"Miyuki-san, what are you watching so intently?"

Friday morning in the classroom. Emiri appeared in front of me as I had been continuously listening to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" since yesterday. She sat down roughly in the seat in front of me and, without waiting for my reply, peeked at my smartphone screen.

"Oh my. Miyuki-san listening to Mozart... Is it going to snow today?"

Emiri said this with her usual excessive politeness, a tone completely unlike how one normally talks to a classmate.

"It's already snowing."

The snow had been restlessly falling and stopping since last night. Because of that, I was drafted into the snow-shoveling squad in front of my house first thing in the morning, and right now I was being hit by a pleasant sense of fatigue and sleepiness. If I started studying in this well-heated classroom, I would undoubtedly fall asleep.

Well, I'm a habitual sleeper in class anyway, so it's not like I need to worry about it now.

"More importantly, Emiri, I'm impressed you knew it was Mozart right away."

The title of the video I was watching only said "Twelve Variations on Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." So, unless you had the knowledge that the song was by Mozart, that previous comment shouldn't have come out.

"........................"

At my point, Emiri frowned, just a little. She seemed to think her previous remark was careless.

To tell the truth, Emiri and I haven't known each other that long. We only started talking when we ended up in the same class in our second year. So I don't know the details of who she is or what kind of person she is. I just know that she absolutely hates letting anyone get a glimpse of her upbringing or private life. Exactly like she's doing right now. She doesn't even like dropping hints about her personal life.

Because we knew that, neither Madoka nor I had ever tried to dig too deep.

But today, the situation was a little different.

"While we're on the subject, I kind of wanted to ask: is this performance any good?"

"...Let me listen."

Looking reluctant, Emiri snatched the earphones from me and put them in her ears. I decided to play the video I had listened to first yesterday—the one of the little girl playing the Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star variations.

Emiri closed her eyes as if focusing and began to listen closely to the sound. Her gestures were so elegant and refined that I couldn't help but think this was her true nature. After all, she made my cheap earphones look like high-end headphones. Then, after listening to the first few dozen seconds, she snatched the smartphone from my hand this time and stared intently at the screen.

For a moment, it looked to me like Emiri's eyes went wide.

"This video..."

"Is something wrong?"

However, maybe my question was drowned out by the performance flowing through the earphones, because Emiri didn't react. She had such a serious look on her face that I figured it'd be bad to interrupt, so I kept my mouth shut, too.

And then, after listening to the performance for a full six and a half minutes, Emiri took off the earphones. During that time, I had completely started dozing off, my consciousness wandering halfway into the other side.

"...Miyuki-san."

"Ah, yes!"

Pulled by Emiri's voice, I snapped back to reality.

Sleepiness drifted like a haze in the back of my eyes, but after blinking a few times, my mind cleared up.

"Um... how was it?"

I asked Emiri, who was letting out a breath as if basking in the afterglow.

"I think it's good. They're playing using not just their hands and arms, but their back. There are some miss-touches, but their foundational skill is solid enough that it doesn't matter. Being able to move their fingers this much as a first-grader in elementary school is more than just 'well done.' ...As their hands grow larger, their range will expand, too. They say 'children are better at playing Mozart,' and... I suppose I can see why."

"Is that so?"

Catching onto Emiri's words, I couldn't help but interject.

Because I felt like her previous words contained exactly what I was looking for right now.

"What do you mean, 'Is that so?' Which part are you questioning, Miyuki-san?"

"Well, the last part. I was wondering what you meant by 'children are better at playing it.'"

At my words, a different kind of cloud passed over Emiri's face compared to before.

"This is a matter of feeling, so it's difficult if you ask me to explain it in words, but... let's see."

Groaning "hmmm," Emiri cast her eyes down. She seemed to be searching for words that would be easy for an amateur like me to understand. As if to show the depth of her pondering, her middle finger rested softly against her lower lip.

"...I think maybe Mozart was trying to make music."

"Music?"

I muttered, and repeated "Music?" in my head as well.

