, but we could still play. Even if Rinko wasn’t here, we could still function as a band without too much of a difference.
That wasn’t what I wanted the audience to hear; most of them probably would be satisfied with it anyway, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to take in empty applause and fake cheering. Still, the people out there already bought expensive tickets and took time out of their valuable afternoon’s day-off. We couldn’t just say we wouldn’t perform and abandon them.
Going to Rinko’s house ourselves to pick her up had crossed my mind, but… no, we couldn’t afford the time. If we were to go now, we wouldn’t return in time for a rehearsal, but if we did it after the rehearsal, we wouldn’t return in time for the start of the show; it was an hour-long round trip just to go there and come back.
All the while, the hands of the clock ticked onward as time slowly continued on.
Neither Shizuki nor Akane said a word during the rehearsal. There was no singing either, just a few words to check the sound. I didn’t know if I should speak up; it felt like the wound on our band would rupture if I did, and then we would bleed like never before.
As we returned to the waiting room, I heard through the wall another staff member call out, “We’re ready to open!”
The atmosphere of the venue instantly and completely changed.
The sound of footsteps and muffled voices began to fill the venue. It was now thirty minutes until the show began, and Rinko was still missing.
Anxiety and impatience churned and bubbled in the pit of my stomach.
How could our first solo show have come down to this?
I certainly was still angry at Rinko’s mother, but right now, what really pissed me off was the girl in question. No matter what her parents said, she still had the option of refusing and prioritizing the band; it didn’t matter if her mother took her to and from school by car because she still had the option of kicking off the door and running away with us to the station. She wasn’t being held at gunpoint, threatened with a stun gun, or tied up; what did she have to be scared of?
Oh. That was it. She had been scared.
As I thought back over it, I realized Rinko had been scared the entire time.
The dark emotions that swirled in my stomach felt as though they had frozen over to become icicles, sharp points that began stabbing me from the inside out. I began to shiver.
I should have noticed sooner; ever since that night we spent together, a strange feeling had been building inside me.
I knew now what it was about: how Rinko was acting so strangely. The Rinko I knew wasn’t supposed to be that timid. The Rinko I knew was supposed be stronger. The Rinko I knew wouldn’t lose to anyone, not even her own parents —
And those were all assumptions I’d made about her. Could I even say I really knew her?
I knew Rinko had already broken once before, and she had left the stage. It had probably hurt her to hear her mother’s words back then too… No, rather, it would be impossible for her not to be hurt.
And yet, despite knowing that, I had left her all alone, to fend for herself —
My phone began to vibrate.
The shock brought me to my feet, and I fished out my phone. Shizuki and Akane half-rose to their feet as well.
I glanced at the screen to see it was an incoming call from Rinko.
“Where are you right now? The venue’s opening –“
But coming from the other side was the voice of a middle-aged woman to interrupt me.
“Are you from that band? One of those kids from back then?”
Just like that, it felt as though heaven and earth had switched places. The caller wasn’t Rinko but her mother.
“So you were planning a concert today, were you? Rinko will not be coming. As I have already said, she is not allowed to play in a band.”
It suddenly felt like the mud I was walking through had taken on a life of its own, grabbing hold of my ankles, knees, and lower back to drag me under.
Had her smartphone been taken again? What about Rinko herself then? Did she shut herself in her room again? Or maybe she was being locked in? We only had thirty minutes left; too late to do anything more. Our concerto was ruined. Still, if she was nearby — if she could hear my voice.. what do I say? It could be the last thing I ever say to her. It couldn’t be a condemnation, nor could it be an apology. It couldn’t be pleading, or comforting, or pity…
“– Rinko! Can you hear me?!”
My voice flew from my throat, tearing free from the thoughts that held it back.
“The real reason why I chose that piece…”
What was I saying, I could feel myself thinking. I could ignore that; now that I had begun giving voice to my thoughts, I knew exactly what I wanted Rinko to know: the real reason why I chose Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 2.
