Throughout his life, Hainer would look back on that moment countless times.
Why on earth had he run away then? He hadn’t snuck into the garden; he could have simply excused himself by saying he stumbled upon it while taking a walk.
He wished he had at least spoken to her, told her the performance was truly beautiful.
At the time, Hainer hadn’t known who the girl was. If he had thought a little deeper, he might have guessed, but he had been too flustered and simply fled without a word.
But perhaps, from the moment he saw that small, white, radiant frame, something deep in his heart had faintly recognized it.
That child was different from him.
Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been particularly surprised when he learned the girl’s identity, or when he heard she was a promising pianist. He had thought it only natural.
It would have been strange if a girl who looked so noble and refined were of an unremarkable status.
While he had been struggling to obtain even a small music box, she would have been learning all manner of refined arts, including music, from professional tutors.
While he had been worrying about filling his hungry stomach day after day, she would have eaten her fill of warm, soft food.
While he had been desperately trying not to get beaten, she would have been dreaming of a future where she stood on stage as a pianist in a grand, magnificent hall.
From cradle to grave, she would live a life entirely different from his. She was of a status beyond comparison. Thinking about it would only lead to misery.
Hainer tried to shake off that memory.
The training camp was an excellent place to forget things. He moved his body mechanically, endured torture training until his limbs creaked, and received brainwashing and loyalty education until his mind went numb.
After doing that from dawn until night, his entire body was completely exhausted. It seemed as though the ultimate goal of this place was to prevent any stray thoughts from entering his mind.
Moreover, his injuries hadn’t fully healed, so he had to endure pain constantly. If he moved his body the wrong way, he would often break into a cold sweat with a pale face. He had no time for idle thoughts.
One day, he heard news that a trainee in the next room had been beaten by an instructor and something had gone wrong in his head.
Trainees getting hurt or dying was no great matter. Normally, he would have brushed it off. But at that moment, Hainer became newly aware of his own predicament.
“We are nothing but one of countless chess pieces.”
Those words rang endlessly in his head.
He felt anxious all day long, as if being chased by something. Though each day was no different from usual, everything was different.
Because his mind was scattered, Hainer made mistakes repeatedly during training. At first, he could get away with using his physical condition as an excuse, but eventually he had to accept the punishment of running ten laps around the training grounds.
As he was rounding his final lap, Yugo walked into the training grounds holding something in his hand. Hainer staggered to a stop.
“Hey, why do you keep making mistakes you never used to make lately? Have you finally lost it?”
Yugo scolded him, tossing a water bottle. Hainer caught it with one hand under his chin and scrunched up his face. Yugo’s nagging immediately followed.
“Why the long face?”
“...I think my wound opened.”
“What? Let me see. Damn, you’re right, you’re bleeding.”
The wound on his side, which had barely begun to heal, had torn open. His shirt slowly grew damp with blood. But Hainer didn’t even have the strength to walk to the infirmary, so he just slumped under a tree.
“What, aren’t you going to the infirmary?”
“In a bit.”
“Sure, and then you’ll get infected and kick the bucket.”
“Why are you carrying that trash?”
“It’s not trash, it’s reeds.”
Yugo shook the reeds he held in his hand. But to Hainer’s eyes, they were no different from trash.
“I went to the seaside and picked them. Going to make a grass flute.”
“...A flute?”
“I lived in the countryside when I was young. My father taught me how to make grass flutes.”
“Does it actually make a sound?”
“Of course it does. Want to make one too?”
Hainer silently held out his hand. Yugo handed him a reed with a look of surprise. He plopped down beside Hainer.
“You got a knife? Take it out and follow along.”
Hainer pulled a pocketknife from his clothes and listened quite attentively to Yugo’s explanation.
“Just cut this at an angle with the knife, about thirty degrees. Pull out the pith inside... and it separates like this.”
Hainer followed Yugo’s movements quite skillfully. Once he separated the central pith, a cylindrical hollow formed inside.
“Use the knife to score the middle here... and wedge a leaf into this gap. Cut off all the remaining leaves, leave just a bit at the end and cut the rest... ta-da.”
It was an absurdly simple process. Hainer examined the grass flute with a skeptical expression.
“How do you blow it?”