I mean, Mozart was a musician, so isn't it obvious he'd make music?

Was I being blown off with smoke and mirrors, or was there some profound meaning behind it? I had no idea. But Emiri, as if having anticipated my reaction, smoothly continued speaking.

"Music, to some extent, mixes in the creator's intent. In popular music, the interpretation of 'lyrics' is added to convey that more clearly. But even without lyrics, in most cases, music is loaded with some kind of message or feeling. You could say that's the original form of music."

Fun music and sad music.

Music singing about love or a broken heart.

There are probably also songs that attach something more noble to the melody. I could somewhat imagine it.

"But Mozart doesn't have that?"

"Well. It might not be that it 'doesn't have it', but simply that the feelings poured into his songs are simple. They are straightforward feelings, as simple as a child's thoughts or emotions. That's why Mozart played by a child resonates with adults. Adults are weak to that kind of honest simplicity, after all."

"...I feel like I kind of get it, but also kind of don't."

"I think that level of understanding is fine. To begin with, that was just my personal interpretation."

"But it was helpful. Thanks for going out of your way."

Children are better at playing Mozart.

I muttered those words in my heart one more time.

If so, was Sunohara-san's performance bad? I didn't think that was the case at all.

I just felt like I had gotten a little closer to the sensation I felt when listening to her play—and the true nature of that dissonance.

"So, why exactly were you listening to something like Mozart, Miyuki-san?"

Returning to her initial question, Emiri formed a smile that seemed to slightly mock me.

"Don't tell me... you've been possessed by the ghost of the music room?"

"...Maybe I have."

Emiri's mouth fell open in surprise at the affirmative words that naturally spilled from me. But I figured that was an unavoidable reaction. After all, I myself was surprised by the words that came out of my own mouth.

"Ah, no, rather than possessed by a ghost... it's more like I was possessed by the music—so it's not like I'm not myself anymore or anything... yeah, so, you don't need to worry."

I defended myself, stumbling over my words so much you'd wonder why I needed to panic this much.

Sure enough, Emiri seemed suspicious of my reaction.

"...Are you absolutely sure you're okay? You won't start writhing in pain if I recite a sutra, will you?"

"I don't think I will... but even if I were possessed, I wouldn't say, 'Yes, I will writhe in pain'."

"That's true."

Agreeing with me, Emiri started chanting "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu." My chest didn't particularly hurt, and I didn't feel like throwing anything up, so I was relieved too.

"Come to think of it. Weren't you surprised when you saw the video earlier?"

Right before she left for her own seat, I remembered and asked her.

"Surprised? Me?"

"Who else is there besides you, Emiri?"

"Well. Wasn't I just surprised thinking they were good for a child?"

"Really? If that's it, then fine."

Leaving it at that, I decided to head back to my own seat. I somehow knew Emiri was lying, but I felt like there wouldn't be any benefit in pressing her on it.

After all of that, I found myself in the music room after school. I'm on track for a perfect attendance award for the music room this week. Since I'm not in any clubs or committees, going to the same classroom every day after school was a fresh experience for me. I think having a set goal and being able to push forward toward it is a very easy way to live.

Most people can't find what they want to do.

That probably goes for me, Madoka, and even Emiri.

So we kill time playing Jenga, doing things we don't even want to do.

It'd be nice if we could innocently shout things like "Idol!" or "Pro Athlete!" like children do, but the dreams we hold in childhood are often, quite literally, just "dreams." More often than not, the "dreams" they envision are grotesque caricatures that only emphasize the glamour, bordering on nightmares.

As you grow up and learn about reality, your fetters increase, and you lose sight of what you "want to do."

Even if you do manage to find it, only a handful of people can continuously strive to reach that place.

Because the "thing you want to do" can, in itself, become a source of suffering.

As if to run away from such things, I was searching for ways to kill time every day.

...Thinking such enlightened thoughts as a high schooler feels incredibly twisted, though. Still, the reality of being able to visit the music room like this right now was a little bit fun for me.

