Disclaimer: Mizuno Eita is a very good author. I would shame myself if I ever claimed to own his work. I do not own Spiral.

Imperfection

The Narumi household was a very modest abode. Yet, from it spawned one of the greatest talents the musical world had ever seen. Kiyotaka Narumi had surpassed and set the stage for many hopefuls to challenge his talent for generations to come. Such extraordinary talent, born from the union between her and her husband was almost too overwhelming for Maruyo.

Her name was Maruyo Narumi, her husband was Ishido Narumi, and the culmination of all her efforts, of all the pain and suffering she endured throughout her life, was Kiyotaka Narumi.

And as far as she cared. That was all that mattered.

Nothing extended beyond Kiyotaka. To her, Kiyotaka was now the world. Nothing would ever change that.

Not even the life of Kiyotaka's clone.

Dinner had been a small affair as always. Because of the eldest son's success in the musical world, money was of no particular problem to them now. They could easily afford a small mansion and live relatively comfortable for the rest of their lives, but they chose not to. More out of the need for familiarity than anything else.

There were three of them sitting in the dining room. Kiyotaka was at one end of the table, while Maruyo and Ishido were on opposite sides of each other.

"Where's Ayumu?" Asked Maruyo suddenly, her eyes wide and blinking. She brushed a strand of hair from her face aside, as she looked at the empty seats of the table. "We still have so much food, and he hasn't eaten yet."

Ishido remained quiet and shrugged.

"Kiyotaka? Do you know where your brother is?" She questioned, curious as to the the younger boy's whereabouts.

Kiyotaka gave her a small grin and apologetic look. "Little brother's still at school. He said he wanted to try out for the soccer team. He's better than most of them already, even if he is just an underclassmen."

Maruyo frowned, a curvature upon the Mona Lisa. "He's too young for that Kiyotaka, and you know that. Back when you played most of the boys were very aggressive, and it's only because you were so good that they never got you. Ayumu just doesn't compare."

Her son maintained and enigmatic expression, and he neither denied nor agreed with her comment. Sometimes, Maruyo wondered what exactly went through her son's head. He always seemed to be ahead of everyone in everything. Music, academics, sports, none of them were a challenge to him. It got to a point where he almost seemed more than human.

Getting up, Maruyo banished such thoughts from her mind as she focused back on the issue at hand. Ayumu was likely off somewhere, getting hurt playing a silly game. She couldn't have that. He was too important.

"You two finish your dinner," she said, grabbing her handbag and her car keys, "I'm just going out to bring back Ayumu okay?"

Ishido finally looked up from his plate as she said this. His clipped tone and calm voice contrasted deeply with her own lively one. "Don't you think you should let him play? It's not going to be all fun and games for him, you know."

Kiyotaka piqued an eyebrow, face directed towards his plate. Such odd word choice was never lost on him. Especially when coming from his father, who was notoriously known to be as straight as can be. He already has some suspicions and he suspected his junior at least had an inkling too.

Thankfully, Maruyo didn't notice his interest, otherwise that would have opened up a whole new can of worms. "You know he shouldn't be doing such dangerous things, Ishido. What if he hurts himself?"

Ishido gave her an unsurprised look. "Then we pay a hospital to fix him."

Maruyo let out an irritated noise. "It's not as simple as that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm leaving. Make sure to set aside a plate for your brother Taka-kun."

Kiyotaka nodded quietly, already up and cleaning the dirty kitchenware in the kitchen. From here, he could see the dining room, and their grand piano in the next room. It was a large and ancient piece. His mother had spent a fortune on it, trying to bring back to it life that had long left it.

He heard the door close, and he knew that Ayumu would not be happy with Maruyo when he saw her. Even he, Kiyotaka, had felt irritated with the woman when he first began the sport. She claimed it was for his own good, but he was not blind to the obsession she had with his talent for the piano. If even possible, it was likely she would have made him practice on the piano twenty-four seven if he hadn't put his foot down.

