It was only natural, given that she had played piano for three days without rest. Even after just a few hours at the piano her whole body would be exhausted, so how she had managed to play for three full days was beyond her. She shook her head at her own foolishness, and Astaire let out a sigh heavy enough to sink the floor. That sigh, which felt like a reprimand, brought a wave of embarrassment over her.

“But how are you here, Mr. Astaire?”

She tried to change the subject, and Astaire’s expression, which had softened for a moment, twisted again. It seemed she had chosen the wrong topic.

“The Astrid manor was thrown into complete chaos. Naturally, since someone who had been shut inside the salon for days suddenly bolted out of the house. Lady Astrid sent someone to ask whether you might have come to me. And in the end, here you were, Miss Danyu.”

His words brought back the image of the maid’s startled face, which she had passed the moment she left the salon. How frightened she must have been, seeing the young miss who had been holed up for days come tearing out at that late hour. And on top of that, she had gone and fled the manor entirely with a completely vacant look on her face. It was safe to say the maid had been more than frightened enough to believe she had seen a ghost.

And how shocked must her mother have been, hearing that her daughter had run out of the house like a madwoman? Her mother had always emphasized propriety with her, a daughter who was already far from demure, so this incident might very well have sent her collapsing with a hand clutched to the back of her neck.

“I heard you asked Sio to play Seydel for you.”

Astaire spoke to her as her thoughts spiraled and her face grew increasingly pale. Only upon hearing his words did she remember that she and Astaire had made a promise not to listen to the eighth sonata until the Jubilion. She had been out of her mind with a torrent of thoughts, but that was no excuse for breaking a promise, especially after having already won an award. She stole a careful glance at Astaire’s expression, feeling guilty, and he let out a hollow laugh.

“I’m angry. That you ended up here, after all. Even though it may have been what I intended.”

A quiet irritation came through in his words even as he smiled. She felt on the verge of tears and grabbed the hem of his clothes, but her hand, with no strength left in it, slipped and fell away. Astaire’s gaze dropped to her hand as it fell.

“I’m sorry. For breaking my promise. But I understand now. Why you told me not to listen to someone else’s eighth sonata.”

At those words, which slipped out almost like a murmur to herself, Astaire’s expression shifted to something unreadable. He looked like he hadn’t expected her to say something like that.

“You wanted me not to form a bias from hearing someone else’s performance?”

Astaire had once said that listening to another person’s performance before developing your own interpretation creates a bias. Bias creates limitations, and the moment limitations form, the world narrows. Astaire had already known that. It was likely because he had run into that kind of bias again and again while learning music at the side of a once-in-a-generation genius like Sio Lieselotte. Astaire had not wanted her to walk the same path he had. In that sense, he was a better teacher than she had understood him to be.

“You said it yourself, Mr. Astaire. That I needed to look at what the source of my emotions was, what lay at my very bottom. After hearing that, I kept thinking about who I am as a person. And in the end, at the very bottom of it all, there was only Sio Lieselotte. Isn’t that funny? That a person’s life could be filled with someone other than themselves. But what can you do? It’s funny, but it’s the truth.”

At the end of all that playing, the place she had arrived at always held Sio Lieselotte. Joy, sorrow, even anger. Every emotion she had ever felt began with him and ended with him. In other words, he was her past itself. After resolving to forget him, she had tried to reclaim her life by denying his existence, but that approach could never have led her to a future. Because no one in this world can move toward the future without a past.

So instead of denying him, she decided to accept him. Not to erase the version of herself that had loved Sio Lieselotte, but to embrace even that girl she had once been. The true meaning of forgetting that she had found within the music was not deletion, but the courage to stop running from the past.

“Sio will never disappear from my life. He’s already a part of it. When I realized that, my sound came to me.”

Astaire, who had been listening quietly, gave a bitter smile and lightly stroked her head. The hand that grazed the top of her head was very gentle, but strangely, his face was dark.

“Is that so? That’s the conclusion you reached, Miss Danyu.”

Astaire’s voice scattered like a murmur to himself, and the firmly shut door swung open at the same moment. His gaze drifted toward the door at the sound of it opening. Sio stood there, watching them with an unreadable expression.

“Now that Sio is here, I’ll take my leave.”

