A/N: Definitions and relevant historical blurbs are provided at the end of the chapter.

Subito
Tohma

It is a rare thing in life to be able to name a specific day that determined one's future, but I can. Though I spent much of my teens laying down groundwork and planning my escape from my father's world, I was essentially idling. Things did not begin to pick up momentum until I was seventeen, in my last term as a junior in high school.

Like many other schools in the region, Nagayama Senior High School reserved its cultural festivals for the second and third terms, when Kyoto winters made outdoor activities impossible. The annual music festival held pride of place, and was always strategically scheduled between January and February, just as students' general restlessness threatened to turn disruptive. I was never sure whether to look forward to it or to dread it.

On the one hand, it was music. At that point, music was the only element of sweetness in my life; it was my only passion, and I had long since decided that it would also be the key to my future. On the other hand, it was music by high school students, and many of them were armed with imperfectly tuned string instruments.

The latter consideration, I must say, was dominant in my mind on the day of the festival itself. After lunch, we were all herded into what the faculty persisted in calling the "auditorium". The name suggested something grand and stately. The reality was a long room created by clearing away the screens that normally separated it into more useful sections for various vocational classes. A spirited attempt had been made at constructing a stage, but the builders had been somewhat hindered by the modest height of the ceiling. It did not rise majestically; it huddled, lest taller performers brain themselves on the overhead lights.

It was always the same. Every year, the organizers tried so hard to impose order, to make the setting impressive, and yet every year it was the same. I chose a seat in the center, watching with amusement as the neat rows of chairs quickly degenerated into haphazard clusters as students found their own particular friends. I was somewhat less amused when the inevitable cluster formed around my chair, led by Terada Akio.

"Tohma-kun, there you are! Hiding in the middle, are you?" If there were one word to describe Akio, it would be overly, as in overly loud, overly confident, and overly familiar. He considered himself a friend of mine. As the Teradas had some business association with my father, I was not at leisure to disabuse him of the notion. Besides, young though I was, I was old enough to realize that there are sometimes benefits to allowing those you despise to believe in a friendship that does not exist.

"Terada-san." I smiled at him politely, secure in the knowledge that he had not the wit to read either insult or rebuke into my perfunctory greeting. I also smiled at those he brought with him, all either cut from the same cloth as Akio, or else hangers-on and sycophants. Sempre amabile. With a face like mine, it is a good strategy. It worked well enough on that bumptious crowd that I was able to then ignore them, as I did every day, without anyone taking offense.

Within a few minutes, everyone had found a chair, and the buzz of chatter was mercifully cut short as all of the lights were turned off. After a brief moment of confusion by the student at the switch, the lights above the stage were turned back on, and the principal made a few brief opening remarks, mostly explaining the program's format.

Someone on the organizing committee had decided it would be a brilliant idea to group the performers into solid blocks by genre. As one of those performers, I was quite aware of that, as well as the fact that those selecting from the classical repertoire would be leading, so I was able to direct my attention somewhere more useful during his speech. I counted twenty-three students who left the room as soon as he was finished. Those would be the vocalists, going off to warm up in another room. Twenty-three was fewer than I had hoped, but then again, I was not tremendously optimistic about finding what I was looking for at school. Ah, well. In any case, there was nothing to do but wait and see.

I glanced back to the front as the first performer of the afternoon took the stage. She was a tiny freshman dragging along a cello that dwarfed her, and when she stammered her introduction and began torturing Saint-Saëns, it occurred to me that it could be a very long day. Seeking something else, anything else, as a distraction, I started to look over the other unfortunate audience members. Most were whispering to their friends, though the marginally more polite were passing notes, and a few were flipping anxiously through musical scores. In the midst of a particularly animated group of freshman girls, however, there was one anomalous spot of stillness, and the mere contrast drew my gaze irresistibly.

She was sitting to one side of her group, her head slightly bowed as she read the textbook that rested in her lap. Her chair was set at an angle, so that the pages best caught the light from the stage. From that angle, and with the light spilling past, I was able to see her in profile. She had long hair, worn loose and unadorned, and her features were very fresh and delicate. She was really quite pretty, and like any other teenage boy, I had a great appreciation for pretty girls. It looked as though I had found an excellent distraction.

