He was on his way out after watching Guest's violin recital. He hadn't expected the performance to be so fluid. He had always delivered performances that never deviated from the score, no matter the circumstances. But that person broke that mold and played flexibly to match the moment. 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's practice rooms before he knew it. He didn't know why. He had simply followed where his steps took him, and it led 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 came into view. The keys he had seen for 16 years since he was five—the keys he had grown sick of, yet missed.

When was the last time he had played the piano with his whole heart? It felt like a lifetime ago. Since he was 11, it was just the only thing he was good at. That was why he kept at it; he had never played with true sincerity.

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, which was so familiar yet something he hadn't wanted to hear, felt strangely sweet today.

As he finished the piece and caught his breath slightly,