Hakus 22nd, 07:15 A.M.

  Snowy days were Ilya’s favorite for a reason.

  The city didn’t feel as loud when everything was covered in white. Even the walk to Gaijin’s High School — Gekkaijin — felt calmer, reduced to nothing but the soft crunch of snow under his shoes.

  Even so, the city wasn’t asleep. The shops that never really closed were still lit from within, their owners bundled in layers thick enough to pass for armor. Neon signs flickered beneath coats of snow, some already switched off until someone brushed them clean.

  It felt like everything moved slower. Maybe it was the weight of the clothes, or the cold settling into joints.

  Everyone seemed to know what winter demanded. Some prepared with quiet efficiency, others sank into it like hibernating bears. Either way, it was routine.

  Elisa Moren had, of course, wrapped countless layers around her son. The coat alone felt heavy on his shoulders, the scarf tucked high enough to cover his lips. His gloved hands stayed buried deep in his pockets, but the cold found its way toward his fingertips. Snow caught in his hair and along the dark fabric, while his breath fogged against the wool and vanished into the freezing air.

  As Ilya walked and his boots crunched down on the snow, something caught his attention for a moment. His shadow was slightly off. Of course, it was still following him— but it looked like the dark figure under his body wasn’t moving at the same time.

  Ilya shook his head to dissipate any early-morning hallucinations. The shadow then moved normally.

  Fucking night merchants.

  A pale light washed over the desks in a thin bluish haze. Ilya sat on his usual seat and leaned over the cool wooden surface in front of him. He closed his eyes and attempted to take a brief nap before the class started.

  — Yo, little Ilya! Damn, you’re packed up. You look like… — Nero paused, thinking of a comparison. — a penguin? Wait, that's accurate as hell, actually.

  Ilya just sighed, looking at Nero with a tired gaze.

  — Seven in the morning. And you’re calling me a penguin already. — he said while rubbing the corner of his eye. — You’ve got some long free time, don’t you?

  Nero rolled his eyes, sitting over Angela’s desk and adjusting his own coat.

  — Well, don’t blame me for that. Y’know, winter might be my favorite season. I get to take pictures of your penguin-ass outfits and save them for blackmail. — Nero chuckled to himself.

  — Are we forgetting that beach outfit when we were twelve? I think I still have the photos. — Ilya leaned back against his seat.

  Nero quickly shook his head in a desperate attempt to delete those terrifying memories from his mind.

  — Alright! No outfit pics! — he paused, then pointed an accusatory finger at Ilya. — And that counts for both of us, peng.

  Ilya chuckled, then slid his gloves off, shoving them into his pockets. The silence didn’t last long. The door clicked open as Angela stepped into the room. She had a thick white coat and a snow-white scarf that covered her chin.

  Nero hopped off the desk, circled around it and whispered in Ilya’s ear.

  — Is that snow camouflage or what?

  Ilya looked at him in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

  — It’s just white, dumbass.

  — Well, duh, I know that. Just saying, though. — Nero leaned against the wall, behind Ilya.

  Angela approached the two of them and slid her backpack over her usual seat beside Ilya’s.

  — Hey, Ilya. — she unwrapped the scarf from her neck, then turned her head to glance at the other boy. — Hey. And you are?

  — Nero Moretti — he said, offering a hand with a small smile. When Angela shook it, he pulled back and glanced between her and Ilya. — So… you’re the one who’s been borrowing him after class almost every day, right? Leave him to me at least once.

  Angela laughed, unzipping her coat and sitting beside Ilya.

  — What, jealous, Moretti?

  Nero’s face shifted in mock disbelief caused by the audacity of her question. He then laughed, reaching out and ruffling Ilya’s hair, who swatted his hand away.

  — Very jealous, actually. If you’re inviting him to your penthouse someday, I’m coming too.

  — If I owned a penthouse, you’d be in the blacklist.

  A sharp bell rang, signaling the start of a period. Nero’s eyes flickered to the door.

  — Alright, I better go, then. Bye, you two. — he waved with a smile and left the classroom.

  The classroom door shut behind Nero with a hollow click. The chatter around them swelled for a moment before turning into the usual pre-class murmur.

  Angela adjusted the sleeves of her sweater and glanced sideways at Ilya, resting her elbow on the desk and pressing a palm against her cheek.

  — He’s loud.

  — That’s the quiet winter version. Imagine him in the summer.

  Angela winced, then chuckled faintly.

  — Don’t think I could handle that. Anyway, music after class, right? You should go this time, it was actually pretty fun.

  — You think so?

  — Mhm. Plus, we’re practicing today, so you don’t need to worry much about music theory.

  Ilya glanced sideways at her. He had never considered going to the Music Club beyond avoiding attendance penalties.

  — I’ll give it a try, then. — he sighed with a hint of uninterest.