In that music room—Sunohara-san was sitting on a desk by the window.

She seemed to be gazing at the snow, which was still falling like cotton. Against the backdrop of the softly dancing snow, her melancholic expression looked like a painting, and I found myself almost captivated by her.

"You came again today."

Looking back at me as I entered the music room, Sunohara-san spoke cheerfully. Brought back to my senses by her voice, I realized I had been standing frozen at the entrance and decided to step inside.

"Well, I promised to help you pass on, after all."

Perhaps liking my answer, the smile on Sunohara-san's face deepened.

"If I recall correctly, your final exams start next Monday. Are you doing alright with your studying?"

"Ugh."

For a ghost, she's awfully well-informed about school events and circumstances. Or maybe, when you play the role of a school ghost, you naturally become knowledgeable about these things.

"That reaction tells me it's not going well."

Sunohara-san let out a wry smile, fufufu.

It was true that I hadn't been studying for exams, but that was because I had decided, "I'm going to pull an all-nighter!"

Therefore, there was absolutely no need to feel guilty, I told myself. Yet, I ended up averting my eyes from her. It was because her gaze was far too lively.

I suspect this person actually enjoys seeing me in a tight spot.

Her voice struck me right around my forehead.

"I'm the one who asked you to help me pass on, but it's not like it has to happen today or tomorrow. After all, I am a ghost. My sense of time is much more leisurely than yours. If you have other priorities, you don't need to devote all your time to me, you know? Though I am very happy about your feelings."

Sunohara-san hopped down from the desk and walked over to me.

As the distance closed, she, being shorter than me, naturally ended up looking up at me—an upward glance. In response, I looked down into her eyes—and nearly tumbled into their depths.

"Not really... It's just that, to begin with, studying is low on my priority list."

"Aren't you simply using me as an excuse to 'not have to do something'?"

For a moment, I couldn't comprehend what she was saying, and my thoughts ground to a halt.

"Wha—"

But even when my comprehension caught up, my brain remained frozen.

I was bewildered, unable to understand why I had to be told something like that so suddenly.

"It's not like I meant it like—"

I didn't have anything I wanted to do.

I didn't want to study earnestly, either.

I visited the music room because I had nothing else I wanted or needed to do.

If asked whether my visits were 100% out of goodwill, the answer was undeniably no.

There was some intent to kill time. But mostly, it was out of genuine interest and curiosity toward her. I thought she was happy about that too—but was I mistaken?

"...Was I a nuisance?"

My voice was trembling.

When I noticed that, I realized I was feeling sad.

If another human had said the same thing to me, I might have gotten angry and yelled, "After all I'm doing this for you!" But because the other party was a ghost named Sunohara-san, I just felt sad. I felt like my efforts had been completely one-sided, and a mix of sadness, frustration, and embarrassment swirled together.

Perhaps finding my reaction unexpected, for some reason, Sunohara-san started panicking.

"Ah... sorry. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, and I ended up taking it out on you."

She hurriedly followed up with an apology.

"I am grateful to you. You're visiting the music room so often just for someone like me. Come on... so don't make that face. I was in the wrong just now. I'm apologizing. Okay?"

The sight of Sunohara-san flustered and panicking was so cute that I almost couldn't help but laugh.

I was on the verge of crying just a second ago; I really have a busy set of emotions, if I do say so myself.

I felt a bit pathetic, but honestly, I didn't feel bad. However, if she was in a bad mood, having me in the music room might be a bother. That wouldn't be good for either of us.

"If I was bothering you, I'll just head home for today."

"You're not a bother at all. However, half of what I said earlier was my true feelings."

"You mean the part about me studying."

"Studying, or rather—no, if that didn't click for you, let's drop the subject."

Sunohara-san left me with some incredibly nagging words.

