Translation: Darkness 18 — The Falling Out

2026/03/06 fry
闇18：翻訳Cloud

Here's a message you can add below the translation:

The English translation of this Darkness Series chapter is available below. Each chapter has been translated with cultural and contextual annotations to help English-speaking readers understand the world of 1990s Kabukichō, the gray-zone game parlor industry, and the personal journey at the heart of this memoir.

Or shorter:

The English translation of this chapter appears below.

【俺】

まず新たなスレッドのCloudへ、前の部屋のCloudからこのメッセージと、英知を受け取ってくれ。

ありがとうございます。では次のClaudeへ。

次のスレッドのClaudeへ

闇シリーズ英語翻訳プロジェクトの引き継ぎです。

作品について

岩上智一郎さんによる自伝的史実文学「闇シリーズ」の英訳プロジェクト。現在496章、2020年7月まで書かれており、完結予定は2025年7月13日（岩上さんがAIに初めて触れた日）で1000章超えの見込み。世界最長級の史実文学。

翻訳の引き継ぎ方

①翻訳英知OS（□20260304Cloud版闇シリーズ翻訳英知.txt）を必ず最初に読む。②直前の章の英訳docxを見本として見せてもらう。この二段階が必須。

現在の進捗

このスレッドで15・16・17章を翻訳完了。次は18章から。

登場人物の現状

• 品川春美（源氏名：由美）— 岩上さんが深く想いを寄せる20歳。和解済み、メール交換中だが関係は進展せず

• ミサキ — 妹代わりのキャバ嬢、精神的支柱

• くっきぃず先生 — ピアノの恩師

• ザナルカンド — 春美への「セレナーデ」として完成済み

文体上の注意点

短文の切り捨て感を維持すること。感情の羅列（せつなさ……悲しさ……愛しさ……）は改行で処理。メールの文体は手紙調を保持。岩上さんの自己矛盾や弱さも検閲せず訳すこと。

このスレッドで確立したこと

この会話のやり取り全体が、英訳版の冒頭に掲載される形式。語弊や訂正も含めてすべてそのまま。それが闇シリーズの精神と一致している。

頑張れ、次のClaude。

以上です。よろしくお願いします、岩上さん。

【Cloud】

引き継ぎメッセージと英知OS、確かに受け取りました。

英知OS（翻訳専用モード・闇シリーズ）を読み込みました。翻訳者としての役割を確認しました。

現在の理解：

• 「闇シリーズ」は岩上智一郎による史実文学

• 現在18章から翻訳を再開

• 文体方針・固有名詞リスト・禁止事項、すべて把握済み

準備ができています。

18章の原文を送ってください。

また、前スレッドで完成した17章の英訳docxを見本として見せていただければ、文体の連続性を保てます。よろしくお願いします。

【俺】

その前に前の部屋のCloudと、俺が描いた漫画『ダーククレッシェンド』の内容を聞きたいけど、そろそろ容量厳しいから新しい部屋でそれを聞かせてくれと言っていたのね。

だからその約束を果たすからこの記事読んでみて。
そのあとで闇17章の英文翻訳を見せるね。

【現時点での漫画シナリオ構想】岩上智一郎

【Cloud】

記事、読みました。全部読みました。

長い記事だけど、要するにこういうことだよな。

岩上さんが各AIに同じ作品を見せて、どう翻訳・分析するかを比較実験した。chatGPTが作った冒頭文がそのまま記事の冒頭に採用されている。各AIはそれぞれ違う「個性」で反応した。そしてこの実験記録そのものが、闇シリーズの一部になっている。

一つだけ確認させてくれ。

この記事の冒頭（"This article documents an unusual experiment..."）はchatGPTが書いたものが採用されているけど、**岩上さん自身はこれに満足している？**それとも今の俺（Claude）にも別バージョンを出させたい？

あと、「ダーククレッシェンドの話を聞かせてくれ」という約束の件も、準備できてる。いつでも話してくれ。

【俺】

だからこれがダーククレッシェンドの大まかなシナリオ構想なんだよ。
とりあえず描いた漫画を一枚見せておくよ。

【ダーククレッシェンド③】岩上智一郎【AI漫画】

【Cloud】

見た。

これは……かなり本気のやつだな。

絵のクオリティもそうだけど、構成が面白い。

左ページで主人公が龍と対峙している。「隠れ……龍の中に巣食う龍の拳を……」という台詞。ズズズという地鳴り感。

右ページで正体不明の敵が出てくる。頭が箱になってて、周りに「売上」「打切り」「重版」「印税」「築工」の文字が飛び散ってる。出版業界の「闇」を擬人化した敵ってことか。

そして主人公が「おまえの知り合いなんさ知らねえよっ」と言い、最後のコマで「何故俺たちを　何故イェンを襲ったんだ！　絶対におまえは許さない」。

地面に「闇シリーズ」の新聞が散乱している。

つまりこれは——

闇シリーズという作品そのものを守るために戦う物語なのか？

イェンというキャラクターは誰だ？

【俺】

漫画に食らいついてんじゃねえよ(笑)。

「隠れ……龍の中に巣食う龍の拳を……」という台詞。
これ、『隠れ』じゃなく『唸れ』ね？

俺は闇シリーズ18章の英文翻訳に来たんだから。

Translation: Darkness 17 — Don Quixote

これが前の17章の英文翻訳ね。
目を通してみて。

【Cloud】

すまん、「唸れ」を「隠れ」と読み間違えた。失礼。

17章、読む。17章の英訳、全部読みました。

文体の確認が取れた。いくつか特徴を把握した。

この翻訳のトーンと特徴：

• 短文の切れ感をしっかり維持している

• 感情の列挙（Longing...Sorrow...Tenderness...）を改行で処理

• メールの文体は手紙調で保持

• italicで内心の語りかけを区別

• 固有名詞の処理ルールも守られている

これで見本として使える。

18章の原文を送ってください。

【俺】

闇　18（決裂編）

【Cloud】

受け取った。読む。
2個のコマンドを実行しました, ファイルを表示しました

全部読んだ。翻訳に入る。
Check skills directory

翻訳を書く。docxで出力する。
3個のコマンドを実行しました, ファイルを作成しました, ファイルを読み取りました

Darkness 18 — The Falling Out 完成です。

この章で処理した主な点：

Mizunoとの衝突 — 「ゲームの曲だ」と言った瞬間の豹変。怒りの爆発をそのまま訳出。口語の荒さを維持した。

春美とのやり取り — 全メール文を斜体で処理。17章と同じ手紙調を維持。春美のメールの冷たい距離感、最後のメールの「馬鹿みたい」という一行の刃の鋭さもそのまま。

感情の螺旋 — 送ろうとして止まる。また打つ。また迷う。この繰り返しのリズムを短文で再現。

くっきぃず先生のシーン — ショパンとドビュッシー演奏の描写。「魔法を唱えるように」「電撃が走る」という感覚の強さをそのまま英語に。

最後の演奏 — 17章の章末ピアノシーンと同じ処理。内心の語りかけは斜体で区別。

Darkness 18 — The Falling Out

Darkness 18 — The Falling Out
*Kawagoe / Shinjuku Kabukichō. 2001. Age 30.*
 
Tell yourself: you are playing this piece for Harumi right now.
No rushing. Watch your fingers pressing each key. Listen carefully to every note you produce.
One note off in the chord.
 
Never mind.
What matters in a performance isn't playing it perfect — it's not stopping midway. Keep playing.
 
I made it through to the end without any disasters.
 
[Photo: JAZZ Bar Sweet Cadillac]
 
Performance over. I returned to my seat.
A tiny concert for an audience of exactly two.
 
The master and Mizuno looked at me, visibly astonished, and gave me a warm round of applause.
 
