A/N: Ohmigawd. I know this is way, way overdue, but I am just glad that I am back. Really sorry for the long wait, and sorry that it isn't really enough. Thank you so much for waiting.


Act 32, Winter

Perhaps he overestimated himself. Vexation displaced what used to be a euphoric sensation swimming in his head. The pumping adrenaline in his blood was gone, sucked dry by a sinister black void. The feeling of being yanked downwards from the summit of gratification to the lows of disenchantment was making his head excruciatingly throb.

Displays of laudatory flowers had decorated the area, loud and overbearing that it further hurt the senses.

I can't believe this, he lamented to himself, paling at the sight of one particular woman, who was quietly watching him with curious ruby eyes. Fours years had passed, and his bitter feelings still hadn't changed and had only been intensely fueled by her unexpected appearance. Despite his frustration he was able to pull an even and unruffled countenance when he was met with a round of congratulations.

His mentor, Yoshiyuki Terada, was blissfully oblivious after the routine introduction of the four judges, trading pleasantries and initiating a predictable conversation with them. It had been a unanimous vote, and the instructor was immensely pleased by Eriol's victory in the competition, not even noticing that in spite of the supposed festive mood in the backstage the bespectacled pianist didn't share his enthusiasm to celebrate.

Eriol offered a tight smile to the jury who had come to personally meet him. The oldest among them was quick to suggest that the young victor participate in the Hamamatsu International Piano Competition where even more competent opponents from all over Japan chose to join.

"It's an even better avenue to be recognized in that contest. Getting in the finals would be a feat, I tell you, young man. So many piano geniuses. Nevertheless, it shouldn't be a problem with you because you are Clow Reed's son, aren't you?"

The old man's laughter rang raucously in his head, the noise pounding mercilessly in his ears. Eriol was the least amused by the turn of events, and Terada was finally catching up with his temper. The judge's most recent statement was rhetorical, and wasn't meant to be offensive, nevertheless it was the last stake to his already battered self-esteem. He didn't intend to be known as Clow Reed's relation because apparently it was going to influence how the jury was going to consider their choice of a winner. It was unreasonable and underhanded, not only for the other contestants, but also to himself. The bespectacled pianist might never know if he could ever be respected for his own runner-up in the competition had been incredibly exceptional after all.

"It's a shame, Hiiragizawa-san. Why only now that you started participating? You could have debuted a long time ago. It wouldn't have been a problem what with your kind of pedigree."

His slack grip on his cool platinum plaque had tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"I didn't have the nerve," he answered, fighting a harsher rejoinder from escaping his mind. His smile was drier each passing second. Sadly, everything was still all about to his father, the reason why he was anyway here. He had to do it for himself, yet somehow it seemed that he was only convincing himself that.

The crowd in the offstage passed off his comment as embarrassment or even modesty, yet the most notable and the youngest of the jury, the single explanation how the other three must have known who he was the entire duration of the competition, hadn't said a word yet since she made herself known as if anticipating for the best chance to say her sentiments to him. Her flowing red hair and watchful eyes were always hard to pass by.

"That's the silliest notion, Hiiragizawa-kun. What was there to be anxious about?" Kaho Mizuki remarked with a languid flick of her auburn tresses. The woman was testing his tolerance. "A pianist should always have that audacity, or he'll never survive in this industry. Isn't that right, Terada-sensei?"

Even his mentor had picked up on the goading commentary.

"Music is not merely business. It's passion and commitment. In all fairness to Eriol-kun, he had just been bidding his time," his advisor defended him, clapping a hand on his taut shoulder. Terada tried to extract any reaction from him but utterly failed.

"Well, a great number of famous musicians I know had done just that. Fame is harder to come by with the inflation of talents in this generation," one of the middle-aged judges mused. The others had politely agreed with him.

A writer from one of the newspapers had entered the vicinity, taking pictures and hoping to speak to the winners, trailed closely by reporters from a local television network in Fukuoka, who wanted to have the same opportunity with the victorious participants. Fortunately, they got the second-placer first, and before they could even flock around him, Eriol had turned to excuse himself. He bowed to the judges and Terada with careful detachment, thanking every one again for congratulating him, and without looking up to their faces. He didn't risk to meet Kaho's questioning eyes. She might only see the uncertainty that was brimming in his gaze.


There was something unusual about him when he finally made his appearance from the backstage, Tomoyo noted. His shoulders were slightly slumped, his eyes unfocused as if he wasn't really seeing anything in front of him, and his mouth set in a grim line. The tie on his neck was worn loose and his dark coat a little creased. He didn't seem to look like someone who had won the first prize in a piano competition at all.

Tōya and Nakuru, who were anxious and ecstatic since the announcement of the winners, had not immediately realized the difference, probably attributing his appearance to the frenzy of winning his first distinction, but Syaoran had easily recognized it.

"Eriol!" The Chinese called out because it was not possible to get to him right away. It must have been a rare occasion that his best friend called him by his first name because the azure-eyed young man had jerked in surprise, finally waking up from his trance. The lobby was teeming with spectators and supporters that it took him a while to get to where everybody had chosen to wait.

The former heiress was convinced that something was definitely off. Eriol had walked up to them with a precisely trained smile, waving a plaque rather halfheartedly before announcing that he wanted to go home. Their words of congratulations came a bit short at his strange mood that finally his cousin had seen his lack of eagerness to celebrate. Something had happened in the backstage, but nobody could confront him about it yet. They made their way out of the swarming vestibule in confusion of the pianist's disposition.

Tomoyo bit her lower lip, unsure of how to approach him. She settled on pulling Eriol aside before both of them could completely step out of the building.

"Anō—"

Her fingers were gingerly curled at his coat sleeve, arm stretched, and he stopped walking but didn't turn to her right away.

"I shouldn't have bothered."

Tomoyo didn't let go, this time uncertain about how to go on now that he had started talking.

"Hiiragizawa-san?" She moved until she was almost standing right beside him.

Then Eriol looked at her for a full minute as if considering if he should explain himself. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she suddenly felt self-conscious in Sakura's olive dress. She was still wearing contacts for disguise, and her grey eyes wouldn't meet his sapphire ones without eliciting a shameful flush from her face.

"I really thought you were amazing out there. I think you should give yourself some credit," Tomoyo could only whimper the words to him in attempt to contain her marvel for his performance an hour ago.

Either he didn't hear what she said or he didn't just believe it because his torn, miserable expression was what got engraved in her mind instead as she further stared. Eriol swallowed and looked away, and the spell was broken just like that. The former heiress couldn't suppress a disappointed look from blooming on her face on time.

"Let's just go home, Daidōji-san," resigned and tired, the pianist said, almost sighing in effect. In spite of his dark disposition and eagerness to avoid confrontation, he had deftly moved and quietly slipped his hand to hers, had entwined his long fingers with her own before he led them out of double doors.


A/N: And there goes Kaho. I can't really make up my mind about her. Judging from her first appearance, I think I've made her somewhat nasty. Wow.