“…is because the intro starts with a pizzicato in unison with –“
Through my ears, I felt something important being cut.
It had been the call. The strength ebbed from my arm, and I let it fall back down. I stared at the silent phone screen for some time.
My unspoken words no longer had anywhere to go, and they withered away, turning to dust just centimeters from my lips.
Neither Shizuki nor Akane said anything.
There was a knock on the door, and a staff member peeked in.
“Um… Is your piano person… not coming?”
They probably sensed our trouble. And just as they needed to confirm with us, we also could no longer dodge the issue.
“…They are not. I’m sorry for the trouble… But, um, we can still play, with just the three of us. We just need to make a couple of adjustments.”
I had to inform the PA and the lighting staff about the changes, so with my head hung low, I left the waiting room with the staff member. As we walked, I could feel the hot air of the audience’s breath already seeping through and leaking from the walls.
The black luster of a grand piano had never felt as cold and distant as it did that day, with the footlights that reflected off its dark sheen looking like a squashed caterpillar.
“We’re starting the broadcast!” a staff member called out from some distance away.
Our show today will be streamed online — remembering that gave me an idea; I sent the link to the stream to Rinko over LINE.
If she could at least watch us…
But it didn’t take long for despair to come creeping back.
I realized Rinko’s mother must have taken her phone; the call earlier had been from Rinko’s number, but it was her mother on the line.
I can’t reach her. We weren’t connected anymore, not even through the internet.
As I stood in the darkness of the wings of the stage, I turned to look behind me. Two small shadowed figures were crouching low and holding their breath, and their two pairs of eyes glimmered as they stared back at me – Shizuki and Akane. Further behind them was a staff member, who motioned with their hand to quietly signal to us.
“It’s time.”
It was painful enough having to exchange words and glances with just us – every interaction was just a another reminder of the absence of a certain person – so we moved onto the stage in complete silence.
The moment I came out into the light, a storm of cheers blew in from my right, freezing my legs in place.
The audience was much closer now than they were at the mustic festival; only a slight difference in elevation and a set of monitor speakers separated us from them. It was a distance short enough that it was no exaggeration to say it was possible for both sides to reach out and touch the other’s hand. Right now there were hundreds of people crowding together before me; a thin sheen of sweat glistened across the necks and shoulders of the audience, reminding me that summer wasn’t quite over. The cheering suddenly doubled, and I knew Shizuki had appeared behind me; it got even louder – so loud that I worried the ceiling might collapse – when Akane appeared.
I tried to smile at the audience, but it didn’t feel like I did very well.
It was truly amazing that the same Akane who had, up until earlier, such a crushed and disappointed expression was able hide it as she beamed with a glowing smile and waved happily to the audience.
Meanwhile, I picked up my Precision Bass and slung it over my shoulder, deliberately tuning it as slowly as I could to try and delay the inevitably painful reality.
And yet, with every pluck of my – or Akane’s – strings, the audience seemed to grow hotter and hotter with excitement, and it felt as though the burning air were cooking my lungs with each breath I took.
There was no stalling the tuning for much longer, and once I had finished, I took one more look at the empty grand in the center.
It was supposed to be the star of tonight’s show, and yet there it was, lonely and unused. It was in the middle of the stage, but it would remain a silent like a lacquered coffin at a funeral. Wasn’t it painful, to be an instrument that couldn’t play a single note at a concert made for it?
What choice did we have?
All we could do was accept it.
The people that had gathered here should know that we would be changing the programme.
I walked over to the mic stand.
“Um… Thank you all… for coming today.”
The outpouring of excited cheers swallowed up my hesitant words before I could say much.
“What I want to say is, for our first song… um, how do I put it…”
My voice caught on my throat.
Did I really need to say it? I thought to myself.