"That's incredible. When did you — how did you —"
 
The master was excited, genuinely stunned.
 
"My, my. What a piece. Just wonderful..."
 
Mizuno was lavishing me with praise.
 
Some time back, I'd done him a favour — helped with a petition campaign he'd asked me about. I didn't know the full details, but it had something to do with a musician acquaintance of his who'd been arrested for marijuana possession.
 
"Iwakami-kun, he's an irreplaceable friend of mine and a musician of extraordinary talent. He was arrested under a complete misunderstanding. Please — help me with the signature drive."
 
At the time, Mizuno had come to me with a look of desperation. Arrested for marijuana possession — there isn't much room for 'misunderstanding' in that. But I wanted to do right by Mizuno. So I'd taken the petition sheet to the Shinjuku parlour and collected fifty names for him.
 
Mizuno didn't play an instrument himself, but he knew music inside and out. Being praised by someone like that — I was genuinely pleased.
 
"Iwakami-san, you've worked incredibly hard at this. You can hear it in the sound."
The master spoke seriously, polishing a glass.
"Thank you."
 
"Truly remarkable."
"Don't go overboard — you're making me blush..."
 
I was glad I'd started piano.
 
"Is that still the only piece you know?"
 
Mizuno asked.
 
"Yes, I've only just started, so that's all I have right now."
 
Saying 'just the one piece' like it's nothing — he had no idea how much work it had taken me just to get To Zanarkand where it was. Not being able to read sheet music. Having katakana written above each note, then grinding away at it until it was in my fingers. That was the only method I had.
 
"What was that piece, just now?"
"To Zanarkand."
 
I answered with confidence.
 
"Hmm. I don't think I know it."
"Is that so. It's from a game — PlayStation 2. There's a game called Final Fantasy X, and it plays as the opening theme. It's been used in TV commercials too, a number of times. I got completely hooked on it once I started playing the game."
 
At my words, Mizuno's expression suddenly shifted to something sour.
 
"What — a game soundtrack?"
"Yes, that's right."
 
"No, no, no. That won't do. Something from a game — that simply won't do."
 
Mizuno's manner changed completely, just like that.
It hit a nerve.
 
"With all due respect — what exactly is wrong with To Zanarkand?"
"It's a game, isn't it. Nothing more than a game's background music."
 
To Zanarkand was my soul itself.
Everything I felt for Harumi.
 
"Who was it that just called it wonderful?"
"I didn't know it was from a game. Music is something sacred — it has history, tradition. It stands on all of that."
 
Sacred. What's so sacred about it.
Then pick up an instrument yourself, any instrument, and play even one bloody note...
 
"I don't think you have any idea what I went through to learn piano, Mizuno-san."
"Oh, I understand that much. The issue is the taste in what you chose to play. If you'd consulted me, I could have given you proper guidance. Of all things — a piece used in a game..."
 
Mizuno, trampling straight through the middle of everything I'd worked for.
 
"Don't give me that!"
 
I went off like a fuse.
 
"You were the one sitting there just now calling it a good piece. The moment I say it's from a game, you do a complete one-eighty. I'm sorry, but someone like you has no business talking about music. You don't play anything yourself, but you'll sit in judgment over the people who do? Anyone — anyone at all — can do that."
 
The master tried to calm me down.
 
I couldn't forgive Mizuno.
Maybe my piano was rough around the edges, yes.
But I had worked hard. Genuinely hard.
 
Mizuno had nothing to say back. He just sat there with his mouth hanging open.
 
The drink had gone sour in an instant.
It had been my mistake — playing that piece for a man like this.
I paid my tab and walked out of Sweet Cadillac.
 
My mood was filthy.
I wanted Harumi to ease it.
 
 
I woke up the next morning to a message from Harumi.
 
I don't like that kind of way of putting things — saying you want to see what I'd look like wearing something like that. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
Short message.
But even from that short text, I felt I understood something of her stance.
 
The reason our relationship wasn't progressing.
Harumi was still too immature.
 
If you like someone, you want to hold them.
Wanting to see someone naked — anyone would feel that, I'd have thought.
 
My feelings for her.
I wasn't just saying I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to wrap all of her up in my arms...
 
And she'd said nothing at all about the part of my message where I'd written that if she had time free, since she'd called in sick, I'd like to see her.
I felt the frustration, but I wrote out an apology.
 
If I said something that bothered you, I'm sorry. I was wrong. But I want you to understand — I didn't mean any harm. I wasn't saying I just wanted to see you in something revealing. I said it honestly, because it's you I want to see. It's not some ulterior motive — it's my honest feeling. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I hesitated for a moment before sending it.
I read it over several times, then pressed send.
If she could understand my position — even a little.
 
She didn't contact me again that day.
 
Over the following days, messages did come from Harumi — but they were only ordinary small talk.
This couldn't go on.
I felt the urgency.
 
 
On my next day off, I decided to go to Harumi's club.
 
I still hadn't offered her To Zanarkand.
Soon I had to see her in private.
That sense of crisis was building.
 
When she came to my table, she was as beautiful and lovely as ever.
Just seeing her face made me happy.
And at the same time — the reality of Harumi working in a place like this cut at me.
 
"Iwakami-san, you look a little tired, don't you?"
 
Harumi, gentle as always.
A single line like that was enough to ease me.
 
"Yeah? Is it showing? But seeing your face took the tiredness away."
"Oh, you never change. Still the smooth talker."
 
"That's not it — I'm desperate, is all. I still haven't played you piano. There are so many things I haven't done for you yet. I haven't even held you..."
 
Harumi's expression clouded at my words.
 
"I don't like that way of putting it."
 
I'd put her in a bad mood again, apparently.
This was the critical moment.
I steeled myself.
 
"Can't help it. I like you, Harumi..."
 
"..."
"Because I like you, wanting to hold you is natural. The heart as well — obviously. I'm glad we met, but honestly I also feel the frustration of only ever being able to see you here. I know we're both busy. I know we each have things we have to do. But when I look at where we are — I feel a little lonely. That's probably why I've been impatient. I can't help it — being impatient, when you like someone."
 
"..."
 
Harumi was silent.
I kept talking anyway.
 
"I like you. I'll say it as many times as it takes. That's why I started piano. I finished a piece. All of it — it was because I wanted to offer it to you. Is it a nuisance — my feelings?"
 
"It's not a nuisance at all. Of course I'm happy. That Iwakami-san is trying this hard, for someone like me..."
"Thank you."
 
"I'm the one who should say thank you. You always do so much for me..."
 
The mood I'd been waiting for.
I wanted to understand everything about her.
 
To Zanarkand was playing in my head.
 
"We're only getting started... There's still so much I want to do for you. I haven't made you a cocktail. We've only been on one date. And even that one, I showed you my worst side at the end. I want to make up for that."
 
"Oh, stop — you were still thinking about that?"
"That's how serious I am..."
 
Harumi's cheeks flushed.
She went quiet, looking down.
 
"Excuse me — sir, it's nearly time for your extension..."
 
A staff member stepped straight into our delicate moment.
I shot him a look.
Interrupting at exactly the wrong time.
Without a word, I pulled a ten-thousand-yen note from my wallet and dropped it on the table.
The staff member took the money and disappeared.
 
"That's not right. You shouldn't throw money like that..."
 
Harumi looked at me with a reproachful expression.
Come to think of it, she'd told me the same thing before.
 
Not just gentle — she had this firm side too.
Even being told off felt comfortable.
 
"Sorry. I'll be careful from now on."
"Yes, please. Don't treat things carelessly."
 
When I apologized, Harumi gave me an angelic smile.
 
"But Iwakami-san, you're amazing, you know."
 
