The piece was infamous for its demanding arpeggios, lightning-fast octave leaps, and the extre precision required between both hands. Even students from top conservatories would hesitate to perform it in public.
Yet this boy... who looked like a beginner... treated it like a warm-up exercise?
How arrogant!
But as soon as his fingers touched the keys, that arrogance felt completely justified.
What happened next shattered everyone's understanding of what was possible.
Seiji leaned slightly forward, his entire body seeming to fuse with the black grand piano. His hands beca a blur... two streaks of motion the naked eye could barely follow.
Fluid and effortless.
That was the only phrase anyone could think of.
What should have been impossible passages turned natural, as if breathing itself had taken form through the piano.
The rapid fingerwork of the presto section struck like raindrops on stone... crisp, precise, powerful.
Then ca the adagio... gentle and mournful, filled with the tragic beauty of gypsy music, that sorrow hidden beneath all its wild passion.
Technique. Rhythm. Emotion. Everything was perfect... to the point of suffocation.
This wasn't just a "performance." It was a recreation.
He wasn't simply playing the notes on the page... he was rewriting the music with his own soul.
His rendition of Gypsy Rondo was fiercer, freer, and more alive than any version before it.
It burned with a brilliance that felt ready to consu his entire being... a desperate, beautiful fla that seared through the air and into every heart present.
Each note struck deep, and before they knew it, everyone's heartbeat had begun to match that wild rhythm.
Manager Tanaka's forehead was slick with sweat.
In his thirty years in the industry, he'd hosted countless world-class pianists, yet he had never seen a performance so explosive, so contradictory, so breathtaking.
A boy this young, this calm, producing such violent, overwhelming sound... it defied reason.
The elegant woman who had once sneered at him as "crude" now held her chest, completely absorbed in the music, her eyes glimring.
At that mont, a ridiculous thought surfaced in her mind: if she could have this boy play for her alone, she'd pay any price.
Even Touma Youko, whose face was usually cold and unreadable, was visibly shaken.
She stared at Seiji's hands, desperately searching for even the slightest flaw.
But there was none.
His shoulders were relaxed, his wrists perfectly steady, his fingers moving with inhuman precision.
That balance between total relaxation and explosive power was sothing every pianist longed for... yet few ever reached, even after a lifeti.
And this boy… seed born to it.
His fingering was more precise, more fluid, and sohow more illogical than any virtuoso she'd ever seen.
Those brutal octave jumps... most players relied on heavy wrist motion to bridge them. Seiji did it effortlessly with just his fingers, as if his hands were naturally longer than anyone else's.
Her mind raced to analyze, but her body began to sway unconsciously with the passionate lody.
She realized then: she was witnessing the birth of a monster.
The exhibition hall fell silent.
No one dared to breathe too loudly, afraid to disturb the splendor unfolding before them.
The Chopin nocturne that had been playing over the store's speakers was long forgotten, devoured by the roaring gypsy rhythm.
Ti itself seed to stop.
And when the final note faded away like dying embers, there was only silence.
Everyone was still caught in the storm that had just swept through their hearts.
Seiji slowly withdrew his hands.
Not a hint of fatigue crossed his face; even his breathing was steady.
That calm, effortless deanor made it look as if the piece... which could make professional pianists break out in a cold sweat... had been nothing more than a simple Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
"Oh my god…"
Soone finally whispered, breaking the spell.
"Th-that was… incredible…"
"Who is this guy?!"
"His piano skills are insane! Why have I never heard of him before?"
Shock, awe, curiosity... voices erupted all at once, flooding the hall.
Manager Tanaka looked at Seiji with entirely new eyes.
He no longer saw a re custor... but a master, equal to, if not above, Touma Youko herself.
Regret flooded him. He had tried to steer Seiji toward the Yamaha section earlier... how blind could he have been?
Touma Youko's heart pounded wildly.
She was sure of it now... this boy possessed the kind of skill that could win any international competition with ease.
But then… why?
Why had she never heard of him? Never seen his na in any contest or concert report?
It was as if he'd appeared out of thin air.
That mystery ignited her curiosity.
Just as the crowd began to move toward the mysterious prodigy, Seiji suddenly frowned.
He reached out again and struck a few notes on the piano's higher register.
The sound rang clear and beautiful to everyone's ears... yet his frown deepened.
It was like a master somlier catching the faint scent of cork taint in a million-yen bottle of wine.
Sothing in the sound was off.
A subtle imperfection... a tiny vibration from the strings, a barely perceptible delay in the hamr's strike.
This supposedly flawless instrunt… had damage inside.
Without hesitation, Seiji stood, gripped the edge of the grand piano's heavy lid, and lifted it open with one smooth motion.
A thunderous boom echoed through the hall.
The lid landed gently to the side, revealing the intricate hamr chanism, the golden cast-iron fra, and the forest of steel strings... the piano's heart, exposed for all to see.
