"An ensemble?!"
The group video chat window flickered on.
When Minamoto Senya casually mentioned what he had been doing during his unexpected days of quarantine, both Eriri and Kasumigaoka Utaha nearly spat out what they were eating and drinking.
Eriri's mouthful of cookies scattered across the screen as she coughed, fumbling to cover her face with her hand—but the damage was already done. The ridiculous sight had been witnessed by everyone.
Utaha, on the other hand, lost control of her coffee. The freshly brewed cup sloshed onto her lap. She shot up with a sharp hiss of pain, clutching at her skirt, the steam still rising from the spill.
The two of them were easily the most dramatic.
The rest of the group stayed relatively calm.
Rikka's eyes sparkled with awe. "Wait, Tōma-san doesn't just play the piano—she can play violin too? That sounds… insanely cool!"
Senya, pedaling steadily on his exercise bike, leaned toward the phone mounted on the stand in front of him. His breathing was starting to quicken, but he still managed to explain,
"Not just piano and violin. She's great on the saxophone too. Last night, she even played an impromptu guitar piece for me. Remember, she's the same age as us. I honestly don't know how she managed her time all these years—how do you end up mastering so many instruments?"
"That's the definition of someone with both talent and discipline," Busujima Saeko said warmly as she set down her teapot. "Focusing so wholeheartedly on something you love and achieving results… it's really admirable."
Yukinoshita Yukino, sitting in a quiet room with a simple background behind her, finally adjusted her glasses. She rarely wore them, so it was clear she'd just finished an online lecture.
"So, then—how far have your own piano lessons progressed? Which pieces can you play now?"
"According to Tōma, I've been progressing quickly. I can't really gauge myself, but I've learned quite a few new songs over these days. At first, I could only play simple things—like Twinkle Variations, Canon, or a Minuet. But now I can manage Moonlight Sonata, The Blue Danube, Danse Macabre, The Can-Can—"
"The Can-Can?!" Yukino's composure broke at last. "You can actually play the Can-Can?"
Rikka tilted her head. "Wait… what's so hard about that?"
"It's extremely fast-paced and intricate," Yukino explained, nodding. "Without endless practice, it's nearly impossible to play cleanly. Not only that, but the piece is world-famous, often described as one of the most joyful pieces of music ever written. You might not recognize the name, Rikka, but I guarantee you've heard it before—in TV dramas, anime, movies… somewhere."
"Ohh…" Rikka's curiosity deepened. "I'll go look it up!"
Her screen instantly went black as she switched apps to search.
Senya, still pedaling, shrugged lightly. "I can play a simplified version on my own. But to capture the full spirit of the piece—the richness, the liveliness—I need Tōma's help."
"…Four hands?" Yukino's sharp mind pieced it together immediately.
The effect was instantaneous.
Eriri froze mid-wipe, and Utaha—halfway through adjusting her skirt—stared blankly. Both had just barely managed to regain some composure, only to be plunged into chaos again.
Even those who knew little about piano weren't ignorant of what "four hands" meant.
They both pictured it at once: Senya and that mysterious girl seated together on a single bench. Their shoulders close. Their thighs possibly brushing. Their hands occasionally overlapping on the black-and-white keys, lingering just a second too long, fingertips brushing against each other…
No, no, no, no! Absolutely not!
Senya kept talking, oblivious. "With her, I've been able to play more advanced pieces—like the Radetzky March, Waltz of the Flowers…"
His legs burned from the rising resistance on the bike. He was already starting to pant.
Unreal.
That was Yukino's honest impression. Once again, her childhood friend had shattered her understanding of him.
She had known Minamoto Senya practically her whole life, ever since their kindergarten days. She couldn't claim to know everything about him—but she had always believed she understood him.
Raised by his single father. Not poor, but never wealthy enough to indulge in things like piano lessons.
Sure, he'd always paid attention in music class. He knew a little theory. But piano was not something you could just pick up overnight. Without years of persistence and dedication, progress was impossible.
And yet… this much in under a month?
His progress already rivaled—no, exceeded—the level she had once reached after two whole years of lessons in her own childhood.
Compared to the shock of learning about his swordsmanship, this—something in her own area of expertise—left her utterly speechless.
"…Four hands sounds fun," Saeko murmured with a smile.
Her calm words pulled Yukino out of her spiraling thoughts.
"But if you can keep up with the champion of Tokyo's youth piano competition," Saeko continued, "then you must be quite skilled yourself, Senya-kun."
She knew about Tōma's reputation firsthand. After their brief meeting on New Year's Eve, she'd looked her up online out of curiosity.
Senya shook his head quickly. "I'm still nowhere near her level. Honestly, when we play together, she takes the harder parts to cover for me. She's always guiding me along."
