The University Music Conservatory was a sanctuary of silence and wood polish.
Unlike the Business School, which smelled of stress and cheap coffee, this building smelled of old money. It was the only place on campus where Sarah Vance came to escape the noise of her father's empire.
Adrian knew this because he had read her biography in 2029.
Page 42: "I practiced every Tuesday at 4 PM. It was the only time nobody asked me for a loan."
Adrian checked his new gold watch. 3:55 PM.
He adjusted his Midnight Blue suit jacket. The fabric moved with him like a second skin, a stark contrast to the hoodie he had worn yesterday. He didn't look like a student anymore. He looked like a board member who had just bought the building.
"Bro," Tubby Tom whispered, hiding behind a cello case in the hallway. "This is insane. You don't know how to play. You're going to embarrass us in front of the Dean's daughter."
"Go to the vending machine, Tom," Adrian said calmly, not breaking his stride. "Get me a sparkling water. You'll miss the show if you blink."
Adrian walked toward Practice Room 1. The door was slightly ajar.
Inside, Sarah Vance sat at a grand Steinway. She wasn't playing. She was staring at the keys, her posture rigid. Her shoulders—usually sharp enough to cut glass—were slumped. The Ice Queen looked... tired.
She held her phone like a grenade. A text message glowed on the screen: Board Meeting moved to Friday. Dad expects you to present the merger.
Adrian didn't knock. That would be subservient. He didn't barge in. That would be rude.
Instead, he walked to the empty piano in the adjacent practice room, leaving the connecting door open.
He sat down on the bench. He closed his eyes.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[Skill Activation]Skill:Piano Mastery (Intermediate)Source: Learned in 2025 to impress a French Diplomat. Cost: Mental Stamina.
Adrian's fingers hovered over the keys.
In his past life, he had learned music not for art, but as a tool. A weapon to disarm sophisticated targets. But today, looking at Sarah's slumped shoulders through the open door, he chose something specific.
Chopin. Nocturne in C Sharp Minor.The sound of tragedy wrapped in silk.
He pressed the first key.
Ping.
The note hung in the air, lonely and precise. Then, the melody began.
It wasn't the clumsy banging of a student. It was the heavy, emotional weight of a man who had died and come back. The music swelled, filling the silence between the two rooms.
Sarah's head snapped up.
She turned toward the open door, her eyes widening behind her rimless glasses. She expected to see a professor. Or a guest artist.
Instead, she saw the "Washed-up Party Boy."
But he didn't look washed up. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, hitting his Midnight Blue suit and casting long shadows across the keys. His expression was focused, devoid of the usual arrogant smirk. For the first time, the golden System Glint in his eyes wasn't calculating a profit. It was reflecting... pain?
Sarah stood up. She couldn't help herself. The click-clack of her heels was soft on the carpet as she walked to the doorway.
Adrian didn't stop. He didn't look at her. He played the crescendo, his fingers flying with a violence that matched the storm in her own head.
Crash. Soften. Weep.
He finished the piece with a single, lingering chord that faded into absolute silence.
For ten seconds, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the dust motes dancing in the light.
"You missed a tempo in the third measure," Sarah said.
Her voice was steady, but the "Ice" was thinner. It wasn't a dismissal. It was a test.
Adrian turned on the bench. He didn't smile. He looked at her with the gravity of someone who knew exactly what she was feeling.
"I rushed it," Adrian admitted, his voice low. "Impatience is a flaw of mine. I always want to get to the good part."
Sarah crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. She looked at his suit. The fit was perfect. The cheap hoodie was gone.
"Who are you?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Yesterday you were a stumbling drunk blocking my path. Today you're wearing an Italian suit and playing Chopin like you've lost everything."
"I told you yesterday, Sarah," Adrian said, standing up. He buttoned his jacket with a casual grace. "I'm the guy who knows you're running from a problem."
He gestured to her phone, which was still buzzing on her piano.
"Merger meeting?" he guessed (using Future Knowledge).
Sarah froze. Her eyes narrowed into the Death Stare. "How did you know?"
"Because your father is predictable," Adrian lied smoothly. "And because you play the piano when you want to scream, but you can't because 'Vances don't scream'."
He walked toward her. He stopped right at the boundary of her personal space—close enough to smell her expensive vanilla perfume, far enough to be respectful.
"You need a partner, Sarah. Not a boyfriend. Not a sycophant. You need someone who knows the melody you're trying to play."
[DING!]
A blue box materialized next to Sarah's head.
[MISSION UPDATE]Target Status: Intrigue Level: 40% (Previously -50%). Reaction: She is analyzing you as a "High-Value Puzzle." Reward Unlocked:1x Bitcoin Price Chart (Next 48 Hours).
Sarah stared at him. For the first time, she didn't see a liability. She saw... potential.
"You're dangerous, Adrian Cole," she whispered.
"I'm an investment," Adrian corrected, flashing the "Know-It-All" Smirk. "High risk. Infinite return."
He checked his watch again.
"I have to go. My roommate is probably buying the wrong water."
He walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers—a deliberate electric contact.
"Same time next Tuesday?" he threw over his shoulder.
Sarah watched him walk away. The scent of mint and leather lingered in the room, overpowering the smell of old wood.
She picked up her phone. She looked at the text from her dad. Then she looked at the empty piano bench.
"Tuesday," she murmured to the empty room.