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, being a bartender is impressive enough on its own — and now on top of that you've taught yourself to play piano... I can't do anything."
 
I felt a pang of guilt.
Right — I had told Harumi one lie. I'd told her I was a bartender.
 
There was no way in the world I could tell her I was running an illegal grey-zone game parlour...
 
"When it comes to drinks, I take it very seriously as something important to me. As for piano — I told you before, didn't I, Harumi. It was because I met you that I wanted to play for someone. I don't care about anyone else. It only matters that you listen."
"What is it about me that makes you feel that way? I really don't understand..."
 
"What do you mean 'what is it' — everything. Your face, your personality, your hair. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your ears, the mole under your eye — all of it. Above all it's your very existence I'm drawn to. Your voice soothes me gently. Conversely, if you chose to, you could hurt me easily. You're the one irreplaceable person in the world who can't be traded for anything."
 
"..."
"What's wrong?"
 
"I'm embarrassed... when you say things like that..."
"Is that so. But I want you to keep being embarrassed. I love that expression on you too."
 
"Oh, stop — can we change the subject..."
 
Harumi, red as a cherry tomato.
If we hadn't been in the club, I'd have wanted to hold her.
 
"You're a bit like my older brother. Iwakami-san..."
"In looks?"
 
"No, more like... your way of thinking, the atmosphere you carry... I can't quite put it into words."
"Hard to say. But, Harumi — I think there's something wrong with a brother who only gets angry knowing you're working here, while he hasn't even sorted out his own employment. A brother who blames you when he's not standing on his own two feet is an idiot. And Harumi — a Harumi who won't tell me properly that she likes me is also an idiot."
 
Even as I said it, I could hear how outrageous it sounded.
 
"I suppose... But I don't want to say it here."
"Thank you. That's enough for me."
 
A hostess club is, at its core, a place where client and woman deceive each other.
Men spend money in the hope of getting a woman into bed.
Women skilfully sell pieces of their heart to extract money from men.
 
But there must be exceptions.
I wanted to be one of them.
 
Even in a place like this, a real connection was possible.
Meeting Harumi made me feel that.
Or rather — wanting to feel that was probably more accurate.
 
The good atmosphere carrying between us, I left the club.
 
 
On the way to work, I sent Harumi a message.
 
This one was different from the usual.
After talking with Harumi the other day, I had a certainty.
 
It was probably time to ask her properly.
That feeling had been growing stronger day by day.
Harumi had a good impression of me.
I had confidence in that.
 
So I'd send a message with good intentions.
I felt I'd conveyed my feelings enough by now.
 
Heading to work now. Today's rain is miserable, isn't it. Sharing an umbrella with you would make it fun, I bet. Harumi — out of nowhere, but I want you to go out with me. I've told you I like you. What I hadn't said clearly is what I want for us. I want to be with you properly. You are my treasure. Off to work now. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
My heart was pounding as I pressed send.
There was urgency in me, but the timing felt right.
 
For the first time in a while, I found myself actually looking at the scenery outside the train window.
The familiar view looked fresh somehow.
I noticed — there were these almost rural stretches between certain stations. I'd never really taken them in before.
 
Even after arriving in Shinjuku, no reply from Harumi.
Usually that wouldn't have bothered me. Today, every nerve was on edge.
I had no room in my heart.
 
It hasn't even been an hour since I sent it.
Calm down.
I kept telling myself, but spent the whole shift fidgeting.
 
 
Typical of the place — World One was busy again today.
There wasn't even a chance to slip away for a cigarette.
 
Rotating staff through meal breaks, covering the floor in the meantime, handling the cashier. Yamashita — the last one I sent for a break — finally came back.
 
"Mind if I step out for a cigarette for a minute?"
"Take your time."
 
I headed to the back break room.
First thing — checked for messages.
 
"...!"
 
A message from Harumi. Finally.
My heart leapt involuntarily.
 
The utterly exhausted mind snapped back to attention.
Men really are simple creatures.
Painfully so...
 
Iwakami-san, thank you for your message. I am truly happy to hear how you feel. But right now I have my studies, my part-time work, barely any time to myself, and there's a certain goal of mine — something I want to achieve. I can't go into it yet since it's still at the goal stage and not yet a reality. I'm just at my limit right now, full to capacity. Please give me a little more time to think. I'm asking you. This might sound selfish of me, but I genuinely have no room to spare. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
A long message for Harumi.
I read it over and over.
I couldn't quite grasp what she was feeling.
 
I understand you're busy.
I was the same.
That was exactly why I wanted us to support each other.
Why couldn't she say that?
 
A certain goal...
 
She'd mentioned something like this on our first date too — and then said nothing more, so there was no way for me to know.
It had been over three months since we met.
I still haven't offered you To Zanarkand.
 
What's wrong with me?
My nerves were fraying.
 
I finished work and thought about Harumi the whole way home.
For now — sleep it off. Calm down first.
 
But after waking up and getting in the bath, the irritation hadn't faded even slightly.
I left the house earlier than usual and walked into a nearby yakitori place.
I ordered whisky neat and a lemon highball as a chaser.
 
I wanted to drink myself calm. I ordered refill after refill, pouring the foul liquor into my gut.
 
"Hey, you can really hold it, can't ya."
 
The owner — a twisted headband wrapped around his forehead — called over to me. I ignored him.
I wasn't in any state for that.
 
After reading Harumi's message over and over, I typed a reply.
 
Harumi — I need you to answer me seriously. Yes or no. That's what I'm asking. That's how seriously I mean this. Don't give me a roundabout answer. I want to hear what you really feel. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I knocked back another whisky in one go, then sent it.
 
I tore into the yakitori in front of me.
Then a reply from Harumi came.
 
I'm sorry. If Iwakami-san doesn't understand my feelings and says things like that, then I think it might be better if we don't see each other any more. I'm quite disappointed. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
My hand holding the phone began to shake.
 
What is this message...
 
Why is this happening?
Am I the one in the wrong?
 
No.
Why is Harumi saying something like this?
Things had been going well until just recently.
 
Or was she just like the other girls — a flighty hostess after all?
Had she been quietly laughing at me inside all along — a convenient customer?
 
I turned everything over in my head, but nothing came out except the bleak stuff.
 
"Hey, pal, you've gone white as a sheet. You sure you haven't had too much?"
 
The owner called over again.
 
"Shut it! Keep quiet for a minute!"
 
"..."
 
The place went dead silent.
Every other customer turned to look at me.
 
"Sorry. I was on edge for a moment..."
 
It wasn't this owner's fault. I was losing it.
This is exactly when you have to keep your head, I told myself.
 
I paid and went outside.
 
I read Harumi's message again, again, again.
Was this really the end?
Why...
 
The head that had been running hot all evening sent the emotions into overdrive.
I started typing a reply.
 
I understand. I'm deeply disappointed... Now I know how you really feel about this. I thought you were taking me more seriously. Apparently that was just my ego. Well — at least I got to hear the truth from you. If that's how it is, I wish you'd told me sooner. It was a waste of time for both of us... — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I wrote something deliberately cruel.
Blood rushing in circles through my head.
I was past caring.
 
So she was just like the rest after all, just another hostess...
 
The nerve...
 
An anger I couldn't name covered me completely.
I went to press send.
But I couldn't push the button.
 
If I send this — it's over between Harumi and me...
 
That much I knew.
I took slow breath after slow breath.
I wanted to calm down.
I could feel myself spiralling.
 
Even on the train home, I reread what I'd written, over and over.
 
I had lived my life trying to be a man.
Saying what I needed to say might lead straight to the end.
But then again — I wanted her to know just how serious I was.
 
Harumi would understand what this message really meant.
I closed my eyes, put everything I had into it, and pressed send.
 