"S-sir! What are you doing?!"
Manager Tanaka practically stumbled over himself to rush forward, his face pale.
His emotions were a tangled ss... half awe, half panic.
This was a Fazioli! The crown jewel of the store! If it was damaged, the loss would be catastrophic!
"This piano has internal damage," Seiji said calmly, not even turning around.
Before the manager could respond, Seiji began inspecting it himself.
He brushed along the strings, tapping hamrs one by one... each movent precise, confident, and professional, as if he carried a full schematic of the piano in his head.
"Damage? That's impossible!"
"This is Okuda Piano Hall!"
"Yeah, their pianos go through insane quality checks before and after shipping!"
The custors murmured in disbelief.
Hearing internal damage just by playing? It sounded like sothing out of a martial arts novel.
"Sir, perhaps… you're mistaken?" Tanaka said nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Our instrunts are guaranteed flawless. Especially a Fazioli... it goes through dozens of tests in Italy before it even leaves the factory... "
"It's here."
Seiji cut him off, pointing to a small spot in the upper hamr chanism.
"The felt on hamr number eighty-five has hardened slightly from moisture. The damper beside it also rebounds about 0.3 seconds slower for the sa reason."
He glanced at the humidity gauge on the wall.
"Tokyo's humidity has fluctuated a lot recently. Seasonal transition. Short-term moisture damage. Since your maintenance cycle hasn't arrived yet, you wouldn't have noticed. It's understandable."
His voice wasn't loud, but every word struck like a hamr to everyone's chest.
Silence. Then chaos.
They crowded around, stretching their necks to see where he pointed.
Tanaka's hands trembled as he pulled out a small magnifier from his pocket to examine it closely.
Monts later, his face went pale.
He was right.
Exactly right.
The felt was indeed darker and harder in three tiny spots, and the damper showed a subtle deformation.
"Oh my god... it's true!"
"He caught that just by playing? That's insane!"
"He's not just a pianist... he's a piano craftsman at the top of the world!"
The crowd looked at Seiji with outright reverence.
If his playing had amazed them before, his perception now terrified them.
"I... I'm terribly sorry!"
Manager Tanaka bent at a perfect ninety-degree bow, sweat pouring down his face.
All doubt vanished... only awe and fear remained.
He knew: if this boy hadn't caught the flaw, and another client had bought the piano, Okuda Piano Hall's century-old reputation could've been ruined.
"This was a huge oversight on our part! Thank you so much for catching it!" he said, his voice shaking. "Your hearing is beyond incredible... no, it's godlike!"
Then, almost pleading, he added, "To show our apology... please, any piano you want, we'll give it to you for seventy percent of the price... no, sixty!"
"No need," Seiji interrupted again.
"I like this one," he said evenly. "Just replace the damaged hamr and damper."
"B-but… we can't possibly sell it to you like this... " Tanaka stamred, near panic.
"Sixty percent," Seiji said flatly. "Once repaired, deliver it to this address."
He wrote down the Yamada residence and handed it to the manager along with a black card.
Tanaka hesitated, but one look into those steady eyes told him it was useless to argue.
This wasn't about price... Seiji simply wanted this piano.
Sixty percent was a painful cut, but still within his authority... and preserving the store's reputation mattered far more than profit.
"Yes! Of course! We'll order new parts from Fazioli's main factory and deliver it within a week... perfectly restored!" Tanaka promised fervently.
Seiji nodded, satisfied. Then he casually wandered off, examining instrunts as if nothing had happened.
Everyone watched his calm figure disappear, all thinking the sa thing:
Where did this musical genius co from?
Touma Youko, who had witnessed everything, couldn't tear her eyes away.
She wanted to know who he really was.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward.
As Seiji idly admired a display of antique violins, a cool, magnetic voice called out behind him.
"Excuse ."
He turned, eting the gaze of a striking woman whose black hair shimred under the lights.
It was her... the elegant, commanding figure everyone had been whispering about.
"Do you need sothing?" he asked calmly.
"Forgive the intrusion," Touma Youko said, bowing slightly with graceful poise. Her dark eyes glead with intense curiosity. "I'm Touma Youko. Your rendition of Gypsy Rondo was the most brilliant I've ever heard... bar none."
As one of the foremost pianists in the classical world, she knew exactly what it took to nurture such skill... unimaginable resources, elite ntorship, years of relentless, structured training.
She couldn't help but wonder: which hidden master or family had produced such a prodigy?
"Touma Youko…"
Seiji's brow twitched. A mory from his past life stirred.
He suddenly rembered where he'd seen that na and that face before.
White Album 2.
The ga that had broken the hearts of countless players.
And this woman… was none other than Touma Kazusa's mother... the cold, brilliant pianist from that world.
No wonder she looked familiar.
"Seiji Fujiwara," he said with a faint smile.
Touma Youko repeated the na softly to herself, the sound of it oddly familiar as it rolled off her tongue.
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