051. Grandmaster

Chinatsu Kotobuki and Kyoko Kato entered, drinks in hand, only to find Jiang Yu standing motionless in the recording studio. He still hadn’t removed his headphones, and the door to the soundproof booth was wide open.

Chinatsu Kotobuki frowned. She was clearly displeased by Jiang Yu’s apparent lofty ambitions—or perhaps, his reach exceeding his grasp. She was no meddler, nor did she fancy herself a teacher. It was only because Jiang Yu possessed undeniable talent, and Kyoko Kato had recommended him, that she offered some guidance.

Granted, it had been nothing more than a few simple pointers—knowledge any music major would pick up in their early studies. Yet, as far as Chinatsu was concerned, Jiang Yu, who’d never learned the fundamentals of music theory, would need at least a week or two to digest all of it, even with his talent.

She was just about to go in and give Jiang Yu a proper talking-to when he emerged from the booth, wearing a strange expression.

The words of reprimand poised on her lips were swallowed back. Chinatsu’s tone remained stiff as she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Kyoko Kato, noticing her friend’s mood, gave Jiang Yu a look that said, “Good luck,” before turning her gaze inward, indifferent.

Jiang Yu, puzzled by Chinatsu’s obvious displeasure and Kyoko’s mysterious glance, took a moment to gather his words. “Um... Kotobuki-sensei, I think... I’ve already mastered it?”

Hesitation, uncertainty, perhaps even a hint of pride?

Chinatsu’s brow furrowed deeper. She ignored Jiang Yu’s use of “sensei,” her face still cold, and asked bluntly, “Mastered what?”

Confusion, detachment, perhaps a subtle expectation that she herself did not recognize?

Jiang Yu gave an awkward smile. He really wasn’t good at boasting. Still, he said, “The things you taught me—I think I’ve already got them down.”

Though, to be honest, he owed it all to that mysterious computer in his mind...

Chinatsu suddenly strode over, grabbed Jiang Yu’s shoulder, and, quite excited, demanded, “Really?!”

Noticing Jiang Yu’s discomfort, she released him and apologized, “Sorry... but...”

“That’s what I mean. I think I’ve already mastered the knowledge you just taught me. You can listen to my re-recorded version.”

Jiang Yu inhaled sharply, rubbing his sore shoulder. Kotobuki-sensei really had quite the grip...

Kyoko Kato turned around, surprised. “Jiang, you really mastered it all?”

In two hours? Based on what Kyoko knew of Chinatsu’s teaching style, she would have dumped a bunch of basics on Jiang Yu, then shared a few recording tricks.

But even so, it shouldn’t be something mastered so quickly.

The three of them returned to the recording studio, donned headphones, and listened to Jiang Yu’s latest versions.

By the final take, both Kyoko Kato and Chinatsu Kotobuki were visibly moved.

Chinatsu pondered for a moment, then asked, “Jiang, have you really never studied basic vocal techniques before?”

Ah, even the way she addressed him had changed.

Kyoko, too, stared at Jiang Yu, eyes full of disbelief and curiosity.

Their skepticism was justified; it was simply too incredible.

Jiang Yu licked his dry lips, thinking to himself, “I find it strange too, but I suddenly just know it—what else can I do...”

You could… stop pretending.

Please, author, return to your seat.

Jiang Yu confirmed, “I’ve only learned a few instruments, never vocal training.”

After a week spent with Jiang Yu, Kyoko had a good sense of his character and believed him.

Chinatsu, hearing Jiang Yu’s answer and seeing Kyoko’s affirmative nod, fell silent for a moment. Then she smiled faintly. “Excellent.”

Jiang Yu, a bit embarrassed, rubbed the bridge of his nose at this cryptic statement.

Kyoko laughed, teasing, “What’s this? Planning to make him your student, Chinatsu?”

Chinatsu rolled her eyes at Kyoko’s familiar address, then turned to Jiang Yu with a serious expression. “I’d like to introduce you to my teacher.”

“Huh?” ×2

Jiang Yu, bewildered, and Kyoko, astonished, spoke in unison.

“Chinatsu, you’re planning to introduce Jiang to Professor Hisaishi?”

Kyoko was stunned.

“Yes.”

Chinatsu replied calmly.

“Huh?”

Jiang Yu was utterly confused.

Kyoko, seeing Jiang Yu’s baffled look, sighed and asked, “Jiang, do you follow anime?”

Can’t you tell from my clothes?

“A little bit…” In fact, I suppose I’m half in the industry now.

“That makes it easier. You know Hayao Miyazaki, right?”

Even if you don’t watch anime, who in this country doesn’t know Miyazaki?

“Yes, I really like Master Miyazaki!” Even in another world, Miyazaki was active in animated films, a master who brought Japanese animation to the world.

“Then you must know the composer for Miyazaki’s films?”

Kyoko pressed on.

“Oh! Joe Hisaishi!” Jiang Yu exclaimed.

Joe Hisaishi was a musician Jiang Yu admired deeply in his previous life, with remarkable achievements.

He composed for anime like “Castle in the Sky,” “Spirited Away,” and “Howl’s Moving Castle.” For films such as “Kikujiro’s Summer” and “A Scene at the Sea,” his music was essential.

Even in his home country, works like “Let the Bullets Fly” and “A Chinese Tall Story” featured Hisaishi’s arrangements.

Regardless of film quality, Hisaishi was renowned both in Japan and China.

He was a name impossible to ignore in both traditional and ACG music circles.

People often considered Miyazaki and Hisaishi, or Kitano and Hisaishi, as the ultimate creative partnerships—especially the former, regarded as the best duo by countless fans.

The same held true in this world, though their creations were not the ones Jiang Yu knew.

Seeing Jiang Yu’s astonished expression, Kyoko nodded in satisfaction. “Now you understand how much Chinatsu values you?”

Jiang Yu bowed to Chinatsu Kotobuki. “Thank you for your trust, Kotobuki-sensei. But… my aspirations lie elsewhere.”

“Aspirations… lie elsewhere?” Chinatsu was stunned, and Kyoko as well.

“Yes… I’m sorry. Though I love music, I want to be a game developer. Recently, I’ve formed a doujin group with some friends, and I’m considering computer science as my university major.”

Jiang Yu spoke apologetically. He knew this was an incredible opportunity, but his ambitions truly weren’t in music.

Perhaps he would create many moving pieces, but his goal was always to let others experience the bittersweet emotions he once felt.

So, he was destined never to have a teacher-student relationship with a master like Hisaishi.