This is a birthday gift for Daedreamer, though by looking at her profile, it's hard to tell if she's actually alive anymore considering some stories haven't updated for six years. This will follow the structure of a four-movement classical sonata structure. Here is the first chapter-enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Nodame and Chiaki, why would I go to piano lessons anymore?
First movement: Allegro agitato
The sun was shining, the trees were swaying, the birds were singing, and Chiaki was decidedly not. The Japanese village was secluded and picturesque, with its untainted air and quaint little cottages beside the seaweed farms. It was absolutely insufferable. It was the renowned virtuoso's last hope. It was not looking bright—or rather, it was a wonderful day out, and Chiaki just knew that the people here were too happy and bubbly to suit his needs. One had to maintain some degree of dissatisfaction to truly appreciate art, after all.
And where was his guide, anyway? He checked his watch. 6:55 p.m. He pulled out his phone to check the email. He first noticed that the nearest Wi-Fi network was from the last town he had visited, and then the screen shut off just after he had activated mobile data. He tucked the useless device into his pocket, only to find that when he subsequently thrust his hands into those pockets, the effect was altogether more awkward than the casual waiting position he had hoped to adopt. Opting instead to cross his arms and lean coolly against a pillar outside the train station, Chiaki felt a tick forming on his forehead in proportion to the tick-tick-tick of his watch. He was certain that someone from the school was supposed to greet him at the station at 7:00 p.m.
It was 7:01. Chiaki hated disorganized people. His fellow passengers poured out of the station and went their own ways, some throwing themselves into strangleholds and others climbing into cars even though they had burst into tears at the sight of the driver. Some people were rather irrational, he thought, and others were downright disgusting.
It was 7:20. He tried to distract himself by playing his favorite music in his head; music was supposed to be calming, after all. Except "Rage over a Lost Penny" was all that came to mind and Chiaki found himself protesting that he was not that petty.
At 7:22 precisely, a blur of purple and yellow swept towards Chiaki and tripped over his bag with a strange squawk-like sound that, if spelled out as one would spell a dog's bark, would roughly resemble, "Mugya!"
Chiaki did not jump and stumble a few steps before regaining his balance, and he most definitely did not sacrifice his calm expression for the startled look a cat might have upon losing its balance.
"Watch where you're—" Chiaki halted, struck by the intensity of the gaze on him. The blur, now identified as something resembling a woman, stared at him with bright—gooey—eyes. Chiaki was offended; it was not the first time his face had made someone cry, but that did not mean it was a pleasant experience.
"Gyaboo…you're gorgeous."
Chiaki's jaw twitched. He snatched up his case and bag and strode off towards the sunset. Well, he tried to, but the effect was altogether ruined as the bag would not budge. He tugged again. He looked down, and the woman-like thing gripped the strap tighter. He wondered what would happen if he used more force; would It just drag after him the whole way back inside and onto the first train to Tokyo?
"I'm Nodame," It said. "Actually, that's not my real name, but I won't tell that to you, yet." It emitted a maddening giggle. "Are you Shinichi-kun?" It held out one hand and smiled, as if introducing Itself to someone in an utterly normal setting.
Chiaki was so astounded that he was not capable of coherent thought, speech, or action. So, of course he chose the most straightforward, yet utterly irrational action, and shook Its outstretched hand. Thankfully, the contact seemed to revive his brain and he tried to salvage the situation by emphasizing, "Chiaki Shinichi." Then, after a pause, "Pleased to meet you."
It gripped his hand and pumped it up and down before he snatched it away. "Wonderful! The school's two minutes from here, so follow me!" It stood and dusted off Its dress—lilac with a daffodil print—and walked away, swaying Its hips in an utterly ridiculous manner.
Chiaki stared until he realized It had gone quite a ways, and ran to catch up. He trailed behind at the perfect distance at which he could follow easily, but was spared the necessity of conversing. After about two and a half—not two—minutes of trudging along the dusty trail along what seemed to be the only main road in the town, they arrived at a...Chiaki wasn't sure how to describe it, but he was firmly against calling it a school. It was more of a decrepit cube plonked down in a field overrun by dandelions and, worse, snot-nosed children.
"Nodame-sensei!" A grimy-looking boy ran up and grabbed the hem of Its skirt in his grubby hands.
"Goro-kun!" It greeted. "Have you been playing catch with Toshi-kun?"