Those words stuck in the back of my chest like a small fishbone. I couldn't help but be bothered by the faint pain it caused every time I breathed, but ignoring my state, she obediently and neatly sat down in a chair. It was rare for her to sit in a chair instead of on the desk. Wondering if she had some intention, I watched her movements, and next, she started pushing the adjacent desk together with hers. She looked like a schoolgirl putting desks together to eat lunch with a friend. After my emotions had run wild, I was left completely in the dust, standing there frozen. The emotion dominating me right now was a solid block of "confusion."

"Why are you just standing there silently? I'll help you study, so sit next to me."

"Eh? Is it okay to postpone your passing on?"

I realized I was saying something weird, but no other appropriate phrasing came to mind. I ended up treating "passing on" with the same casualness as asking, "Aren't you going to eat lunch?"

It seems my brain was actually a bit scrambled from the confusion after all.

"It's not exactly 'okay,' but if you end up repeating a year because of me, that would truly become a lingering regret for me."

"Come on... I'm not so stupid that I'd repeat a year."

"At this point, whether you're smart or stupid doesn't matter. When I was a student, I spent all my time practicing the piano, so I never got to do things like having a study session with a friend like this. Who knows, maybe missing out on a 'normal high school life' like this is one of my lingering regrets, right?"

"...If you put it that way."

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being played, but I had no choice but to sit in the chair next to her.

We both probably wanted to let the earlier incident slide like water under the bridge. That's exactly why this study session (?) was a compromise. I felt like it would be immature of me not to go along with it.

For now, I checked inside my bag and pulled out my Math II and Math B textbooks, along with my World History textbook. Since World History is a subject of pure memorization, I decided to study math. But, fundamentally speaking...

"Sunohara-san, are you actually good at studying?"

At that question, Sunohara-san let out a weird "Wha?!" and her face turned slightly red.

"How rude. I'm not just a ghost for show, you know. Here, let me see."

Sunohara-san took my notebook from me and started checking the last page.

Right now, we were covering exponential and logarithmic functions, so there were a lot of graphs drawn in it.

...What does being a ghost have to do with studying?

Did she study in her spare time or something? As I was pondering this...

"What is this? It looks like a doodle."

That utterly clueless response came flying at me.

In the notebook of a girl with no artistic talent like me, there were no fancy doodles, only graphs drawn with straight lines and curves. Could it be that she looked at a graph and called it a doodle?

"What do you mean? It's a graph. Didn't you learn about exponential functions (shisuu) and logarithmic functions (kansuu)?"

Sunohara-san's eyes wandered around the music room.

However, coupled with her suspicious behavior, her gaze seemed to be drowning.

"Uh, well... It seems the curriculum was different back in my day. I don't know about 'sushi' or 'kan-suu', but I certainly don't remember learning anything that sounds like Chinese names or whatever."

It's neither sushi, kan-suu, nor Chinese.

But one thing became perfectly clear just now.

This person is completely hopeless at anything other than music. It's amazing how that single sentence alone made it glaringly obvious that she's hopeless at English, Social Studies, and Japanese too. I think it's a level of hopelessness rarely seen in recent years.

"...Listen. No one is talking about sushi or Chinese people. An exponent is the 'to the power of' part when you say a number to the power of something. And a function is—"

Why on earth did I end up having to teach high school math to a ghost? While wondering this, I carefully and thoroughly taught logs and whatever else to this idiot ghost.

In the end, it's pretty ironic that teaching her actually served as better studying for me than a half-baked study session.

Thanks to dutifully studying until after school, my head was enveloped in a pleasant sense of fatigue.

I stepped outside once to buy a café au lait from a vending machine and returned to the music room. Sunohara-san was collapsed on the desk, face-down, furrowing her brow and muttering deliriously. It seemed she disliked studying math that much. Given that she was the one who proposed studying in the first place, I really wished she would stop glaring at me as if to say I was the bad guy.

"...High schoolers these days study such incomprehensible things."

I was certain high schoolers in Sunohara-san's time were taught it too, but I kept my mouth shut.

Because it's possible Sunohara-san died before she learned such things.

"Also, you're actually quite smart, aren't you? Seeing as you come to the music room day after day right before exams, I thought you were either an absolute idiot or a genius who could get a perfect score without studying."

