Traveling With a Beautiful Girl - Chapter 34: Nanase and Piano

It was my first time hearing about Nanase’s past.

“I’m not sure if it was a trip, going back to my hometown, or something related to work, but… when I was in first grade of elementary school, my mother took me to Hamamatsu.”

I could feel some distance in the way she referred to her mother, and I’m sure it wasn’t just my imagination.

“While walking from the station, I saw a girl about middle school age playing that street piano.”

For the first time, a faint warmth flickered in Nanase’s eyes.

“It was a beautiful melody.”

With a rare warm voice, Nanase evaluated the performance from ten years ago.

“I still don’t know what song she was playing, but I remember the melody. When I think about it now, it was a very rough performance, and there were few people who stopped to listen, but…”

Her words continued nostalgically.

“At the very least, it had a significant influence on me. I begged my mother to let me play the piano. She agreed to my request and, since I was going to do it anyway, she got me a piano tutor.”

Once again, Nanase spoke matter-of-factly.

“I became engrossed in the piano and played it whenever I had free time. I thought about the piano all the time, even during lessons and at home. Fortunately or unfortunately, it seemed I had a knack for it, and I improved day by day. My mother was happy about it.”

At that point, she took a sip of coffee. While staring at the black surface floating on the cup, she said as if spilling.

“One day, my teacher suggested that I try participating in a piano competition. My mother also encouraged me, so I entered a district competition. I won. It had only been just over half a year since I started playing the piano.”

Even hearing of this accomplishment, I wasn’t particularly surprised.

I knew about her talent and efforts that were backed by results, and how far she would climb after that.

“My mother was very happy with the results. At the time, I wasn’t doing well in my studies or sports, so I was very happy when my mother praised me, and I started practicing even more.”

That was surprising.

I had thought that she had been demonstrating exceptional talent in her studies since her early childhood.

“The results kept coming in. From winning the district competition, to winning the city competition, and then the regional competition, the scale kept getting bigger, and my mother praised me each time…”

She paused for a moment, then said,

“Before I knew it, my mother started demanding only results from me.”

She took another sip of coffee.

As if calming herself down, she took a breath.

“The simple joy of playing the piano had disappeared somewhere. I didn’t want to be scolded or disappointed by my mother, so I played the piano with that single-minded focus. I played the assigned pieces over and over and over again, trying not to make mistakes and to get better results.”

What would it take for an elementary school student to be driven to such a desperate state of mind?

I had a feeling that there was a secret in the part Nanase had left out, where she said “she started demanding only results.”

What would have happened if the results hadn’t followed? What was done to her?

Nanase didn’t mention anything about it. She didn’t seem to intend to reveal it.

“In the national competition for 2nd grade elementary school students, I was able to win, thanks to some luck,” Nanase said.

Despite this achievement that anyone would consider remarkable, there was no pride in Nanase’s voice.

Swallowing nervously, I asked, “You were able to win, so why did you quit piano?”

It took the time of two sips of coffee to get an answer.

“I was told this by a girl who lost to me and got second place in the national competition,” Nanase opened and closed her mouth, then opened it again slowly and said, as if squeezing the words out.

“Why do I have to lose to someone like you, who doesn’t seem to enjoy playing the piano at all?“

…Ah, I see. I had a feeling I understood.

Having spent a few days with Nanase, I can say with certainty that Nanase Riho is a very kind girl.

Her initial image of being selfish and keeping others at bay is likely a superficial part that sharpened in the fierce competition. Her original nature is very altruistic and considerate.

She accompanied a heartbroken gal on a drive, worried about me when I didn’t wake up, and immediately took care of an injured child. Throughout this trip, I’ve seen her kindness backed up by her words and actions multiple times.

And so, it was easy to imagine why Nanase had stepped back from the piano.

Nanase probably thought at the time:

Because of me, I made people who should have been evaluated more highly than me unhappy.

“I thought I was making people who really loved piano unhappy because of me,” Nanase confirmed my thoughts.

As I suspected.

“I quit piano with the appropriate excuse that I wanted to concentrate on my studies. Little did I know that …… whatever I do from here on out will be pathologically demanding in terms of results.”

Instead, a cough was heard.

“That’s why I have no good memories of the piano. My mother… and I myself became the trigger for changing in a bad direction,” Nanase said with a deep breath, signaling the end of the story.

I listened to Nanase’s past for the first time.

As if to chew over the content, I gulped down my Calpis.

The Calpis, which had been left alone for a while, had become watery due to the melted ice.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said to Nanase, facing her again.

“Still, Nanase, you are amazing.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I just said what I was thinking.”

“There must be more to it than that.”

“There are many things, but the first thing that comes to mind is, you are truly amazing.”

“You’ve been watching too much Yoshi Channel.”

“I can’t deny that… but it’s true.”

As I spoke without hesitation, Nanase began to fiddle with her hair, looking uncomfortable.

“I didn’t tell the story because I wanted to be praised or sympathized with. I thought I had a responsibility to explain why I chose Hamamatsu as our destination, since you must have been curious, Takahashi-kun.”

I thought it was a lie.

Well, not all of it, but some. Somehow, I thought that Nanase herself might have wanted someone to know about her past.

Really, just a feeling.

“Anyway, whatever the reason, after hearing your story, I thought that you worked really hard and that it’s amazing. Winning the national championship is a great honor that only one person in Japan can achieve, and like I’ve said before, it’s really incredible.”

“It’s not like there’s only one person in Japan since the competition is held every year.”

“Don’t be so picky! It doesn’t matter if it’s for your generation or not, it’s an achievement that not everyone can get, right?”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

Looking straight into Nanase’s still uncertain eyes, I said with a serious expression.

“Nanase, you’re amazing.”

I heard the sound of her breath catching.

“…I see.”

Then, in a seemingly indifferent yet subtly gentle voice.

“Thank you.”

Finally, Nanase displayed a natural smile, like a child who is delighted to be praised by their mother.

“…That’s a perfect score.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

You can be happy with a perfect score, right?

I decided not to say that out loud because it felt out of place.

“You’re grinning, it’s creepy.”

“Aren’t I always like this?”

“That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

“Isn’t that true for both of us?”

“I’m fine. My studies are my friends.”

“Do you realize how sad that sounds?”

“I have no business being told that by someone who can’t even make friends with their studies.”

“Well, I have a lot of friends on the internet.”

“Do you realize how sad that sounds?”

“LOL at the huge boomerang.”

(T/N: The terms used here is “特大ブーメランで草” which is an internet slang in japan which can be interpreted as finding something so funny that it’s like being hit with a huge boomerang, causing uncontrollable laughter.)

The light-hearted exchange dissipated the strangely heavy atmosphere from earlier.

I’ve only spent a few days with Nanase, but since we’ve started off without any pretenses, we can interact like we’ve been friends for years.

It’s incredibly comforting…and then I realize.

“…Both of us definitely have at least one friend.”

“Did you say something?”

“Nothing.”

Feeling embarrassed to delve deeper, I cut off the conversation. Looking at my empty Calpis bottle, I realized it was time to leave.

It was a sign to go.