"Sensei, you're a little off tonight. You missed quite a few notes in those pieces."
It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when Minamoto Senya threw out this comment after Tōma Kazusa's practice session.
His piano skills were still at the beginner level, but that didn't stop him from noticing mistakes. After all, a food critic doesn't need to be a chef, and a music critic doesn't need to be a concert pianist. The ability to judge and the ability to perform don't always overlap.
Kazusa didn't respond immediately. She lifted her hands from the keys, stood up without expression, and said flatly, "It's late. I'm going to bed."
Senya rose casually with a smile. "Fair enough. Rest is as important as practice. If you don't take care of your body, you can't take care of your music either."
The two of them left the practice room together.
Normally, Kazusa would stay until one or two in the morning—her winter break schedule pushed her entire sleep cycle later, and she usually woke up in the afternoon. But tonight was different. She simply couldn't go on.
Because of him.
That guy, lounging lazily at her side, not even doing anything in particular—just sitting there, staring at her intently—it was enough to throw her completely off balance. Her fingers felt as if they had been soaked in vinegar, heavy and unresponsive, tripping over the notes. Her rhythm fell apart, and with it, her pride as a teacher. To keep going would've been useless. Better to end early and try to recover her composure alone.
"Where am I sleeping tonight?"
Thank goodness he asked.
Kazusa had been worried. Knowing Senya's personality, she half-expected him to pull out some absurd excuse to stay near her again. That thought had been gnawing at her all through practice, distracting her even more.
Not that she truly believed he'd go that far. They'd only just met, after all. Still, she had already decided: if he ever said something that outrageous, she'd kick him straight out of the room without hesitation. A frivolous guy deserved no mercy.
"There are plenty of spare rooms. The beds are made up, so pick whichever you like."
Kazusa led Senya past the entrance hall into a part of the house he hadn't seen before. A long corridor stretched ahead, lined with seven or eight doors.
"Are all of these guest rooms?"
"Not all," Kazusa said, stopping at the first door. "This one's a gym. Mom bought all sorts of equipment—treadmill, ab board, rowing machine, stepper, even a dartboard. But she gave up after a week. Too much effort."
Seeing his curious expression, she pushed the door open, turned on the light, and gestured for him to go inside.
Machines, after all, have a special pull on men. Senya was no exception. He stepped inside, eyes gleaming, touching this and that with boyish curiosity. Most of the equipment was brand new, plastic wrap still clinging to some handles. Clearly unused, though spotless thanks to Shibata-san, the housekeeper, who came by regularly.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the private garden beyond, with tall greenery shielding the house from outside view. It was a gym with absolute privacy.
Senya couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if this were his. Back home, his small, cozy house had no room for such luxury. Practicing sword swings indoors? Impossible. Outside, he always attracted curious stares from passersby—or worse, sneaky photos from middle-aged ladies.
"If you like, you're free to use it while you're here," Kazusa offered.
"Really? You mean it?" His eyes lit up.
"Of course. Mom wasted her money on it, and I've never cared for it. Better you use it than let it sit here collecting dust." She crossed her arms, mimicking a pose she had seen her mother strike countless times. She thought it looked cool.
Senya, however, quickly looked away, reminding himself firmly to behave. He was no creep. He would not gawk, no matter how her posture accentuated her figure.
"Thanks. I'll take good care of it and clean up after myself."
"No need, Shibata-san will take care of that."
"I don't mind cleaning—it's no trouble."
"…Suit yourself."
They left the gym, Kazusa giving him a quick tour of the rest of the first floor: a washroom, a storage room, several more spare rooms, and upstairs a study filled with her mother's trophies and awards.
"You can stay upstairs if you want, but the beds up there aren't made."
"I'll stay on the first floor. By the way, what's with that big black tarp outside?"
"The pool. Covered for the winter to keep out leaves and dust."
Senya clicked his tongue. So this was the life of the rich. He wanted it too.
…And then his imagination betrayed him.
Him in the gym, looking out the window. Kazusa's mother's assistant, Tōma Jūka, gliding through the pool in a swimsuit, water trickling down her pale skin…
Senya slapped himself. Hard. The sharp crack startled Kazusa.
"…What are you doing?"
"Just tired. My head's fuzzy. I should sleep."
"…I see. Then, which room will you take?"
Kazusa stopped in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed once again, pretending calm. "I recommend the one at the very end. It's the biggest, has the best view, and even has a private bathroom. Convenient at night."
Senya considered. She was right, it made the most sense. But his eyes kept drifting—toward her room. The door was ajar, revealing the messy bed she hadn't had time to make.
