And so, as usual, I packed my schedule for Monday and arrived at school, only to fall into despair.

Because my classmates weren't sitting in their usual seats—they were seated in attendance number order. I wasn't so stupid that I couldn't figure out the reason. Though I would have preferred to be stupid.

"...Final exams start today."

My classmates looked like they were just chatting, but they were actually quizzing each other.

Some students were silently messing with their smartphones, but they were definitely in the minority.

Because I had been so engrossed in writing my novel, I had completely forgotten my duty as a student.

To tell the truth, because I had been facing my computer until dawn, I was severely sleep-deprived. I had come in with the attitude of, "Worst case scenario, I'll just sleep during class!" so my sleepiness was hitting its absolute peak right now.

"You've got an awful look on your face for just coming back from the weekend. Were you pulling an all-nighter studying as usual?"

As I was about to sit down, Madoka's rapid-fire words rained down on me.

Because my consciousness was hazy, I couldn't understand even half of what she said.

"...Sleepy."

"Miyuki, are you okay? You didn't catch the flu or something, right? Are you really just sleepy?"

It seems I had such a groggy expression that Madoka was genuinely worried. I thought about cracking a witty joke, but my brain wasn't working properly. I mean—

"If it's the flu, it counts as an excused absence, so I wouldn't have to take the tests, right?"

I was cunningly thinking, I wish I would just catch the flu already... when the homeroom teacher came into the classroom. After giving the test instructions and writing the schedule on the blackboard, they quickly disappeared. Since the vast majority of the students were reading the notes spread out on their desks, I suppose it couldn't be helped.

In fact, even I was slumped over my desk without listening to a word the teacher said.

While my consciousness was slipping away, the proctor arrived, and the exam paper was placed on my desk. I thought to myself, It's really bad to sleep through the whole exam! and whipped my brain into shape to try and take the test, but sleepiness attacked me while my eyes were following the questions.

As a result, I'd lose consciousness for about ten seconds... then wake up thinking, Crap!—repeating this cycle over and over, taking nearly ten minutes just to solve a single question. Because of my useless struggling, the first day ended with the worst possible results. No, my mind, hazy from sleepiness, didn't even comprehend that much. With unsteady steps, I headed to the music room out of pure habit anyway.

Going all the way home felt like too much effort; I just wanted to sleep right this second.

And the moment I reached the music room, I collapsed and fell fast asleep. 

There, I had a strange dream.

A dream of Sunohara-san playing the piano in the music room. She wasn't playing the usual "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" variations, but a vague, probably classical piece that I felt like I had heard before, or maybe hadn't. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was that I wasn't listening to it as an audience member. But that didn't mean I had become Sunohara-san playing the piano, either.

In that dream, I was neither a human nor a ghost; I had become the piano, and she was playing me.

Sunohara-san's fingertips stroked my body.

Through those fingers, her sincere and straightforward love was conveyed to me.

She and I were one body and soul, burning our innocence solely to perform a single piece of music.

However, her fingering began to change into something violent, like she was scratching the keys. The performance, which had been as gentle as an embrace, left behind a rough trajectory, as if shaping hysterical emotions. It was as if she was desperately trying to leave at least a scar on the back of someone she thought was her lover. 

When I woke up—my cheeks were wet.

For some reason, I felt overwhelmingly sad, and my chest was a mess of emotions.

I stayed bundled up in the blanket in a daze for a while—Wait, blanket...? Noticing the anomaly, I sat up.

The location was still the music room, but my body had somehow been tucked into a blanket. On top of that, the entire music room was heated, so I even had a light sweat forming on my body.

"To think you had this kind of talent."

A voice rained down from above me, and my internal organs trembled from the surprise.

When I shifted my gaze, Sunohara-san was sitting on the center desk in the front row, swinging her legs.

My eyes were drawn to the unhealthy-looking calves extending from her white dress, and her childish kneecaps.

"Talent...?"

I couldn't immediately understand what she was talking about.

As my eyes wandered, before comprehension could set in, the stack of manuscript paper in her hands caught my eye.

"H-hey, that's—"

"It was in your bag so I took the liberty of reading it. Judging by the content, you wrote this, didn't you?"

Jumping up in a panic, I snatched the manuscript paper from her hands.

Checking the first page, it was indeed the story I had been struggling to write.

...Why is this printed out?

Looking back on my actions, I remembered printing it out with sleepy eyes this morning, intending to revise it at school. The shock of it being the first day of exams had made me completely forget.