To be completely frank, even though it was terribly rude of me, I stared at her more or less constantly for the next forty minutes or so. It was partly because the music was abysmal and nothing to pay attention to, but there really was a compelling grace about her. When the music was even somewhat above average, she closed her eyes, and I realized she was really listening to it, something which could not be said about the vast majority of the other students. I certainly was not. In fact, it came as a surprise when Akio poked me—really, he was just a thoroughly unpleasant person—and asked what I would be playing when I ended the classical block...after the string trio that was even then on stage.

Fortunately, no one seemed to have followed my gaze. I smiled and shrugged negligently. "I have not yet decided," I said, earning a laugh from the boys grouped around me, as well as an extremely unwelcome cuff on the shoulder, again from Akio.

"Always playing it cool, this one," he commented, to another round of laughter. I simply smiled and excused myself. Since I did not take these festivals very seriously, I had originally planned to play J.C. Bach's Prestissimo, on the basis that it is flashy but very short. In the past few minutes, however, I had developed a curious urge to play something more ambitious.

I did not have time to wonder where the impulse had originated, for even as I made my way to the stage, the violinist faltered. He made a few half-hearted attempts to recover, but the trio quickly shuddered to an embarrassed halt. They did not even pause to confer. As one, they picked up and fled the stage in humiliation...and then it was my turn.

"I am Seguchi Tohma, and will be playing an arrangement of the first movement of J.S. Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D."

I had no idea where that had come from, so it was a good thing I had a great deal of practice at outwardly maintaining my poise. It was also fortunate that the piece I had just committed myself to playing was, in fact, one of my own arrangements. It had taken me a considerable amount of time, so I knew it almost literally backwards and forwards. While I settled onto the bench, I had a moment to ask myself what on earth I was doing...and then there were no more moments, only music to play.

As always, my world shrunk down to the music and the keys before me while I played. Even as part of an ensemble, the clavier's role in the first allegro of Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 is exacting. Arranged for a single piano, weaving in the melodic line, it is an exercise in sweet Baroque insanity. I love Bach for precisely that reason, for the challenge it represents. The complexity and intricacy of his genius are such that one cannot process each individual note any more than one can count the grains of sand that make up a beach. His music drenches the listener in an overwhelming rush of glorious sound, yet it requires the utmost precision and concentration from the performer. It demands the sum total of the player, subsuming every iota of thought and being.

To me, it is the quintessence of music.

It was the only thing I could think of, the only thing I could see, the only thing I could hear. It poured through me and tumbled from my fingers, using me as no more than a conduit until the very last note. When the piece ended, it was a shock akin to pain, and for a moment I felt utterly empty and desolate. Even so, as I stood up, I could not stop my eyes from going once more to the girl I had watched earlier.

Others were clapping, enthusiastically or dutifully. She was not. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were flushed. Looking at her, I knew she had truly and whole-heartedly listened, and that she was even now drifting back from the place the music had taken both of us. It was more profoundly gratifying than the ill-informed applause of all the other people put together, and I knew then why I had chosen the much more difficult piece.

I had been trying to impress her.

I mulled that over on the way back to my seat. After enduring the inane comments made by the boys there, it occurred to me that for once they might actually be useful. As they were all upperclassmen, and almost all from prosperous families, no few of them considered themselves ladies' men. Some may even have had a certain amount of justification. I studied them briefly, considering each—though Terada Akio was out of the question, as the only taste he possessed resided in his mouth—and made my selection.

"Excuse me, Haneda-san?" I leaned over to address Haneda Yasuo, keeping my voice low so that the music would cover the sounds of our conversation.

"Yes, Seguchi-san?" Unlike some, Yasuo did not assume familiarity. His family was successful, but not wealthy, so he was more careful than many of those in Akio's entourage. He was still a parasite, but a relatively harmless and inoffensive one. I wished I could say the same for the others, who shamelessly leaned in to listen without the slightest regard for propriety.

I controlled my flare of annoyance at their presumption, tilting my head slightly in the direction of the girl who had caught my attention. "Do you know who that freshman reading by the stage is?"

He looked. So did the others, and as one man, they began elbowing each other and exchanging knowing smiles. It was really most puzzling, especially when Yasuo turned back to me and I saw he wore the same canny grin. "That's Uesugi Mika-san, but you're barking up the wrong tree if you're interested in her."

"She doesn't date." Another boy folded his arms before him in mock piety, raising his eyes to heaven. "Daughter of the temple, and so forth."

