Chapter XL - The Sonata You Played Without Looking At Me (II)

"Arisato-senpai, arrangement is demonstrable contribution! The notation, the structure... Akise's the skeleton that holds everything toge—" I began.

"A skeleton without flesh is merely a collection of bones."

Arisato's gaze was unyielding.

"If Nanahara-kun wishes to submit his compositions to the actual Music Club for consideration, I'm sure they would welcome the input. But academic interest without performance capability does not meet the standard for active membership in a performance-based club."

"This is absurd."

The scarlet bombshell's voice cut through the tension, sharp as broken glass.

"You're just manipulating definitions to rationalize your bias. How can you even call yourself a Student Council President?"

"I'm just applying established standards consistently," Arisato corrected, as if he was explaining something painfully simple to a particularly slow child. "My responsibility is to ensure school resources are allocated efficiently and according to protocol. The Four Symbols Club, by your own metrics, has only three functional performers. You wrote the rules yourselves when you formed this club. I'm merely holding you to them."

Minazuki-san's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"So change the charter."

"Charter amendments require approval from the administration committee, which doesn't meet until after the Cultural Festival. Besides, even if they did, retroactive changes to accommodate clear violations would hardly be approved."

She clicked her tongue in disgust.

"Then I'll sing too!" Akise desperately declared. "Background vocals! Harmony!"

Arisato's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Can you sing, Nanahara-kun? Do you have any training? Any demonstrable ability?"

Akise's silence was answer enough.

"As I expected." Arisato's voice softened, somehow more devastating than before. "This last-minute claim of musical aptitude is transparent and, frankly, embarrassing for everyone involved. The administration committee requires demonstrated skill. Such improvised fabrications will not suffice."

Arisato gathered his papers and clapped them against the desk to vertically align them before putting them in a folder.

As if this meeting was nothing more than a minor annoyance.

"The Four Symbols Club fails to meet the basic requirements for continued existence. The room will be reassigned effective immediately."

"Y-You can't do that!"

"...Hmm?"

Arisato looked at Akise, who was on the verge of tears, like vermin.

He looked suddenly younger, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen—not since that day in junior high when I'd found him crying behind the gymnasium after being mocked for his fantasies.

"I beg your pardon, Nanahara-kun? As Student Council President, I believe I can."

"This is wrong!"

"Perhaps from your limited perspective. Anywho, the storage committee begins moving in tomorrow morning. I suggest you clear out your decorations by the end of today."

After everything—the reconciliation with Akise, the return of Sosuke, the tentative connection with Minazuki-san, even my halting return to the piano—it would all be erased by a bureaucratic technicality, swept away as easily as dust from an unused shelf.

Akise turned to me, trying to hide his tears.

It was a desperate, silent plea—begging for another argument, another approach, another miracle to salvage what we were about to lose.

The boy who'd built worlds from nothing, created meaning from imagination, looked utterly lost.

Sosuke's jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He'd returned to us, reclaimed his place in our constellation, only to watch it collapse.

Minazuki-san stood rigidly, an expression unreadable befalling on her but for the slight flush of anger high on her cheeks. She'd taken a risk—stepped outside her isolation to join something beyond herself.

And now witnessed its destruction.

Without being able to help.

My mind raced frantically, searching for arguments, appeals, anything that might sway Arisato's implacable judgment.

But every path led to the same dead end.

We had tied ourselves to rules and structures, and those same constraints were now the instruments of our defeat that Arisato used to cleanly sever the ties that bound us.

"I believed in this," Akise whispered, so quietly that perhaps only I heard it. "I really thought we could—"

"It would be best if you vacated the room by 6:00 PM at the latest. The custodial space doesn't necessarily enjoy cleaning after students more than what they're obligated to." Arisato stated, ignoring him as he stood and was in the process of collecting his things.

Somewhere in the building, students laughed and talked, unaware that a small piece of our world was ending.

It was over. Completely and irrevocably over.

I was drowning, dissolving, dying while standing.

And... those thoughts returned again.

The rooftop beckoned in my mind.

Why didn't I just end it that day if it was going to end up like this?

This endless cycle of hope and disappointment, the brief moments of light followed by the inevitable descent back into darkness.

It was too much.

Too painful.

Perhaps in the end, my father was—

“Ah, sorry I'm late!"

—wrong?

The voice—gentle but firm, like spring rain on parched earth—came from the doorway behind us.

Sairenji Satsuki stood there, one hand resting on the doorframe as if to steady herself. Her uniform hung slightly loose on her frame, crude evidence of weight lost during her long illness, but her dark eyes were clear and determined.

Most noticeable, a guitar case with a weathered black surface was slung over her shoulder which created a stark contrast to her pale complexion.

"S-S-Sairenji-kun?"

Arisato blanched.

"You shouldn't be—I mean, I understood you were still—"

"Recovering?" Sairenji's smile was kind. "That I still am, but my doctor cleared me for half-days starting today, and I thought my first act back at Amane should be supporting my friends."

She promptly moved to stand beside us, completing our defense line facing Arisato. The guitar case swung slightly as she adjusted its weight on her shoulder.

"I'm the fourth member of the Four Symbols Club. Active participation as a guitarist. I believe that satisfies all requirements of the charter."

"This is... unexpected."

"Life often is," she replied simply. She stepped further into the room. "I was discharged this morning. My doctors believe a gradual return to normal activities will aid my recovery."