"M-more importantly, why are you going through someone else's bag without permission—"

"My one and only friend collapsed the moment she entered the music room, you know? Even I was worried. Enough to check inside your bag thinking maybe you had cold medicine in there."

"Ugh."

I couldn't tell if those words were a lie or the truth.

But when she put it like that, I couldn't argue back too strongly either.

Tracing it back to the source, it was my fault for falling asleep so defenselessly in a place like this.

"Well, thanks to that, I was able to deduce that it was just a simple lack of sleep. That's why I provided you with a warm blanket and heating, didn't I? Let's call it even with this. Honestly, you slept well, didn't you?"

Hearing that, I checked the clock; the hands pointed just past 6:00 PM.

Exams ended at 12:00, so mathematically, I had been sleeping straight for about six hours.

"...The sleeping conditions were definitely top-notch, but still."

"See? It's a win-win. Let's not have any petty, boring squabbles."

I felt like I had been sweet-talked into it, but with my slow, just-woken-up brain, I didn't feel like continuing the argument any further. Plus, sleeping in a heated room for a long time made me terribly thirsty. After chugging the contents of the water bottle in my bag, my vision and thoughts cleared up a bit. Watching my actions, Sunohara-san was smiling the whole time, seemingly amused by something.

"I'm asking this fully aware of how conceited it sounds... but I'm the model for this ghost in the art room, right?"

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

For a moment, I was at a loss for words.

But since the person in question had read it all the way to the end, there was no reason to hide it now.

If I tried to hide it, she'd probably just gleefully tease me about the fact that I was hiding it.

"That's right. I modeled her after you, Sunohara-san."

It wasn't like I thought, I'll use her as a model! I just wrote unconsciously, and it naturally turned out that way... but I kept that to myself because it felt somehow creepier.

"For that to be the case, it feels like it ends in a very half-finished way. What happens next? I think it's probably close to the climax, so how do you plan to end it?"

Sunohara-san asked this with the face of a reader looking forward to the ending. As the author, I wanted to meet those expectations, but no matter how I thought about it, it was impossible. Because I—

"...I don't know."

The words spilled out surprisingly honestly. Hearing my answer, Sunohara-san's eyes went wide. But it was only for a second; she narrowed her eyes, formed a smile, and spoke gently.

"What do you mean you don't know? This is your story, isn't it?"

"...It's true that I wrote this story. But if you ask me whose story it is, it's not mine; it belongs to the protagonist and the ghost that appear in the story. So, I don't know."

Sunohara-san gave an "I see" reply, though I couldn't tell if she was actually convinced or not.

Then, after a hesitant pause, she peered into my face.

As always, I looked back into those eyes—as clear as a spring, yet as bottomless as an abyss.

"What do you... want this ghost in the art room to do?"

"I—"

I am neither the protagonist in the story nor the ghost, let alone Sunohara Chifuyu.

What do I, someone who is none of those things, want to happen to this ghost?

As someone who should just be an outsider, what, and how much, am I allowed to wish for? But if I didn't think about the details and was allowed to step deeply into it, my true feelings were singular.

"I want this ghost to paint."

There was no need to even think about it; the answer was obvious.

"Happily, blissfully... as if painting itself is the only purpose."

I just wanted this ghost to paint. But—

"But because she could no longer do that, that girl committed suicide and became a ghost, didn't she?"

Right. Painting being fun and making her happy was a thing of the past.

I know that much. I know it, but I still can't help wishing for it.

"But... isn't that an incredibly sad thing?"

I just voiced my feelings and desires like a child.

"When she started, it was fun, she was engrossed in it, and that alone was supposed to make her happy... but at some point it got twisted, it only produced suffering, and she was slowly strangled and killed by it."

Despairing at the gap between the fun past and the agonizing present.

When that happens, you inevitably convince yourself that the future will also be overflowing with even more suffering than now.

Even I understand that painfully well.

So this was my selfishness, throwing away things like experience, reason, and logic.

"In the end, I—I want this ghost to throw everything away once more and face painting with the innocence of a child. I want her to give it her all just to satisfy herself alone. But, how she can remember those childlike feelings... I don't know."

Perhaps to digest my words.

After a beat, Sunohara-san's expression twisted.

She made a somewhat unpleasant face, like she was spitting out sand that had gotten into her mouth. But it seemed that, once again, it wasn't directed at me, but at something else.