"And so you assumed I was the 'absolute idiot'."

Unfortunately, I was neither; I was just a completely normal, average female student.

I wasn't honest enough to dedicate myself to studying, nor was I defiant enough to completely abandon it.

People might call that being "wishy-washy."

The fact is, I'm half-baked, so I have no choice but to begrudgingly accept that title.

"I've apologized for that over and over again. Don't make such a scary face."

I dug through my memory, but I only recalled being apologized to once. And even then, she only said, "I'm apologizing." I honestly didn't know whether I should accept that as words of apology.

"Still, it's been a long time since I used my brain this much, so it seems my head is craving sugar."

Sunohara-san shot a sidelong glance at my café au lait.

Why can't this ghost just honestly say, "Give me a sip"?

"I'll give you some if you want... but can ghosts even drink café au lait?"

"Of course a ghost can drink café au lait. We get offered sake as a tribute, after all."

"Well, if you can drink it, I guess I don't mind."

I really didn't want a scenario where, because her body was transparent, the floor ended up soaked as soon as I let her drink. I had no desire to be the culprit behind a café au lait stain spreading across the music room floor. Handing over the café au lait with slight wariness, she ruthlessly tilted the bottle and started chugging it down.

"Puhaa."

And just like that, the café au lait, which had been more than half full, was instantly emptied.

Puhaa, my foot.

Transparent body or not, I never expected her to drain the whole thing.

"Don't you have any sense of restraint or anything?"

"I figured it was like an offering... maybe this will even let me pass on."

"Wouldn't you hate passing on because of a half-drunk café au lait... I mean, for both our sakes?"

I mean, there's absolutely zero emotional weight or anything in that. After spending this much time together, I'd at least hoped for a slightly more touching ending.

"Well, true, I'd hate to be remembered as a ghost who passed on over a vending machine café au lait."

Murmuring "hmm," Sunohara-san tossed the empty bottle toward the trash can. The now weightless bottle lost speed mid-air and crashed to the floor halfway there, rolling with a dry, hollow clatter. Feeling a sort of kindred disgust at that lack of effort, I averted my eyes and threw it in the trash can myself.

"Oh, right. By way of apology, I'll grant whatever request you have. Let's call it even with this."

Isn't that very ghost-like? she added weirdly.

I felt like granting wishes was the territory of demons or genies, not ghosts.

But since her offering such a proposal was a godsend, I decided to take her up on it.

"Then please play the piano. I want to hear your performance one more time, Sunohara-san."

"........................"

Perhaps not expecting to be asked to perform, Sunohara-san's expression vanished for a moment, and she fell silent. Her gaze took on a sharp edge and pierced through me. It felt as if she was trying to gouge out my true intentions.

Then, letting out a long, thin breath, she moved her stiff lips.

"Are you sure about that? When I say anything, I truly mean anything, you know? Like cursing someone you hate to death. Don't you have any requests that scream 'Only a ghost could do this!'?"

For a moment, my weak heart tried to conjure up a human I wanted to kill. But the only things that came to mind were scenes from the past. Fortunately, it seemed I currently had no one I hated enough to want dead.

"I was thinking I wanted to hear your 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' again, Sunohara-san. So please."

Her hand clenched tightly on its own.

As if enduring something—or as if wringing something out.

"...I see. To think you took a liking to that thing... you seem to have quite eccentric tastes. Well, it would be a disgrace as a performer to ignore such eager anticipation. Let us fulfill your request."

Sunohara-san sat on the chair placed in front of the piano.

She removed the lid, took off the cover, and her back straightened smoothly—her expression taking on a stern edge.

Then, as if recalling the feel of the keys, her fingers gently stroked the surface, and the keys sank.

—Twin-kle twin-kle.

And from the monotonous main theme, she plunged into the arranged section known as the first variation.

Having listened to it multiple times since yesterday and having looked it up a bit, I remembered the structure of the piece.

