“That’s Joel Winkler. He’s fairly well known among the younger musicians. A rising star, you might say.”

Astaire noticed where my gaze had gone and helpfully told me about the person playing the piano.

“He’s remarkable. He plays at such speed without a single mistake.”

The description of a rising star didn’t seem like an exaggeration. The playing that kept up its rapid pace was genuinely impressive. It was a performance I could never replicate, with my complete lack of confidence in technique. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The people around him were whistling and pouring out applause.

“Rapid playing is one of Winkler’s signature strengths. His fundamentals are solid and his technique is good, so some people name him as Sio Lieselotte’s successor. Nonsense, of course. His interpretation of pieces is too shallow. He’ll never amount to much.”

It was a sharp assessment, but I agreed. It was a technique I could never match, but it wasn’t a sound I wanted. Winkler’s playing, racing along without pause, held nothing but a desire to show off his speed, and there was no beauty in it.

‘The hands that play the piano are merely a tool for expressing the music. The essence lies in the heart. It’s fine to make mistakes. Try to play the story inside the score.’

It was what Sio used to say whenever he saw me straining to play with precision. The same person who said that and yet never made even a small mistake himself, the infuriating man.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?”

Astaire asked, turning to me as I stood lost in thought listening to the playing.

“Please.”

Only at those words did I realize I was quite thirsty. I nodded and asked, and Astaire smiled and walked toward the drinks.

The moment he stepped away, young artists who had been watching for their chance swarmed around him. Astaire, now surrounded by people, was carrying on a conversation with them without the slightest sign of being flustered, just as he always was. It seemed it would take him quite some time to get back.

I leaned against the wall and turned my ear to Winkler’s playing. The tempo was growing faster and faster.

‘He’ll cave the keys in if he keeps playing like that.’

It was a performance aggressive enough to be worrying. But I wouldn’t play that way. Rapid playing always has a purpose. Not to show off brilliance, but to release the passion buried in the heart.

‘So in this passage…’

“If he adjusted the dynamics more carefully, the emotion would come through so much better. What a shame.”

The words I had been thinking to myself came from right beside me. The voice was so familiar that my eyes flew open. Sio was there beside me, leaning against the wall with a glass of champagne in hand.

“Mr. Lieselotte.”

“……Mr. Lieselotte, is it now?”

After some deliberation I had managed to call him by his surname rather than his first name, and Sio looked at me with a strangely pinched expression. It had been a month since we last met. Since the day I came to know him, there had never been a stretch this long without seeing him.

Our eyes met, and my heart dropped out of habit, whether I wanted it to or not. I was glad I had dressed well and put on makeup. If I had been here looking shabby, the wretchedness of it would have sent me fleeing on the spot.

“I was wondering who had come in with Astaire. So it was you. I thought you had no interest in places like this.”

“I simply hadn’t been before, so I didn’t know whether I was interested or not. Now that I’m here, it’s not bad at all. Listening to other people’s music is enjoyable too.”

I spoke bluntly, but I meant it. The salon was interesting enough to make me regret not having listened to other people’s music sooner. Simply listening to someone else play and thinking about my own playing put me in good spirits.

“I heard you’re taking lessons with Astaire. He was scolding me for not teaching you how to read sheet music properly.”

Come to think of it, Sio was the one who had introduced Astaire. The two of them were so different in temperament that I had forgotten. The thought that my every move would reach Sio through Astaire did not sit well with me at all.

‘Surely he isn’t reporting everything that happens between us back to Sio.’

My brow furrowed on its own.

“I made such a fuss about quitting piano, and here I am studying with the teacher you introduced. Go ahead and laugh if you find it amusing.”

Holding on to the piano, the very thing that connected me to him, could look like lingering attachment depending on how you saw it. I was prepared to endure Sio’s mockery, but he shook his head with a straightforward expression.

“Not at all. It’s a good thing. I thought Astaire would find some way to get you back in front of a piano. That’s why I recommended him.”

Sio was actually smiling. Something surged up inside my chest at the sight. He looked almost relieved, and that look reminded me that I had only ever been a burden on his conscience. I was on edge, afraid that even the smallest thing might bring a memory of him rushing back, while he was smiling without a care. The wretchedness of that was unbearable.

I wanted to tell him that, just as he meant nothing to me, I meant nothing to him either. I had rehearsed that scene in my imagination countless times, saying it with my head held high after I had forgotten him, but the real me was still just the Danyu Astrid of her youth, the girl who had carried him in her heart.

“……You’re truly cruel.”

At the murmur that came out like a sigh, Sio’s smile disappeared.

“You never once tried to hold on. Couldn’t you have held on just once? I was always the one holding on, so you could have done it just once. Just one time. Was I not even worth that much to you?”

It was always me reaching out my hand. The one who loves first is the one who loses out. That’s just how it is. I had told myself that, but it didn’t make it any less painful.

Before going to face Sio when he was with another woman, I would pace in front of the door for a long time trying to hold back tears, and after working up the courage over and over throughout the day to finally say what I felt, I would wonder why I was doing this to myself. I’m not like this. 

There was a time when I was brighter than this, more sure of myself. I had thought that, and yet in the end, even when saying goodbye, I had wanted to stay by his side, even if only as his student.

“Am I asking for too much? Just a simple warning. That you had met someone you cared for, that you were getting engaged, that you couldn’t return my feelings. If you knew I had cared for you for so long, you could have told me in advance. Did you think I would throw a fit and refuse to let you get engaged? What kind of person introduces their fiancée out of nowhere like that and makes someone look like a fool?”

“I simply didn’t think it was something you needed to know. And it wasn’t.”

I hadn’t been asking for much. A rejection would have been enough. Just one word of thanks for caring about him, that was all I had wanted, but what came back was always that troubled smile. This felt exactly like seeing that face again. A quiet refusal. Sio Lieselotte had never even thought to tell me about the engagement in advance. That was how much my confessions had meant to him.

The fresh realization that my sincerity had never once reached him made my eyes sting. I wanted to say something to him, but I knew that whatever I said would fail to reach him, just as every confession before it had.

“I see. I was asking for too much. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you all this time.”

I lifted the hem of my skirt and gave a proper bow. Sio’s face stiffened as he watched, but I said nothing more and turned away to look for Astaire.

He had been pulled along by the crowd at some point and was now standing near the piano. A young woman sitting at the piano had taken hold of Astaire’s arm and was smiling up at him with her eyes.

“I’m not quite sure how to play this part.”

The woman was pulling Astaire toward her and whispering in his ear. I walked over and approached the piano. The sudden presence made the people gathered around turn to look at me. Among those gazes was Astaire’s, but I walked past him and picked up the champagne sitting on top of the piano.

“Miss Danyu?”

Astaire called my name in a puzzled voice. Instead of answering, I drank down what was likely the champagne he had brought for me. I held the empty glass in one hand and pressed down on the keys with the other, and a jarring discord rang out through the salon.

Now every person in the salon, not just those near the piano, turned to look at me. The young woman’s eyes went wide and she let go of Astaire’s arm in surprise.

“You said you were going to get champagne.”

I handed the empty glass to Astaire, and he took it on reflex and studied my face. Astaire, who had always read my face without being told, caught my distress again at once.

“What’s wrong with your face? Did something happen?”

“Never mind that. Just get me out of here. Now.”