Unlike the time he had visited the Tōma household and played Canon in front of that mother and daughter, this time Minamoto Senya's choice of piece was different.
He sat before the electric piano and played Ode to Joy, the beginner's exercise piece often recommended in textbooks.
It was also a famous and beloved melody, but a little easier than Canon. Still, its beauty was undeniable.
Senya had practiced it countless times, and just as the book had said, his coordination between left-hand accompaniment and right-hand melody had improved significantly.
Sitting at the piano no longer felt awkward or stiff—his fingers moved more smoothly now.
By his own measure, he thought he had done fairly well with this performance.
At least, that's what he believed…
Until the piece ended, and he realized something embarrassingly obvious.
The headphones plugged into the digital piano were still on.
Which meant that Tōma Yōko, watching all the way from Los Angeles, had heard nothing but the faint thuds of keys being pressed—none of the actual sound of the piano itself.
And yet, as a gold medalist in the world-renowned Chopin competition, Tōma Yōko's reputation among classical music lovers wasn't for nothing.
Before Senya could even apologize, she smiled knowingly and spoke up:
"Beethoven's Ode to Joy, hm? Not bad for a beginner. The rhythm is a little unstable, but with more practice, that'll sort itself out.You've been practicing more than five hours a day lately, haven't you? After the last time you played at my house, Kazusa whispered to me that your fingers looked like a squad of firefighters running around frantically between burning houses, unsure which fire to put out first.But now… your hand movements, while still a little unrefined, have relaxed and grown much more natural. Honestly, your progress is faster than I expected."
So she could reconstruct his entire performance in her head just by watching?
Senya could only feel more admiration for her.
The truth, though, was that his practice time hadn't been anywhere near five hours a day.
Ever since Christmas break, when he started helping out at the café, he'd been squeezing in only two or three hours of piano practice at most.
Even so, his skills had advanced rapidly—from beginner level to what he thought of as "LV2."
No doubt, the strange "talent boost" he had was skewing Yōko's sense of his actual practice volume.
Still, it wasn't worth denying outright.
So he asked sincerely:
"Yōko-san, is there anything in particular I should be paying attention to? Anything I should work on?"
Only after diving into the world of piano himself did Senya discover just how fun it really was.
Unlike kendo, where beauty came from movement and physical form, piano was about expressing sound and emotion. From Bach in the Baroque era, to Chopin's Romantic brilliance, to modern composers' varied works… The journey from clumsy first attempts to gradually being able to play recognizable music gave him a sense of satisfaction that was downright subarashii. Addictive, even.
Now that he had the chance, there was no reason to let it slip away.
But Yōko shook her head:
"I can't judge your playing in detail with just one piece—especially since I didn't even hear it just now. I only saw your hands.Could you adjust things for me? Unplug the headphones, turn the volume up a bit, and set your phone further back so I can see both your hands and your feet."
Senya nodded.
Beyond the piano's black-and-white keys were its three pedals, each with different roles—sustain, soft, and una corda.
Used well, they added depth and texture to a performance. Clearly, Yōko wanted to assess his coordination of both hands and feet.
Senya glanced around the café.
One table's customers had just gone to the counter to pay.
Another table, occupied by a couple tucked away in a corner, were too wrapped up in their own little world to notice anything around them.
"Thank you for coming," Senya called politely as the first group left.
Then, thinking quickly, he propped his phone on a stool.
His father, Minamoto Sanada, noticed and wandered over—just in time to greet Yōko onscreen. The two exchanged a friendly hello.
Once things were set up, Yōko asked him to play Canon again, for comparison.
That was no problem.
When he finished, Senya retrieved the phone and saw her thoughtful, slightly puzzled expression. His heart tightened.
"…Overall, much better than last time. Definite improvement. But something still feels… odd."
Unable to figure it out herself, she asked directly:
"Why did you occasionally throw in these abrupt, heavy accents during your performance?"
Senya's eyes widened. She had noticed that?
He thought he'd covered it up so carefully.
"Was it really that obvious?"
She tilted her head. "From your reaction, you know you're doing it. So why? Was it deliberate?"
Senya stayed silent.
The truth was, during his second run, he'd unconsciously relied on a strange ability—"Ghost Brain."
It boosted his reflexes to superhuman levels, letting him predict movements and calculate responses in real time.