I doubted if there actually was anyone who came because they wanted to hear a Prokofiev concerto. If all we did was play familiar or well-known rock tunes, they probably wouldn’t even notice the difference; everyone would be happy, and there would be no complaints.
In fact, the number of people who came just to hear that Prokofiev concerto…
…had to be just one.
That one was me; I was the only one who wanted to hear it. I wanted to get close to Rinko’s piano, to chase it, to overtake it, to cover it from the wind; I wanted to tear it up, to stir it up, to eat it up. What I wanted was to create a concerto out of it.
But in the end, it would stay an unfulfilled dream.
I put a hand on the mic and ran my tongue over my lips, preparing to reveal the truth that was cruel to me alone. I wasn’t doing this for anyone but myself, to separate me from the sweet dream I wanted to indulge in.
But before I could let my words loose into the mic, an unexpected headwind blew in.
My ears rang from the sudden change in pressure, and I was suddenly aware of a quadrilateral of light sharply contrasting against the dark. Under its heavy shine were the thick, soundproofed doors of the entrance – now wide open – and the shadow of a person was just barely visible against the glare. At first, all I could make out was a bright red dress whose long hem fluttered and flared against the wind of the change in air pressure.
Then, my eyes met hers.
It felt as though ten thousand years passed in a literal blink of the eyes.
The audience seemed to realize how the three of us on stage were blankly staring transfixed in the same direction, and the people slowly turned one-by-one to look.
A number of awe-filled gasps and sighs went out, overlapping with one another, before a surge of applause instantly refilled the hall.
And like that, the dark sea parted for her.
Rinko made her way down the walkway the audience had created for her, taking slow and elegant steps as though this had always been part of the performance.
She stepped over the monitor speakers and up onto the stage. Akane approached and looked ready to reprimand her.
“Rin-chan –“
Akane swallowed her words, and I could see why; there it was, a swelling of red on her cheek, under an eye.
“You’re… Are you okay?”
Her attitude completely turned around, and she timidly asked her question.
Rinko put a hand on her cheek as though acknowledging it and nodded.
“I had a little disagreement with my mother before I left. It’s nothing to worry about.”
She looked over at me and smiled.
“I didn’t use my hands, just my knee. I am still a pianist, after all.”
We remained frozen, in complete shock.
I couldn’t think of what to say back; I couldn’t even laugh.
Akane suddenly cleared her throat and signaled to me with her eyes; I shook my head in response and looked down at my instrument.
I didn’t need to think about anything unnecessary right now; we were already on-stage, and it was time to start the show. If I still had any stray thoughts floating around, it would be better to feed them as fuel for the engine.
Rinko spread her arms and half-turned in a showy way toward the audience. The hem of her skirt fluttered with the motion before settling down once more. She gave a deep, formal bow, and the excitement in the audience hit its peak.
Though I should have been full of worry and anxiety, only one thing came to mind as I watched her move…
…How would that crimson look against the black, lustrous backdrop of the piano?
Rinko seated herself on the bench, but before doing anything else, she turned toward me and spoke in a soft voice.
“What was your reason for choosing this piece?”
I blinked in surprise.
“I wasn’t able to hear it, because you got cut off before you finished.”
The stagnant air in my chest came out all at once.
My voice… had reached her after all.
Different emotions swelled from my chest, and I desperately tamped it all down as I calmed my breathing; I didn’t want those feelings to escape as words.
And I needed these feelings; I needed to put them into this performance.
Rinko didn’t need my answer. She would understand once we began – the reason why I chose this concerto from Prokofiev.
I looked back at Shizuki, and she gave a reassuring nod.
I looked past the piano at Akane, and she smiled back while raising her pick hand in acknowledgment.
Finally, I looked down at my hands.
I felt my pulse beat faster and faster, so fast that one beat layered over the next. I carefully brushed my fingers against each metal string.
Sergei Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor.
