Brass Contraband

A high-pitched squeal rang out behind me. Little Shit had somehow wedged himself into a euphonium's bell, his stubby legs kicking frantically in the air.

"No no no, get out of there!" Kurumi abandoned my side to extract him, with Sae following close behind looking resigned.

While they struggled with the Little Shit in the corner, my focus drifted back to the trumpet in my hands. My fingers traced the curves of the mouthpiece, following its path to the bell. The brass felt cool against my skin, just like the hospital rails I used to grip as I walked the long hall to Mom's room.

I was too young then to understand why we visited so often. Dad would lift me onto the edge of her bed, and I'd tell her about my day while she smiled, looking more tired each time. The nurses always brought me juice boxes and told me everything would be ok, though I didn't know what they meant back then.

"What would Mom have wanted?" I'd asked Dad one Mother's Day. We were placing flowers on her grave, and I was finally old enough to notice how his hands shook.

"She loved music. Especially the trumpet. That's how we met - I heard her playing in the park and followed the sound. Found this beautiful woman making the most incredible music..."

"What's a trumpet?" I'd tugged his sleeve.

Behind me, Kurumi yelped as Little Shit emerged from the euphonium's other end, covered in dust. But their commotion felt distant. All I could see was that park bench Dad described, where a young woman's trumpet gleamed in the sunlight, calling to a man who would become my father.

I never got to hear her play. The only memories I have of Mom's music lives in Dad's stories and in photographs, where her smile shines even brighter than the brass instrument in her hands.

"Play something for us!" Kurumi bounced over, Little Shit now securely trapped in her arms.

Sae leaned against a desk, arms crossed. "I'd like to hear it too."

I hesitated, fingers tightening around the trumpet. "But I haven't touched one in years."

Which was true. The last time I played was in elementary school, where I was first chair trumpet. Not because I was the best, but because I played more than anyone else. Every night, after Dad got home from work, I'd practice until my lips went numb. He'd sit in our tiny living room, eyes closed, listening to me fumble through scales and simple tunes. When I finally got something right, his proud smile made all the sour notes worth it.

But then came the overseas job offer. Better pay, he said. A chance for a better life. The trumpet gathered dust after that. What was the point of playing when no one was there to listen?

"Come on Ryū-chan! Promise we won't judge!"

I traced the valves, remembering that first song Dad told me about, the one Mom played in the park. He hummed it so often I taught myself the melody in secret. It wasn't complicated. Just a simple folk song about spring.

"Fine." I lifted the trumpet. "But just one song."

The first note came out weak. But as I kept playing, the melody began to settle, each note flowing a little easier. My fingers began dancing across the valves like they'd been waiting all this time.

What would Mom think of all this? The doors appearing out of nowhere, kaiju spawning from them, the world ending? I never got to know her well enough to guess. Would she have packed our bags, trying to outrun the inevitable? Or would she have said 'screw it' and squeezed every last drop from whatever time we had left?

My chest tightened as I reached the melody. I thought of the penthouse I'd been saving for, the one with the perfect view of Mt. Fuji. Mom should've had that. She deserved more than those final days stuck in a dim hospital room lying in bed, staring out at a dark, narrow alley.

The last note hung in the air then faded into silence.

Little Shit squeaked excitedly from Kurumi's arms while she clapped.

"That was beautiful, Ryū-chan!"

Even Sae smiled. "Well done."

I heard their praise, but it was overshadowed by the absence of someone who should've been there. Someone who would've known exactly what this song meant because she played it first.

"Thanks" was all I could manage.

The bell's harsh ring shattered our little musical bubble. Kurumi's shoulders slumped as she gave Little Shit an extra squeeze.

"Awww already?"

"Ryūka." Sae called as she moved toward the doorway. "We should head back."

"Coming." I nodded, but my hands wouldn't release the trumpet. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed its case from the shelf.

***

"I'm such an idiot."

I glared at the trumpet case by my desk, triple-wrapped in plastic like I'd actually cared about keeping it dry from the rain. I'd told myself the whole way home to turn back, to return it. But here it was, smuggled into my room like brass contraband.

Not that I could even play it here. The walls in our apartment were paper-thin, and Gran Gran would burst in the second she heard a note. “You think trumpet will get you into Shibue University?" I’d imagine her saying. 

I flopped onto my bed with a groan. Even Sae had failed me. When I'd begged her to talk me out of it, she just gave me her knowing look and said nothing.

"First thing tomorrow," I muttered, pulling my blanket up. "I'll return it first thing tomorrow."

***

Ok, before anyone says anything, I did sneak that trumpet back to school today. Managed to slip past Gran Gran's eagle eyes, which honestly deserves a video game achievement, if I do say so myself. I triple-wrapped the case in plastic again because, naturally, the universe decided today would be perfect for another downpour.

But here was the thing. I couldn't return it. There was a small issue blocking the front gates to Ikuka.

And by small issue, I meant a creature that made the Furnace Kaiju look like baby kaiju. Like a Leviathan, its massive form seemed to stretch endlessly upward, water cascading off barnacle-covered skin that looked ancient enough to have witnessed the earth's formation. Multiple eyes dotted its crowned head and chest, each one pulsing with a blue-green glow that cut through the rain.

I stood frozen, umbrella limp in my hand, as all of its eyes locked onto us. The bioluminescent lines along its body began to pulse like it's deciding whether we qualified as a snack.

So yeah... maybe the trumpet was going to be stuck with me a little longer than planned.