"This script has nothing to do with you. Don't overthink it."
As Chihara Rinto spoke, he walked over and gently took back the unfinished manuscript of Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl from Michiko's hands.
Michiko didn't believe him. Her pure, wide eyes clouded with a faint shadow as she lowered her head. "It's about me, isn't it?" she murmured softly. "You guessed what happened to me and used it as material for your story? Isn't ruining my life enough? Do you have to profit from my pain too?"
What kind of despicable person would exploit another's suffering for personal gain?
Scum.
Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl was a short script Chihara had been working on, and its story unfolded like this:
At a piano competition, the protagonist, Kuroki, worked hard but failed to win any awards. Meanwhile, his classmate Yoshino, a beautiful and talented pianist, took first place—but she seemed indifferent to the accolades. This only deepened Kuroki's despair. His friend Kakugawa was unhappy too, muttering bitterly under his breath.
After the competition, Kuroki wandered home, torn between giving up his dream of becoming a concert pianist or accepting that no amount of effort could match natural talent. Perhaps it was time to abandon his aspirations and find stable employment.
Lost in thought, he suddenly heard eerie caws echoing through the night. Looking up, he spotted a dark forest surrounding an old bookstore—a building he didn't recall seeing before. It was midnight.
Curious, he entered the deserted shop. Among the shelves, a blood-red, gold-embossed book caught his eye. When he picked it up, a sheet of music stained with dried blood fell out. The notes were written in German, which he couldn't read, but humming the melody revealed something extraordinary—compelled by curiosity, he decided to buy the mysterious score.
The next day, after translating the title, he discovered it was called Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl, composed by a pianist named Albert. Handwritten lines on the sheet warned: "No one can hear this piece," and "Do not play it; failure will cost you your hands."
Intrigued, Kuroki researched the sonata at the library and uncovered a chilling article from 1921: renowned pianist Albert had lost both hands when a chandelier fell on him while performing Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl. Was it cursed?
Half-believing, half-doubting, Kuroki ventured into the practice room and began playing. As soon as the first note rang out, the clock stopped ticking, the metronome froze, laughter outside ceased, and raindrops hung suspended mid-air. Time itself stood still!
Kuroki played cautiously, ensuring no mistakes. Only when the final note sounded did the world resume its flow.
---
Excited yet terrified, Kuroki confided in his friend Kakugawa, even showing him the cursed score. Skeptical, Kakugawa joked about letting Yoshino try it—if she failed, she'd lose her hands, leveling the playing field for their upcoming selection trial for further training in Germany.
Kuroki felt uneasy about the idea, but Kakugawa brushed off his concerns with a sneer. He admitted he'd never liked Yoshino, finding her insufferable with her air of superiority and cold, aloof demeanor. Her talent, he argued, had made her arrogant and condescending—teaching her a lesson, even at such a cruel cost, seemed almost justified in his eyes.
As fate would have it, Yoshino arrived just in time to overhear Kakugawa's spiteful remarks. Without a word, she cast a icy glare in his direction, her expression conveying everything: You're the kind of person who can only envy the talented from the shadows. Her silence spoke volumes, cutting deeper than any retort could have.
Both Kuroki and Kakugawa were left deeply embarrassed. In his flustered state, Kakugawa accidentally knocked over a glass, shattering the tense silence. Kuroki quickly bent down to help clean up the mess, but Kakugawa hesitated for a moment, his face clouded with unease. Then, with a heavy expression, he quietly pocketed Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl.
---
Days later, screams erupted from the practice room. Rushing in, students found Kakugawa bleeding profusely, his hands mangled. They called an ambulance immediately.
Horrified, Kuroki rushed to the hospital. To his surprise, Kakugawa appeared calmer than ever, free of his usual bitterness. Smiling serenely, he explained, "I wanted an excuse to quit. Now I can live a normal life without regret."
He urged Kuroki to pursue his dreams instead, insisting he deserved a chance to prove himself.
---
A few more days passed, and the school selection competition finally began. Kuroki gave his all as he played, but he noticed the judges' faces were impassive, showing little interest. When he finished, he felt disappointed. Kakugawa, who had come specifically to watch him, comforted him: "Don't be discouraged. There's still a chance for success."
At that moment, Yoshino arrived and said coldly, "Step aside!"
She then took the stage, sat down at the piano, and began to play. Her skill was flawless, and the music she produced was mesmerizing—like a voice of despair and oppression intertwined with a cry of unyielding defiance. Every single note struck straight at the heart.
Listening, Kuroki realized he could never surpass her. Convinced it was time to let go, he retreated to the practice room and began playing Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl. He intended to keep going until he made a mistake—after all, dreams were just dreams.
