The previous contestant finished their piece, rose from the bench, and bowed to the judges and the audience. A sparse, polite wave of applause followed, echoing briefly in the vast hall.
"The next performer—Contestant Seventeen, Minamoto Senya…"
At the host's announcement, Minamoto Senya walked steadily onto the stage.
His outward expression appeared calm, but inside, his heartbeat was racing. Not out of nervousness—no, it was excitement. The results of months of effort were finally about to be tested under the lights.
Senya had always lived by a personal creed: if he chose to do something, he had to achieve results. To waste time aimlessly was the one sin he could not forgive.
He sat down at the gleaming black grand piano at center stage, its lacquered surface reflecting the spotlight in deep, polished tones.
He adjusted the bench, rested his hands just above the keys, and took a shallow breath to settle his rhythm.
Only four months ago, his understanding of the piano had been limited to the most basic level—an LV1 skill he'd gained long ago from Yukino.
Back then, he'd played almost like a rhythm-game amateur: relying purely on memory and reflex, hammering out pieces riddled with mistakes obvious even to casual listeners.
But now—thanks to Kazusa's technical support, Yōko's patient instruction, and his own relentless effort—he had completely transformed.
Piano, like kendo, had fused with his instincts, becoming another part of his body's reflexive memory.
His fingers no longer required conscious thought. Through muscle memory alone, he knew exactly which key to press, how hard, and when.
It wasn't hard to understand now why Kazusa had endured years of lonely practice, choosing the piano over friendship. At a certain level, music revealed its own strange, addictive joy.
The stage lights dimmed slightly. At that same instant, Minamoto Senya began to play.
In the audience, the Tōma mother and daughter emerged from the waiting room, focusing intently on Senya's performance.
Their expressions, however, differed greatly.
Yōko needed only to hear his opening notes to realize he was in excellent condition tonight. There was nothing to worry about, and her face relaxed with a soft smile.
Kazusa, on the other hand, sat taut as a bowstring, her gaze locked on the figure at the piano. Not until the final note ended would she allow herself to exhale.
And they were not the only mother-daughter pair watching.
The Yukinoshita family—mother and two daughters—had also come quietly, seated midway in the audience, blending into the crowd without drawing notice.
Senya had told his friends not to bother coming. Unlike sports, a piano competition wasn't exactly accessible to outsiders.
Eriri and Rokka, for example, would hardly enjoy the event—they'd probably find it boring.
But Yukino was different.
When everyone else in their group chat had cheerfully agreed to support him from afar, Yukino had remained silent.
That silence had meant something: she wanted to see for herself how far his piano playing had come.
She almost felt numb to it by now.
This childhood friend of hers… since middle school, he had exploded with sudden talent, displaying monstrous ability in field after field, always achieving results.
She was proud of him, of course. But mingled with that pride was an ache, a faint sense of being left behind.
And not just her—her mother and sister had also grown deeply curious about him.
Haruno had even canceled a class reunion just to be here.
Their mother had likewise postponed a social obligation with a local politician.
Clearly, in her eyes, witnessing Minamoto Senya's performance tonight was more important.
Senya finished the compulsory piece. For the first time that evening, the hall erupted into thunderous applause.
Yukino clapped, her emotions complicated.
Her mother leaned close and whispered, "Yukino… this boy, Senya—he truly never had any formal piano training as a child?"
Yukino turned her head. Normally composed and detached, her eyes now held unmistakable admiration.
She shook her head. "Not as far as I know."
"That is remarkable. Haruno, how do you think your own playing compares to his?"
Put on the spot, Haruno exhaled heavily, reluctant but honest. "…I'm not on his level."
On stage, Senya launched into his self-selected piece: Liszt's La Campanella.
The choice shocked the audience. In youth competitions, this piece was rare.
Its technical demands were extreme: massive leaps, broken intervals over a tenth, octave runs, chromatic scales, trills—every passage a potential disaster if mishandled.
But Senya played with uncanny steadiness. His execution was as flawless as if programmed into a machine.
This was Yōko's tactical design. She knew his strengths and weaknesses well.
His kendo-trained body, freakishly disciplined, translated into machine-like finger endurance and control. Once he mastered a piece, mistakes simply didn't happen.
His weakness, of course, was his inexperience—the finer subtleties of rhythm and emotional shading.
So Yōko had chosen for him a strategy: maximize his strengths, avoid his shortcomings.
In other words—showmanship. Push technique to the extreme.
