[11] The First Step Toward a Dream (3)
"Hey, Shirone. You still here? I thought you said you were done with the work?"
Rian stepped through the door and coughed at the rising dust. Shirone greeted his friend with a quiet smile.
"What's that look for? Something good happen?"
Rian, puzzled by his friend's odd expression, blinked. What Shirone said next shocked him even more.
"Rian, show me around your house."
"Huh? What did you say?"
Rian's eyes narrowed. Shirone—always precise, never careless—suddenly asking to be shown the house—
Then Rian saw the book sitting beside Shirone and understood.
"You… did it, didn't you?"
"Yeah. There's nothing left to read, at least in this library."
Nothing left to read.
Rian didn't care for books, but he could tell how cool that sounded.
In that moment Shirone looked like the embodiment of intellect. Even the sunlight pouring through the window seemed to bless him.
"Wahaha! You actually did it? You bastard! You're incredible, man!"
Rian cheered like it was his own achievement. In his usual blunt way, he grabbed Shirone and shook him around, then snapped his fingers as if he'd thought of something brilliant.
"All right! If you want to come to my place, you're welcome anytime! Perfect timing—since you finished studying, I've got an awesome present ready."
"What present all of a sudden? I don't need anything."
"Just come along. You'll love it, trust me! Puhahaha!"
Shirone felt uneasy. It was strange Rian would have a present ready when he'd only just heard Shirone finished reading. And the grin pulling at Rian's eyes did not bode well.
Seeing the mansion up close for the first time, Shirone felt its imposing scale. He could understand why ancient people built colossal structures to express the sanctity of gods.
"Rian, let's go in quietly. What if your family sees us?"
"What are you worried about? The contract's over anyway. Besides, everyone's out. Ah, here. Hurry up!"
Rian led him into a woman's room that smelled faintly of perfume. Pink curtains draped the balcony window, and musical instruments, including a piano, were arranged inside.
"Wait! This is your sister's room, right? Get out! What if she comes in while we're here?"
"Ke ke ke. Wait a bit. She should be around here somewhere."
Rian rifled through drawers as if he were in his own room. He dug through a bottom shelf, triumphantly grabbed something, and tossed it at Shirone.
"Found it! Here, Shirone—your present!"
A fragrant, soft thing landed on Shirone's face. He opened it with both hands and found a tiny cloth.
Shirone, bewildered, felt his face flush. By shape and size, it was clearly his sister's underwear.
"Hey! Are you crazy? Why would you throw this at me?"
"Puhahaha! Look at that red face. You're seventeen now, right? Be bold—underwear's nothing to be ashamed of. That's what big bro's giving you."
"Shut up! What's bold about looking at underwear? Take it back!"
"Oh? You're excited. Shirone's finally excited!"
Rian laughed, clutching his belly. Nine-tenths teasing, one-tenth worry.
Shirone had been holed up in the library for a year and a half; his skin was pale and his face still looked young.
He was starved for learning. Maybe a shock therapy to pull the man out of him wouldn't be a bad idea.
It didn't work. Shirone handed the panties back with a sigh and reverted to his usual scolding tone.
"When will you grow up? Pranks like this. It's not some random person—this is your sister. Put it back. What if she finds out?"
"She's a court musician; she only comes once or twice a year. She won't catch us. But you sure you don't want to keep it? You might regret it later."
"Following you here is the biggest regret of my life! Put it away."
Rian crumpled the underwear and shoved it back in the drawer, closing it.
"That just makes it look hidden, though."
"The maid in charge will sort it later if there's time. Still, you're no fun since you didn't get worked up."
"If you do that again I'll cut you off."
"Hahaha! Got it, it was a joke. Anyway, let's go to my room."
Rian's room was at the far end of the corridor. With most rooms spare, he took whichever he liked.
True to his hot-blooded swordsman nature, wooden practice swords were stacked in the room and the shelves held books on swordsmanship.
But they weren't technical manuals—mostly novels about legendary swordsmen from myths.
The two bored young men, sitting and chatting, turned to a card game.
They started with equal amounts of chips, but the game was over in thirty minutes. Rian lost badly.
Shirone swept up the chips and asked, "One more round?"
"No way! Damn. Gambling is just luck anyway; I must have terrible luck."
"You tend to move the cards when an ace shows up, don't you? And you bet differently when you have a pair versus when you don't. If you know just those two things you can win easily."
Rian stared like someone who'd been swindled.
"How do you even notice stuff like that?"
"Observation's simpler than you think. If you assume something will happen, you don't see it. Stop trying so hard to find one thing and feel the whole instead. Then you'll notice."
"Hmm—don't obsess over what you want to gain. Maybe that helps when finding schemas?"
"Probably. It helped me a lot with understanding the Spirit Zone."
Rian repeated Shirone's words over and over. Something tickled inside his head—it felt like he almost understood, but he couldn't grasp the core.
Maybe thinking so long out of character had tired him out. He yawned, stretched, and flopped down.
