The Prelude to Ruin

"Going back to past mistakes isn’t weakness—it’s the strength to face the wreckage and decide you won’t leave it there."

Who was she? 

During the walk to school, Taiki couldn't help but wonder why her words left him uneasy.

Her words still lingered in his mind. "Just someone who knows talent when she sees it." 

How did she seem to know a lot about him?

Taiki's curiosity gets the better of him. He found himself wandering around the school in between classes, scanning the halls in search of the girl from yesterday.

Then, during lunch, he spots her sitting by the outdoor courtyard, alone, idly reading a book. Taiki, seeing the chance to get some answers, hurriedly rushes over to the girl.

"You never told me your name," Taiki says casually, standing across from her.

The girl looks up, smirking. "I didn’t think it was necessary."

"Though if you insist on knowing my name." She tilts her head slightly. "Rika", she finally says. "Rika Kisaragi."

Taiki narrows his eyes, but before he can press further, Rika continues, "You're afraid of that piano, aren’t you?" Her words cut deeper than he expects.

He stiffens. "You were watching me?"

She shrugs, closing her book. "Not exactly. I just happened to be there."

Taiki didn't respond. He knows she's lying, though he doesn't want to call her out; she obviously knows more about him, but he can't figure out how she knew.

"You want answers, don’t you?" she asks, standing up. "Then meet me after school. I’ll be at the old auditorium." She walks away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

Taiki stood there for a while, still taking up the whole situation, when the final bell rang; it pulled him back to reality. "Oh right, the meeting."

Mioka had been relentlessly planning their performance booth, pushing for perfection, making sure every detail was accounted for.

His body was on autopilot, casually walking towards the meeting room, while his mind was elsewhere.

Mioka was already in the middle of animated discussion with a few classmates, flipping through sketches of the booth’s layout. “—and the lights will add a dramatic effect, so when the performers step onto the stage, the audience will feel the energy right away! ” she was saying excitedly.

Then she notices Taiki silently slipping into the room. "Look who decided to show up, seven minutes late." As per usual, she teases Taiki at every chance she gets.

Taiki simply nodded, sitting down and resting his chin on his hand.

Mioka continued to enthusiastically discuss their plans, but over time she couldn't help but notice how Taiki seemed to be out of it; it's like her words were only passing through him.

In Taiki's mind, Rika's words played in a loop. His hands felt heavier than usual, his thoughts tangled in something he wasn’t ready to untangle.

After the meeting, students began to slowly slip out of the room one by one. Taiki was one of them, quietly gathering his things and walking out.

He was barely out the door when—“Oi, genius!” Mioka called, marching up behind him.

Taiki paused but didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Mioka continued, stepping in front of him, “but I do know this—you’ve been acting weird. Distracted. And don’t tell me it’s ‘nothing’ because we both know that’s a lie.”

Taiki sighs, his gaze slowly steering away from Mioka. "I'm just tired."

Mioka narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t buying it.

“Right, zoning out completely during our very important meeting,” she said slowly, crossing her arms. “You're tired.”

Mioka studied him, tapping her foot in thought, while Taiki stood there in complete silence. After a brief moment of silence—she smirked. "Well then, you should get some rest, Taiki; you better be in top shape tomorrow!"

As Mioka walked away in the opposite direction, Taiki breathed a sigh of relief; he may have dodged her for now. But as he turned toward the auditorium, a nagging feeling settled in his chest. How long before Mioka figures everything out?

Taiki stood at the entrance of the old auditorium, staring at the heavy doors. The building had not been used for years, only used for storage or occasional rehearsals. It felt eerie, yet strangely fitting for the cryptic meeting Rika had proposed.

Taking a breath, he pushed the doors open.

Inside, shafts of golden light filtered through the dust-covered windows. Rows of worn-out seats stretched toward a dimly lit stage. And standing in the middle of it, leaning against the piano, was Rika.

“You kept me waiting,” she murmured, fingers resting lightly on the keys. “I was starting to think you’d run.”

As he makes his way towards the middle of the auditorium. "You said I could come to the auditorium if I wanted answers."

Rika let out a quiet hum, playing a soft, aimless melody. "It’s funny," she said, not looking at him. "You’ve spent all this time avoiding music, but now it’s pulling you back in, isn’t it?"

Then a sudden switch, Rika starts playing a beautiful melody, weaving together notes that felt familiar—too familiar. It was a piece his mother liked to play at home.

Rika smirks, seeing Taiki's reaction. "You remember this, don’t you?" Rika’s voice was soft, but there was something sharp beneath it—a quiet edge, slicing through the moment.

Taiki swallowed hard. "H-how do you know this?"

"This was her favourite piece," Rika continued. "Until she stopped playing. Until she let it go. Until you let it go."
Taiki was hesitant to respond. "I didn't let it go; she-".

Rika slams down on the keys of the piano, "You chose to do nothing." Another slam. "You chose to watch her passion slowly disappear." After a brief pause, the notes still echoing, she calmly transitions back into playing the piece.

"You stopped listening. Stopped caring. Because if she couldn’t find joy in it anymore, then neither could you." Rika’s voice softened, but it carried a weight heavier than the air in the room.

Taiki’s jaw tightened.

"Do you ever wonder…" Rika paused, deliberately letting the silence linger, dragging it out like a slow cut, "if she resents you for that?"

Taiki takes a step back. "She wouldn'--"

Rika cuts him off again, still playing that same piece that Taiki once loved hearing. "How come you're so sure? Did you ask her? Did you even take a moment to think about how she felt during that time?"

Taiki opened his mouth to respond—but the answer didn’t come. Because the answer was obvious.

Rika stops playing and leans closer to Taiki. “You came here looking for answers,” Rika continued, eyes glinting with satisfaction.

She tilted her head slightly, voice lowering—deliberate, certain.

“Instead, you’ve just realised the one thing you didn’t want to admit.”

A pause.

“You were never meant for this.”

“Then what’s the point of even trying now? ”

Taiki didn’t answer.

He turned away, walking toward the exit without another word.

And just as his hand touched the door, Rika’s voice followed him, soft, entertained—final.

“Goodbye, Taiki.”