After the "visit" to the wind ensemble in the morning—yes, visit was the right word, because he hadn't actually done anything—Hirakawa Tetsubumi returned to the office as usual.
Grading papers. Handling admin work. Preparing lessons. Teaching.
By the time everything was finished, it was already noon.
He grabbed lunch from the cafeteria, ate, and returned to the office a little past one.
Finally, he had time to breathe.
Out of sheer boredom, he even searched something ridiculous:
"Can frequently turning your neck cause cervical spondylosis?"
The answer was: "Possibly."
He went silent.
That silence, unfortunately, caught someone's attention.
"Sensei? Is something wrong?"
Kuda-sensei turned toward him, concern written clearly across her face.
Hirakawa slowly rotated his chair, keeping his neck perfectly still, turning his entire body instead until he faced her.
Then, with complete seriousness, he said,
"Kuda-sensei, for the sake of your health, you should avoid turning your head too often. It could lead to cervical issues."
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Kuda-sensei frowned, clearly struggling to process this.
"…Sensei, is that something people can realistically avoid in daily life?"
Hirakawa paused.
Then calmly closed the browser on his phone.
Online self-diagnosis was unreliable.
The matter was settled.
The afternoon passed without incident. With nothing urgent to do, Hirakawa remained in the office, conserving energy.
Or, as he preferred to phrase it—
Preparing himself for his responsibilities as the wind ensemble's instructor.
Eventually, the dismissal bell rang.
Hirakawa, who had been half-asleep at his desk, lifted his head slowly, eyes unfocused for a moment as he reoriented himself.
Then he remembered.
Right.
Wind ensemble.
He stood, stretched lazily—
And froze.
Someone was standing outside the office door.
School uniform. Long hair. Elegant posture.
Tsutsui Shiori.
She wasn't knocking.
She was watching.
Hirakawa slowly lowered his half-finished stretch.
So this was what it felt like to be monitored.
Then again, considering this school essentially belonged to her family, it wasn't entirely unreasonable.
Was he supposed to greet her as "Young Lady Tsutsui"?
No.
Inside the school, roles still mattered.
"Tsutsui-san."
That was enough.
By the time they stepped out together, they had already fallen into step naturally, crossing the elevated corridor that connected the academic building to the club facilities.
"So," Shiori spoke suddenly, her voice calm but sharp, "what were you thinking about just now, Sensei?"
Hirakawa didn't look at her.
"The wind ensemble."
A flawless answer.
At least on the surface.
Shiori said nothing.
But her gaze lingered.
Too perceptive.
As if she could see straight through the lie.
Hirakawa chose not to respond.
It didn't matter.
Soon, they arrived at the club building, climbed to the fifth floor, and stopped in front of the music room.
The evening sun poured across the door, casting a golden glow over its surface.
Hirakawa stepped forward, placed his hand on the handle, and pushed it open.
Noise spilled out.
Not music.
Not yet.
Just chatter. Laughter. Occasional bursts of instruments being tested.
Disorganized.
Unfocused.
But understandable. Not everyone had arrived yet.
Inside, around thirty to forty students turned toward the door.
The moment they saw him—
The room quieted.
Hirakawa smiled lightly.
"No need to mind me."
He walked in as if he belonged there, heading straight toward a corner.
A chair had already been placed there.
By Shiori.
Of course.
"When will the instructor arrive?" he asked casually.
"In about ten minutes," Shiori replied. "That's when everyone should be here."
"Understood."
He sat.
And waited.
The students, however, didn't.
Whispers began circulating almost immediately.
Who is he?
Is that a teacher?
Why is he here?
The questions spread like ripples.
Every time a late-arriving student entered, the same question surfaced again.
And each time—
Shiori's gaze toward him grew sharper.
"Sensei," she murmured softly, her lips barely moving, "this is your reputation."
Hirakawa ignored her.
Ten minutes later, the room was finally full.
Shiori stepped away from him and returned to the student formation.
Then—
The door opened again.
Golden sunlight flooded in through the widening gap, stretching across the floor like a path.
A silhouette blocked it.
And then—
Suzuki Komaki stepped inside.
She closed the door gently behind her, sealing the sunlight outside.
Turning, she scanned the room, then raised a hand slightly.
"Everyone, please quiet down."
Her voice was soft.
Gentle.
Almost too gentle.
The noise dropped—
But didn't disappear.
Murmurs lingered like buzzing insects.
"Everyone, please… quiet down a little more."
Still not enough.
Finally, a girl stepped forward from the crowd—the club president.
She clapped her hands sharply.
"Everyone, quiet!"
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
This time—
Silence.
The president leaned toward Komaki-sensei, whispering something.
And the next moment—
Komaki's voice rang out, filled with surprise.
"Hirakawa-sensei is here?"
Only then did Hirakawa stand from the corner and walk forward.
"Komaki-sensei."
She blinked, then smiled brightly.
"It really is you. It's been a while. What brings you here?"
A fair question.
An unnecessary one.
Hirakawa didn't answer directly.
Instead, he turned to the students.
Calm.
Measured.
"I'm Hirakawa Tetsubumi, the advisor of the wind ensemble."
A pause.
"Any questions?"
The room stirred again.
Whispers grew louder.
"So he's the advisor?"
"He's kind of handsome."
"Then why is he showing up now?"
"No idea."
Komaki-sensei stepped in again.
"Everyone, quiet please."
Her soft voice dissolved into the noise.
Completely ineffective.
And from within the crowd—
Shiori looked at him.
A faint, mo
cking smile touched her lips.
Hirakawa let out a quiet breath.
Just as she said this morning—
The state of the wind ensemble Was worse than expected.
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