Piano Duet—Four Hands
A piano duet, or "Piano à quatre mains," is a performance style where two people play together on the same piano. Simply put, one piano, four hands. This setup not only looks impressive but also cultivates musical collaboration and expression, making it fairly common among pianists.
Many composers wrote pieces specifically for four-hand performances: Haydn, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven… the list goes on.
"If we went by my original plan, I would have been the other pair of hands on the keyboard," Tōma Yōko said, glancing at Wasa, who immediately made it clear with a sharp glare: no way.
Yōko sighed. "Fine. I'll step back for now."
"But since this is my inspection, it naturally follows my standards."
"Normally, one person would take the bass (left-hand side), the other the treble (right-hand side)," she continued, "but that's too boring."
After a pretend moment of thought, she added, "Alright. One person will take both the bass and treble, while the other takes the middle register."
Huh? Wait… what?
Hara Kei was about to speak, but Wasa was still not entirely thinking clearly.
After recognizing her mother's car and the young man at the school's big screen, Wasa had called her driver and rushed back as fast as possible. Now she was still slightly out of breath, a fine sheen of sweat on her pale forehead.
Fatigue alone dulls judgment, but combined with Yōko's "pass the test, and Hara Kei can freely use this basement" condition, Wasa's brain had officially short-circuited.
Right now, her only thought was simple: If Hara Kei passes, he can come to my house whenever he wants.
And so, he had to pass.
Compared to handling both bass and treble, playing just the middle register was easy—perfect for Hara Kei. Wasa would take the high and low ends herself.
With that single-minded determination, she placed her hands on the keyboard.
"Let's play Liszt's Old Christmas Song from Provence. Ready? One, two, three."
Knowing her daughter well, Yōko was fully aware of Wasa's frazzled state, but it was all part of her plan. Seeing Hara Kei about to protest, she spoke first.
Wasa's fingers moved.
The icy keys helped calm the mind. But after just a few bars, Yōko realized the setup wasn't quite right.
Normally, in a four-hand duet, one person handles the left side and the other the right, sitting neatly side by side.
Here, though, one person had to handle both ends while the other had the middle. That created a… strange situation:
Simply put, Wasa was practically holding Hara Kei in her embrace.
Thankfully, she was standing; otherwise, she would have been clinging to him entirely.
Blushing and annoyed, Wasa shot her mother a glare: How many people have you tricked with this before?
As a mature adult, Yōko merely laughed. "Your partner's performance counts in the evaluation too. Focus on your playing—don't drag Hara Kei down."
Of course, Wasa thought, taking a deep breath, forcing herself to push aside her chaotic thoughts and concentrate fully.
Hara Kei, however, felt awkward.
Wasa's chin rested lightly on his shoulder; warm breaths brushed his ear. When the musical range narrowed, her long arms occasionally entwined around his neck. He could even feel the delicate texture of her skin, the soft pressure of her touch on his shoulder blades…
For someone who disliked physical contact, this was undeniably uncomfortable.
Once the piece ended, both exhaled simultaneously.
"Alright, next shift… Hara Kei…"
"Ms. Tōma," Hara Kei interrupted, sensing Yōko's persistent teasing. "I think that's enough. Wasa is clearly uncomfortable—could we stop these mischievous tricks?"
"Uncomfortable, you say…" Yōko glanced at Wasa, who had lowered her head, cheeks slightly red, silent.
Sighing softly, Yōko reached into her pocket and pulled out a blue card, tossing it to Hara Kei. "This is your access pass for the villa. The electronic locks can be opened with this too." She took a long sip of her drink, slightly tipsy. "I'll be in the country for about a month."
"If you have any musical questions, or run into something you can't handle, come find me." She winked mischievously at Hara Kei. "And, of course, if you tire of cold beds and seek a warm embrace…"
"Mom." Wasa's glare could freeze steel.
"Alright, alright, no more joking," Yōko said, realizing she'd gone a bit overboard. But she didn't close her mouth entirely.
Once she had a drink in hand, Yōko could talk endlessly. For the rest of the evening, she regaled Hara Kei and Wasa with stories about her band—funny professional anecdotes, chaotic romantic tales of male pianists juggling multiple women, supposedly "pure" actresses sneaking into different cars each night, and so on. In short, complete chaos.
…
Time passed quickly. Feeling it was late, Hara Kei prepared to leave.
Yōko, drunk, had reverted into a toddler-like state, clinging to him and shouting not to go. Clearly, she couldn't drive him home now.
Fortunately, the villa wasn't far from the subway station.
Wasa insisted on walking him there herself. It was that time when the moon hung low, and the cool breeze hinted at summer's end. Their long shadows stretched under the dim streetlights.
"My mom is like that—don't take it to heart," Wasa said after a quiet moment. "She's always away, never home; she doesn't cook or do laundry. When she's back, she's always poring over sheet music. And she likes teasing boys… Wait, why am I getting mad just talking about it?"
Hara Kei smiled lightly. "Ms. Yōko seems like an interesting person. That's enough for me."
"Eh… Ms. Yōko," Wasa muttered, slightly annoyed, "you still call me 'Wasa Tōma,' though."
The station was close. Soon, Hara Kei could see the distinct subway entrance.
"Hara Kei," Wasa stopped at the entrance, her smile soft and sincere, finally revealing her feelings as they parted, "since you have the key, remember to come visit my house often."
"…Okay." Under the faint starlight, there was no way to refuse that smile.
..
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