Once again, time froze. But this time, Kuroki looked out the window to see Yoshino suspended upside-down in midair. She had stopped playing halfway through her performance, sat silently at the piano, then climbed to the rooftop and jumped.
Yoshino, hanging upside down in midair, gazed at Kuroki in shock. "Why?"
"Why didn't I die?" she asked.
Kuroki, equally bewildered, kept playing. "Why?"
"You possess a gift most can only dream of. Why give up?"
A rare, beautiful smile graced Yoshino's face. "I've wanted to end this for so long. Talent brought me nothing but suffering. My entire life has been consumed by forced practice. I'm tired—I want it all to stop."
---
The script ended there. Michiko had only read up to this point, but she strongly suspected the character Yoshino was based on her. From age three, she had been thrust onto stages—from kindergarten recitals to television sets. Initially proud of earning her mother's praise, she grew weary under increasingly strict demands: endless lessons in posture, singing, diction, acting, talent refinement, and dance. Coupled with relentless body and image management, the pressure became unbearable.
Physical exhaustion was one thing, but the emotional toll weighed heavier. Forced to smile at strangers, act obediently, maintain appearances, and endure her mother's frustration when opportunities slipped away—her spirit shattered.
She had begun to hope for an end to this life of relentless pressure. Just as she was contemplating ways out, an audition opportunity unexpectedly arose. Determined to sabotage her own chances, she feigned clumsiness and incompetence during the tryout, hoping that repeated failures would eventually discourage her mother from pushing her into acting or seeking fame. In her mind, a few botched auditions might finally grant her a chance at a normal childhood.
But her first attempt at the charade fell apart under Chihara Rinto's persistence. His refusal to let her off the hook derailed her act, and when her mother walked in, she found herself unable to maintain the pretense. Her carefully crafted plan collapsed entirely, leaving her hopes in shambles.
She felt that Chihara Rinto had ruined her life—or at the very least, had been an accomplice in its ruin!
Now, stumbling upon this script, she felt violated. Yet…
Chihara Rinto was innocent. A meticulous planner, Sonata for the Upside-Down Girl had long been part of his outline for Tales of the Unusual. He'd simply removed references to futuristic technology. Life imitating art—or vice versa—was mere coincidence.
After a pause, he addressed Michiko earnestly. "This script isn't about you. I didn't mean to imply anything. But I understand why you're upset… I was just doing my job. If you don't want to act, talk to your mother—not me."
Michiko looked up at him, calm but probing. "Could you have defied your parents' decisions at ten years old?"
Chihara hesitated, unable to respond. Few children enjoyed school; rebellion was natural. Sighing, he admitted, "No, I couldn't. Then let me say… I'm sorry. Had I realized earlier, I wouldn't have called you back."
Her resentment softened slightly. Shaking her head, she replied, "An apology changes nothing. Her plans are already advancing."
"Have you tried talking? Resisting?"
"I have. But it's useless. She dreamed of stardom as a child—it's why she pushes me so hard. She's invested too much to turn back now. And resistance only tightens her grip. Crying or throwing tantrums leads to stricter rules and more classes. Besides…" Her voice wavered. "I don't want to be beaten again."
"What about legal options? Japan has family courts, doesn't it?"
"And risk losing custody? Being sent to an orphanage?" Michiko's tone remained eerily calm, far beyond her years. "Or banned from acting altogether? How would she react? She believes she's helping me—I should be grateful!"
Chihara fell silent. Some problems lacked simple solutions. Even if Michiko resisted, trading one misery for another wasn't progress.
After a moment, he abandoned further discussion. This was a family matter—beyond his jurisdiction. Words failed him.
Michiko turned to leave, her youthful energy drained, her presence muted like a gray haze. But after two steps, she hesitated and glanced back. "That character, Yoshino… does she succeed in killing herself?"
Chihara tensed, alarmed. Was she contemplating imitation? He countered carefully, "What ending would you prefer?"
Michiko paused, then shook her head slowly. "I don't know. Aren't you the writer? Her fate is yours to decide."
Chihara studied her. Once bright and clear, her eyes now held only confusion and pain.
Early maturity wasn't a blessing—it was a curse.
After a moment, he handed her the unfinished script with a small smile. "Then take this. Write the ending you want. At least you can decide Yoshino's fate once."
Regret gnawed at him. He shouldn't have forced a reluctant child into acting—it violated his principles. This gesture was his attempt at reparation, however inadequate.
How could he intervene with Nambu Ryoko? On what grounds?
Michiko regarded the script, then Chihara, before silently accepting it. Without another word, she turned and walked away.