Maki Nishikino

Maki Nishikino listened to the music Jiang Yu played, and all her recent troubles surged in her heart—her parents forbidding her from playing the piano, hiring a private tutor to teach her medical knowledge instead.

Raised from childhood as the heir to Nishikino General Hospital, Maki believed she had grown accustomed to expectations. At least, that was what she told herself. Even her piano lessons had only begun because her father insisted the Nishikino heir should master an elegant art, befitting the family’s reputation.

The reason she could no longer continue was simply that she had failed to win first prize.

Maki still remembered the disappointment in her father’s eyes when she took second place in a piano competition for the first time, and how she sought comfort from her mother only to be met with the suggestion, “Perhaps it’s best you stop playing the piano now.”

Obedient to her family's arrangements as always, Maki found her hidden frustrations stirred by the melody. Did she truly wish to become a doctor? For the first time, she felt lost. She was afraid to face the question, fearing the answer might diverge completely from the path she had always believed was hers.

As the music reached its climax, Maki felt her tangled worries shattered like glass, and a sense of renewal washed over her. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her pale cheeks.

Wait—how strange, why am I… crying?

Maki tried to wipe her tears, but her efforts were futile. Clear droplets formed a gentle stream, flowing down her face.

Unable to stop her tears, she ceased her futile motions and stared at Jiang Yu, whose music had touched her so deeply. She offered a faint, serene smile.

Indeed—I do want to be a doctor. I cherish the smiles of patients and their families when they recover.

But—I also love music.

I want to keep playing the piano, keep singing, keep trying all the things I never imagined before.

I wish to have more friends, learn more, encounter many different people, and pass through countless landscapes.

So, truly, thank you for helping me understand all this, Jiang… You.

Maki whispered her gratitude in her heart. Her strong pride and unwillingness to admit defeat made it difficult for her to express such feelings openly.

Perhaps she would never say these words to the boy she had only met today. Yet the understanding he inspired would remain in her life, perhaps influencing her for years to come.

As the piece drew to its end, Maki’s mood gradually calmed. She wiped her tear-stained face, took out her phone, and gazed at her slightly swollen eyes, smiling with a hint of helplessness and quiet joy.

Beside her, Kyoko Kato and Chinatsu Kotobuki experienced the same journey through Jiang Yu’s music, but with greater self-control. They did not let their emotions pour forth so easily.

The two exchanged glances, then simultaneously exclaimed, “Such powerful emotional resonance!”

This seemed to be a hallmark of Jiang Yu’s performances. Because he invested all his feelings into the music, his playing evoked a strong sense of empathy in listeners.

Some composers, renowned through history, may have only a handful of works possessing such infectious power—music that allows listeners to immerse their own emotions.

As the saying goes, “When one becomes sentimental, every song becomes a reflection of oneself.”

This magical style of music, whether one is sentimental or not, will stir emotions as long as one listens earnestly—be it joy or sorrow, making the heart feel fragile as a child’s.

This style also concealed Jiang Yu’s minor flaws in technique to the greatest extent.

Of course, his shortcomings were only notable when compared to established musicians.

Music, as one of the world’s nine great arts, serves to express emotion. All beloved works share strong emotional resonance.

The ability of a composer to produce several pieces that evoke feelings and thoughts in most people marks the boundary between a master and a merely outstanding artist.

After all, music in essence does not distinguish between the refined and the popular. If your music cannot move people of different ages within your own culture, how can it touch those from others?

After hearing several of Jiang Yu’s pieces, Chinatsu Kotobuki and Kyoko Kato realized that, beyond his skill and remarkable learning ability, his greatest asset was his boundless imagination.

Or perhaps, as students worldwide have heard, it is what a certain inventor called “inspiration.”

His unconventional style seemed already apparent in Jiang Yu. In any field, maintaining creative energy and inspiration is a decisive factor in reaching new heights.

These traits, though Jiang Yu himself might not realize it, shone brightly in him.

After finishing his performance, Jiang Yu took a deep breath, striving to shake off the emotions the music had conjured.

Perhaps, in music, this was akin to the “immersion” some talented actors demonstrate in film. Whenever he played a piece with a personal story or background, Jiang Yu would become absorbed, his emotions rising and falling with the music.

Such is often the burden of sensitive souls.

In both his past and present lives, Jiang Yu had always been a person led by emotion.

After a moment of silence in the restaurant, thunderous applause erupted, startling Jiang Yu. He quickly stood, bowed to those around him, gestured his apologies, and left the stage, returning to the table where his companions sat.

He met the wistful gazes of Kyoko Kato and Chinatsu Kotobuki, and could only smile apologetically, indicating he would not pursue music as his profession.

Then he noticed Maki Nishikino’s reddened eyes. Startled, he asked instinctively, “Maki, are you alright? Why are you crying…”

The girl suddenly stood, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, cutting him off, “What are you talking about? It makes no sense!”

…This seemingly aloof Maki, was she actually a bit tsundere?

Not knowing how to respond, Jiang Yu wore an awkward expression, hurriedly apologized, took his seat, and fell silent, preparing to wait quietly for the dishes to be served.