After school, he walked down the hallway with his hands shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. School, people—everything about this place was unbearably dull. If not for the mission, he wouldn’t have set foot in a place like this. "Tsk." He passed by the music room, noticed that the door was slightly ajar, and stopped. To be honest, he had no reason to be here. Yet, something held him in place.

After a quick glance around, he leaned closer and peeked through the gap. All that was in the room were an empty chair, a music stand, and a grand piano, bathed in sunlight. Quietly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The faint smell of wood and dust lingered in the air. What the hell am I doing? No one was there to answer his question. Slowly, he approached and lowered himself onto the bench, letting his fingers hover over the keys. And, without thinking, they began to move.

It was a tune his mother had once taught him. Closing his eyes, he recalled her gentle voice: "Music will speak for you when words can't." Back then, he hadn’t understood the full weight of those words, but it had been a time when he was undeniably happy. He poured his longing into the notes, letting the melody speak the words he never could.