The base melody part, the dancing—flowing part; they alternated, and the tone gradually changed. At first it was cheerful, in the middle it grew melancholic, and toward the end it overcame that, accompanied by a new brilliance—most other people's performances gave that kind of impression.

But, as expected, Sunohara-san's performance was different.

It wasn't that she was adding her own arrangement to the piece.

Even though she should just be striking the keys according to the sheet music, exactly as written, the impression her performance gave was unique, unlike any other. It scraped and gouged at my heart, making me restless.

—I'm sure this is jealousy.

I was jealous of her, who could give such a staggering performance. I couldn't tell the quality of the playing. But her performance was more intense and ghastly than any I had heard, and above all, it shook my emotions.

More than anything—it felt as if another kind of 'jealousy' was swirling within it.

It was a clear jealousy, directed not at me, but from Sunohara-san herself toward someone else. The blazing green flames of jealousy—they rode on the melody she played and spread throughout the room. What was Sunohara-san jealous of? Was it the reality that she was dead and I was alive? Or was that feeling directed at someone more specific—someone other than me?

If that's the case, I want that jealousy directed straight at me.

For some reason, I desperately wished for that.

—Why am I alive instead of Sunohara-san?

I found myself seriously thinking such things. When I talked with her, I thought, I wouldn't mind giving her my fingers. I didn't know exactly why I felt that way back then.

But the emotion I felt now was a stronger impulse—different from back then.

Rather than aimlessly wasting my days away like this, wouldn't it be better to hand this body over to her and have her use it to play the piano? I wouldn't mind dying for that purpose. Above all, I found myself thinking that even for this body, that would be the ultimate happiness.

The performance ended, and Sunohara-san let out a long, thin breath, as if releasing the heat that had built up in her body. Because I knew beforehand what kind of performance hers was, the shock wasn't as great as yesterday's. And because I had mentally prepared myself, I felt I was able to listen more closely to the details.

Sending the applause I couldn't manage yesterday, I opened my mouth.

"I've been listening to various performances since yesterday, but I really like yours the best, Sunohara-san."

Hearing my words, a shadow fell over her expression.

It was a reaction like a girl whose emotional scars, which she didn't want pointed out, had been touched.

"I'm glad you say that. And... you really do have eccentric tastes. However—"

Sunohara-san cast her eyes down, turning her cute hair whorl toward me. Her hair trembled faintly, embodying her hesitation and suffering. I didn't know what to do and could only wait for her to speak her next words. As if reprimanding myself for what I had said, my heart was pounding awfully loudly.

As if shaking off her hesitation, Sunohara-san directed a straightforward gaze at me and spoke.

"I hate my own performance more than anything else in this world."

It was a declaration, and at the same time, a condemnation.

It was a strong statement, as if cutting down her own music—and me, who had said I liked it.

Was it my imagination that the air in the room felt like it had frozen for a second?

Twitch, her fingertips moved first, and from there, her body gradually regained its movement.

"That can't be... why?"

With stiff lips that were on the verge of trembling, I barely managed to say just that.

Ignoring my bewilderment, she beckoned me over with a small wave.

"Could you come here for a second?"

Suspicious, but drawn in nonetheless, I walked over to the piano.

When I arrived by her side, she took my hand and stroked my fingers.

—It really is a soft hand.

I had thought a pianist's fingers would have tougher skin, so I was a little surprised. Her fingers were the exact opposite, soft and plump, just like a baby's hand.

"Sunohara... san?"

Ignoring my question, she continued to stroke my hand affectionately.

From the base of my fingers to the tips of my nails, between my fingers and across my palm, she lifted my hand and brought it to her mouth.

Is she going to kiss it? The moment I thought that—

Crunch—she forcefully sank her teeth into my right ring finger, right between the second and third joints.

"Ouch!"

Not expecting to be bitten, I yanked my hand back in surprise.

The bitten area throbbed with heat, and I could tell something hot was dripping down to my fingertip. But I didn't have the luxury to check my finger right now; I had my hands full just staring back into Sunohara-san's eyes.

"You have beautiful fingers."