A swarm of similar terrors surged towards them and Chiaki almost backed into It, simply because It was the lesser of two evils and not because he was hiding behind It or anything.
"Isn't it past school hours?" he bit out.
"What does that matter?" It turned to face him, brushing against his back. "Kids play all the time, not just during school; didn't you know?"
Chiaki bristled at the patronizing tone. Didn't normal villages have playgrounds for this sort of thing? More importantly, he had counted on getting a few hours of quiet practice time at the venue that night, and he just knew that a baseball would come flying through a window in the middle of his rehearsal, judging from the way his day had gone so far.
"Well, would you be so kind," he said, "to show me around?" He arranged his face into something that would hopefully pass for a smile, while making sure it only just passed.
It didn't seem to notice, and instead seemed to melt from overexposure to tenderness. "Have fun with Toshi-kun!" It hugged the boy and skipped up the pebbly path to the door. It slammed shut behind them, causing a cloud of dust to float up.
"The springs are a bit stiff," It explained as Chiaki sneezed. He ignored the dirty Kleenex It offered him and instead pulled out his handkerchief.
"Ta-da!" It stopped outside a room—there were no doors to any of the classes—and held Its hands behind Its back, watching Chiaki expectantly. He peeked in. He was not impressed. He was surprised, however, that he was almost sorry when It assumed a profoundly sorrowful expression. There was none of the overly dramatic pouting or tearing up he would have expected of It, and somehow, he almost felt guilty for scoffing at the room—hers, presumably—she had been so eager to show off.
It was small and shabby, like everything else in the village. About twenty desks were crammed in, arranged in random groups in the space and littered with crayons, paintbrushes, safety scissors, and other art supplies that Chiaki had bypassed in his pursuit of real art. Hideous pictures and paintings covered the walls until he could hardly tell that the wallpaper was peeling. The chalkboard—those were rare in schools nowadays—boasted simple arithmetic and expressions such as 1+1=3. And small clay figures, no doubt conceived by rising modern artists, sat precariously on…a piano.
Chiaki instantly lost whatever tenderness had pierced his heart for the past minute. He set his bag on the ground and marched to the wretched piece of wood. The finish was scratched beyond belief and the middle pedal seemed to be chronically depressed. He lifted the keyboard cover. The keys were yellowing and chipped, and the dust covering the lid where it was unoccupied by pottery dashed all Chiaki's hopes of finding the piano tuned.
Chiaki whirled around. "Is this what you call a piano?"
It looked down.
"How could you possibly—" He waved his hand toward the piece of wood. "I was told there was someone in charge of the music department! Who let the piano become—this?"
Its arms hung at its sides. Its fingers made minute movements against the fabric of Its dress.
"Who's in charge of the music department?"
Its fingers stilled. "I am."
Chiaki was stunned. He remained silent as the rage surged in him.
"I tried."
"You incompetent fool! You—you—how dare you call yourself a musician when all you have to show for it is—this!" His hand slammed onto the keys and even in his rage he could tell the bass was weak, but this was secondary to the shocking clang that pierced the air—the clang of a broken string.
"The least you could do is have it tuned! How will my accompanist possibly play on this? The middle pedal doesn't work, a string is broken, the keys are falling apart—" A clay violin teetered on the edge of the piano and Chiaki's hand shot out to grab it as it fell. He felt rather foolish as he realized he should have let it shatter, but set it back and slammed the keys again for good measure.
"Where am I even supposed to perform tomorrow? Isn't there a gymnasium, at least? Oh, wait, they probably just go outside. Am I playing right here?" His jaw dropped when It nodded. He had meant it as a sarcastic reprimand.
He readjusted his violin case on his shoulder and snatched up his bag before storming out. He was almost surprised It didn't come after him, but he didn't care as he swept past the dumbly gazing children and back onto the main road. He found his hotel—or rather, the only inn in town—just a block further down. By the time he got to his room, he almost considered the small bed and scuffed carpets a blessing. Spotting a power outlet by the patched-up curtains, he plugged his phone in and sighed as it started charging; that the room had electricity came as a pleasant surprise. What was also shocking, but not quite as pleasant, was the text message waiting for him.
Emergency back in Tokyo, can't make it—sorry sorry sorry Chiaki!
Chiaki simply let the phone fall to the floor and threw himself onto the bed. "I hope Tanya freezes to death in Siberia one day," he thought. Then, "This pillow's too high."