After I’d heard it for the first time that night, I knew this was the piece to play. It was rhythmic, its orchestration was simple, it focused on the piano — those were all superficial reasons I could have given for why I decided on it, but in truth, I had a specific reason for my choice.
It was because of the intro, where the strings played a phrase of monotone pizzicato.
If I were to arrange this piece for a band…
…it would begin with a bass solo.
And so I began, with descending notes like stealthy footsteps. It was an invitation, like I was holding my hand out to quietly pull Rinko into the light.
The piano whispered its opening notes: gentle triplets that washed in soft waves. I couldn’t help but sigh to let out my heated breath.
This was it.
This was why I chose Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 2. What I wanted was to bring Rinko to the front and center of the stage with my own two hands.
A free-spirited motif surged from tips of Rinko’s fingers, filling the hall with its sound. Then a sharp melody, carved in intervals out from the piano’s octaves, seeped out like water from dark depths and spread to carry the echo that called to the morning sky. It was hard to believe that it had been born from the lone guitar resting in Akane’s hands.
What amazing magic, I thought to myself.
In many fairy tales, magic began with a humble wish. In the same way, the guitar had begun with making humble sounds. They who played it – the guitarists – wished for a volume that other instruments would not drown out, and so they boosted their instruments by attaching magnets and coils, connecting amplifers and speakers.
And what they came away with was a sound that was too different, too sensitive, too sharp.
Some covered their ears in despair. Some gave up on the electronics and threw it all away. Some turned their dials to nothing, strumming with careful fingertips so as not to set it off.
But their desires, their curiosity, their prying would always eventually uncover the possibility they needed.
Those unafraid of their new future took the sounds of this new guitar to its limits, distorting it and chopping it and multiplying it and shaking it and diffusing it to higher and higher levels. Who could have predicted it? Like how electric lights stole away the night or how aircraft fought on battlefields in the sky, electric guitars put the ball that was the world of music in the player’s hands only to let it explode into a whole new universe.
If not for this instrument and this player named Akane, I would not have dared challenge Prokofiev.
Hot on the heels of that splendid cadenza was a turbulent scherzo. Shizuki, who had stayed lowkey until this moment, let loose the ramping energy and joined in with her beat. She struck the tom-toms with a ferocity that wanted to break what Prokofiev had written, and Rinko hit back with an equally violent but precise passage.
This was how a concerto should be: a contest of sound.
It wasn’t the kind of performance that used the character for cooperation in its name. I frantically clawed at my instrument, desperately clinging on as Rinko and Shizuki fought it out and pushed each other to greater and greater heights. If I missed even a single moment in this groove, the whole performance would fall apart in the heights it’d climbed; I couldn’t let it go now — it had been my selfishness, my stubbornness that brought us here. ¹
And then the final movement – the storm that was approaching – came.
Akane’s guitar was no longer just a conversation partner that followed Rinko’s piano; it weaponized the sound it called its music and joined the fray. Our performance was a battlefield; someone’s sound grappled with another, crunched it down between its teeth, and trampled over it as a foothold to climb higher, only for the next sound to catch its trail, grab hold, and itself climb yet higher…
After seemingly endless repetition, we arrived at a never-before-seen climax. What we saw — it could have been the trail from the cymbal’s echoes, it could have been the clouds coming alight in the dawn, it could have been the mist reflecting off the surface of a frozen lake. As we looked on, Akane raised her hand, bringing her pick on high, and gave a final swing.
Our concerto – our match – cut off there.
A tremendous wave of noise struck me from the side; the pressure disoriented me, and I could barely support the weight of my Precision Bass. My feet tangled, and I nearly toppled over.
I didn’t immediately realize the noise was applause.
When I raised my face to look out on the crowd, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Five hundred people, out there in the audience, were clapping, jumping up and down, calling our names, boiling with excited energy.
