Tsukishima never fought the fate laid out for him. He earned good grades to satisfy his mother’s relentless need for success—a second chance at life through her sons. Both of them. But it was the youngest, the last descendant of this woman in years, who bore the brunt of her expectations. He did as demanded; there was no point in arguing with a mother so concerned for his well-being. Especially when success came so easily.

He finished college with a degree in biomedical engineering but settled for a museum job in Miyagi Prefecture, renting an apartment overlooking a park.

Whether he enjoyed the work, he wasn’t sure. Routine dulled everything. It wasn’t a problem—he’d always been this way.

Doctor’s prognosis after his failed attempt against nature's natural cycle? Depression.

Recently released from close supervision, Tsukishima knew the psych ward wasn’t like the movies. No straitjackets, no violent outbursts. Just quiet—an eerie sort of peace. The only rule: comply with the doctors, and you were free to exist. No real consequences. What could you threaten an insane person with? Someone who teetered on the edge of sanity, waiting for it to break?

He, too, ignored curfew.

The lounge housed a piano, mostly decorative, collecting dust under artificial lights. But with the staff’s permission, Tsukishima sat before it, the room’s soundproof walls making the moment feel… private. The full moon streamed through unfenced windows, a rarity—the view led only to the walled-off garden, after all.

An unfamiliar zeal stirred in his chest. Uncharacteristic. Fleeting. His fingers hovered over the keys, hesitated, then pressed down.

"Moonlight Sonata."

A song he hadn't played in years.