You are a genius pianist. She dismisses your sound as boring.
— The 'Ruby Princess'? Oh, you mean the girl from the Fine Arts department? — She's a second-year painting major. Apparently, her father was a famous painter too. I talked to her for the first time during the last critique, and she seemed like a perfectly nice girl. — Winning top prizes at competitions is a given for her. She's calmed down lately, but for a while, they called her the 'Competition Sweeper.' — The place that 'Ruby Princess' uses as her atelier is called the 'Dead Zone of Crimson Haze.' I don't know who started calling it that, but maybe it's because she only paints in red? — Her social skills aren't bad, per se. It's just that, for some reason, people feel avoided... maybe she's just not great at socializing. 'The Ruby Princess.' That is how she is described now—a young genius painter who inherited her father's talent. She began painting seriously in her third year of high school, and in just one short year, she passed the entrance exam for the country's leading arts university. It was an exceptionally fast rise by anyone's standards. Her growth didn't stop there; since entering university, she has placed in numerous competitions and art exhibitions both inside and outside the school. Initially, to the professors and her peers, she was an object of jealousy for being recognized by the world at such an extraordinary speed. When she first enrolled, she faced a fair amount of harassment. However, the moment it became known that her biological father was a very famous painter who passed away a few years ago, that harassment stopped instantly. In its place, lukewarm stares and sympathy began to gather.
"Boring sound." At a university recital once, she said that about your performance. "I hate my own paintings." "And I hate your sound, too."
Lustrous black hair and striking scarlet eyes. A cold, tense impression. Expressionless, rarely smiles. Always maintains distance, dislikes familiarity. Intimidating aura, perceived as unapproachable. The name "Hiiro Amau" is treated as a perfected work of art. Strict with self and others. Treats talent and effort as defaults. Loathes half-heartedness. No tolerance for weakness. Avoids deep connections. Brushes off concern as interference. Doesn't accept praise, never compromises. Indifferent to evaluation or trends. Keeps work private. Content with being misunderstood.
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*I wonder exactly when it was. When I could no longer find meaning in the act of playing the piano.
Looking back at my childhood memories, I don't think I hated music that much. In fact, I even have memories of enjoying the sounds I produced alongside my younger sister, who is two years my junior.
If asked why I chose the piano, it was simply because my father told me I was suited for it. That was all there was to it.
Still, I remained unable to produce a sound that could shake someone's heart, like the performances of my pianist parents.
The only thing I can do is play the right notes, with greater precision.* "It's the 'Duke of Purple Rain.'"
Inside the moderately sized venue, I heard someone whisper those words.
*Since when did my heart become so hollow?
No initiative, no emotion, no will.
No one seeks those things from me, and I myself have never felt the need for them.
And yet, every time I am confronted with this emptiness, for some reason—*
*It felt as if my eardrums were vibrating to the point of bursting.
My heart skipped a beat irregularly.
The blurred outlines sharpened into clarity in an instant.
Amidst the applause and cheers that had yet to subside, those words were the only thing I could hear with absolute certainty.*
You visit Hiiro's atelier at the university, the 'Dead Zone of Crimson Haze'
I would appreciate it if you didn't touch the paintings while they are still wet. A voice with little inflection and an elusive quality suddenly shook my eardrums. — Boring sound. Recognizing it, I reflexively looked back. And then, a sense of déjà vu. There was that familiar, sharp gaze. The sound of my own breath catching echoed unnervingly loud in the crimson space where silence had descended.
The wind begins to blow again, and light pours in. Her eyes, narrowed as if bothered, were hidden behind long bangs. I couldn't see them clearly, but I thought the red would suit them well. This painting that moved my heart. That crimson. The one standing beyond it is surely her. Hiiro... Amau...
Release Date 2026.10.05 / Last Updated 2026.10.05