"This might sound like nitpicking, but... who decided that children are innocent?"

That took on the most ghost-like tone of any voice she had used so far.

"Children are probably the ones with the strongest desire to be 'praised by someone' above all else. They want to be praised by their mom or dad, they want to be acknowledged—children can work hard with that single-minded focus. The reason children look innocent and unadulterated is probably because, to them, nothing else exists besides the people they love. So, in the end, becoming innocent like a child means nothing more than—finding someone you want to be acknowledged and praised by, even if it means setting everything else aside."

To be praised by just a single someone.

Hearing those words, for some reason, my chest creaked loudly.

What about me?

Who exactly did I want to praise me, to acknowledge me, when I started writing novels? When I tried to recall that, the core of my heart throbbed with pain, and it became hard to breathe.

"In that sense, I might have already been saved, though."

"Eh?"

Because my consciousness was turned inward, I couldn't immediately understand Sunohara-san's words.

But before I could comprehend it, she took my hand and headed toward the piano.

"If that's the case... I'd like to hear you play the piano."

And because her words went in a completely different direction, I was completely lost.

"No, no, I can't play the piano! I can't even read sheet music."

"I'm well aware of that. It's not like I'm telling you to play Debussy or Rachmaninoff. Still, even with just one finger, it's not impossible for you to play the main theme of your beloved 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'."

I didn't know Debussy or Rachmaninoff, but just from the names, they sounded difficult.

As if to cut off my retreat, Sunohara-san steadily made preparations.

"At first, I'll teach you how to move your fingers, and I'll help with the accompaniment, too."

In her mind, it was already decided that I was going to play. I didn't have the energy to push back against her when she was this enthusiastic and say "No!", so I just followed along as she guided me.

"Now, sit down."

The moment preparations were complete, Sunohara-san patted the leather chair.

"...Only for a little bit, okay?"

When I sat down, taking advantage of the opportunity, Sunohara-san neatly settled herself onto my lap.

"...Why."

"Well... honestly I wanted to sit behind you, but as you can see, I have a small body. If I tried to sit behind you, I might get crushed by your large body, right?"

While spouting sarcasm, she seemed to have hurt her own pride in the process, letting out an "Ugh..." as if biting down on humiliation. Then, pulling herself together, she clapped her hands loudly.

"Never mind that! Just never mind. For now, try placing your hands on top of mine."

I placed my hands over Sunohara-san's, which were resting on the keys.

Her small hands fit completely inside mine.

Her body, her hands—all of her fit inside me. I always thought she was very small, but pressing our bodies together like this made her smallness stand out even more.

...It smells like Sunohara-san.

Since the top of her head was right at my mouth, the scent tickled my nostrils whether I wanted it or not. A scent that seemed like a mix of 50% shampoo, 20% dust, 20% sweat, and 10% other things. That, apparently, was the smell of a ghost.

It's a scent that would probably divide people's tastes.

It wasn't exactly a good smell, but it was the kind of smell that could become addictive.

"Try gripping it a little tighter. Like your fingers sink in together with mine."

Focused on her scent, her words brought me back to my senses, and I hurriedly gripped her hands.

Filled with some indescribable emotion, my hands almost started sweating, and I forcefully calmed my heart with a deep breath.

As a test, Sunohara-san pressed a key down with her index finger. My index finger, resting on top of hers, sank down as well, making me fall into the inexplicable feeling that my own finger was moving on its own.

—Is this what it feels like to be possessed by a spirit?

Though I also thought, since she's a ghost, she could just directly possess me.

"Right. That's good. Now, we'll begin playing."

Matching the movement of Sunohara-san's fingers, my fingers moved, and notes were played accordingly.

Ta-ra-ra-ra, ra-ra-ra—Even though it was a sequence of notes that could barely be called music, the fact that it was being played through my own fingers was surprisingly pleasant. It was probably because I was usually only writing words. It was a fresh experience, full of fun, and my own simple-mindedness felt funny. But the simple main theme that even I could play quickly came to an end.

In response, I, with my hands over hers, could tell she was trying to stop her fingers.

"Could you... keep playing like this a little longer?"

"I don't mind, but I think it'll be difficult to move your right hand like this, you know."

"Then I'm fine with just my left hand. I just want to play with you a little longer, Sunohara-san."

There was no verbal reply; instead, the fingers of Sunohara-san's right hand began to intricately carve out notes.

