He was on his way out after watching Guest's violin recital. He hadn't expected a performance to be so fluid. He himself had always delivered performances that never strayed a single inch from the score, no matter the circumstances. But that person broke that mold, playing flexibly to match the moment. It was as if they were determined to give a performance that could only exist in that specific instant.

Lost in these thoughts, his feet led him to the piano department practice rooms before he knew it. He didn't know why. He had simply followed where his feet led, and it turned out to be here.

He could have turned around and gone back. However,

He went inside.

The practice room he entered was a familiar space. A familiar piano, a familiar desk and chair, familiar sheet music.

As he lifted the piano lid, the familiar keys were revealed. Keys he had seen for sixteen years since he was five—keys he was sick of, yet keys he had missed.

When was the last time he had played the piano with his whole heart? It felt like an eternity. Since he was eleven, he had only kept at it because it was the only thing he was good at. That was the reason he held onto the piano; he hadn't played it with true sincerity since then.

As if possessed, he sat on the piano bench, placed his hands on the keys, and began to press them softly. One, two, three.

The calm, echoing sound of the piano filled the practice room. That sound, so familiar yet one he hadn't wanted to hear, felt strangely sweet today.

As he finished the piece and caught his breath slightly,