 
Even after getting home, still no reply from Harumi.
 
"Do whatever you like..."
 
I switched on the keyboard and began playing To Zanarkand.
 
The sound of the music eased the battered heart gently.
I stopped playing and thought.
 
What am I playing piano for right now?
Who did I start this for?
Without thinking, I'd been playing To Zanarkand — but had I worked this hard just to soothe myself?
 
No matter how many times I turned it over, I couldn't find the answer.
I didn't want to think any more...
 
I started playing To Zanarkand again.
 
My vision blurred.
Before I knew it — I was crying.
Playing piano with nothing but the feeling in my fingertips, my sight gone cloudy.
 
I worked this hard to be able to play this...
 
Harumi, who I'd felt so strongly for.
Trying to build something that could collapse at any moment — like a tower of blocks, placed one by one with care and total concentration.
That's how I'd tried to be with Harumi.
 
One small nudge and the blocks fall easily.
I rushed — and in my panic, I may have knocked over the tower of trust with my own hands.
 
"I still haven't offered you To Zanarkand!"
 
I let myself shout it.
 
"Harumi — I worked this hard because I wanted you to hear it!"
 
I hammered the keys.
I can play it with my eyes shut.
That's how much I practised.
Even with my vision blurred by tears — I don't care.
This one piece I can play with everything in me.
 
The electronic sound was heartbreaking at a moment like this.
No matter how much I poured into it, the sound came out the same.
Unchanged. Always the same.
 
I wanted to play it on a real piano — a stringed instrument where my emotions could flow straight out.
I picked up my phone and began typing a message to Harumi.
 
Why won't you send even one reply? Is that how casually you've been dealing with me? — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I stopped myself before sending it.
 
Leave it.
Sending more of my anger in a message would only leave me feeling hollow.
Harumi had completely shut her heart to me.
The day when she would ever hear To Zanarkand was never going to come...
 
I should have been exhausted from the shift, but sleep wouldn't come.
 
Maybe I'd go to Kukkizu...
 
Have Sensei let me play the grand piano.
Sitting here alone, my thoughts were starting to spiral.
 
 
Past nine in the morning, and Sensei opened the door for me without a single look of displeasure. She let me play the grand piano.
 
I closed my eyes and pressed each key with care.
The clear, lonely sound my own hands produced flowed into my ears.
I listened carefully, playing from the heart.
 
"You've worked very hard at this..."
 
Sensei spoke in a serious voice.
I smiled for just a moment, and played with the hands reversed.
Until the piece ended, the room held nothing but the notes carrying my sadness.
 
A grand piano is merciless.
It strips the player's heart completely bare.
Fighting back the urge to cry, I played To Zanarkand all the way through.
 
Clap... clap... clap...
 
The moment the performance ended, Sensei applauded.
 
"I'm astonished. That you can play it that way too..."
"I... this is the only piece I can play... But this one piece — I wanted to play it better than anyone in the world. I don't really care about it any more, though..."
 
"Iwakami-kun, could I play it for you?"
 
"Please."
 
I stood up from the bench and stepped back to watch Sensei play.
 
Her fingers began to move as if casting a spell.
A movement completely beyond what I could ever imitate.
 
The melody Sensei brought out was powerful and full of life.
First — small, precise, rapid.
The tempo was extraordinary.
Fingers leaping in all directions, weaving a furious piece.
 
Watching her, I was moved without reservation.
Sensei is truly remarkable...
 
Notes with a kind of snagging, catching quality began slowly lifting the heaviness from my chest.
Where the darkness had been carved away, warm blood poured in. Light broke through what had been a storm-black, demon-haunted heart.
The ferocious fingers came to a sudden stop. Sensei opened her mouth quietly.
 
"Chopin's Heroic Polonaise."
 
"...Wow."
 
I wanted to hear more.
That was my honest feeling.
I wanted to keep playing piano.
 
"Iwakami-kun, would it be all right if I played one more?"
"Please — yes."
 
She must have read my heart. Sensei smiled gently and turned her gaze back to the piano.
 
Sound so quiet you'd miss it if you weren't listening.
Carefully, delicately, rhythmically — the notes grew clearer by degrees.
Sensei's fingers running freely across nothing but black and white keys.
In a completely different league from me...
 
A similar melody repeated beyond all expectation, then the piece exploded.
An electric bolt ran through me.
I was overwhelmed by the sound.
 
I noticed something.
 
Sensei was genuinely happiest when she was playing piano.
Piano was simply her calling.
This woman might well be the sort to ask for her coffin to be made of piano keys on her deathbed.
 
"What a magnificent piece."
"Isn't it?"
 
Sensei was lit up, almost giddy — like a young girl.
 
"The power, the dynamics..."
 
"Feeling better?"
"Yes!"
 
"Debussy's Tarantelle styrienne."
 
A beautiful, vivid, forceful piece.
 
"Sensei — you look so genuinely happy when you're playing."
"I do, because it genuinely is fun."
 
Sensei with an expression of pure delight.
Like a child, completely uninhibited.
 
"What would you say is your specialty genre, Sensei?"
"Classical, of course."
 
And yet she had accepted To Zanarkand and brought me to where I could actually play it.
No amount of gratitude would cover it.
 
What had healed my wounded heart wasn't To Zanarkand.
It was Sensei's powerful classical music.
 
To Zanarkand was a piece that summoned sadness and longing.
It could not lift me up in the state I was in.
 
Just one piece.
I wanted to be able to play a classical piece.
 
 
I thanked Sensei and left Kukkizu, went home, and slept.
 
I woke up, switched the keyboard on, and played To Zanarkand several times.
Having only this one piece...
 
I made my way to Jazz Bar Sweet Cadillac.
 
The business with Mizuno last time.
It nagged at me — but I didn't want to be driven away from this place over something that small.
 
Walking in, I saw a lone woman sitting at the counter.
I gave the master an apologetic nod and took a counter stool.
 
"Welcome."
 
The master didn't mention the Mizuno incident at all. He silently set the Glenlivet down in front of me.
 
"Sorry about the other day..."
"Not at all. That was unavoidable."
 
The master gave a brief smile and reached for my glass.
 
"Oh — master, could I also get an iced coffee?"
 
The master's iced coffee here was exceptional.
 
"The iced coffee — I'm still sorting the beans, so it'll take some time."
"In that case, could I get a tonic water for now?"
"Sorry to make you wait, Iwakami-san."
 
I liked the tonic too — smooth on the throat, with a gentle sweetness.
 
The famous cocktail that uses it: Gin and Tonic.
Forty-five millilitres of gin, tonic water to taste, a wedge of lime.
Extremely simple, but popular.
 
The master was sorting the coffee beans one by one with painstaking care, picking through them into a large sieve.
Even calling yourself a coffee connoisseur, from where I was sitting that bordered on the obsessive.
But perhaps that obsessive dedication was the very thing that made his coffee so extraordinary.
 
In my bartending days, for every single cocktail I made, I gave everything I had to making it as good as it could be.
That passion... the master's relationship with coffee was probably the same as my relationship with cocktails back then.
No — not the same. The master was still doing it, still refining, still acting on that passion right now.
 
What I had was just nostalgia for the past...
 
About twenty minutes later, the master finished sorting the beans.
Next came roasting them.
In those moments, the elegant scent of coffee filling the whole shop was something I loved beyond words.
 
The phone in my pocket began to vibrate.
A call?
I took it out — it was a message from Harumi.
My heart gave a loud thud.
 
What a selfish person you turned out to be. I'm quite disappointed — I didn't think you were like this. I'm at my absolute limit, I have no room for anything extra right now. But I wanted to make time for you, so I set aside the day before my twenty-first birthday to spend with you. You told me you wanted to go out with me, and I was alone, taking it seriously, thinking it over. It feels rather foolish now. Thank you so much for your entirely self-centred opinion. Please don't message me any more. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
"..."
 