In the next room over, the grand piano stood. There was no need for someone to play, as it had a tune all of its own, even when silent. It was a quiet, melancholic melody, with odd and uneven intervals on some points, as if it's composition were incomplete.

But whenever he sat down on that piano, and tried to replicate the sound (it would not have been the first time), he never could get it right. He never could fill in the holes that decorated the web of notes. It was the one thing that truly and utterly stumped him.

Perhaps that was why he took to always placing a fresh iris on it every week.

Speaking of irises...

"I know you know something," said his father from the kitchen window, "I'm just wondering what it is."

"Hmmm?" Kiyotaka mumbled, feigning ignorance easily, "What do you mean?"

He heard the older man snort. Ishido was a nice enough person, and a good father, but he wasn't a fool. After fathering Kiyotaka Narumi, and realizing that his own child excelled in even the most difficult of tasks, Ishido had come to realize that Kiyotaka was not one to be trifled with. Blood or no blood, he had a feeling that if the boy so wished, he could completely destroy him with but a flick of his hand.

"I know that you suspect something about Ayumu." Ishido said, saying such a compromising sentence in too placid a voice. "And that you're planning something."

Kiyotaka nodded, unfazed by his father's front. He knew that the older man would never be able to harm him. Even without Maruyo there to head off any preparations, Ishido would come nowhere near close enough to touch him.

The young teen continued with the cleaning. He would not say anything for now, he would let things play out.

Ishido sighed and shook his head sadly. "I know she's never been a particularly well-rounded mother, but all I want is that you don't hurt her in the future. Whatever it is you're planning, just make sure there's something left."

Kiyotaka smirked, but said nothing. Ishido certainly was his father; to have read him so easily...not even Ayumu was that good. At least not yet.

Ishido walked up to the sink and put his plate in the water. Neither of the two looked at each other, but as Ishido turned to leave he grabbed his son by the arm tightly.

The young man hid his smile well, faking shock and surprise with a professional's ease. However, Ishido saw the farce for what it was.

"Please." He pleaded, his hazel eyes streaming more emotions than any words possible. "Please, don't hurt her."

Kiyotaka let out an appreciative sound as he looked down at his arm, being grapsed firmly by his father's hand. What exactly would it take to break that hand he wondered? How far could he bend the man whom held that appendage?

Ishido let go, slowly. It was beyond him now. Whatever may come, it was up to his son to play it out.

The sound of a key jingling on its chain alerted the two males of the arrival of the rest of their family.

"We're home," Called out Maruyo's voice, "Did you two men do what I asked you?"

Quickly, Kiyotaka took note of the time, noting how long it'd been since she left. It seemed that this little showdown with his father had taken up more time than he intended. Now the woman was likely to hound him for an extra hour of practice of result too.

Ishido backed away form his son, whatever inclinations towards his son gone from his face. "Yes, yes. I set aside a plate for Ayumu, just like you asked."

Exiting the kitchen, he left Kiyotaka alone. Very well, if that's how the man was going play, then so be it. A little drama never hurt anyone.

Poking his head out the kitchen door he caught sight of his little brother. It was frightening how the kid was so like him in some aspects. The boy still was shorter than him but the resemblance between the two was clear. Their was some dark grime on the younger one's face and his blue shirt, whether dirt or blood or both, Kiyotaka didn't know. It was obvious though, that Maruyo was not pleased.

"Look at you!" She cried, glancing at Ayumu and scowling, "Why'd you have to go out and do such a stupid thing? Those other boys were almost dogpiling you back there!"

Ayumu rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping off sweat. He stared at his mother with a blank expression, his own eyes almost dull as he spoke to her. For someone who had just been rescued from a soccer game, he certainly didn't look very excited. Just unclean.

"I could have gotten out of the way, you know. I was doing pretty well back there too, so why'd you have to interfere?"