  — It’s not that bad, trust me! The teacher is chill, too. You’d know if you showed up there more often.

  Ilya paused.

  — How do you know?

  — What? — she tilted her head.

  — How do you know how often I show up? You just saw me skip once.

  Angela fell silent for a brief moment, then chuckled, leaning back against her chair.

  — Well, I thought that if you skipped so casually that day, maybe it meant that it logically wasn’t the first time.

  Ilya stared at her for a moment longer than necessary.

  — So you profiled me.

  — I wouldn’t call it profiling. More like logical deduction.

  — That’s what a profiler would say.

  — Please. If I profiled you, I’d try way harder than this.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  — And that’s terrifying.

  — Thank you.

  He huffed a small laugh and looked down at his desk, spinning his pen between his fingers.

  — I don’t skip that often.

  — You don’t go that often either.

  — It’s not the same.

  — How?

  He hesitated, stopping the pen from spinning and setting it down on the table.

  — I just don’t like how bad I am at it. I’m only in that club because it’s one of the least demanding out of all of them. Sports clubs are too harsh, even though I’m not particularly trash at them.

  Angela blinked.

  — You think you’re bad?

  — I do. I got assigned to play the flute since it’s “easier” for me.

  — Well, at theory, maybe. I think you should be fine with rhythm.

  — “Fine”? If that’s what you think…

  She leaned a little closer, smiling like she was trying to motivate him.

  — You want me to be honest? You’re overthinking it. A music sheet isn’t the same as a rocket blueprint.

  — It kind of is.

  — Even so, it’s just paper.

  — Malicious, diabolical, evil-ass paper. — he muttered.

  Angela stifled a laugh, then nudged his sleeve lightly with her fingers.

  — Just give it a try, alright? I’m not that bad at playing the flute, so I can ask the teacher if I can help you.

  He stared at the desk for a moment, then looked at her.

  — Okay, okay, I’ll go.

  — Great. You better.

  The music club felt smaller than Ilya remembered.

  Notes overlapped almost perfectly, thickening the air inside the room. The violin cut through first — sharp, yet harmonious. The other instruments followed, weaving into a slightly melancholic melody. The mood inside the music club seemed to mirror the atmosphere outside.

  Angela stood beside Ilya, both holding their flutes. The two students still had a lingering cold on their clothes, but that feeling was easily surpassed by the way the air vibrated around them. A slow shiver ran down Ilya’s arms, nearly making his arm hair stick up. The music swelled into a dramatic tone, leaving the earlier melancholy behind.

  They were mixed within the woodwind section, which slightly reassured Ilya about the mistake he knew he’d eventually make.

  Each one of the orchestral sections was arranged in a corner of the room, forming a semi-circle. Standing in the center was the teacher, Jaccen.

  He paced around the room while pushing his ash-blonde hair back absentmindedly. Jaccen was young. Young enough to be mistaken for a college student. His voice remained calm while he adjusted a student’s fingers over piano keys.

  His lean figure was wrapped in a long charcoal coat instead of his usual tucked-in shirt, though the slim dark trousers remained.

  The music reached its end, and Jaccen raised his hand, closing his fist. The students stopped playing. He clapped his hands, walking to the front of the classroom.

  — That was great, kids. Absolutely terrific. I’ll correct mistakes I’ve noticed. Individually. Feel free to whisper gossip around, just don’t whisper loudly. — he said with a gentle smile.

  Ilya looked at Angela, who cleaned her transverse flute’s mouthpiece with a piece of dry cloth earlier offered by Jaccen. Ilya copied the motion.

  — You weren’t that bad, y’know. But I bet five naishus he’ll come to you. — she said, turning to look at Ilya with a grin.

  — Betting on something with such low odds isn’t even worth it. — he scoffed quietly.

  Angela raised an eyebrow.

  — What, do you gamble now?

  — I wish.

  Within minutes, Jaccen approached them, one hand tucked in his pocket, while the other offered a handshake to Ilya.

  — Hey there, you don’t show up very often. Your name is..?

  Ilya shook his hand, nodding.

  — Ilya Moren.

  — Perfect, Ilya. Anyway, do you have experience with this type of instrument?

  Ilya looked at his flute, then shook his head.

  — Not really. I don’t have experience with instruments in general.

  — It’s alright. I noticed your finger placement was too stiff. And the way you blow into the embouchure is a bit forced. Relax your hands and let the air flow instead of pushing it.

  Ilya looked at his flute, then tried to follow the advice. He blew into the mouthpiece, but an improperly covered hole trembled the sound. Ilya pulled back and gave the flute a puzzled look.

  — That sounded goofy.

  The teacher laughed, then gently reached over to Ilya’s finger placement.

  — May I?

  Ilya nodded, and Jaccen adjusted his fingers carefully.

  — There, now it must sound better. Try it again, please.