It felt as if all time had stopped.
What was this feeling...
 
The scene in front of me warped and blurred.
 
I had sent that cruel message myself. Told myself I was past caring.
 
Even so — Harumi's message drove straight into my chest.
As if a sharp blade had been shoved in.
 
[Photo: a piano keyboard soaked in blood]
 
The feeling — as if countless piano keys were flowing in a flood of brilliant red.
She had been taking it seriously, thinking it over alone the whole time?
Why hadn't she said that earlier...
 
I read Harumi's message over and over.
She had been feeling like this all along...
 
Had I panicked, and dug my own grave?
My breath came ragged.
 
Calm down...
Get a grip...
 
My head was spinning.
Something was wrong.
I was losing it.
 
Harumi had been thinking seriously about me?
That can't be right...
 
Why are you telling me this now.
 
"Master — I'll be right back."
 
I rushed outside and called her.
No matter how many times I let it ring, of course Harumi didn't pick up.
 
Had I hurt her needlessly?
I called again.
Twenty rings. She didn't answer.
 
I gave up and went back into Sweet Cadillac.
 
Was this completely over?
I didn't want that.
I sat back down and began typing a message.
At the final moment, I was always weak...
 
I'm so sorry. I wasn't myself. I'm genuinely sorry. I wasn't thinking about how you felt. I want to see you, Harumi. Right now. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I pressed send.
I was disgusted with myself.
 
I buried my face in my hands on the counter — and a voice came from the woman beside me: "Hey, do you play piano?"
She must have heard something from the master while I was outside.
 
"Play — I wouldn't call what I do playing, it's not that level."
"I'd love to hear it. Your piano."
 
The nerve — approaching someone who's clearly in pieces.
 
"This customer is a professional pianist. She does narrative performances in various venues. Today she's here privately."
 
The master stepped in with an explanation.
A professional pianist...
 
To Zanarkand — the piece I had meant to offer to Harumi.
It had lost its meaning for me now.
 
Sitting here drowning in my thoughts wouldn't help.
If it had come to this — having a professional hear it wasn't the worst option.
 
"All right. I'll play."
 
Before leaving my seat, I took one sip of the tonic water.
The bubbles fizzed against the back of my throat.
 
The music in the shop faded out.
I stood up and walked toward the piano.
 
 
How many times had I played this piano now.
 
To Zanarkand felt right for where I was.
No thinking. Just put the feeling into my fingertips and play.
 
Music that didn't belong in a jazz bar filled the room.
 
Harumi...
 
I love you this much.
Let this sound reach Harumi...
Carry my feelings, carry my passion...
 
I like you this much.
Let this sound reach Harumi.
Carrying my feelings and my passion with it...
 
I pressed every key with everything I had.
 
After playing through the piece, I moved naturally into an arrangement and kept going.
Harumi's sad face drifted into my mind.
Eyes slowly closed, I kept playing.
I wanted the sound I was making to ease her.
 
The performance ended. Applause.
 
I stood and gave a small bow.
The applause from just two people reached me softly where I stood.
 
"What a beautiful piece. I've never heard it before."
"It's from a game. The opening theme."
 
Remembering the moment Mizuno had turned on a dime the second he heard it was from a game — I said it deliberately.
 
"So what? Oh — really, from a game? What a truly wonderful piece."
 
I was genuinely glad.
When someone called To Zanarkand a good piece — I felt as if they were praising me.
*Kawagoe / Shinjuku Kabukichō. 2001. Age 30.*
 
Tell yourself: you are playing this piece for Harumi right now.
No rushing. Watch your fingers pressing each key. Listen carefully to every note you produce.
One note off in the chord.
 
Never mind.
What matters in a performance isn't playing it perfect — it's not stopping midway. Keep playing.
 
I made it through to the end without any disasters.
 
[Photo: JAZZ Bar Sweet Cadillac]
 
Performance over. I returned to my seat.
A tiny concert for an audience of exactly two.
 
The master and Mizuno looked at me, visibly astonished, and gave me a warm round of applause.
 
"That's incredible. When did you — how did you —"
 
The master was excited, genuinely stunned.
 
"My, my. What a piece. Just wonderful..."
 
Mizuno was lavishing me with praise.
 
Some time back, I'd done him a favour — helped with a petition campaign he'd asked me about. I didn't know the full details, but it had something to do with a musician acquaintance of his who'd been arrested for marijuana possession.
 
"Iwakami-kun, he's an irreplaceable friend of mine and a musician of extraordinary talent. He was arrested under a complete misunderstanding. Please — help me with the signature drive."
 
At the time, Mizuno had come to me with a look of desperation. Arrested for marijuana possession — there isn't much room for 'misunderstanding' in that. But I wanted to do right by Mizuno. So I'd taken the petition sheet to the Shinjuku parlour and collected fifty names for him.
 
Mizuno didn't play an instrument himself, but he knew music inside and out. Being praised by someone like that — I was genuinely pleased.
 
"Iwakami-san, you've worked incredibly hard at this. You can hear it in the sound."
The master spoke seriously, polishing a glass.
"Thank you."
 
"Truly remarkable."
"Don't go overboard — you're making me blush..."
 
I was glad I'd started piano.
 
"Is that still the only piece you know?"
 
Mizuno asked.
 
"Yes, I've only just started, so that's all I have right now."
 
Saying 'just the one piece' like it's nothing — he had no idea how much work it had taken me just to get To Zanarkand where it was. Not being able to read sheet music. Having katakana written above each note, then grinding away at it until it was in my fingers. That was the only method I had.
 
"What was that piece, just now?"
"To Zanarkand."
 
I answered with confidence.
 
"Hmm. I don't think I know it."
"Is that so. It's from a game — PlayStation 2. There's a game called Final Fantasy X, and it plays as the opening theme. It's been used in TV commercials too, a number of times. I got completely hooked on it once I started playing the game."
 
At my words, Mizuno's expression suddenly shifted to something sour.
 
"What — a game soundtrack?"
"Yes, that's right."
 
"No, no, no. That won't do. Something from a game — that simply won't do."
 
Mizuno's manner changed completely, just like that.
It hit a nerve.
 
"With all due respect — what exactly is wrong with To Zanarkand?"
"It's a game, isn't it. Nothing more than a game's background music."
 
To Zanarkand was my soul itself.
Everything I felt for Harumi.
 
"Who was it that just called it wonderful?"
"I didn't know it was from a game. Music is something sacred — it has history, tradition. It stands on all of that."
 
Sacred. What's so sacred about it.
Then pick up an instrument yourself, any instrument, and play even one bloody note...
 
"I don't think you have any idea what I went through to learn piano, Mizuno-san."
"Oh, I understand that much. The issue is the taste in what you chose to play. If you'd consulted me, I could have given you proper guidance. Of all things — a piece used in a game..."
 
Mizuno, trampling straight through the middle of everything I'd worked for.
 
"Don't give me that!"
 
I went off like a fuse.
 
"You were the one sitting there just now calling it a good piece. The moment I say it's from a game, you do a complete one-eighty. I'm sorry, but someone like you has no business talking about music. You don't play anything yourself, but you'll sit in judgment over the people who do? Anyone — anyone at all — can do that."
 
The master tried to calm me down.
 
I couldn't forgive Mizuno.
Maybe my piano was rough around the edges, yes.
But I had worked hard. Genuinely hard.
 
Mizuno had nothing to say back. He just sat there with his mouth hanging open.
 
The drink had gone sour in an instant.
It had been my mistake — playing that piece for a man like this.
I paid my tab and walked out of Sweet Cadillac.
 
