The first Monday of the new semester at Aoshima Academy felt like any other: crowded hallways, students rushing with instrument cases, dance bags, and sheet music spilling from their backpacks. The smell of fresh polish lingered on the floors, mixed with faint traces of coffee and pastries from the vending machine. Yuki walked in, his bag slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy from rushing, but the familiar chaos didn't bother him. In fact, it made him feel alive.
Yesterday's experience in the empty studio lingered in his mind—the piano that followed his movements, rising and falling perfectly in time with each step. He replayed it constantly, and the memory filled him with a strange mixture of awe and excitement. He had never felt such a strong connection to music, yet he didn't know who had played for him. Whoever it was, it had been intentional, thoughtful, and… magical.
As he turned a corner, he collided with someone.
"Ah—sorry!" Yuki stumbled back, waving his arms to catch his balance.
The boy he ran into blinked, adjusting his glasses, a soft smile appearing on his face. He held a notebook tightly, like it contained something important.
"No, no, it's fine," the boy said gently. "I should've been paying attention too."
Yuki offered a sheepish grin. "Yeah… first-day nerves, I guess."
The boy nodded politely. "I'm Kenji."
"Yuki," he replied, shaking the boy's hand lightly.
They moved aside as a flurry of students dashed past, instruments clattering, and sheet music flying. Kenji seemed almost used to it, sidestepping smoothly without losing his balance. There was something calm about him, like he had spent his whole life navigating chaos quietly.
They walked together as their paths coincidentally aligned. Yuki hadn't thought about Kenji at all during his studio experience—he didn't associate him with the music. Kenji seemed logical, grounded, someone you could rely on. The pianist yesterday… that person had felt wild, effortless, almost like they were made of music itself. There was no way Kenji could be that person, Yuki decided.
"So, you're new here?" Yuki asked, breaking the silence as they approached the stairs.
"Third year, music department," Kenji replied. "Piano major."
"Ah, okay. So you actually know the school," Yuki said with relief. "I'll probably get lost at least five times today."
Kenji smiled softly. "Don't worry. It's easy to learn the flow."
There was something reassuring about his presence. It wasn't dramatic or exciting like the music Yuki had heard yesterday, but it was pleasant—like stepping into warm sunlight.
Classes passed in a blur. Dance technique in the morning, choreography practice, and then a long break before theory. Yuki found himself distracted, repeatedly thinking about the piano. Who had played? Where had they been? And why had it felt like the music was speaking to him?
At lunch, he noticed Kenji sitting alone near a window, notebook open and pencil moving across the page in careful strokes. Yuki slid into the seat across from him.
"Hey," he said casually. "Can I ask for your help with something… weird?"
Kenji glanced up, curiosity lighting his calm features. "Sure. What's up?"
Yuki leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Yesterday, I went to the studio. Someone played piano for me—like, really played. It followed my dancing perfectly, from start to finish. I didn't see who it was."
Kenji raised an eyebrow. "Followed your dancing? As in… timing their notes with your movement?"
Yuki nodded eagerly. "Exactly! It was incredible. I want to find out who it was."
Kenji thought for a moment, tapping his pencil lightly on the notebook. "Hmm… could be Shun Takahashi. He's a third-year piano prodigy. People say he practices in Room C and improvises with random sounds he hears around the building."
Yuki's eyes widened. "Shun? That's… perfect. That could totally be him."
Kenji shrugged, entirely casual. "He's usually around at odd hours, practicing, but he's hard to approach. If you want, I can check when he's in the practice rooms."
Yuki's excitement bubbled over. "Would you? That'd be amazing!"
Kenji simply nodded, flipping through his notebook again. "I'll see what I can find out."
And that was it. Yuki had a lead. Shun Takahashi. The pianist who could have done exactly what Yuki described. Everything seemed to fit perfectly. There was no reason to doubt it.
Over the next few days, Yuki and Kenji's friendship grew naturally. They walked together between classes, laughed about teachers, and shared lunch breaks. Kenji seemed genuinely interested in helping Yuki find the mysterious pianist, and Yuki, in turn, enjoyed the easy camaraderie. He told Kenji everything he remembered: the rising crescendos, the way the music seemed to anticipate his movements, the gentle yet playful rhythm that matched him perfectly.
Kenji listened carefully, offering practical suggestions: "Check Room C tomorrow morning. Or maybe Room F—some first-years like to practice there."He was thorough, logical, and calm. Exactly what Yuki needed to balance his excitement and obsessive curiosity.
The more they talked, the more Yuki felt like he could rely on Kenji—not as a musician, but as a friend who understood his obsession with discovering the pianist. He didn't suspect Kenji in the slightest. Kenji, in his mind, was the antithesis of the impulsive, instinctive, emotional pianist Yuki had danced for. There was no connection, no hint, no spark beyond casual, comfortable friendship.
One afternoon, as the sun lowered in the sky and cast a golden glow across the schoolyard, Yuki swung his bag over his shoulder. "You know, Kenji, I'm really glad we met."
Kenji blinked, a small, modest smile appearing. "Me too."
Yuki nudged him playfully with his shoulder. "Tomorrow, let's check Room C. I want to finally see who this pianist is."
Kenji nodded. "I'll check the schedule. We'll go together."
It seemed simple. Ordinary. Yet Yuki felt the thrill of the hunt again, the same feeling he had in the studio when the music seemed alive.
From the distance, faint piano scales floated through an open window on the upper floor. They sounded warm and deliberate, like someone practicing carefully. Yuki's heart skipped a beat—but the notes could belong to anyone: Shun, a first-year, someone else entirely.
Kenji walked beside him, notebook in hand, chatting about nothing in particular. To Yuki, he felt like the perfect friend to have at his side—helpful, grounded, encouraging. Nothing more.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement, the mystery pianist remained just that: a mystery. Someone impossible to catch, someone who might be anyone.
Even to the audience, the answer seemed obvious. It wasn't Kenji. It was Shun. Or maybe another pianist entirely. Kenji was simply there to help, completely unaware of the truth.
And that was how it should stay.
Two friends walking home. One chasing music. One helping.The mystery drifting just out of reach, perfect, unsolved, and magical.