After the announcement of third place, Minamoto Senya, dressed smartly in a black suit, stepped forward to accept his trophy.
The flash of cameras from the audience burst into a frenzy, capturing this moment of honor.
Truthfully, ever since the semifinals, some sharp-eyed reporters had already noticed there was something extraordinary about this young man.
Wasn't he the very same prodigy who had recently claimed the championship at the Yulong Banner kendo tournament?
The one who carved out a staggering forty-seven consecutive victories in a single competition—shattering the all-time record of thirteen wins by himself, and stunning the entire kendo world?
And back then, in a post-match interview, when he'd casually declared that he wasn't joking about pursuing other arenas of competition—he really had meant it.
This time he didn't take first place, but runner-up was still a spectacular achievement.
Truly, a genius of both sword and piano.
This was newsworthy on a national scale.
During the competition itself, strict rules had prevented the press from disturbing the participants. But now that it was over, their restraint vanished.
As Senya's name was called, the journalists nearly went berserk, cameras clicking with relentless speed.
By contrast, when Kazusa stepped forward to receive her champion's trophy, the applause and camera flashes were noticeably less frenzied.
Not that she seemed to care—her expression remained calm. After bowing politely to the audience, she returned to stand quietly beside Senya once more.
Meanwhile, a representative of the competition's organizers stepped onstage to deliver closing remarks. The speeches would take only a few minutes.
But in that short span of time, Kazusa noticed something that unsettled her.
Senya, standing beside her, seemed oddly distracted—his gaze kept flicking toward the third-place winner.
When the ceremony ended, reporters swarmed like bees.
After a long struggle to break free, Senya and Kazusa finally made it back to the waiting room.
Senya, still curious, asked, "That girl who got third—has she competed in piano events before?"
Kazusa frowned, displeased. "Why do you even care?"
Sensing her irritation, Senya thought better of pressing. He shook his head lightly. "I was just wondering. Never mind—it's nothing."
Nothing? As if. That halfhearted answer only annoyed her further.
She deliberately retorted, "I only remember people stronger than me."
The implication was clear: who cared about her past records? If the girl wasn't better than Kazusa, she wasn't worth remembering.
"Yes, yes, Kazusa's the greatest," Senya replied with a wry smile.
Such childishness—it made him laugh a little.
Kazusa heard the teasing in his tone, but even so, his praise secretly pleased her. Outwardly, though, she only shot him a sharp, exasperated glare.
At that moment, Tōma Yōko and their manager Miyo entered, having stayed behind to fend off the rabid reporters.
"You two did wonderfully," Yōko said warmly, slipping an arm around each of them. "You've both worked so hard—now you can finally rest for a little while."
Her smile was radiant, more joyous than even her own achievements could make her.
"Come on, Miyo. Take a picture of us," Yōko added, flashing a playful V-sign.
"Of course!" Miyo cheerfully obliged, snapping several shots with her phone.
"We can head back now, right?" Kazusa muttered, brushing her mother's arm away. She acted annoyed, but deep down, there was a hint of reluctance.
Because with the competition over, it meant one thing—Senya wouldn't be staying at her house all the time anymore.
Until now, she had never experienced the warmth of having someone she admired and shared so much in common with by her side. Being alone had never bothered her; she could endure solitude easily.
But now that she knew the joy of arguing playfully, competing fiercely, improving together…
Now that she had tasted those moments of connection, returning to solitude seemed unbearable.
Back to being alone again… I don't want that.
Yōko glanced at her watch. "We could head back, but then we'd have to rush all the way out here again later. Too troublesome, and we might not make it in time. Better to rest here until it's nearly time to leave."
Senya tilted his head. "There's something after this?"
Miyo, always professional, flipped open her notebook. "Yes. The organizers are hosting a banquet this evening, inviting the winners, sponsors, and members of the press. It'll be at the Seaside International Hotel, Hall One, starting at six. If we leave at five-thirty, we'll be fine."
It was only 4:10 now—plenty of time to relax.
Yōko guided the two of them onto the sofa. "I know you're tired, but don't worry. Just stick with me at the banquet, you won't need to do much. I'll handle everything."
That was reassuring. And yet… Senya couldn't shake the feeling that Yōko's foxlike smile hid other schemes.
Still, he offered her a polite word of thanks. Whatever her motives, she was his benefactor. She'd never betray him.
"Alright, you two rest here. Miyo and I will step out and come back later to fetch you."
"Where are you going?" Kazusa asked.
"Since I'll be facing the media again after so long… we're going for some beauty treatments," Yōko replied with a wink.
Rolling her eyes, Kazusa watched them leave.
But they returned a moment later.
Miyo picked up a bouquet from the doorway—this one more extravagant than the last—and handed it to Senya.
It was so large it almost swallowed his head.
Kazusa's gaze lingered as Senya unfolded the little card tucked inside.
[Congratulations on winning second place.]
As before, no signature.
"Looks like your mysterious admirer again," Yōko teased lightly.
For a woman who had been courted countless ways, such gestures were child's play.
After a few casual words, Yōko and Miyo finally departed.
"You seem awfully interested in who keeps sending those," Kazusa muttered, watching Senya study the card over and over.
He nodded. "Yeah, I am."
But he never once looked at her while answering, which stung. Pouting, Kazusa turned her head sharply away.