Maruyo looked down at her son, an almost haughty expression on her face. "I can't have you getting hurt, Ayumu. What would I do without you? What would Kiyotaka do, hmm?"

But the little boy didn't listen. He merely scowled and glared at the floor. He still hadn't taken off his shoes when he walked further inside, but no one reprimanded him for it. Kiyotaka put the plate with food on it on the table, and left the room. He was all too aware of what was going in his brother's mind.

Reaching the piano, Kiyotaka ran his hand over the keys, feeling the comfortable wooden pieces etch their way into the memory of his fingertips. He could feel them itch, and resisted the urge to begin playing.

There were more things to life than music, after all.

The concert was like any other one he'd played at. The crowd was full, all of them eager to see the musical world's greatest prodigy enchant them with an unseen spell. The whole theatre was quiet, except for the sound of Kiyotaka and the piano. Speakers surrounded the room, and the sound reverberated off of everything it came in contact with. The audience was drowning in the throes of his musical prowess, and he knew it.

He was on his third piece, and original composition by him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but he was not sweating under the intense lights from around the room. Powerful gazes speared into him, but he only acknowledged those in his mind. His eyes were closed as he danced across the board, somehow perfecting that which even genii never could.

His family was backstage. Maruyo and Ishido Narumi had been with him on all of his tours around the world. They had followed him to London, New York, Rome, and more. Now, he was playing in Germany, and his little brother had come to watch.

Kiyotaka smiled a little.

From the side, Ayumu watched with an untrained eye. His brother's movements would confound even the most audacious of copycats, but Aymu found them to be easy to read. Unconsciously, he too began to play along with the music, playing on the air in front of him, knowing when he played a wrong note or not. Sound was merely a medium for music. It could be played without it, and both he and Kiyotaka knew it.

Ayumu heard a snicker from behind him. There were two ladies, exquisitely dressed and sensual in their posture. One was a thin little thing, wearing a gild-colored dress with frills and sparkles. The other was a buxom brunette, with her face hidden behind a mask of makeup. Ayumu stopped his faux performance to appraise these two birds who had come backstage. It was likely they were there to pester his older brother after the show, but he wished they would be quiet.

"Look at the little boy, Capri!" Giggled the first of the two in English, "He's just like Kiyotaka!"

The other woman, Capri, only chortled with satisfaction Ayumu thought unfitting of her. "Oh please. He's nothing, I'd still have the real thing."

"Hush, he's looking."

But the brunette was not to be stopped by this. "So? His parents probably brought him here to have Kiyotaka tutor him or something. I know I would, if I had a kid."

Ayumu looked away, blocking out their giggle and tiddles with incredible efficacy. He looked on at his brother, onstage and performing. His own sound seemed incredibly inept to this. Too simplistic, too discordant with itself.

Suddenly, Kiyotaka stopped. There was a moment of complete silence throughout the entire theatre, but then the titter and bustle of the wealthy and educated began. Already his mother was clasping her hands, as if in prayer, and mumbling rapidly unintelligible phrases that could very well have been a supplication to God.

On the stage, before the three thousand or so people in front of him, facing the thousands viewing this worldwide, Kiyotaka stood up. His face bore no mark of physical exhaustion or even exertion for that matter. He looked as impeccably pristine as the minute he walked on to that stage.

Kiyotaka bowed to the crowd.

"This is not my place." He said. His voice carried throughout the room, a prophetic feeling to it.

Maruyo's eyes, which had been closed shut in some fervent ritual, snapped open. "No," She whispered weakly.

Kiyotaka sat down once more. He put his right hand on the keyboard, then, he put his left on the lid.

Ayumu watched, his eyes narrowed as he realized what was going to happen, and realizing how much he wished for it to.

With one hand, Kiyotaka brought the lid down. With that one stroke he broke all five of his fingers, forever destroying whatever chance at a future he had in music.

End