Saeko filed that detail away silently. So Tōma wasn't cold, after all—she was simply shy with strangers. Someone warm on the inside, even if her exterior said otherwise.
"…How much longer is your quarantine, anyway?" Utaha asked, her tone sharp.
Just knowing he was spending day after day with another girl was bad enough. Finding out they were this close—her chest felt tight, her frustration rising.
"About a week more," Senya replied, his breathing evening out as he stopped pedaling. "A few people nearby caught the flu and were hospitalized, but I've been fine. If nothing changes, it'll be lifted soon."
"…I see." Utaha's voice softened. "Actually, I've finished drafting most of my next volume. Just some polishing left. If you have time this week… I'd like you to read it. To see if there's anything I overlooked."
"Sure," Senya said easily. "Send me the file, I'll read it and give feedback. Just… don't expect too much. I'm nowhere near as sharp as your editor."
"That's fine. I just want a fan's honest impression. A different perspective might reveal blind spots even I or my editor missed."
"…Got it."
Her original plan had been to set up a private call with him to discuss the manuscript together. But since he'd offered to read it on his own time, she couldn't push.
She refused to come across as clingy or entitled in front of the boy she liked.
Still. If this kept him away from that pianist, even just for a little while—then that was enough. She could endure one more week.
"I'm back!" Rikka reappeared, bright-eyed. "Yukino, you were right! I've totally heard it before. The moment it started playing I was like, 'Ohhh, that song!'"
Yukino smiled faintly, though her thoughts were far away. On the tiny video screen, her forced expression went unnoticed.
The conversation meandered for a while, until Rikka mentioned something important.
"Oh, right! Senya, I signed you up for school already. But like Yukino said, we're online-only for now. No idea when we'll be back on campus."
It wasn't just their school—it was all of Tokyo.
Some, like Rikka, were overjoyed at the thought of avoiding classrooms and exams.
Others, like Eriri, were devastated. School wasn't her favorite thing, but it was the only place she saw her childhood friend every day. Without that, her world felt a little dimmer.
She comforted herself with excuses. She could always drag Rikka over to Senya's house. Or invite both of them to hers.
"Oh, that reminds me!" Eriri perked up suddenly. "My dad wanted me to thank you. He said thanks to you, he made a lot of money on stocks recently. He wants to take your whole family out to dinner sometime."
Senya blinked, then chuckled. Right, that had happened. He'd tossed out a casual opinion during a visit, not expecting Eriri's father to actually act on it. Apparently, he had—and profited handsomely.
"Well, I'm still stuck here for now," Senya replied. "So it might have to wait."
"No problem! He said whenever you're free. He even said if there's a restaurant you really like, just tell me and he'll book it in advance."
Diplomat or not, Eriri's father must have made a serious windfall. That explained the sudden generosity.
Senya agreed politely. Networking mattered.
The chat carried on a little longer, then wrapped up. Everyone said their goodbyes and logged off.
Senya wiped sweat from his brow, moved from the bike to the weight machine, and started on his upper body.
That was when Tōma Kazusa walked in.
She was dressed in a loose workout top with a high collar, paired with snug leggings that showed off her long, toned legs.
Senya blinked. "…You're here too?"
"…What?" she shot back defensively. "It's not weird. My mom bought me some sportswear ages ago, but I never used it. Figured I'd try."
Senya smiled. "It suits you."
Her cheeks pinked slightly, but she looked away. "…Don't make it sound weird."
He guided her to the treadmill, teaching her the basics. She listened—mostly. Until she got overconfident, pressed the speed button too many times, and nearly flew backward.
Senya caught her in his arms before she could hit the ground.
Her face burned as she realized his hands—one steadying her back, the other supporting her lower half—had been far too close to sensitive places.
"…This is what happens when you don't listen," Senya said lightly. "Be careful."
"I… got it," Kazusa muttered, her voice small.
They trained together for another forty minutes. Had dinner—sukiyaki with premium cuts, courtesy of Kazusa's wealthy mother. Then, as usual, practiced piano late into the night.
By now, Senya was used to her presence. The awkwardness of the first few days had faded, replaced by a growing rhythm between them.
Four hands on one piano. Side by side.
By the time he finally crawled into bed, it was past midnight. His phone buzzed.
It was Tōka—his older sister.
He had barely started typing when, without warning, a video call popped up.
He answered—and immediately regretted it.
"…You're wearing a face mask, huh," he muttered. "You look like a ghost."
Tōka peeled it off with a sigh. Her pretty face emerged, but her scolding tone didn't soften.
"You're lucky I care enough to wait up this late. You could at least call me first."
Senya sighed. He should have known.
And then she dropped the real news.
"By the way—guess who showed up at home tonight?"
Her camera shifted, letting him hear the faint laughter from the living room.
Senya froze.
That voice… unmistakable.
Tōma Youko. Kazusa's mother.
Here. In his house.