Chapter Text
The eighty-eight keys of black and white lay before me just waiting to be touched. At the age of three, I was practically begging my parents for lessons and a keyboard. I was given a couple of lessons before anything was decided upon, but the decision was already made in my mind.
When my teacher saw the potential I had from the first couple of lessons, we immediately moved up to an upright, sitting it in the corner of our living room. At first, sitting down to practice was a chore; another thing I had to check off for the day. This changed quickly, however, when I heard the true beauty behind a piece and what you could do.
My many idols helped kickstart this. Everything they did had a specific quality, a specific touch.
The very next lesson I told my teacher I wanted to sound just as good.
At the age of six, I was playing some of my favorite composers: Liszt, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Handel, and Mozart. My hands may have been too small to reach some things, but that didn't stop me.
Ten years later, I still love the piano as much as I did then. The keys hold many possibilities and so much can be pulled from deep within.
I have also done many competitions and traveled to Europe to spread my love of this art to others. Well, I also won scholarships and lessened the burden on my parents, but my focus was mostly on sharing.
"No, no," my teacher interrupted, "You need to bring out the left hand more and accomplish a brighter tone. This piece isn't a funeral."
I look back up at the black-inked pages filled with way too many notes. Today's lesson was already rough, I didn't need it soiling my favorite piece as well.
I was trying to learn Rachmaninoff's transcription of Liebesleid, otherwise known as Love's Sorrow. The notes seemed to be there, but for some reason, I couldn't find the right tone. My teacher wanted it to be a fond look back at a loved one, but doesn't sorrow mean pain?
I start again, trying a livelier sound, pulling the melody out more in the left hand.
"Yes, yes. That will do nicely."
Getting to the new melodic idea, I shift the tone down a bit, less lively, as if a memory turned sour. This seemed to catch my teacher's breath, but I continued. The ending was bittersweet and I knew I had done it. Now all that was left was continuing to pull that out.
After a few seconds of silence, the last note still ringing in the air, my teacher spoke up. "Beautiful. Keep up the good work, try focusing in on those nit-picky details I mentioned last lesson and that will work well for your next audition."
I nodded my head, gathering up my books before turning to smile in my teacher's direction. "See you next week."
Moving out into the hallway of Shujin Academy, I noticed that the practice building was almost empty. I decided to head through the main building since it got me closer to the station.
The main building was almost empty too. I did, however, pass a group of teens, most of whom were in my class. They had begun hanging out together when the "troubled transfer student" started here. The group included Sakamoto Ryuji, Takamaki Ann, and Kurusu Akira. Each has faced some sort of trouble with our previous gym teacher, Kamoshida, and I'm pretty sure that's what brought them together.
Kamoshida had what everyone is calling a "change of heart." He confessed to all of his wrongdoings and was sent to jail. I never had much interaction with him besides the required time, so I only heard rumors about what was going on.
Another victim of these changes of heart, and the most recent one to date, was Madarame. Madarame is an artist now known for stealing his pupil's works. I'm sure his current pupil, Kitagawa Yusuke got hell for it. Hopefully, he's doing okay.
These "changes of hearts" seem to be a mental thing, or they have to be. They seem too closely related to the mental shutdowns, which I've watched happen.
The black-masked dude I've been meeting in Mementos seems to have a good idea of what he's doing, but I never expected he'd want to be killing people. Nevertheless, he does it almost every time we meet saying it's his job.
He's been training me in anything relating to personas but has always gotten frustrated when I don't want to just automatically go for the kill. His malicious intents have yet to wear off on me, and I hope it stays that way.
I know he's good at what he does and all, and I appreciate him taking the time to help me, but I still don't find killing the answer.
I'm guessing these "thieves of hearts" don't kill. All of their targets have survived to this date, but the true question still stands: who are these thieves of hearts?
The train was late, like always after rush hour, so I stood waiting somewhat patiently, phone in hand. My stomach growled in complaint after not having food since lunch. No one was waiting for me at home, so I made my way towards a small café in Yongen Jaya.
The small bell that hung over the door rang, announcing my entrance.
"Welcome," a deep voice called out. "What can I get for ya?"
"Just the usual, coffee and curry." I walked straight over to the counter space, taking a seat one away from another guy, who looked close in age to me, maybe a year older.
Settling in, a cup of black coffee was placed in front of me. The smell enveloped me in a blanket of warmth and I took a deep sigh.
"Long day?" the brown-haired guy beside me asked.
"You could say that," I said, leaning my head against a hand.
He seemed to assess my features before asking another question, "Shujin student?"
"Yes, actually."
"Were you involved in the Kamoshida case?"
"My, my. You ask a lot of questions. . ." I trailed off.
A plate of curry was set down in front of me and his coffee cup was refilled.
"To answer your question, no. I'm not athletically inclined to be anywhere near that case anyway." I paused to take a sip of my coffee. "So, with all these questions you're either a creep or a detective. My guess is the latter."