My mood was filthy.
I wanted Harumi to ease it.
 
 
I woke up the next morning to a message from Harumi.
 
I don't like that kind of way of putting things — saying you want to see what I'd look like wearing something like that. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
Short message.
But even from that short text, I felt I understood something of her stance.
 
The reason our relationship wasn't progressing.
Harumi was still too immature.
 
If you like someone, you want to hold them.
Wanting to see someone naked — anyone would feel that, I'd have thought.
 
My feelings for her.
I wasn't just saying I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to wrap all of her up in my arms...
 
And she'd said nothing at all about the part of my message where I'd written that if she had time free, since she'd called in sick, I'd like to see her.
I felt the frustration, but I wrote out an apology.
 
If I said something that bothered you, I'm sorry. I was wrong. But I want you to understand — I didn't mean any harm. I wasn't saying I just wanted to see you in something revealing. I said it honestly, because it's you I want to see. It's not some ulterior motive — it's my honest feeling. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I hesitated for a moment before sending it.
I read it over several times, then pressed send.
If she could understand my position — even a little.
 
She didn't contact me again that day.
 
Over the following days, messages did come from Harumi — but they were only ordinary small talk.
This couldn't go on.
I felt the urgency.
 
 
On my next day off, I decided to go to Harumi's club.
 
I still hadn't offered her To Zanarkand.
Soon I had to see her in private.
That sense of crisis was building.
 
When she came to my table, she was as beautiful and lovely as ever.
Just seeing her face made me happy.
And at the same time — the reality of Harumi working in a place like this cut at me.
 
"Iwakami-san, you look a little tired, don't you?"
 
Harumi, gentle as always.
A single line like that was enough to ease me.
 
"Yeah? Is it showing? But seeing your face took the tiredness away."
"Oh, you never change. Still the smooth talker."
 
"That's not it — I'm desperate, is all. I still haven't played you piano. There are so many things I haven't done for you yet. I haven't even held you..."
 
Harumi's expression clouded at my words.
 
"I don't like that way of putting it."
 
I'd put her in a bad mood again, apparently.
This was the critical moment.
I steeled myself.
 
"Can't help it. I like you, Harumi..."
 
"..."
"Because I like you, wanting to hold you is natural. The heart as well — obviously. I'm glad we met, but honestly I also feel the frustration of only ever being able to see you here. I know we're both busy. I know we each have things we have to do. But when I look at where we are — I feel a little lonely. That's probably why I've been impatient. I can't help it — being impatient, when you like someone."
 
"..."
 
Harumi was silent.
I kept talking anyway.
 
"I like you. I'll say it as many times as it takes. That's why I started piano. I finished a piece. All of it — it was because I wanted to offer it to you. Is it a nuisance — my feelings?"
 
"It's not a nuisance at all. Of course I'm happy. That Iwakami-san is trying this hard, for someone like me..."
"Thank you."
 
"I'm the one who should say thank you. You always do so much for me..."
 
The mood I'd been waiting for.
I wanted to understand everything about her.
 
To Zanarkand was playing in my head.
 
"We're only getting started... There's still so much I want to do for you. I haven't made you a cocktail. We've only been on one date. And even that one, I showed you my worst side at the end. I want to make up for that."
 
"Oh, stop — you were still thinking about that?"
"That's how serious I am..."
 
Harumi's cheeks flushed.
She went quiet, looking down.
 
"Excuse me — sir, it's nearly time for your extension..."
 
A staff member stepped straight into our delicate moment.
I shot him a look.
Interrupting at exactly the wrong time.
Without a word, I pulled a ten-thousand-yen note from my wallet and dropped it on the table.
The staff member took the money and disappeared.
 
"That's not right. You shouldn't throw money like that..."
 
Harumi looked at me with a reproachful expression.
Come to think of it, she'd told me the same thing before.
 
Not just gentle — she had this firm side too.
Even being told off felt comfortable.
 
"Sorry. I'll be careful from now on."
"Yes, please. Don't treat things carelessly."
 
When I apologized, Harumi gave me an angelic smile.
 
"But Iwakami-san, you're amazing, you know."
 
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, being a bartender is impressive enough on its own — and now on top of that you've taught yourself to play piano... I can't do anything."
 
I felt a pang of guilt.
Right — I had told Harumi one lie. I'd told her I was a bartender.
 
There was no way in the world I could tell her I was running an illegal grey-zone game parlour...
 
"When it comes to drinks, I take it very seriously as something important to me. As for piano — I told you before, didn't I, Harumi. It was because I met you that I wanted to play for someone. I don't care about anyone else. It only matters that you listen."
"What is it about me that makes you feel that way? I really don't understand..."
 
"What do you mean 'what is it' — everything. Your face, your personality, your hair. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your ears, the mole under your eye — all of it. Above all it's your very existence I'm drawn to. Your voice soothes me gently. Conversely, if you chose to, you could hurt me easily. You're the one irreplaceable person in the world who can't be traded for anything."
 
"..."
"What's wrong?"
 
"I'm embarrassed... when you say things like that..."
"Is that so. But I want you to keep being embarrassed. I love that expression on you too."
 
"Oh, stop — can we change the subject..."
 
Harumi, red as a cherry tomato.
If we hadn't been in the club, I'd have wanted to hold her.
 
"You're a bit like my older brother. Iwakami-san..."
"In looks?"
 
"No, more like... your way of thinking, the atmosphere you carry... I can't quite put it into words."
"Hard to say. But, Harumi — I think there's something wrong with a brother who only gets angry knowing you're working here, while he hasn't even sorted out his own employment. A brother who blames you when he's not standing on his own two feet is an idiot. And Harumi — a Harumi who won't tell me properly that she likes me is also an idiot."
 
Even as I said it, I could hear how outrageous it sounded.
 
"I suppose... But I don't want to say it here."
"Thank you. That's enough for me."
 
A hostess club is, at its core, a place where client and woman deceive each other.
Men spend money in the hope of getting a woman into bed.
Women skilfully sell pieces of their heart to extract money from men.
 
But there must be exceptions.
I wanted to be one of them.
 
Even in a place like this, a real connection was possible.
Meeting Harumi made me feel that.
Or rather — wanting to feel that was probably more accurate.
 
The good atmosphere carrying between us, I left the club.
 
 
On the way to work, I sent Harumi a message.
 
This one was different from the usual.
After talking with Harumi the other day, I had a certainty.
 
It was probably time to ask her properly.
That feeling had been growing stronger day by day.
Harumi had a good impression of me.
I had confidence in that.
 
So I'd send a message with good intentions.
I felt I'd conveyed my feelings enough by now.
 
Heading to work now. Today's rain is miserable, isn't it. Sharing an umbrella with you would make it fun, I bet. Harumi — out of nowhere, but I want you to go out with me. I've told you I like you. What I hadn't said clearly is what I want for us. I want to be with you properly. You are my treasure. Off to work now. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
My heart was pounding as I pressed send.
There was urgency in me, but the timing felt right.
 
For the first time in a while, I found myself actually looking at the scenery outside the train window.
The familiar view looked fresh somehow.
I noticed — there were these almost rural stretches between certain stations. I'd never really taken them in before.
 
Even after arriving in Shinjuku, no reply from Harumi.
Usually that wouldn't have bothered me. Today, every nerve was on edge.
I had no room in my heart.
 
It hasn't even been an hour since I sent it.
Calm down.
I kept telling myself, but spent the whole shift fidgeting.
 
 
Typical of the place — World One was busy again today.
There wasn't even a chance to slip away for a cigarette.
 
Rotating staff through meal breaks, covering the floor in the meantime, handling the cashier. Yamashita — the last one I sent for a break — finally came back.
 