“Put your mouth here and blow.”
Hainer tried blowing into the opening, but only a huff of air came out. After several more attempts, he took his mouth away and muttered,
“It doesn’t make any sound.”
“That’s because you suck at it. Watch.”
Yugo put his mouth to the grass flute and blew gently. At the same time, a squeak came from the flute. Hainer’s expression turned slightly strange.
Yugo blew the grass flute a few more times, making squeaking sounds. It sounded like a broken horn, or perhaps the cry of a young bird begging for food.
Whatever it was, it was nothing like the “musical instrument” sound Hainer had imagined.
“Hey, what do you think?”
“...”
“Why so quiet? Is it too awesome?”
“How do you play music with that?”
“Play music? What kind of music could you play with a crude grass flute like this? I guess you could if you practiced for a hundred years. Oh, come to think of it, there was an old man in my neighborhood who played flutes made from leaves...”
Yugo began chattering away about himself. But Hainer didn’t listen at all, staring hollowly at the grass flute he had made.
There was no way he could make a proper instrument from a single reed in the first place. What on earth had he been expecting?
Had he thought he could play that piece with a grass flute like this?
“Listen to that sound. What kind of flute is that?”
“If this isn’t a flute, what is it?”
“A real flute is, you know, like a flute or a clarinet.”
“Hey, anything that makes a sound is an instrument.”
“No, you have to be able to actually play music on it.”
“That’s prejudice, you bastard.”
Hainer shrugged and flopped down on his back. What was the point of arguing when neither of them had ever touched an instrument besides a grass flute in their entire lives?
“Why are you lying down? What about the infirmary?”
“Later.”
“Keep that up and you’ll really die young, you bastard.”
Hainer closed his eyes without answering. A somewhat cool breeze brushed against his face. Yugo, sitting beside him, blew on the grass flute, making squeaking sounds.
How wonderful it would be if this were the sound of her piano. Hainer tossed and turned onto his side. The grass swayed before his eyes.
He wanted to hear that performance again. He thought without meaning to.
He had the illusion that Yugo’s single-toned grass flute was transforming into a piano piece whose title he didn’t even know.
He wanted to hear that performance again.
That enchanting performance, that dreamlike summer night scene, just once more...
Hainer let out a hollow laugh. He had tried so hard to shake off that memory, but in the end, he couldn’t shake off anything. He was right back where he started.
The atmosphere shifted. The sound of the grass flute spread across the hill.
***
Hainer tended not to stand out compared to his talent or skill.
Of course, he had been among the top trainees before, and the supervisors had been watching him, but the first time he had truly demonstrated his worth was during survival training.
This was partly because Hainer had deliberately suppressed his presence.
He had no particular interest in future things like dreams or success. He merely wanted to escape as much as possible from the imminent threat of violence before him.
However, after visiting the Count’s estate, Hainer no longer hid his abilities.
He literally did his best. He did everything he could. In one fell swoop, Hainer rose to the top of his class and was invited to the Count’s dinner parties every time.
Anyone who heard would think it absurd—that the reason he endured blood-spitting training to seize first place was merely to listen to a piano performance.
He himself found it utterly pathetic.
Literature and art were things only people who didn’t have to worry about their next meal cared about. For someone like him, they were luxuries.
But when he listened to her performance, Hainer could perfectly understand why people read literary works, appreciated art, and attended concerts.
Coincidentally, the dinner hours overlapped with her piano practice time. Thanks to that, Hainer could always listen to the performance at the same time, in the same spot.
The boy hid his body in the grass beneath the window, holding his breath to the flowing melody. In a world filled only with birdsong, the rustling of leaves, and the soft piano music, it felt as if only she and he remained.
In that moment alone, his life felt like it wasn’t so bad.
When her fingers danced across the keys, Hainer felt as if he were floating somewhere in the air. It was as if the sensation of the world beneath his feet had completely vanished.
That performance took him to foreign lands beyond unfamiliar seas, to vast plains he had only seen in paintings, and to a hometown he didn’t even remember.
Not to cold reality, but to some other faraway place...
Hainer crouched in the grass and hugged his knees. His body, tall for his age, looked infinitely small. He lowered his head and rested his cheek on his knee.