He chuckled lightly, "You guess correctly then. My curiosity gets the better of me many days."
"May I ask your name, detective-san?"
"I- I'm surprised you don't already know it," he said, voice smooth.
I looked back up and stared him down. Now that I look a bit closer, he kind of looks familiar. I have no clue from where, though. Shaking my head, I responded. "Sorry, no clue."
"Akechi Goro." A gloved hand was held out in my direction.
"(L/N) (Y/N)," I said, grabbing ahold of his hand. Realization spread fast on my face. "You're that teen detective, oh my God."
"And you're that teen pianist who won the nationwide competition."
"So the detective does know his music." I sent a grin his way.
"I'm much more of a jazz person if I'm being honest. There's a place in Kichijoji I have enjoyed going to as a means of escaping work-" His cell phone buzzed as if reminding him he isn't ever done with work. "I must take this. It was nice meeting you, (L/N)-san. I hope to run into you again soon."
I smiled and nodded as he grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door. Another deep sigh, similar to the one that got me into the previous conversation, released from my mouth. It's not likely I'll ever see Akechi like this again, especially with how famous he's becoming.
Well, at least I can say I knew him before he became super famous.
While walking through school the next day, I was pulled aside by Kawakami.
"Hi, um," she began in the most lethargic voice, "the principal thought it'd be a good idea for you to start seeing Dr. Maruki since you have a strong interest in music therapy."
I looked down to see my filled-in career assessment path sheet in her hands.
I stammered out, "I, uh, I guess so. When am I supposed to do this exactly?"
"He's got some time for you this afternoon."
"Okay." I bounced back and forth on the balls of my feet, while she concluded the conversation with a reminder of tomorrow's homework.
The end of the day came quicker than I thought it would and the bell rang its tune marking the end of class. I begrudgingly made my way down to the nurse's office in the practice building to find Dr. Maruki standing right outside the door.
"Hello there," Dr. Maruki said with a bright smile, earning a smile from me in return.
He gestured to the office, so I made my way in. Though the disinfectant smell was strong, Dr. Maruki's space looked comfortable with the leather chairs. A spare desk had been pulled in to use as a table and a couple of snacks were laid out.
I sat on the edge of my chair and Dr. Maruki got comfortable in his.
After a brief moment of silence, he began. "So, the school tells me that you have an interest in therapy. Music therapy to be exact."
I nodded. "Yes, sir, psychology has always been an interest of mine. Playing the piano just made the connection to music therapy."
He chuckled lightly before responding. "I may not have much experience in music, but I do know a good amount about psychology. My expertise lies in cognitive pscience, have you ever heard of that?"
When I didn't respond, he continued, assuming I didn't. An explanation was given and it was a bit confusing, but I think I understood the basics.
"I would like to ask for your help. You see, I'm writing a paper to combine research I've done before coming here and while I'm here. Well, I'd like your help with it."
"You want my help?" I asked, somewhat shocked.
"Yes," he said with a smile. "I think that your knowledge of music will bring out a new light to cognitive pscience that I have yet to see!"
"Okay..."
"I have another student also helping me if that helps. I think he's in your class. Kurusu Akira? He's been helping me out on occasion for around a month now."
As the session went on, I became gradually more comfortable. Dr. Maruki was very personable and easy to talk to, not that I did much talking. He likes to ramble. He went on for a while about a cookie experiment he tried with Kurusu.
I'm not sure this is only me, but I feel it's safer to go with the box with ten cookies because there's safety in numbers. The singular cookie isn't any different than the others, it was just put there because it had to be.
I expressed these concerns and he seemed to pause at that.
There was a couple of seconds of silence before I was asked, "How are things going, competitively or not, with piano?"
"Things are going fine. I'm preparing a new piece for the next level of competition, so there's a lot of time being put into that," I replied.
"Is there any stress relating to the other competitors? Like, are they giving you a hard time since you won the nationwide competition?"
"Everyone talks of the nationwide competition, but that's all they ever talk about. Many of them are just as good, if not better at the piano in comparison to me, so why am I given all the extra attention?" I crossed my arms, leaning back into the chair.
"Maybe it's just how they rank the importance of a certain competition. That one, like the singular cookie, was seen more fondly because it was perceived as being special. A nationwide competition is a big deal, especially for someone your age."
"I guess you're right."
He shifted his eyes toward the clock on the wall. "Oh my, I've kept you for a long time! It's almost 5:30. I'm sure you have other things to be doing."
Looking at the clock myself, I saw I was late for yet another training with the Black Mask. Mumbling some curses under my breath, I stood from my chair and faced Dr. Maruki, who stood as well.
"Thank you, Dr. Maruki," I said with a smile, bowing slightly.
"Of course," he began. "Hope to see you again soon."
I rushed from the school without making it too obvious I was in a hurry. Once I had a bit of distance between me and the school, I pulled out my phone and tapped on the all-too-familiar red app.
The world faded into many shades of reds and blacks as I was transported away from the hell of the real world into a different kind of hell.