This had to be a joke. I mean, we just played a Prokofiev and all. It wasn’t one of those pieces that was easy to understand; it was a piece that had its own obscure logic – one with its own emotional intensity to it – and it came from a man who was torn between his assertiveness as a pianist and his restraint as a composer. It was supposed to be a piece full of pain, and yet, why were they all so excited? Had they just gotten pumped from the atmosphere?
It took a moment before I realized my mistake.
How was I stupid enough to miss it?
This was all music; it wasn’t something that needed to be understood. It was something to be swept away in, to be swallowed by, a place to put your heart and where it would overflow with the emotions it loosed.
So the answer was right there, in this spectacle before my very eyes.
Our Prokofiev… reached them.
Rinko brushed back the strands of hair clinging to her forehead and stood from her seat. The cheers swelled, growing even louder.
She walked over to the mic stand and picked up the microphone.
“…Allow me to introduce the members of our band.”
Her sudden words left me surprised, and I looked over at Akane then back at Shizuki. We hadn’t planned any of this of course, and it wasn’t like we could either, since we actually never had the chance to practice together.
“Our drummer: Yurisaka Shizuki.”
Even so, Shizuki flashed a brilliant smile and played a fill when Rinko called her name, and the audience responded with earth-shaking applause and cheer.
“Our guitarist and vocalist: Kudou Akane.”
Akane drew thunderous applause with a dazzling riff. It was like she was born to bathe in the limelight; every move she made seemed to shine with brilliance.
That still didn’t answer why Rinko was suddenly introducing us.
And then my eyes met with hers.
“Our bassist and concert master: Murase Makoto.”
Oh, so that was why. Now I understood.
It was embarrassing, but I lifted my head and waved a hand at the audience — or rather, at the camera in the very back of the hall that was broadcasting the livestream.
“This is my orchestra.”
Rinko declared so, looking in the same direction.
The applause seemed to grow so very far in that moment.
I had sent the stream URL through LINE. I couldn’t be sure, and it was more unlikely than not for that person to be watching, but I hoped they were. It was their right but also their responsibility to do so; they had been the one to thoughtlessly mix their dream together with their daughter’s.
“Well then…”
Rinko’s tone made a complete change.
It had returned to the one she always used, the one she teased me with.
“…Please enjoy the next part.”
She abruptly, unhesitatingly finished talking and returned the microphone to its stand. The audience churned like boiling froth. What’ll we ever do with this girl, I found myself thinking; I was sure Akane and Shizuki felt the same — after all, we never did tell Rinko what was happening after the concerto.
Of course this was still part of the plan.
We couldn’t just send our audience home – not when they were this heated after one concerto – nor could we let Rinko just get away with stealing the show either, so when Shizuki counted off a four-beat with her drumsticks, I pulled us forward into a familiar rock beat. Despite not knowing the song we would play, Rinko took the lead, striking the chords to a showy glissando. Akane let out a laugh as she fought back with her own aggressive strumming. Our performance had become an impromptu jam session; it was pure madness for us to do this in front of the five hundred that paid for this show, and yet, we played on, mad as we were. It was like we were letting out all the frustrations that had built up over the past half month from not being able to play with all four of us together.
I continued directing us through the song, keeping the bassline as restricted as possible. It was irritating but also pleasant to watch as the three of them, playing as free-spirited as they were, fall in-line only to take off running again.
This… was my orchestra.
*
The girls had Rinko up on trial Monday of the following week.
It was after school, and we were in the courtroom — that is, the McDonald’s we usually frequented.
“We were worried you would start another fight with your mother, so we disbanded immediately without an afterparty and had to postpone this until now, but!”
Akane emphatically declared from on high, crossing her arms as she did.
“That doesn’t mean your crimes were overlooked! Because no matter how you put it, the concert this time was almost ruined because of you, Rin-chan!”
“I also think it was my fault, and so I have been reflecting on my actions.”
Rinko didn’t look the slightest bit guilty as she put the straw for her orange juice in her mouth. Akane seemed to be enjoying herself with the exaggeration, so she continued.