I continued to play the monotonous main theme on top of Sunohara-san's left hand. In the time it took me to strike a key once, her right fingers layered notes four times—tararara, tararara. My notes and her notes overlapped, merged, and performed a single piece of music. It was unbearably fun. After playing the basic melody a few times like that, I became able to sound the notes with my left hand even without Sunohara-san's support.

"Yes, exactly. You're pretty good. As expected from someone who types on a computer keyboard, you might be used to moving your fingers. The movements of your fingers are much smoother than I imagined."

"I don't know. It's still completely different from typing on a keyboard."

With a computer keyboard, you can type at whatever speed you like, but here you have to strike within a set rhythm, so it really is difficult. Though I think that's exactly what makes it interesting and is the core of it.

For about thirty minutes after that, we took turns striking the keys however we pleased.

By the time the performance ended, it was safe to say I was already in a state of complete exhaustion.

"Piano keys are surprisingly heavy, aren't they."

Even though we had only played for about thirty minutes, the muscles in my fingers and wrists were quite fatigued.

"The weight of the keys varies depending on the piano, but ours might be on the heavier side."

I nodded, accepting that's just how it was.

Even so, I was impressed by how she could effortlessly manipulate those heavy keys with such small hands. I was about to open my mouth to tell Sunohara-san that, but she was staring at me with a serious look in her eyes, so I kept my mouth shut. After all, we were still pressed closely together, and her face was close enough to feel my breath. She had an anxious look on her face, which naturally made my body tense up as well.

"Is something wrong?"

When I asked, she let out a sigh as if giving up on something, and a faint, wry smile appeared on her face.

"Could you come to the music room one more time tomorrow after school?"

"...Tomorrow after school?"

I felt a slight sense of incongruity at Sunohara-san putting it into words like that.

Even if she hadn't asked, I surely would have visited here tomorrow anyway.

And Sunohara-san must have guessed that I would be coming tomorrow, too.

In that case, it was natural to assume that her words held some sort of—solemn meaning.

As if to search for her true intentions, I observed her expression in detail. She stared back at me with a troubled look, and after a brief silence, with an expression of firm resolve, she spoke those words.

"At that time, I'll let you hear a proper performance. A performance with everything I have right now."

"Does that mean—"

"If I do that, I'm sure... I feel like I'll be able to pass on, too."

I didn't remember what answer I gave to Sunohara-san's resolve.

Did I say yes?

Did I say I didn't want to?

Did I not answer at all?

Or did I give a completely different reply—I didn't know the answer to that. But anyway, before I knew it, I was in my room, sitting blankly on the edge of my bed, staring at the plain wallpaper.

The lights were barely on, but maybe the bulb was dying, because the room was strangely dim.

Lately—since meeting Sunohara-san—this kind of thing had been happening more often.

My mind would be elsewhere, and my body would move on its own out of habit. Was I thinking about anything constructive during that time? Not at all; my brain just kept spinning in circles in the same place.

—Passing on, huh.

I ruminated on Sunohara-san's words from earlier over and over in my head.

She might be able to pass on. I found myself unable to genuinely rejoice at that fact.

I had been going to the music room almost every day specifically to help her pass on.

But the moment it appeared right in front of me as an option, hesitation sprouted within me.

"What do I want to do?"

Tomorrow after school, if I visit the music room and listen to her performance, she will be satisfied and pass on.

But if I really thought about it, that meant parting ways with her.

She is the dead and I am the living. I think I understand that our encounter itself is something distorted. But the fact remains that we have met like this, and we have nurtured something akin to friendship.

At the very least, enough that I felt reluctant to part with her.

What if I just didn't go to the music room? Make up some reason—no, I don't even need a reason. What if I just ran away solely because I didn't want her to pass on?

She wouldn't be able to pass on, and would remain trapped in the music room.

But if I did that, I could continue to share that silly but precious time with her from now on. That might be a more fun, wonderful everyday life than drowning in music.

I want her to pass on properly.

But I don't want to part with her, either.

I didn't even understand myself anymore, and the choices and values resting on the scales wobbled and swayed.

While I was agonizing over this, I noticed slanting light shining in from the side. Glancing over, a blindingly loud sunlight was peeking through the gap in the curtains, stinging my sleep-deprived eyes.

...In the end, I couldn't decide by morning.

Naturally, I hadn't had the leeway to study for exams—and before even worrying about that, it was completely obvious that I was going to fall asleep during the test again today, so I gave up on everything and spent the exams sleeping.