Kazusa noticed and, flustered, shifted to block his view. "If you need anything else, just say so."
"…Actually," Senya said slowly, "could I take this room instead?"
He pointed.
Right next to hers.
Kazusa froze, biting her lip, her cheeks flushing as heat rushed through her. He wanted to sleep… right beside her?
"Why… that room?" she asked carefully, forcing her voice steady even as her body trembled.
"It feels familiar. My room at home is small too." He shrugged innocently.
If she said no, he'd move. He wasn't unreasonable. But the truth was simple: he just wanted to be close. Not in her room, not crossing any line—just nearby.
Kazusa's heart hammered. But after a long pause, she turned away. "…Do as you like."
Senya smiled. Perfect. Proximity meant more opportunities to learn, more chances to practice under her guidance.
Soon after, he found the room stocked with spare robes and even individually wrapped underwear. Rich people really did think of everything. The robe was a bit short on his growing frame, exposing his knees and calves—but otherwise comfortable.
When he stepped out, damp hair falling into his eyes, collar loose to reveal his collarbone, Kazusa found herself staring for just a moment too long. She prided herself on mocking girls who swooned over good looks—but maybe, just maybe, she finally understood them.
"I'm done. Your turn."
"…Mm."
While she showered, Senya hand-washed his clothes, refusing to use the washing machine reserved for her personal laundry. A small courtesy, but one he thought important.
Forty minutes later, Kazusa emerged, hair damp, towel around her shoulders.
"Good night," Senya said, switching off the TV.
"You too. And… if you need anything, anytime, just ask. Treat this like your own home."
"Thanks." He smiled and retreated to his room.
Kazusa lingered in the hall, then returned to her vanity, face still hot. After blow-drying her hair and collecting her laundry, she finally crawled into bed—only to be startled by a knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
Her entire body went rigid.
"Winter—uh, Kazusa, are you asleep?" Senya's voice came from the other side.
What did he want at this hour?!
Kazusa braced herself, clutching a pillow like a weapon. But then came the explanation:
"My phone died. Do you have a Type-C charger?"
Silence. Then a long sigh. Relief, mixed with an odd disappointment.
"…Wait there." She opened the drawer, grabbed a charger, and handed it over.
"Thanks. Sorry to bother you. Good night."
"Good night."
He left without another word.
Kazusa closed her door, glared at her capybara plushie, and punched it square in the face.
That felt better.
But just in case, she locked her door this time.
Only then could she sleep.
The next morning, January 4th—their second day of unexpected quarantine.
Kazusa, surprisingly, woke around nine. For once, she hadn't slept until noon. Rubbing her eyes, she stepped out—and found Senya already in the kitchen, plating breakfast with a cheerful smile.
"Morning. Breakfast is almost ready. I was just about to wake you."
He'd been up since six, she soon learned. Practiced piano for an hour. Worked out in the gym for another. Showered, picked up the food delivery, and started cooking—all before she had even stirred.
Her jaw nearly dropped. He had packed more into three hours than she did in an entire day.
"Doesn't that tire you out?" she asked over breakfast.
"Tire me?" Senya laughed. "Everything I did makes me stronger. Just like you with piano—when you feel yourself improving, it doesn't drain you. It excites you. Honestly, it's addictive."
Kazusa, for once, had no retort.
After breakfast, she tried to help with the dishes, but he waved her off. By ten, they were back in the practice room.
Senya sat at the bench, motioning for her to sit beside him. She blushed, but complied.
Practice began, but within minutes Kazusa stopped him. Her eyes narrowed in shock.
Yesterday, his playing was clumsy, full of errors. But today—suddenly, impossibly—he was flawless.
"…What's wrong?" Senya asked, confused.
She didn't answer. She only thought: So he's talented, after all. If only he'd started earlier, his potential could've gone so much further…
"…Nothing. You've mastered these already. Let's move on."
She set new sheets on the stand: Debussy's Clair de Lune, Strauss's Blue Danube, Chopin's Revolutionary Étude.
Senya's expression stiffened. The difficulty spike was obvious.
Kazusa, however, smiled faintly—not out of malice, but out of a strange enjoyment. She liked seeing him flustered, because it gave her a chance to guide him, to be the one he looked up to. That look of respect—no, reverence—was intoxicating.
"These won't be easy," she said. "But growth never is. Which one will you start with?"
"…Clair de Lune."
"Thought so." She nodded. "It's the simplest of the three. Want me to demonstrate first?"
"Please."
Kazusa's smile deepened as she placed her hands on the keys.
And once again, the room filled with music.
..
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