“Then, how will you repent? What do you have to offer? Just covering today’s McD’s isn’t nearly enough.”
“Okay, then how about this: for the next two weeks, you can do whatever you want with Murase-kun.”
“Why am I being put up for sacrifice when you’re the one who’s supposed to repent?”
“It is settled then. The court finds your concession satisfactory,” Akane haughtily answered, leaning against her seat as she nodded..
“And I, too, will be taking my own two weeks of ownership over Makoto-san as compensation!” Shizuki added, panting heavily. Just like that, the girls bartered away my entire month.
Well, whatever; it was better this than an actual denouncement, and it would be for the best if we could just move on as soon as possible.
“So, Rinko-san…”
Shizuki hesitantly continued.
“I know it is rather rude to pry into someone else’s family matters, but… um… what happened afterward, with your mother?”
“Things haven’t been going very well.”
We were shocked after hearing Rinko calmly answer.
But she continued speaking.
“But I did get my phone back, and she hasn’t mentioned anything about the band. In fact, she hasn’t actually spoken to me today or yesterday. I’m not sure if its because I kneed her or she calmed down, but…”
“…Are you saying she might eventually try pulling something like this again?” Akane asked, looking anxiously at Rinko. She simply nodded.
“I’ll just worry about it when it happens. We can just fight again anyway.”
“So you haven’t actually resolved anything, huh…”
Things did end that way sometimes; not every problem neatly resolved itself after one event or another.
Rinko shook her head as a faint smile appeared on her lips.
“It… was resolved.”
“Huh?”
“You see, it was never actually a family problem, much less mother’s. It was actually my problem, which means all I have to do is make and stand by my decision.”
She looked each of us in the eye, exchanging smiles.
If that was how she felt, then that was fine too.
“After that, it’s just a matter of time.”
Rinko added one more thing, and I tilted my head in confusion. Just a matter of time? What did she mean?
“I’ll be eighteen in two more years. After that, I’ll be considered independent, and as long as I can earn my own living, it won’t matter what my parents say.”
Akane’s face brightened as she rose from her seat.
“That’s true! So all we gotta do is make a ton of money! After seeing how many people came to our concert this time, I feel like we can aim even higher!”
Shizuki joined in as well.
“Owning a detached house is essential as a musician, and then we can make a studio out of the basement… Sleeping, waking up, and playing the drums whenever I wanted — I remember living like that at my grandfather’s house. It was the best!”
When did our conversation jump all the way to buying a house? And also, a house with a studio would cost millions of yen!
Unfortunately, Rinko would shatter this light-hearted conversation with what she said next.
“More importantly, I can get married after I turn eighteen.”
Hearing her, Akane slammed the table with both hands, shaking our drink cups and knocking over the carton of fries.
“Y-you can’t get married! Absolutely not!”
Akane’s reaction had been so surprising that I retorted back on reflex.
“What’s with that? Does it really matter if Rinko gets married or –“
“She can’t, and no means no!”
“That’s right! Can’t you understand, Makoto-san?!” Shizuki was suddenly getting angry as well. “If Rinko-san gets married, this won’t be just her problem anymore!”
And why was that? It was still her problem. We should just let her handle it.
The three of them continued to argue loudly amongst themselves, and I left them to it, taking out my smartphone instead.
I had uploaded a recording of our live performance to the video site yesterday, and I wanted to check the numbers.
…The number wasn’t growing all that fast, but I had expected as much; it was just an arrangement of a Prokofiev piece, and the video itself was extremely long because I had left it uncut. Still, the contrarian in me was relieved; the general public would neither understand nor appreciate the magnificence of Rinko playing this Prokofiev concerto.
So what about the comments? What were they saying? Out of curiosity, I scrolled down the page to check.