  Ilya blew the flute again, and this time, he could actually hold the note properly.

  — Huh, it doesn’t sound that trash, now. — he inspected his flute, like it was a completely different instrument.

  Jaccen chuckled, stepping back.

  — A musician’s level can make the same instrument sound completely different. That’s something I find fascinating about music.

  — Maybe it’s a bit too soon to compare me to musicians… — Ilya muttered.

  The teacher let out a laugh once again, then gave the boy some kind of motivational smile.

  — It’s never too soon. Alright, everyone get ready. We’ll do another run-through of the song.

  Jaccen walked back to the front of the classroom once again.

  Angela looked at Ilya and smirked.

  — Told you so. It’s kind of crazy how he notices every single mistake. A bit of a perfectionist, I’d say.

  Jaccen counted down, and the music started once again. This time, however, the once precise violin missed a note. The teacher closed his fist in the air, and the song paused gradually.

  — Let’s try this again, okay? You’re all doing great, I just need focus.

  The music started once again, this time lasting longer than the last try.

  Ilya struggled slightly with his flute, but managed to reduce his mistakes.

  Which fingers were for the Re note again?

  Jaccen raised his hand and closed it.

  — C’mon, class, you got this. And Ilya, you can read the notes chart with drawings before we start once again.

  Ilya nodded, flipping through his sheet pages until landing on a page showing the finger placements for the song.

  — Alright, sorry, I got it.

  — Perfect. From the top, class.

  Once again, the music started. The same melancholy, the same dramatic buildup.

  The pianist missed a few notes in a crescendo. Jaccen closed his fist.

  — Nayuu, pay attention. Again, restart from the second page, after the pause, or else we won’t finish the song before the class ends.

  Jaccen ran a hand through his hair.

  Ilya scooted closer to Angela and whispered:

  — Isn’t the pianist that quiet girl from our class?

  — She is. Girl’s actually good at it, I’m not gonna lie. But she does get really nervous sometimes.

  The music resumed from an earlier moment. Jaccen walked by the sections, eyeing each instrument and checking for mistakes. He ran a hand through his hair again, adjusting the blond mess harder than before.

  He raised his fist as soon as one of the violinists made a mistake.

  — Again. Page two.

  One of the students next to Ilya whispered into her friend’s ear:

  — He’s weird as hell now, what’s happening? I mean, he doesn’t complain this often when we usually make mistakes.

  Her friend shrugged and flipped her sheet.

  — I dunno. Must be his stress showing, who knows. I’d also be a bit pissed if my class messed up this much. But I think he’s overreacting.

  — Right? It’s not that deep.

  The music resumed after another countdown. That crescendo part was the hardest — especially for the pianist.

  It didn’t take long until another mistake was heard. This time, Jaccen slammed his hand on the board, making some students flinch — and some nearly fall off their chairs.

  Angela raised an eyebrow as the teacher began pacing across the front of the room.

  — It cannot be this difficult to finish a song like this. We have to perform this piece in three months — what do all of you even do when you get home? Because I’m not seeing a hint of practice in this classroom. Again.

  The room stayed silent for a brief moment.

  — I said again.

  The students fumbled with their instruments and sheets, then listened to the count and resumed the practice.

  This time, no mistakes were heard until the school bell rang just past the half of the song. Jaccen closed his fist, and the students stopped. He ran a hand through his hair, then chugged down a bottle of water.

  — I’m sorry, we’ll continue this song in our next class. Specifically practicing from the second page, since I noticed you’ve been nailing the first one. You’re all dismissed, have a good afternoon.

  He turned to organize his backpack, and a wave of murmurs erupted in the classroom. A few students in the row in front of Ilya started speaking between themselves.

  — What the hell was that?

  — Did his wife turn him down last night or what?

  — Probably.

  Angela let out a sigh, then looked at Ilya while cleaning her mouthpiece with a piece of cloth.

  — Well, that was weird. We should just go buy a snack, y’know. Or else it’ll be crowded. Let’s go.

  Ilya nodded, repeating the same motion.

  — Sure, I’m kinda hungry after all that, not gonna lie.

  — Thought so.

  The two students stored their flutes in their cases, then followed the mass of people exiting the room.

  — Ilya Moren, can you stay here for a minute? I’d like to have a talk with you.

  Angela and Ilya stopped and turned to Jaccen, who seemed calmer than before. Angela narrowed her eyes, but reluctantly shrugged and flicked Ilya’s shoulder.

  — I’ll see you later, then.

  Ilya rolled his eyes, but waved lazily, walking to the teacher.

  — See ya.

  Angela turned and walked out. Through the hallway, she wrapped her white scarf around her neck.

  She stopped and looked back at the music room door. The wooden door was already closed.

  She stayed still for a few seconds, until finally resuming her walk and turning a corner away from the door.