And it worked.
His ten fingers seemed to move with wills of their own, blurring across the keys like shadows. Yet his face wore a serene, almost amused smile, in sharp contrast to his whirlwind hands.
The contrast electrified the audience. Within a minute of the piece, spontaneous applause broke out three separate times.
Yukino fell into silence.
Haruno, who had just compared herself a moment ago, sighed heavily and corrected herself: "Forget what I said earlier. It's not that I'm worse. There's simply no comparison between us anymore."
Their mother remained quiet, her gaze drifting to Yōko in the front row. She murmured, "Truly incredible. Is this the result of that famous pianist's teaching… or is it purely Senya's natural talent?"
Neither daughter could answer.
But after witnessing him firsthand in competition again, her estimation of Minamoto Senya had risen yet another tier—from "very important" to "someone to watch especially closely."
She turned her eyes on Yukino.
Her youngest daughter, graceful and catlike, so like herself in her youth.
"Mother?" Yukino asked, unsettled. She didn't understand why her mother was smiling at her like that.
Haruno, watching from the side, had her own ideas.
She leaned in with a teasing grin. "By the way, I heard from Toka that his family's planning to move soon."
Their mother perked up. "They're moving?"
"Mm. Their house is small, cramped even, no space for guests. And with another family member on the way, it makes sense. Thanks to Senya's endorsement earnings, they can finally improve their living situation."
Her explanation left their mother thoughtful.
She turned again to Yukino. "Has Senya mentioned this to you?"
Yukino shook her head.
"You should take the initiative sometimes," Haruno advised with a sly smile.
Their mother added, "If he does bring it up, offer to help. After all, you are very close friends, aren't you?"
At the words "very close," Yukino's cheeks warmed. She managed only a soft "…Mm."
The Yukinoshita family, wealthy in real estate, could easily assist.
Not by giving him a house outright—that would be unthinkable. But by recommending promising properties or offering financial support, they could help in practical ways.
On stage, Senya struck the final note.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, as he stood and bowed with a smile, applause thundered through the hall. Two judges even rose to their feet in ovation.
Kazusa finally exhaled, relief softening into pride.
That's my student.
"Not bad," Yōko whispered to her daughter. "No mistakes. For now, he's the best we've seen tonight. But…" She smiled knowingly. "It's your turn next. Show him your brilliance."
Kazusa flushed and slipped out to prepare.
Backstage, Senya exchanged a high-five with his ecstatic manager, Miyo. His part was done, and he cheered Kazusa on as she took her place.
For her, this was nothing new—she'd competed in events like this every year.
An hour later, Kazusa sat down at the piano.
Her chosen piece: Liszt's Feux Follets.
A work infamous as one of the most difficult études in existence, once described by Rachmaninoff himself as nearly impossible.
Yōko had often performed it in her own recitals. And now Kazusa would unleash it here, in a youth competition—a crushing display of dominance.
Her performance was devastating.
Senya, listening in the audience, could only click his tongue in amazement. He realized she had been holding back all this time.
The gulf in skill was undeniable.
And he couldn't help but pity the poor contestant scheduled to follow her.
Yōko leaned toward him with a mischievous whisper. "Impressive, isn't she?"
Senya kept his eyes on Kazusa's blazing performance. "…Yeah."
"But don't forget—I'm even more impressive."
"…?"
He turned his head, puzzled at her teasing smile.
"Follow my plan," she said softly, her words heavy with intent. "One day, you'll reach that level too. Tonight… was only the beginning."
Senya chuckled faintly, offering no reply.
Kazusa's performance ended to a roaring ovation, shaking the hall.
A queen reigning over the youth division. A demon lord of the piano. Terrifying.
The finals stretched across two days.
That evening, Senya returned home. His part was over; his nerves finally eased.
Toka had prepared a table full of dishes for him, knowing how hard he'd worked.
The bath was already drawn, as always, and afterward came the usual massage.
When he stepped out, towel in hand, she was waiting with a blow-dryer, patting the sofa for him to sit.
Like their mother, she had inherited every bit of domestic grace.
Senya accepted silently, letting himself be taken care of.
The next day, the results were announced.
Champion: Tōma Kazusa.Runner-up: Minamoto Senya.
Exactly as Senya had expected.
What surprised him, though, was the third-place finisher.
Third Place — Shinomiya Kaguya.
The cold-eyed young heiress accepted her trophy without a flicker of expression.
…