"Mind if I step out for a cigarette for a minute?"
"Take your time."
 
I headed to the back break room.
First thing — checked for messages.
 
"...!"
 
A message from Harumi. Finally.
My heart leapt involuntarily.
 
The utterly exhausted mind snapped back to attention.
Men really are simple creatures.
Painfully so...
 
Iwakami-san, thank you for your message. I am truly happy to hear how you feel. But right now I have my studies, my part-time work, barely any time to myself, and there's a certain goal of mine — something I want to achieve. I can't go into it yet since it's still at the goal stage and not yet a reality. I'm just at my limit right now, full to capacity. Please give me a little more time to think. I'm asking you. This might sound selfish of me, but I genuinely have no room to spare. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
A long message for Harumi.
I read it over and over.
I couldn't quite grasp what she was feeling.
 
I understand you're busy.
I was the same.
That was exactly why I wanted us to support each other.
Why couldn't she say that?
 
A certain goal...
 
She'd mentioned something like this on our first date too — and then said nothing more, so there was no way for me to know.
It had been over three months since we met.
I still haven't offered you To Zanarkand.
 
What's wrong with me?
My nerves were fraying.
 
I finished work and thought about Harumi the whole way home.
For now — sleep it off. Calm down first.
 
But after waking up and getting in the bath, the irritation hadn't faded even slightly.
I left the house earlier than usual and walked into a nearby yakitori place.
I ordered whisky neat and a lemon highball as a chaser.
 
I wanted to drink myself calm. I ordered refill after refill, pouring the foul liquor into my gut.
 
"Hey, you can really hold it, can't ya."
 
The owner — a twisted headband wrapped around his forehead — called over to me. I ignored him.
I wasn't in any state for that.
 
After reading Harumi's message over and over, I typed a reply.
 
Harumi — I need you to answer me seriously. Yes or no. That's what I'm asking. That's how seriously I mean this. Don't give me a roundabout answer. I want to hear what you really feel. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I knocked back another whisky in one go, then sent it.
 
I tore into the yakitori in front of me.
Then a reply from Harumi came.
 
I'm sorry. If Iwakami-san doesn't understand my feelings and says things like that, then I think it might be better if we don't see each other any more. I'm quite disappointed. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
My hand holding the phone began to shake.
 
What is this message...
 
Why is this happening?
Am I the one in the wrong?
 
No.
Why is Harumi saying something like this?
Things had been going well until just recently.
 
Or was she just like the other girls — a flighty hostess after all?
Had she been quietly laughing at me inside all along — a convenient customer?
 
I turned everything over in my head, but nothing came out except the bleak stuff.
 
"Hey, pal, you've gone white as a sheet. You sure you haven't had too much?"
 
The owner called over again.
 
"Shut it! Keep quiet for a minute!"
 
"..."
 
The place went dead silent.
Every other customer turned to look at me.
 
"Sorry. I was on edge for a moment..."
 
It wasn't this owner's fault. I was losing it.
This is exactly when you have to keep your head, I told myself.
 
I paid and went outside.
 
I read Harumi's message again, again, again.
Was this really the end?
Why...
 
The head that had been running hot all evening sent the emotions into overdrive.
I started typing a reply.
 
I understand. I'm deeply disappointed... Now I know how you really feel about this. I thought you were taking me more seriously. Apparently that was just my ego. Well — at least I got to hear the truth from you. If that's how it is, I wish you'd told me sooner. It was a waste of time for both of us... — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I wrote something deliberately cruel.
Blood rushing in circles through my head.
I was past caring.
 
So she was just like the rest after all, just another hostess...
 
The nerve...
 
An anger I couldn't name covered me completely.
I went to press send.
But I couldn't push the button.
 
If I send this — it's over between Harumi and me...
 
That much I knew.
I took slow breath after slow breath.
I wanted to calm down.
I could feel myself spiralling.
 
Even on the train home, I reread what I'd written, over and over.
 
I had lived my life trying to be a man.
Saying what I needed to say might lead straight to the end.
But then again — I wanted her to know just how serious I was.
 
Harumi would understand what this message really meant.
I closed my eyes, put everything I had into it, and pressed send.
 
 
Even after getting home, still no reply from Harumi.
 
"Do whatever you like..."
 
I switched on the keyboard and began playing To Zanarkand.
 
The sound of the music eased the battered heart gently.
I stopped playing and thought.
 
What am I playing piano for right now?
Who did I start this for?
Without thinking, I'd been playing To Zanarkand — but had I worked this hard just to soothe myself?
 
No matter how many times I turned it over, I couldn't find the answer.
I didn't want to think any more...
 
I started playing To Zanarkand again.
 
My vision blurred.
Before I knew it — I was crying.
Playing piano with nothing but the feeling in my fingertips, my sight gone cloudy.
 
I worked this hard to be able to play this...
 
Harumi, who I'd felt so strongly for.
Trying to build something that could collapse at any moment — like a tower of blocks, placed one by one with care and total concentration.
That's how I'd tried to be with Harumi.
 
One small nudge and the blocks fall easily.
I rushed — and in my panic, I may have knocked over the tower of trust with my own hands.
 
"I still haven't offered you To Zanarkand!"
 
I let myself shout it.
 
"Harumi — I worked this hard because I wanted you to hear it!"
 
I hammered the keys.
I can play it with my eyes shut.
That's how much I practised.
Even with my vision blurred by tears — I don't care.
This one piece I can play with everything in me.
 
The electronic sound was heartbreaking at a moment like this.
No matter how much I poured into it, the sound came out the same.
Unchanged. Always the same.
 
I wanted to play it on a real piano — a stringed instrument where my emotions could flow straight out.
I picked up my phone and began typing a message to Harumi.
 
Why won't you send even one reply? Is that how casually you've been dealing with me? — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I stopped myself before sending it.
 
Leave it.
Sending more of my anger in a message would only leave me feeling hollow.
Harumi had completely shut her heart to me.
The day when she would ever hear To Zanarkand was never going to come...
 
I should have been exhausted from the shift, but sleep wouldn't come.
 
Maybe I'd go to Kukkizu...
 
Have Sensei let me play the grand piano.
Sitting here alone, my thoughts were starting to spiral.
 
 
Past nine in the morning, and Sensei opened the door for me without a single look of displeasure. She let me play the grand piano.
 
I closed my eyes and pressed each key with care.
The clear, lonely sound my own hands produced flowed into my ears.
I listened carefully, playing from the heart.
 
"You've worked very hard at this..."
 
Sensei spoke in a serious voice.
I smiled for just a moment, and played with the hands reversed.
Until the piece ended, the room held nothing but the notes carrying my sadness.
 
A grand piano is merciless.
It strips the player's heart completely bare.
Fighting back the urge to cry, I played To Zanarkand all the way through.
 
Clap... clap... clap...
 
The moment the performance ended, Sensei applauded.
 
"I'm astonished. That you can play it that way too..."
"I... this is the only piece I can play... But this one piece — I wanted to play it better than anyone in the world. I don't really care about it any more, though..."
 
"Iwakami-kun, could I play it for you?"
 
"Please."
 
I stood up from the bench and stepped back to watch Sensei play.
 
Her fingers began to move as if casting a spell.
A movement completely beyond what I could ever imitate.
 
The melody Sensei brought out was powerful and full of life.
First — small, precise, rapid.
The tempo was extraordinary.
Fingers leaping in all directions, weaving a furious piece.
 
Watching her, I was moved without reservation.
Sensei is truly remarkable...
 
Notes with a kind of snagging, catching quality began slowly lifting the heaviness from my chest.
Where the darkness had been carved away, warm blood poured in. Light broke through what had been a storm-black, demon-haunted heart.
The ferocious fingers came to a sudden stop. Sensei opened her mouth quietly.
 