"Yes, she's pretty, but she's strange," Akio added. "She turned me down, if you can believe it. Three times!"

Ashida Matsu smirked at him. "As I recall, the third time she didn't just turn you down. I seem to remember you blocking the doorway of her classroom to talk to her. Wasn't there something where the fragile flower of the temple gave you quite a talking-to, then kicked you in the shin to make you move? Somehow the phrase 'arrogant, indolent rich jerk' springs to mind..."

This was treated as hilarious by the rest. The roar of laughter was so loud that it brought a teacher over to hiss at the group. More quietly, Akio chuckled and shrugged. "Like I said, strange. Anyway, you're nearly a senior and your parents are loaded. You could get any other girl you want, so why bother with a crazy one? You'd be wasting your time, Tohma-kun."

"I see. Thank you for your input, gentlemen." I leaned back as the conversation then turned to general talk and boasting about dating experience. What I had learned only served to whet my interest. In my book, turning down Terada Akio suggested that she had good taste. I was also instantly predisposed to like any girl who had kicked him. I resolved to find out more about the intriguing Uesugi Mika-san, and soon.

I was finally able to drag my thoughts away from her when the vocalists came back into the room. Many of them went to sit down at various groups, but there were a few, unaccompanied soloists, who stayed standing at the side of the room. I recognized the upperclassmen from previous years, three girls and a boy, all of whom I already knew to be pleasant but mediocre. There were only two new faces in the lineup: a female freshman, and a male sophomore I did not recognize. I scrutinized those two in disappointment. The girl was skinny and not particularly prepossessing; I very much suspected she would be shrill and breathy. The boy was carrying, of all things, a stuffed toy. I winced inwardly. Singers really should not be allowed to have props. It never goes well.

The freshman was the first to step up, and my suspicions were borne out entirely. Not only was she piercingly shrill, she also had made a terrible mistake in choosing to sing a cappella. In a hideous sort of way, it was actually impressive how wildly off-center her pitch was. Most people are either sharp or flat, with flat predominating, but she was both, often within the space of a single phrase. She plowed her way through the song without even once finding the correct note. Plenty of people have little or no talent. I concluded that she had actually gone through to the other side, into anti-talent. When she finished, the applause was relieved rather than appreciative.

Then the boy took the stage. Oddly, he left his stuffed animal at the side, placing it with elaborate care and giving it a little pat on the head. He literally skipped up to the microphone stand in the center and waved at everyone. "Hi! I'm Sakuma Ryuichi, and I'm going to sing 'Ue o muite aruko', okay?"

I think everyone in the room felt like groaning at that announcement. Although it was a vaguely interesting twist to perform it a cappella, the song had been done to death even then. Just as I started to tune him out, however, he froze, staring into the distance. For a moment, I thought he had forgotten the words. But then...he changed.

I watched in fascination as his childishness drained away. It was as though someone had hit a switch somewhere. The only way I can think of to describe it is to say that when he looked up again, he suddenly snapped into focus. It was impossible to look away from him.

And then he began to sing.

Gone was the young, sing-song voice he had used to introduce himself. This voice was untrained, but rich and powerful and thrilling nonetheless, with a timbre that filled the stage to overflowing. I forgot that I had heard the song a thousand times before. I was caught up in the captivating ease and deftness of his phrasing, in his seemingly effortless command, in the aching purity of his expression. He soared, and his voice owned the room.

I soared with him, for I knew instantly that his voice could own the world.

He was what I had been waiting for, and more. The first piece was within my grasp.

He left the stage to an explosion of applause—even teachers were jumping to their feet. Somehow, my gaze went of its own accord to Uesugi Mika, and I saw that she was once again still, once again awed. In that moment, she was transcendently beautiful, and for an instant I could not breathe.

Perhaps I had found the second piece, too.

a cappella – vocal or choral performance without instrumental accompaniment
amabile – charming, gracious, amiable
sempre – always
subito – suddenly; at once; immediately
"Ue o muite aruko" – lit. "Let's walk while looking up". A very famous piece originally performed by Sakamoto Kyu in the1960s; an important song in the early J-pop movement. It has since been covered (and sometimes translated) innumerable times, often under the alternate title "Sukiyaki".

A/N: I've decided it really makes more sense all around to present names and honorifics more in the Japanese style. The previous three chapters have been edited accordingly.