Episode 86: Become My Curse

By the time I was aware of it I was home, lying on my futon. I stared blankly at the ceiling and replayed the conversation between Kanzaki Takuto and Anon-san.

“I have decided to recommend Shion for the Vienna music school.”
“Decided — you can’t just—”
“Of course I can only recommend. Whether to accept or decline is entirely up to the two of you. But you, of all people, who once chased music seriously — you can’t fail to understand the value of it. How much would spending her most impressionable years in a well-resourced environment do for Shion’s music… Think it over carefully.”

I turned that exchange over in my mind. What had Shion’s grip felt like in that moment? Her warmth, her expression — what had they been? I couldn’t remember any of it. The only thing I could remember was that I had been the one clinging, gripping her hand too hard. And that after that, when Anon-san drove me home, no one said a single word the whole way.

Now that I thought about it — Shion had won the Grand Prize today. I wanted to celebrate that more properly. As that thought crossed my mind—

As if we’d shared the same thought, my phone buzzed with a notification. Half-expecting who it would be, I looked at the screen — and there, as expected, was Shion’s name.

“Uta, is now all right to call?”
“Go ahead.”

I sent the reply on reflex, and immediately the ringtone sounded. I brought the phone to my ear at once.

“Uta…”

Shion’s voice, carrying a faint sadness, touched my eardrums. I tried to scatter that heaviness with my own words.

“Shion — belatedly, congratulations on the competition! You were truly incredible.”
“…Thanks.”

Even to my congratulations, Shion’s answer was oddly flat, and I chewed on the frustration of not finding what to say next — and then:

“Today too, I played for you.”
“…I know. Thank you. It really was so, so good.”
“I want to keep being your ideal. I want to be your words.”
“I want to keep watching you, always. I want to put you into words.”
“What do you think I should do…?”

An abrupt question. But I understood immediately what Shion was asking.

I just didn’t have an answer.

My own feelings, honestly: I didn’t want her to go. Because being apart from Shion would be painful, and if she went somewhere far, somewhere beyond my reach — I was afraid I might never be able to take her hand again. I was afraid that without the time I spent with Shion, I’d become an empty person with nothing in me.

But on the other hand — thinking of what was right for Shion’s music, I thought she should go. What Kanzaki Takuto had said, the logic that a well-resourced environment was necessary for sound to grow — as much as I resented it, I thought it was, to some degree, correct.

So an immediate answer was impossible. And that silence only deepened Shion’s anxiety.

“Say something.”
“Sorry — I’m thinking it over.”
“…Just tell me not to go.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why…?”
“Because I’m afraid my words might become a curse.”

The words came out naturally. They were exactly what I meant.

If I said don’t go — Shion would truly choose that. I wasn’t flattering myself to think so; the time we’d accumulated, the words and promises we’d made, made it plainly clear.

“It’s all right if they’re a curse. Become my curse, Uta.”

My heart leapt sweetly at those words — and that was exactly why I thought: dangerous. My draw toward Shion could make a careless word from me determine the shape of her entire life.

“No. This isn’t something I should decide — it’s something Shion needs to decide. What I want to give you, what I can give you — it isn’t a curse. It’s words and promises.”

At that:

“But I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything.”

Shion’s voice rang out in pain. And I had nothing — no answer — to offer against it.

How weak I am. How empty. Even Kanzaki Takuto, who has shared not a moment of time with Shion, could show her a path with music as his clear and absolute standard. I couldn’t even do that.

All I could do was be with Shion in her uncertainty and grief.

◇◇◇

By the time the call ended the date was almost turning, and after some deliberation I opened the laptop to try to write today’s instalment. If I didn’t write, I thought there would be truly nothing left of me at all.

Driven by something close to compulsion, I opened the novel site. On reflex I tapped the red notification marker.

And there, displayed on the screen, was a message from the site administration.