At St. Eden Academy, the columns labeled Saturday and Sunday on the class schedule were always blank.But that didn't mean the weekends were quiet.
Quite the opposite.
Weekends at St. Eden were often livelier than regular school days.
As mentioned before, this academy housed over a hundred student clubs—some of which ranked among the top in all of Sakurajima. Naturally, that kind of vibrancy wasn't possible without the academy's full support.
On weekends, all school facilities were opened to the entire student body—under the supervision of the Student Council.
And that, in turn, was one of the main reasons the Student Council held such overwhelming power.With their permission, you could practically do anything you wanted on campus.If you felt like it, you could even stream yourself playing a galgame on the giant screen in the sports field.
…Not that anyone would actually do that. Right?
In any case, that didn't concern Hara Kei and his group. They didn't need fancy facilities—just a small classroom would do.
St. Eden didn't require students to wear uniforms on weekends. As long as you had your student ID, the security gate would let you through.Which meant that students heading to school on weekends—finally free from the constraints of the weekday dress code—usually wore casual clothes that expressed their personal style.
Yukinoshita Yukino was no exception.
She had spent extra time that morning preparing for today's performance, carefully choosing her outfit and making subtle adjustments until she settled on a pale, elegant one-piece dress she was especially fond of.
And to keep her long hair from getting in the way while playing, she'd tied it high at the back of her head, forming a neat, graceful ponytail.
It gave her a clean, crisp, yet soft charm.
When she saw Hara Kei approaching, burdened with several large bags slung across his shoulders, she couldn't help but blink in surprise.
He looked—stylish. If not for the oversized bags, people might've mistaken him for a model on his way to a fashion shoot.
"That's unexpected. I thought you didn't know a thing about fashion."Yukinoshita stepped forward, reaching out to help lighten his load.
"That's because I don't," Hara Kei admitted, handing her a small bag. "Fashion, trends—none of that interests me. This outfit is the result of someone else's hard work."
"…Someone else picked your clothes for you?"Yukinoshita frowned ever so slightly, for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
"Exactly."Hara Kei didn't notice the faint displeasure in her tone. His full attention was on the large backpack strapped to his back—the culmination of three sleepless nights of effort, and the key to today's victory. If anything happened to it, all that work would go up in smoke.
"You just need to talk to the staff at a clothing store," he continued casually. "Say something like, 'I don't know a thing about clothes—please help me pick something out.' Then they'll enthusiastically bring you outfit after outfit, giving all kinds of suggestions. They'll even look at you with these expectant eyes, hoping you'll try everything."
"At that point, you just have to look a little hesitant, like you don't want to try on so many. Then they'll tell you most of the items are on sale—and if you let them take a photo for the store, the discount's negotiable."
"And just like that, you get several complete outfits—well-matched, stylish, and cheap."
Yukinoshita stared at him speechlessly.This man had an uncomfortably clear understanding of his own appearance—and no qualms about using it as a weapon to get what he wanted.
What kind of environment did someone like that even grow up in? she wondered.
"So, how's your practice with that piece going?" she asked finally.
"Perfectly memorized."
"Good," Hara Kei nodded with satisfaction. "Then let's finish this today."
Touma Kazusa pushed open the classroom door—and immediately stopped.
Her gaze locked onto the center of the room, where a space had been deliberately cleared. Standing there was a sturdy four-legged metal stand, supporting a sleek, two-tiered black instrument.
"A dual-layer keyboard?" Kazusa tilted her head, surprised. "That's what we're performing on today?"
"That's right." Hara Kei nodded. "You're not one of those pianists who think 'synths don't count as real pianos,' are you?"
To be fair, that opinion wasn't entirely baseless.
After all, the term keyboard only existed because the instrument looked similar to a piano. Technically, its proper name was electronic synthesizer.
While a piano produced sound through the vibration of strings struck by hammers, a keyboard generated sound electronically—by sampling and emulating the timbre of other instruments through circuits and processors.
That's why some traditional pianists refused to even touch them.
But Kazusa clearly wasn't one of those purists.
She approached the black instrument, placed her bag on a nearby chair, and carefully pulled out a few sheets of sheet music. With quiet reverence, she set them on the stand.
Hara Kei noticed that the sheets were covered with neat handwriting—notes, edits, and many sections crossed out. She'd clearly spent days trying to fix that "death section" at the end of the piece… though from the looks of it, not very successfully.
Had she managed to find a way to play it cleanly in the end?
He didn't know.And soon, he didn't have time to wonder.
Because Kazusa's performance had begun.
Music was such a strange thing.Even without words, it could so effortlessly stir the heart.
Before reaching that "deathly finale," Hara Kei's composition was breathtakingly beautiful—hauntingly so.The melody had lingered in his mind for ages, ever since that day in the valley when he first encountered that black bird.
At first, it had just been fragments—faint traces of notes drifting in his thoughts. But as his piano skill grew, those fragments multiplied, clashed, and fused together. When he finally reached Level 3, they came to life—ripe, mature, and complete—as if celebrating the resurrection of that "giant black bird."
Yes—the piece Kazusa was playing now was that very Phantom Sonata.
It was the same song Hara Kei had once performed in the valley—a song so enchanting that even the mountains had seemed to resonate with it.A song that had captured the proud and untouchable Touma Kazusa's heart, driving her to sleepless nights of study, desperate to decode its cruelly intricate finale.
And now, that same melody filled the air again.
Although it was an electronic keyboard, Hara Kei had naturally set it to piano mode. The playing technique was nearly identical—the only difference being that the keys were lighter, softer.
If playing a grand piano felt like striking bone, then playing this keyboard felt like brushing against feathers.
One measure. Two. Three.
Kazusa drew ever closer to the end.
The piece wasn't long—only a few minutes, nothing like a concerto that spanned hours. The elegant prelude faded; the bright, lively interlude passed.
And then came the final movement.
Kazusa's hands slowed.Then stopped.
Yukinoshita and Hara Kei opened their eyes reluctantly, pulled from the trance of the music—only to find Kazusa staring back at them.
Her eyes burned with regret—intense, almost painful.
"I can't play the next part," she said quietly. Her normally clear, composed voice trembled with frustration. "I've tried countless times these past few days, but I just can't. No matter what I do, I keep hitting the wrong notes in that final section."
"I want to scream that the ending was written like total nonsense—but an amateur could never compose a first half this perfect."
"I even tried rewriting the last part, removing some notes to make it playable. But it never flowed right with the earlier sections."
She groaned softly, pressing her hands against her temples.
"Ugh… seriously, how can someone be this infuriatingly talented?" she exclaimed, glaring at Hara Kei—half in anger, half in awe. "So I give up."
Then she turned toward Yukinoshita.
"Hara Kei said you could play the whole piece flawlessly. If you can, then fine—you win."
With that, Touma Kazusa rose from her seat and stepped aside from the keyboard.