Astaire pressed his lips lightly to her hand where it lay limp and fallen. The clean, brief touch of his lips felt strangely like a final farewell, and it left her with an odd feeling. She didn’t know why, but she felt she had to stop him right then. By the time she reached out her hand, though, he had already risen and moved far away. The emptiness of her outstretched hand felt unfamiliar.

“Eat. It’s a mild potato soup. You haven’t eaten properly in a week, so this should be about right.”

Before she knew it, Sio had come to her side as she sat there in a daze. The rich, savory smell rising from the soup he held out brought back old memories she couldn’t help but feel. When she was very young, she would sometimes eat food Sio had made and talk with him warmly. But at some point the two of them had grown awkward around each other, and the time they spent together had gradually become unfamiliar. It had probably been after she confessed her feelings to him.

“It’s been a while. Did you make this yourself?”

“Well. There’s no one else around, really.”

Like most people of common birth, Sio felt little need for live-in servants. A small townhouse, unlike a large estate like the Astrid manor, needed nothing more than someone hired to come by regularly and clean. For that reason, Sio was more capable in the kitchen than one might expect. He’d had no choice, if he wanted to feed himself.

She found it a little funny that even though Sio was now engaged, his life remained the same as ever. She had been seized with a fear that his engagement meant something would change at any moment, and had burst into tears, but in reality his life looked no different from the way she remembered it.

She couldn’t hold back a wry laugh and wrapped her hands around the bowl of warm soup. As the warmth thawed her cold fingertips, her heart eased considerably.

“Mr. Astaire said you won’t win the Jubilion this year.”

“Astaire did? Did you hear his reason?”

It would have been an enormous shock to hear that Sio Lieselotte, the foremost musician in the capital, would not win the Jubilion, but Sio himself simply tilted his head with perfect calm. If anything, he seemed more curious about whether she knew the reason than about the prediction that he wouldn’t win. She studied his face for a moment, then shook her head.

“No. But you don’t need to tell me. Given that you haven’t told me until now, I doubt you’d answer even if I asked. Besides, there’s already a bet on the line, so hearing it in advance would be cheating.”

“A bet? Did you make that with Astaire as well?”

“Yes.”

Sio’s eyes widened at her answer, clearly surprised. She asked if something was wrong, and he shook his head easily.

“No. I just didn’t expect the two of you to get this close. Astaire has a bit of a sly streak. You’ve never been fond of people like that.”

“If we’re talking about sly streaks, you’re no less guilty than he is, you know.”

“You’re calling me Sio again.”

Sio caught the change in how she addressed him and pointed it out. She gave no particular reply and turned her gaze down to the bowl in her hands.

“I played. Without stopping, on and on. With every key I pressed, the me I had hidden away deep inside came pouring out. The me that was sometimes passionate, sometimes cowardly, sometimes pathetic. Why didn’t I know something like this until now.”

The fact that she could call him Sio again was possible only because something inside her had shifted more than she had realized. Of course, Sio would have no idea.

“I’m going to win the Jubilion. It might sound absurd, but right now I feel like I can.”

It wasn’t a declaration a novice should be making in front of a great musician. She had expected Sio to laugh at her for talking nonsense, but he accepted her words with complete ease.

“I don’t think it’s absurd. I told you. You have talent. I saw it from the very beginning.”

“Do you think I could even surpass you?”

“If you’ve found your sound, then perhaps. But it won’t be easy.”

His clear green eyes held sincerity. The moment she saw them, a question that had been growing inside her since she began lessons with Astaire rose to the surface again.

“Sio. Could it be that the reason you never accepted me until now……”

She opened her mouth on impulse, but didn’t follow it through to the end.

“Never mind. I’ll ask later.”

Whatever the answer, she didn’t want to hear it right now. She handed back the soup she hadn’t even touched and climbed out of the bed. A wave of dizziness made her sway for a moment, and Sio reached out a hand with a displeased look, but she stood on her own. Sio watched her empty hand with an unreadable expression.

“I have something I want to say when the Jubilion is over. I really hope you’ll hear me out. Don’t run away, don’t avoid it. Listen to what I have to say.”

“Alright. I will.”

She gave him a bright smile at his hesitant reply, and Sio’s expression twisted in a strange way.