Gokudera. Piano man.
The music teacher is infinitely surprised when he finds that Gokudera Hayato of all people plays the piano, and plays it well, plays it as natural as breathing. Gokudera Hayato who is rude and slouches on his desk and refuses to offer a modicum of civility to authority.
He is endlessly baffled by it - refusing to concur with the young ladies' giggling claims of the boy's innate genius - it is quite an enigmatic turn for the Italian delinquent to have a class talent, his hands belonging with the elegant ivory keys as they belonged with painfully-loud punk rings and cigarette sticks.
He will never know, of course, of the boy's blood that ran thick with music, of days and days spent with a beautiful, barely-remembered mother, their hands clasped in belting out a harmony that swirled with flowing sunlight, of countless masters across Europe honing his skills to a crescendo worthy of castle ballrooms lit with thousands and thousands of lights.
He will never know, will never understand, and merely continue sharing rueful bewilderment with the maths teacher, who has roughly the same problem.