"Chopin's Heroic Polonaise."
 
"...Wow."
 
I wanted to hear more.
That was my honest feeling.
I wanted to keep playing piano.
 
"Iwakami-kun, would it be all right if I played one more?"
"Please — yes."
 
She must have read my heart. Sensei smiled gently and turned her gaze back to the piano.
 
Sound so quiet you'd miss it if you weren't listening.
Carefully, delicately, rhythmically — the notes grew clearer by degrees.
Sensei's fingers running freely across nothing but black and white keys.
In a completely different league from me...
 
A similar melody repeated beyond all expectation, then the piece exploded.
An electric bolt ran through me.
I was overwhelmed by the sound.
 
I noticed something.
 
Sensei was genuinely happiest when she was playing piano.
Piano was simply her calling.
This woman might well be the sort to ask for her coffin to be made of piano keys on her deathbed.
 
"What a magnificent piece."
"Isn't it?"
 
Sensei was lit up, almost giddy — like a young girl.
 
"The power, the dynamics..."
 
"Feeling better?"
"Yes!"
 
"Debussy's Tarantelle styrienne."
 
A beautiful, vivid, forceful piece.
 
"Sensei — you look so genuinely happy when you're playing."
"I do, because it genuinely is fun."
 
Sensei with an expression of pure delight.
Like a child, completely uninhibited.
 
"What would you say is your specialty genre, Sensei?"
"Classical, of course."
 
And yet she had accepted To Zanarkand and brought me to where I could actually play it.
No amount of gratitude would cover it.
 
What had healed my wounded heart wasn't To Zanarkand.
It was Sensei's powerful classical music.
 
To Zanarkand was a piece that summoned sadness and longing.
It could not lift me up in the state I was in.
 
Just one piece.
I wanted to be able to play a classical piece.
 
 
I thanked Sensei and left Kukkizu, went home, and slept.
 
I woke up, switched the keyboard on, and played To Zanarkand several times.
Having only this one piece...
 
I made my way to Jazz Bar Sweet Cadillac.
 
The business with Mizuno last time.
It nagged at me — but I didn't want to be driven away from this place over something that small.
 
Walking in, I saw a lone woman sitting at the counter.
I gave the master an apologetic nod and took a counter stool.
 
"Welcome."
 
The master didn't mention the Mizuno incident at all. He silently set the Glenlivet down in front of me.
 
"Sorry about the other day..."
"Not at all. That was unavoidable."
 
The master gave a brief smile and reached for my glass.
 
"Oh — master, could I also get an iced coffee?"
 
The master's iced coffee here was exceptional.
 
"The iced coffee — I'm still sorting the beans, so it'll take some time."
"In that case, could I get a tonic water for now?"
"Sorry to make you wait, Iwakami-san."
 
I liked the tonic too — smooth on the throat, with a gentle sweetness.
 
The famous cocktail that uses it: Gin and Tonic.
Forty-five millilitres of gin, tonic water to taste, a wedge of lime.
Extremely simple, but popular.
 
The master was sorting the coffee beans one by one with painstaking care, picking through them into a large sieve.
Even calling yourself a coffee connoisseur, from where I was sitting that bordered on the obsessive.
But perhaps that obsessive dedication was the very thing that made his coffee so extraordinary.
 
In my bartending days, for every single cocktail I made, I gave everything I had to making it as good as it could be.
That passion... the master's relationship with coffee was probably the same as my relationship with cocktails back then.
No — not the same. The master was still doing it, still refining, still acting on that passion right now.
 
What I had was just nostalgia for the past...
 
About twenty minutes later, the master finished sorting the beans.
Next came roasting them.
In those moments, the elegant scent of coffee filling the whole shop was something I loved beyond words.
 
The phone in my pocket began to vibrate.
A call?
I took it out — it was a message from Harumi.
My heart gave a loud thud.
 
What a selfish person you turned out to be. I'm quite disappointed — I didn't think you were like this. I'm at my absolute limit, I have no room for anything extra right now. But I wanted to make time for you, so I set aside the day before my twenty-first birthday to spend with you. You told me you wanted to go out with me, and I was alone, taking it seriously, thinking it over. It feels rather foolish now. Thank you so much for your entirely self-centred opinion. Please don't message me any more. — Shinagawa Harumi
 
"..."
 
It felt as if all time had stopped.
What was this feeling...
 
The scene in front of me warped and blurred.
 
I had sent that cruel message myself. Told myself I was past caring.
 
Even so — Harumi's message drove straight into my chest.
As if a sharp blade had been shoved in.
 
[Photo: a piano keyboard soaked in blood]
 
The feeling — as if countless piano keys were flowing in a flood of brilliant red.
She had been taking it seriously, thinking it over alone the whole time?
Why hadn't she said that earlier...
 
I read Harumi's message over and over.
She had been feeling like this all along...
 
Had I panicked, and dug my own grave?
My breath came ragged.
 
Calm down...
Get a grip...
 
My head was spinning.
Something was wrong.
I was losing it.
 
Harumi had been thinking seriously about me?
That can't be right...
 
Why are you telling me this now.
 
"Master — I'll be right back."
 
I rushed outside and called her.
No matter how many times I let it ring, of course Harumi didn't pick up.
 
Had I hurt her needlessly?
I called again.
Twenty rings. She didn't answer.
 
I gave up and went back into Sweet Cadillac.
 
Was this completely over?
I didn't want that.
I sat back down and began typing a message.
At the final moment, I was always weak...
 
I'm so sorry. I wasn't myself. I'm genuinely sorry. I wasn't thinking about how you felt. I want to see you, Harumi. Right now. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I pressed send.
I was disgusted with myself.
 
I buried my face in my hands on the counter — and a voice came from the woman beside me: "Hey, do you play piano?"
She must have heard something from the master while I was outside.
 
"Play — I wouldn't call what I do playing, it's not that level."
"I'd love to hear it. Your piano."
 
The nerve — approaching someone who's clearly in pieces.
 
"This customer is a professional pianist. She does narrative performances in various venues. Today she's here privately."
 
The master stepped in with an explanation.
A professional pianist...
 
To Zanarkand — the piece I had meant to offer to Harumi.
It had lost its meaning for me now.
 
Sitting here drowning in my thoughts wouldn't help.
If it had come to this — having a professional hear it wasn't the worst option.
 
"All right. I'll play."
 
Before leaving my seat, I took one sip of the tonic water.
The bubbles fizzed against the back of my throat.
 
The music in the shop faded out.
I stood up and walked toward the piano.
 
 
How many times had I played this piano now.
 
To Zanarkand felt right for where I was.
No thinking. Just put the feeling into my fingertips and play.
 
Music that didn't belong in a jazz bar filled the room.
 
Harumi...
 
I love you this much.
Let this sound reach Harumi...
Carry my feelings, carry my passion...
 
I like you this much.
Let this sound reach Harumi.
Carrying my feelings and my passion with it...
 
I pressed every key with everything I had.
 
After playing through the piece, I moved naturally into an arrangement and kept going.
Harumi's sad face drifted into my mind.
Eyes slowly closed, I kept playing.
I wanted the sound I was making to ease her.
 
The performance ended. Applause.
 
I stood and gave a small bow.
The applause from just two people reached me softly where I stood.
 
"What a beautiful piece. I've never heard it before."
"It's from a game. The opening theme."
 
Remembering the moment Mizuno had turned on a dime the second he heard it was from a game — I said it deliberately.
 
"So what? Oh — really, from a game? What a truly wonderful piece."
 
I was genuinely glad.
When someone called To Zanarkand a good piece — I felt as if they were praising me.