The Tuner with Broken Fingers and the Pianist Who Admired Him
In the city of Sonare, where every street hums with melody, Fujisaki Minato lives a quiet life as a piano tuner—his once-brilliant career as a concert pianist shattered eight years ago when his right hand froze onstage at the height of the national competition. Now he pours everything into caring for the instruments of others, hiding the tremors in his fingers and the memory of the performance that destroyed him.
Then he hears the name Kiryu Kanade.
A nineteen-year-old prodigy on the verge of
The Tuner with Broken Fingers and the Pianist Who Admired Him - First Meeting and Fingers That Don't Resonate
The rain had stopped.
As if last night's downpour had been a lie, the sky over Sonare was clear and bright. The wind threading through the arcade of the instrument district carried a dry edge, and with it the soft light of afternoon. Puddles still lingered here and there, but each surface held a crisp reflection of blue.
Fujisaki Minato stood before the shop and drew a deep breath. The smell of the rain-washed street filled him to the depths of his lungs. Old wood, and polished metal. And from the restaurants down the way, the scent of lunches being prepared.
Last night had not been a dream.
A soaked young man had opened the shop door and come inside. He had given no name—only said, "I'll come again tomorrow," and vanished back into the rain. Those straight, unflinching eyes. That voice, trembling at the edges.
—I'll play your sound, Minato-san. On the competition stage, I'll make it ring.
Kanade's words circled in his head. Minato closed his right hand lightly, then opened it. The fingers were trembling again today, just slightly. This hand had once produced the sound that changed that young man's life. The fact of it refused to feel real.
The bell above the door chimed.
Minato turned.
Against the backlight, a young man stood in the doorway.
Light chestnut hair, soft and naturally curled. Large, clear amber eyes. A small piano-note earring glinted on his left ear. A backpack stuffed full of sheet music rode his shoulders. Nineteen, perhaps twenty. The same young man who had appeared drenched in the rain last night now stood there bearing the light of a clear afternoon.
Kiryu Kanade.
He looked far younger than the photograph in the newspaper. Not young, exactly—more like innocent. When he smiled, Minato thought vaguely, he would probably show a snaggletooth.
"You're Fujisaki Minato-san, aren't you!"
Kanade's voice rang through the shop with startling brightness. It belonged to a different person entirely from the strained voice of last night. Minato, unsure how to answer, simply watched him in silence.
"I'm so sorry about yesterday! I showed up out of nowhere and said all sorts of strange things. But I absolutely had to greet you properly today."
With that, Kanade bowed deeply. His fluffy hair swayed with the motion.
"...I don't mind."
That was all Minato could finally manage. His voice came out a little hoarse.
"Thank goodness! Oh—this is nothing much, but please take it."
Kanade lowered his backpack and produced a paper bag. When Minato accepted it, a sweet fragrance rose from inside.
"They're cookies from Café Dolce. I heard they're the best in town. Do you like sweets, Minato-san?"
"...I'm normal about them."
"Normal! Good. I love sweets. Let's eat them together sometime."
Minato stood holding the paper bag, at a loss. Could this young man really be the same person who, yesterday, had worn such a desperate face trying to pry open Minato's past?
"...You really are the one from then."
"From then?"
"You came on the rainy night."
"Ah, yes! That was me. I'm sorry I was soaked through. That day I just had to see you. But there was so much I wanted to say, I couldn't get the words out properly."
Kanade smiled, a little embarrassed. There was not a trace of last night's tension in that smile.
"...I see."
Minato set the paper bag on the counter.
"So what do you want today? A piano tuning, an instrument purchase? Or are you just here to waste my time?"
He said it deliberately blunt.
"None of those."
Kanade's voice turned suddenly serious. Minato felt, just slightly, pushed back by the change.
"I can't forget your sound, Minato-san. I came to tell you that—and only that. I want to hear it once more."
Kanade's eyes pierced straight through him.
Silence fell over the shop.
Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing piano. A practice piece, perhaps—a monotonous scale drifting slowly through the rain-washed air.
"...Go home."
Minato's voice was low.
"Minato-san."
"I can't play anymore. I'm not the man you think I am. Just a broken tuner. I won't let you waste your time on me."
Minato looked away. His right hand throbbed.
"I know."
Kanade's voice was astonishingly calm.
"I know that eight years ago, at the competition, your right hand gave out and you left the stage. ...I saw the broadcast that day. On television. I was eleven."
Minato's heart gave a heavy thud.
"You were on stage, staring at your right hand. The sound cut off, suddenly. The hall started murmuring. But you kept trying to play with your left hand, right to the end. ...I still remember your back from that day, Minato-san."
Kanade's words were quiet. And yet each one sank deep and heavy into Minato's chest.
"That day, you played for me—truly. Even if it was your last sound. To me, it was the first."
Kanade paused a moment, then continued.
"So please. Let me hear your sound once more."
Minato could say nothing.
There was so much he wanted to say.
It's impossible now. My fingers won't move. It's not the pretty story you imagine.
But every word stuck in his throat and would not come out.
"...Go home."
That was all he could finally force out.
"Go home. What you're looking for isn't here."
Kanade's face turned a little sad.
But he smiled again at once.
"I understand. I'll go home today."
He hitched his backpack higher.
"But I'll come tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that. I'll come every day until you'll listen to me, Minato-san."
"...You're a nuisance."
"Yes, I know. But you won't drive me away. After all, yesterday and today, you listened to me properly. You're a kind person, Minato-san."
With that, Kanade turned on his heel.
"Well then—see you tomorrow!"
He waved as he left the shop.
The bell's chime lingered inside.