"Sairenji-kun... I'm pleased to see your health improving, but surely you should be focusing on your studies after such a long absence. These... extracurricular diversions seem ill-advised given your condition."

Something flashed in Sairenji's eyes—a steel I'd rarely glimpsed beneath her customary serenity.

"I appreciate your concern, Arisato-senpai. However, I believe I'm in the best position to assess my own capacities."

"Even so, music requires a physical stamina that I fear you may lack in your current—"

"My grades remain the highest in our year despite my absence, and as for my health, music has been recommended to me as excellent therapy by my main doctor. The guitar exercises my fine motor skills while avoiding excessive physical strain."

Arisato wasn't just frustrated at a thwarted plan.

He felt utterly betrayed.

Sairenji had been his protégé, his chosen successor for Student Council leadership. Therefore, to see her standing with us and openly defying his authority... it was a blow he hadn't anticipated.

"...I had higher expectations for you. You've always demonstrated excellent judgment."

"I believe I'm still demonstrating such in this instance. I'm choosing to support a club with genuine artistic merit and significance. Isn't that exactly what the Cultural Festival is meant to celebrate?"

The air practically crackled with tension as they faced each other across the desk—Arisato, outwardly composed yet inwardly seething; Sairenji, gentle yet immovable in her conviction.

For the first time since I'd known him, the Student Council President of Amane Private Academy seemed genuinely unsure how to proceed.

And, like the lioness that the scarlet bombshell was, she sensed his indecision and seized her advantage. She stepping forward and stood before him , seeing Arisato Seijuro as nothing more than a scared little mouse.

A smirk, so cold—devilish—and disgustingly fitting, fixed itself upon her face.

"Let's settle this. If our performance gets the most audience votes at the Cultural Festival, the Four Symbols Club stays. Permanently."

"And if you fail?"

"We won't," she replied with such simple certainty that even I believed her.

"Hypothetically," Arisato pressed, sensing an opening. "If your performance fails to impress the student body, what then? What stakes would justify such a significant exception to established procedure?"

Minazuki-san glanced at me.

I nodded slightly. It was all or nothing.

The Gambit of the Foul Symbols Club.

"If we fail, all of us accept disciplinary action for disruption of administrative processes and misuse of school resources," I offered calmly.

Akise's eyes went wide. Sosuke stiffened. Minazuki-san and Sairenji remained steady.

But none of us contradicted me.

A slow, cruel smile spread across Arisato's face as he smelled blood in water.

"All four of you?"

"All five," Akise corrected, defiantly lifting his chin. "I may not be playing music, but I'm still part of this."

"How noble," Arisato remarked dryly.

His gaze lingered on each of us in turn, assessing, calculating.

"Disciplinary action would mean a permanent mark on your records. For Takami-kun, that could threaten his sports scholarships. For Kagami-kun and Sairenji-kun, university recommendations would be compromised. For Nanahara-kun, well..." He shrugged elegantly. "I suppose his academic standing could hardly be further diminished."

His gaze settled last on Minazuki-san.

"And for you, Minazuki-kun, it would likely mean expulsion, given your existing record of infractions. I wonder if your father would arrange another transfer, or simply recall you to Italy in disgrace."

The veiled threat hung in the air like poison gas. And for a moment, doubt crept in. Were we truly prepared to risk so much for a club room? For streamers and posters and mythological designations?

But then I looked at my friends.

At Akise, whose imagination had created a sanctuary when reality became unbearable.

At Sosuke, who had returned to us despite the demands of his tennis career.

At Sairenji, defying both illness and expectations to stand with us.

And, at Minazuki-san, whose voice had literally saved my life.

This wasn't about a room.

It was about claiming the right to define ourselves.

It was about finding meaning transcending the narrow channels prescribed by Amane's hierarchy.

It was about saying that friendship and creativity and passion mattered—that WE mattered, even if we didn't fit neatly into institutional categories.

"We accept those terms, Arisato-senpai," I firmly said, refusing to break eye contact with Arisato.

Arisato studied me for a long moment, searching for weakness or hesitation; and in finding none, he nodded slowly.

"Very well. Your band will perform at the Cultural Festival. If, by some miracle, you receive the most audience votes, the Four Symbols Club will receive permanent charter status."

His mouth twisted into something too sharp to be a smile.

"When you fail, all five of you will face the Disciplinary Committee, with my personal recommendation for maximum penalties."

"Agreed."

I moved forward, past Minazuki-san, and extended my hand to formalize our pact. Arisato paused for a moment, then reached out and gripped my hand. His palm was cool and smooth, the handshake firm without being aggressive.

"This should be educational... for everyone involved," he remarked as he released my hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual administrative matters to attend to."

It was a dismissal, plain and simple, but it felt like he was retreating more than asserting his dominance. Effectievely, we had challenged him on his own ground and emerged, if not victorious, then at least undefeated. As we filed out of the Student Council room, the weight of what we had just committed to settled over us.

One week until the Cultural Festival.

One week to prepare a performance that would captivate an audience.

One week to justify the enormous risk we had just taken.

But as I closed the door behind us, catching one last glimpse of Arisato Seijuro's sweating, rigid posture at the head of his empty table, I felt something bloom in my chest.

Hope.

Pure, fragile, and utterly irrational hope.