He could trigger it anytime, anywhere. The world slowed, his body quickened.
In kendo, he'd once used it against Busujima Daigo, Saeko's father, and won so decisively that Daigo had been left stunned for minutes afterward.
But piano wasn't kendo.
In kendo, faster reflexes meant victory.
In piano, speed wasn't everything. It was about nuance, touch, subtlety.
Yōko had sensed it—his artificially quickened reactions caused him to press keys with too much force, creating jarring notes.
The faster you pressed, the louder the sound.
Piano wasn't about pressing faster—it was about pressing right.
Even the simplest "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" would sound worlds apart when played by a beginner versus a professional. The difference was in the detail, polished through years of practice.
Senya had tried to cover his lack of fundamentals with shortcuts. But the result was flawed.
In time, with a stronger base, maybe he wouldn't need such tricks.
Seeing his silence, Yōko didn't push further.
"If you're serious about improving, there are plenty of areas to work on.First—stop with those random heavy notes. I get that young people want to inject individuality into their playing, but it's far too early for that. Once you've become a performer who can stand on his own, then you can rearrange classics into your own style.Second—your hand positions. You're trying to use proper form, but when your fingers spread apart, your posture breaks. That hurts your control. Pay attention.Third—the pedals. Sometimes you're too early, sometimes too late. Your hands and feet aren't coordinated yet. Still, it's better than last time. At least you're attempting to use them now, instead of just holding down the sustain pedal the whole time."
As she spoke, she raised one elegant finger after another, listing his faults with precision.
"So, my advice for now: work on rhythm. Work on timing. Learn your scales and arpeggios. You're agile—no surprise, given you're a national kendo champion—but your coordination is weak. That needs targeted practice.And remember, being a pianist isn't just about performance. Your ability to listen is just as important. Developing your ear will shape your musical sense."
Senya listened carefully, sweat forming at his temple.
He'd thought he'd already "entered the world of piano." But being critiqued by a professional made him realize just how far behind he still was.
"Ah…" Yōko sighed suddenly, eyes flicking toward the window. A strange light passed through her gaze before she spoke again, softer now:
"If only I were back in Japan right now. Instead of this clumsy video call, I could guide you in person. Demonstrations, hands-on corrections… You're sharp, Senya. You'd understand instantly. What a shame."
After a moment's thought, Senya asked:
"Would it help if I found a piano teacher locally? To solidify the basics?"
Yōko chuckled.
"Honestly, many so-called teachers out there are just salesmen with limited skill. And even the capable ones… if they're swamped with students, they won't put much effort into you. In that case, you'd be better off learning from me like this."
"…I see."
But then her expression shifted. Her eyes grew sharper, her tone more serious.
Senya straightened unconsciously.
"Yōko-san… what should I do, then?"
She smiled wryly.
"Your timing is unfortunate. If it weren't New Year's, I could recommend some trustworthy instructors from my piano academy back home. But I gave everyone an early holiday—I'm not heartless enough to drag them back to work now.Still… if you don't mind, I have another option."
Senya leaned forward. "What option?"
"You know her—my daughter, Kazusa. Her skill at the piano is far greater than you probably realize."
Yōko stopped holding back.
"Kazusa is my pride, the result of years of careful teaching. For your current level, she's more than capable of guiding you.And we have a proper grand piano at home—far superior to your electric one, with no café noise to interrupt you.Most importantly, you'd have an experienced teacher right beside you. If you slip, she'll catch it instantly. You won't go astray."
She paused, then grinned knowingly at his expression.
"So? What do you think of my proposal?"
"…Well…"
All Senya had wanted was some advice. Maybe a few tips.
But this… this might be an even better opportunity.
"Wouldn't it trouble Kazusa if she suddenly had to tutor me?"
Yōko's smile turned mischievous.
"Oh, don't worry. What daughter doesn't listen to her mother?"
A few minutes later, she ended the call.
Opening her chat with Shibata-san, the housekeeper who usually looked after Kazusa, she read the latest message:
[Yōko-san, could you talk to Kazusa? I asked her to come home with me for New Year's Eve, but she refused, saying she'd rather stay by herself. But really, it's too lonely to leave her alone on such a day…]
Yōko's reply came swiftly:
[Thank you, Shibata-san, but it's fine. I've already arranged someone to keep her company. No need to worry.]
..
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