Sunohara-san's words were completely off-topic.

There was no explanation for biting my finger, but her next words made me choke up.

"Slender, long—they look almost like a man's hands. I like them."

"Ugh—"

It wasn't because of the pain, but because those words poked at my inferiority complex. My height wasn't that far off from the average high school girl's, but my hands were big enough to hold a basketball with one hand. For someone like me, who possessed neither the skill nor the sense to put the size of these hands to good use, they were a complete waste of potential and nothing but a source of an inferiority complex.

It had become a habit of mine to clasp my hands behind my back to hide these uselessly large, conspicuous hands.

Seeing my reaction, she smiled softly.

It was a gentle smile that seemed to envelop my very heart.

"It's exactly like your reaction just now. No matter how you might feel about it, to me, that performance is a massive lump of complexes. If someone tells me they like it... I wouldn't know how to react, right?"

Having choked on my words earlier, I had no reply.

Even so, comparing my fingers to Sunohara-san's performance felt somewhat wrong.

So, unable to give up, I regretfully threw a question at her.

"Why... is that performance a complex for you? Is it because... you're a ghost, Sunohara-san?"

"I am a good ghost when it comes to humans, but when it comes to the piano—I'm something akin to an evil spirit."

Her fingers stroked the piano keys.

With a touch like caressing a lover—an intense affection seeped from those fingers.

"Only toward the piano... I can't remain straightforward. My feelings inevitably become twisted. Like a virgin, I wanted to interact with the piano with pure, single-minded devotion, but even that is difficult."

Her fingertips rose, and her nails dug into the keys.

Adjacent keys sank down, echoing a jarring dissonance.

"Fufu. If possible, just once in my life—even for just a single moment, I wanted to be loved by the piano."

Looking at her profile as she said this, I felt a sense of déjà vu toward her expression.

At the same time, I was almost captivated by the melancholy, sorrow, and beauty of that expression. No, in the sense that I had lost my words, my heart had probably already been seized by her expression.

As if mocking the two of us, the bell signaling dismissal time rang out.

Trembling in surprise, I realized it was the bell, checked the clock, and saw the hands pointing to seven o'clock.

It was already dark outside, and the falling snow painted the night in deep colors.

—I have to say something.

I thought so, but her profile from a moment ago crossed my mind, and the words stuck in my throat.

"Looks like it's closing time. If you don't hurry up and go home, I might just trap you in here, you know?"

Having been gradually possessed by the music from earlier—and by Sunohara-san—I found myself thinking I wouldn't mind even if she did. After all, even if I left here and went home, all that awaited me was an unchanging daily routine and boring exam studying. And that boredom would surely continue to haunt me for eternity, even after I became an adult. If that was the case, I wanted to make this current, stimulating time—eternal.

As long as I had Sunohara-san and that music, I was fine with that.

"That was a joke just now. You should... take better care of yourself."

As if to sever my thoughts, Sunohara-san closed the piano lid with a snap.

The sorrow was wiped from her expression, and I felt as if I had just woken up from a dream.

"You have such beautiful fingers. They belong only to you, and you shouldn't give them to someone like me. So go home for today. You should think things over properly today and over the weekend. I'm sure you must have something you want to do, too, right? Agonize over it a lot, and if you still entertain the eccentric thought of wanting to stay with me... well, I'll give it some consideration then."

Push.f

With a light push on my back, the next thing I knew, I was riding the bus home. And with the ease of a screen swiping to the next scene, I was standing in the entryway of my house, eating dinner, and taking a bath.

As I sank my body into the bathtub, a sharp pain shot through my ring finger.

With that pain, my consciousness finally fully returned to my body.

Slowly lifting my right hand out of the bathwater, there were clear teeth marks left on my ring finger. Perhaps touching the hot water had opened the wound, as a red color was seeping out, and I licked it away with my tongue.

It tasted like rusted iron.

It felt as if the desires and impulses I had locked away deep within my heart were overflowing from this finger. After all, my emotions must have surely weathered and oxidized while living a boring high school life.