It was mostly comments praising the performance, though there were some that were rather passionate about Rinko’s outfit. There weren’t, however, any comments saying something like, “Wow I didn’t know you could arrange a Prokofiev concerto like this!”
It was all a little disappointing, to be honest.
We all worked really hard to play this, y’know? Or, well, I guess it was mostly Akane since she pretty much had to cover an entire orchestra’s worth of sound with only the six strings of her guitar. Anyway, I put in a lot of effort, so why wasn’t I getting any compliments for the arrangement… They probably weren’t aware, but contemporary music was way too abstract while nothing until the 19th century was any good for making rock arrangements out of; personally, I thought I walked a perfectly balanced line between the two with this arrangement.
My fingers, scrolling past more thoughtless comments, came to a sudden stop when a certain message caught my eye.
It came from a user named MisaOtoko.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
I wish I could have been there to see it live.
It was just one sentence.
And I read it over and over.
A warmth seeped out from my heart and spread all over.
She had watched us.
I didn’t know how she was doing, but from this I knew she was still well enough to browse the internet — and that she was still looking out for us.
After tapping on the user name, the page turned to the MisaOtoko channel. There weren’t any new videos, but I wasn’t surprised; there was no way for her to make anything from a hospital room. In any case, I had already subscribed to her channel, so I would have gotten a notification if there was a new upload.
Even so, I still visited the channel on occasion like this.
I just couldn’t help but want to confirm that we were still connected in some way.
“– What’re you looking at?”
A voice whispered into my ear, surprising me enough that I nearly dropped my phone.
I hadn’t noticed when, but Akane had snuck up on me at some point and was peeking at my phone.
“Wait… Isn’t this… Oh, it is! It’s Misao-san!”
Akane’s voice seemed to crack as she pointed at one of the thumbnails. I wasn’t surprised that she identified Hanazono-sensei through the hands; she was a long-time student of Hanazono-sensei after all. Rinko and Shizuki also leaned in for a closer look when they heard Akane cry out.
“I didn’t know Hanazono-sensei had a channel like this…”
“The uploads are all from this year. And… she recorded them all in the music room at school.”
“Wow, so she’s been commenting on our videos, huh? Wait a minute, so how long have you known about it, Makoto-chan? And why didn’t you tell us sooner?! That’s not fair at all!”
“…I mean, uh, there was just never a good time…”
The truth was, being the only one to know about it felt like a little treasure enjoy in secret by myself — not that I would ever admit to that anyway.
A serious look came over Shizuki’s face, and she glanced over at Rinko.
“…Rinko-san, let us call a temporary truce. I had forgotten there is still a formidable foe among us.”
Rinko nodded, her eyes still on my phone.
“That’s true. We can’t afford to get caught up on in-fighting within the band. Our real enemy – the one we must defeat – is Hanazono-sensei.”
“Wait, why is Hanazono-sensei still the enemy? It’s not like she’s forcing us to run errands for her or anything.”
“That is not what we are talking about!” “This involves you, Murase-kun, so kindly keep quiet.”
Their cold responses left me feeling downtrodden; it seemed like this had been happening more recently, where they would just ignore my questions. Also, if the issue “involves me,” why did I need to stay out of it? Or maybe I was just misunderstanding, and they actually meant it didn’t concern me?
There were no further follow-up remarks to me after, and sometime later, the girls left their seats together, taking their trays with them as they haded for the stairs. I hurriedly stood up and left quickly so as not to be left behind.
As I returned my phone to my pocket, I pressed the play button by accident, and a song quietly began —
— the Prokofiev.
An orchestra was playing in the palm of my hand — our orchestra.
I let it continue, to hear even one more note of the song. It was as though the heat I felt that day had returned; I could feel it emitting from my pocket, coming through the fabric, and spreading along my skin.
1: The first kanji in concerto was formerly 競, meaning “contest” or “match” and became 協, meaning “cooperation” or “collaboration”.
Headcanon TL 
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