For a while, Minato gazed at the doorway.
Kanade's retreating figure vanished in an instant into the crowd of the instrument district.
"...Kind, am I."
Minato murmured it under his breath.
He had never once thought of himself as a kind man.
The paper bag of Café Dolce cookies sat on the counter. Minato picked it up and peered inside. Several cookies, baked to a golden brown, lay in a row.
He took one out and put it in his mouth.
Sweet.
The fragrance of butter, and a faint touch of salt. The cookies Fumi baked always tasted of something like nostalgia.
—I heard your sound, and I started playing piano.
Kanade's voice rose again in his ears.
An eleven-year-old boy had watched Minato's performance crumbling on television. And that sound had moved his heart.
The fact of it tightened quietly around Minato's chest.
The next day.
Kanade actually showed up at the shop.
And at the crack of dawn, no less.
"Good morning, Minato-san!"
Minato, who had only just rolled up the shutter, took one look at Kanade's beaming face and heaved a sigh before he could stop himself.
"...Don't you have anything better to do?"
"I do! But seeing you takes priority over everything, Minato-san."
With that, Kanade walked right in on his own.
"Wow, so many pianos again today! What are you doing today, Minato-san? Tuning? Repairs?"
"...None of your business."
"It is my business! I'm going to help you with your work, Minato-san!"
"Huh?"
Minato's voice came out absurdly startled.
"I mean, helping with the tuning. Carrying tools, cleaning—anything. I want to be useful to you."
"...Go home."
"I won't!"
Still beaming, Kanade picked up the mop that stood in the corner of the shop.
"I'll start with the floor, then! Yesterday's rain left shoe prints everywhere."
And with that, he began wiping the floor with practiced hands.
Minato could only stare, dumbfounded.
What on earth was this young man thinking?
"...You're a music student, aren't you? What about your practice?"
That was all he finally managed.
"I finished practice this morning. Up at four."
"Four..."
"If it's to see you, getting up early is nothing."
Kanade began humming as he mopped. The tune was a famous Chopin étude that Minato recognized.
Minato leaned his elbows on the counter and let out a deep sigh.
From that day, Kanade's "campaign" began.
He appeared at the shop nearly every day.
Sometimes he helped clean.
Sometimes he carried tuning tools.
Sometimes he bombarded Minato with rapid-fire questions about how a piano worked.
"Minato-san, how do you adjust this hammer? Is it true the hardness of the felt changes the sound?"
"...It is. Hard felt gives a sharp sound. Soft felt gives a round one."
"Wow! So you choose the felt to match each performer's preference?"
"...Naturally. A tuner's job isn't just to bring the piano to the correct pitch. It's to understand what sound the performer wants to make."
Minato found himself explaining with heat.
"Amazing... Minato-san, you're so cool!"
Kanade gazed at him with shining eyes.
"...Quiet. You're in the way of my work. Go over there."
Minato said it curtly, to hide his embarrassment.
"Yes! But I won't be in the way. I'll sit here quietly and watch."
Kanade plopped himself down on a folding chair in the corner. And then, true to his word, he quietly watched Minato work.
Feeling Kanade's gaze on his back, Minato continued tuning.
Strangely, it didn't feel unpleasant.
Being watched had once been the most ordinary thing in the world. Playing piano on stage under the gaze of twenty-five hundred people—that had been Minato's everyday.
But now, the gaze of a single young man bothered him strangely.
"...Hey."
Minato spoke without stopping his work.
"Yes?"
"Are you really going to enter the competition?"
"Yes. I'm entering this year's Arcadia Competition."
Kanade's voice was earnest.
"...I see."
That was all Minato said before returning to his work.
The Arcadia Competition.
The nation's largest gateway for young pianists. The stage where, eight years ago, Minato's fingers had broken.
"Minato-san."
Kanade called his name quietly.
"I want to play the competition on a piano you've tuned."
Minato's hands stopped dead.
"...What are you saying?"
"That's why I keep coming here. I want you to tune my piano, Minato-san."
Kanade's eyes were utterly serious.
"...Impossible."
Minato said it flatly.
"I don't tune for competitions. I've decided I won't have anything to do with that world anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because I won't. It has nothing to do with you."
Minato turned his back.
"...Minato-san."
Kanade's voice trembled slightly.
"I love your sound. That sound from beyond the television that day—so desperate it seemed about to break. I've never forgotten it. So I want to hear it again."
Kanade stood up.
"Please. Tune my piano. And listen to me play. That's all I ask."
Minato did not turn around.
"...Go home."
"Minato-san!"
"I said go home!"
Minato's voice rang through the shop.
Kanade flinched.
A heavy silence fell between them.
"...I understand."
Kanade said it quietly.
"I'll go home today. But I'll come tomorrow. As many times as it takes, until you'll listen to me, Minato-san."
Kanade shouldered his backpack and left.
For a while, Minato could not move.
—Listen to me play.
Kanade's words pierced his chest.
He wanted to hear Kanade play.
Somewhere at the bottom of his heart, he knew he wished for it.
But it felt like something that could not be permitted.
Several days passed.
Kanade, as ever, came to the shop every day.
No matter how coldly Minato treated him, he did not falter.
"Good morning, Minato-san! Today I brought you a treat!"
"...Don't want it."
"Don't say that! It's a new cake from Café Dolce. A limited-edition lemon tart. Do you like lemon, Minato-san?"
"...Not particularly."
"Then let's eat it together sometime. I want to conquer every cake in that shop."
Kanade said it with a cheerful grin.
Minato sighed.
Against this young man's bottomless brightness, he simply had no defense.
"...With all this, is your practice really all right?"
Minato
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