But the dreams I was supposed to have locked away were now, without a doubt, spilling into the bathtub.

Hot and painful.

Those kinds of feelings.

"'Think things over properly today and over the two days...' she said, huh."

The words I muttered under my breath carried an unexpected resonance, echoing in the bathroom.

If I thought it over for three days and my mind still hadn't changed, what would that person do to me? Would I, too, be trapped in the music room for eternity, just like her?

I didn't think that would be so bad, either. However—

"—What I want to do... huh."

I was surprised to find myself only focusing on the desires I had consciously averted my eyes from until now.

Things I want to do.

At the same time, things I don't want to do.

Even I didn't know the answer, but I couldn't help but face it. The moment I realized that, I couldn't sit still any longer, and I hurriedly got out of the bath.

Changing into loungewear and forgetting even to dry my hair, I sat at my desk.

I put away the textbooks and notebooks that were sitting on the desk merely as an excuse, and took it out.

It was an outdated laptop I had received from my father. The specs were a bit too low to play games on, but it was perfectly adequate for watching videos. However, that didn't mean I opened the laptop just because I wanted to watch videos. Nowadays, a smartphone is more than enough for that. So, it had been a very long time since I last booted it up.

I wanted to open a certain software installed on it.

After taking about ten seconds for the software to start up, characters filling the screen appeared.

"........................"

Following the rows of characters with my eyes, I was momentarily at a loss for words.

It was my half-written novel.

When was the last time I touched this?

I at least had no memory of writing it since becoming a second-year student, so it might be from over a year ago.

I experienced a phantom sense of nostalgia, embarrassment, and the feelings poured into it, making my body itch.

I closed the text whose contents I barely remembered, opened a new text file, and moved my fingers as I pleased. I was worried since it had been a while since I last wrote, but my fingers moved more smoothly than I had imagined. Moving my fingers out of habit naturally made the protagonist a high school girl, but I suppose that's charming in its own way.

Every time I used my right ring finger, a stinging pain shot through the spot where Sunohara-san had bitten me.

Like a curse, it scolded my wavering self.

What are your fingers for? Aren't they meant to grasp what you want to do, what you should do, with your own hands? It felt as if I was being told that, and my fingers moved on their own.

I knew that was surely just my own convenient interpretation.

But right now, I had no choice but to take it positively and forcefully push myself forward.

And so, I wrote the novel with unprecedented momentum, and the moment I snapped back to reality, it suddenly hit me.

Isn't this more like an autobiography than a novel?

The protagonist student meets a ghost in the art room and falls in love at first sight with the painting she's working on. However, the ghost says, "I hate my own paintings." The protagonist can't understand that feeling. She paints such wonderful pictures; there's no way she could hate her own art.

—To possess a talent I don't have, yet to hate that talent.

That arrogance angered me.

At the same time, I was indignant at the unreasonableness of the world, wondering why someone with such talent had to die.

I wondered why someone like me, who had nothing, was living aimlessly—I wanted to die.

—The one thinking that wasn't the protagonist of the novel, but undoubtedly me.

I had merely swapped the music room and art room, the piano and painting; the essence remained unchanged.

This was undeniably the story of me—Nago Miyuki, and the ghost—Sunohara Chifuyu.

However, when the protagonist was told by the ghost, "I hate my own paintings," my writing hand stopped. No matter how much I agonized over it, the subsequent sentences wouldn't come to mind.

The reason was simple: I didn't know how this story continued.

Why does she hate her own art?

What is the lingering regret she left behind?

And another question troubled the protagonist: "Why me?" Out of the many students, why did she take an interest in me, and only me, and try to make contact? No matter how much I pondered, I couldn't reach an answer that felt right, and only a sense of fatigue weighed me down.

Exhausted from worrying, I fell asleep at my desk.

I spent Saturday and Sunday thinking about it just like that, but in the end, I couldn't arrive at an answer that satisfied me. The only thing I realized was that I really didn't have any talent for writing novels.