"There's nothing to do. Let's sleep a bit. I ran a hundred laps this morning and I'm dead tired."
"Then sleep. I'll read a bit."
"Okay."
Rian fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Shirone smiled at his comfortable friend and took out a novel. After poring over difficult history books, the adventure story made time fly.
An hour passed and Rian still didn't wake. Shirone closed his book and straightened the room. Once night fell, the house would get noisy; it was better to leave.
Walking down the corridor, he heard piano music.
Shirone stopped, stunned. Raised only in the mountains, sheet music filled with a composer's inspiration struck him with a force unlike magic.
The sound came from Rian's sister's room. Shirone, moving without thinking, saw her for the first time.
A face as fresh as morning dew. Hair like blue light, flowing in waves. She sat at the piano and played.
Ozent family's second daughter, Ozent Reina.
What Reina played was heavenly. Not the youngest prodigy, but at nineteen she'd already been recognized and brought into the court orchestra; Shirone's praise wasn't an exaggeration.
Harmonies stacking neatly. The rush of those harmonies. The variations. Shirone's spirit moved like a marionette on the strings of Reina's fingertips.
Only after the piece ended did Shirone realize where he was. The emotion had lasted so long that when he came to, Reina had turned toward him and waved.
"Hello. How was my piano sonata?"
He'd read about it in books, but hearing it was different. Shirone didn't dare critique Reina's playing.
"You can come over here. I don't think I've seen you before. Are you the new butler who just arrived?"
"Yes. I'm in charge of classifying the library. It's done now, though."
"Ah! I heard about that. You must be really smart—classification isn't something just anyone can do."
Perhaps because she was an artist, her words and manner carried no arrogance; they were considerate instead.
For the first time Shirone felt jealous of Rian having such a sister. Then the memory of his earlier indecent prank flashed into his mind, and his face burned as what he'd seen collided with Reina's features.
"Ugh!"
"Are you all right? Why's your face like that?"
"N-no, I'm fine."
Shirone awkwardly entered the room. The best lie is the one that fools even yourself, they said. He told himself he'd seen nothing and changed the subject.
"This is the sheet music, right?"
"Huh? Yeah, that's right. It's Shryman's Piano Sonata No. 3, third movement, 'In the Darkness.' Have you ever played piano before?"
"No, never."
"Really? Sit here. I'll teach you. It's not a difficult piece."
Shirone felt warmth toward the gentle Reina. Hearing from Rian that she could be a difficult witch sometimes left him a little stunned, though.
He followed her fingering instructions and pressed the first chord. Then, hesitantly, he moved to the second.
"Wow! Your eyes are really quick. For a first try that sight-reading was great."
Sight-reading is playing a score you see for the first time. It demands technical talent more than emotion; a good sight-reader tends to think quickly.
Reina's praise pleased Shirone. But he soon forgot his reaction to Reina and became absorbed in the piano. Curiosity took hold and nothing could stop it.
"Excuse me…"
"Yes?"
"Would you—could you play it once more?"
At that moment Reina noticed something unique in Shirone. The idea that artists love talent is a critic's fabrication; artists love passion.
"All right. Then listen closely."
Reina encores "In the Darkness." Even to an amateur like Shirone, the second performance was far more delicate than the first. It was the power of schema—her nervous system, tuned to her body, was more sensitive than most.
When the piece finished Reina turned with a satisfied look. Shirone, however, showed no expression; he was lost in thought as if he'd heard nothing.
"May I try?"
"Huh? Oh—sure."
"Please forgive me if it's hard to listen to."
"Heh heh, of course. Everyone's like that the first time."
Shirone's hands rose gently to the keys. His posture looked decent; then his fingers began to strike the notes.
An unfamiliar melody came out and Reina smiled helplessly. But as it reached the middle section she seemed to realize something and leaned in.
"What is this kid doing? What on earth is he trying to do?"
The notes were all wrong—completely off. He was playing inaccurately. Yet, astonishingly—
It sounded eerily similar.
It was hard to explain, but it was true. Technically, Shirone lacked the skill to play the score.
But setting technique aside, he mimicked Reina's every nuance as if he had become her.
This wasn't a performance for an audience. In Shirone's head there was nothing but the piano.
"A little more. A little closer."
Shirone desperately tried to penetrate the music. Trying to hold the beat pushed the development too fast; with only his sight-reading skill he couldn't land every exact note.
He compressed flitting seconds of focus into an instant. His trance-like mind began to be pulled into the Spirit Zone.
Reina swallowed. Amid the dissonance, pleasing harmonies slipped through at intervals.
Then finally, at the rising climax—"du-du-du-du!"—there came a burst where, for precisely 1.7 seconds, his playing aligned perfectly with the score.
Reina shivered and held her breath. Shirone held that state and moved into the final perfect cadence.
He struck the tonic, then thrust both hands up to slam the dominant like lightning, and finally pressed the tonic one last time with the fiercest passion of his life.
A deep, resonant rumble.
Harmonies that had flowed from the past four minutes dissolved into seven notes and spread an infinite afterglow.