"When Mom and Miyo came in, there weren't any flowers at the door. That means someone left this bouquet just a moment ago. If you hurry, maybe you'll catch your mysterious admirer. She might even be a really cute girl."
"No need. I've already got a cute girl by my side."
"—!"
Her whole body jolted, a puff of invisible steam rising from her head.
Without a word, she turned away stiffly and retreated toward the bathroom.
Senya, utterly oblivious, kept examining the card.
Unlike the previous messy handwriting, this note was written in delicate, flowing script.
Combined with what he'd noticed earlier on stage…
His thoughts drifted to someone from long ago.
Could it be her? Had she recognized him after all this time—and secretly sent these flowers?
After the ceremony, Shinomiya Kaguya left with her guards, escaping the reporters' pursuit.
She rode in her family's Rolls-Royce to a nearby hotel, where a top suite had already been prepared.
Even for just a short rest, only the best accommodations would do for the heiress of the Shinomiya Group.
But despite the luxury, her mood was stormy.
Third place. Just third.
From the moment she learned the result, her face had been frozen in an icy mask. On stage, in the suite—no change.
Her attendants, tense and silent, dared not utter a single word. The room was as quiet as a tomb.
Finally, her most trusted confidante entered: a blonde girl in a black-and-white maid's uniform.
"Leave us," she said calmly to the others.
Relieved, they hurried out, leaving Kaguya alone with her personal maid—Hayasaka Ai.
As soon as the door closed, Kaguya's mask shattered. With a muffled cry, she flung herself face-down onto the bed, pounding her fists like a sulking child.
Her carefully maintained composure was gone, replaced by raw frustration.
Just as expected, Ai thought silently, neither interfering nor commenting, simply letting her mistress vent.
At last, Kaguya sat up, muttering under her breath. "Don't you think it's unfair, Ai? Playing Liszt in a youth competition—it's overkill! That shouldn't even be allowed…"
And here comes the complaint segment, Ai thought dryly, keeping her face impassive. She murmured the occasional agreement as Kaguya ranted.
Of course, Kaguya had no idea that Ai herself had been the one secretly sending flowers to Minamoto Senya all this time.
It had started when she saw his name in the news—this boy who had once helped her long ago, now winning championship after championship.
Back then, she'd thought of him only as a kind stranger she'd likely never see again. But seeing him shine on stage in Tokyo, playing the piano with such confidence…
For the first time in years, Ai's heart had stirred with something almost girlish: Was this fate?
And so, on impulse, she had sent him flowers. And then again. And again.
It wasn't romance. Just gratitude. A quiet thank-you for the boy who had once helped her when no one else did.
But gratitude, she knew, could feel dangerously close to something else.
"—Ai! Are you even listening?" Kaguya's sharp voice jolted her out of thought.
"Apologies, milady. I was considering the banquet tonight."
"Hmph. Do I really have to go? It's humiliating to show up as nothing more than third place."
"Shinomiya Group sponsored this event," Ai reminded her gently. "As their daughter, you must attend. Just think of it as a formality. And third place is hardly shameful, given all the skills you juggle daily. It's quite an accomplishment."
Kaguya's scowl softened slightly. She allowed herself to be coaxed, just as always.
Leaving her mistress to rest, Ai retreated to the sitting room, savoring a rare moment of peace.
She pulled out her phone. A news alert popped up immediately:
[National Youth Piano Competition Concludes—Winners Announced!]
The article already featured photos from the ceremony.
There he was: Minamoto Senya, holding his trophy, smiling with easy confidence.
Ai zoomed in on his face, her expression unreadable.
So much had changed since the boy she once knew.
Senya messaged his group chat, reporting his second-place finish, and let his family know not to wait for him at dinner.
By six o'clock, he arrived at the banquet hall with Yōko and Kazusa.
He wasn't used to such events. The calculating smiles of politicians and businessmen made him uneasy.
Fortunately, Yōko was in her element. With her leading the way, Senya only needed to nod, smile, and follow her lead.
Meanwhile, Kazusa… was being Kazusa.
With a plate full of desserts, she glared defensively when Senya gave her a look.
"What?" she snapped.
"Careful with the sugar. Eat too much, and…" His gaze flicked meaningfully toward a rotund older man across the room.
Kazusa sniffed. "No need to worry. I inherited Mom's metabolism—we don't gain weight."
Senya glanced at her elegant black gown, its silhouette… well-filled in certain places. Not weightless, he thought silently. Just well-allocated.
From then on, Kazusa avoided the sweets table, though she never admitted it was because of his comment.
Instead, she began piling extra meat onto his plate with a suspiciously smug grin. If he gets fat, I won't be the only one at risk.
Watching from afar, Yōko sipped her wine and smiled slyly at the gossiping reporters.
"Oh, those two? They've always been close," she said, her words deliberately suggestive.
Senya, meanwhile, was slowly acclimating. Smile first, introduce yourself, offer respect—it worked every time.
But then Yōko did something unexpected: she led him directly toward Shinomiya Kaguya.
Kaguya received them with her usual poise.
Senya, however, was struck not by her—but by the blonde maid standing quietly at her side.
Hayasaka Ai.
Their eyes met briefly. Her face betrayed nothing.
But Senya felt a strange stirring of recognition, as if the past had reached out and brushed against him.