Busking on a Cloudless Day
Not a single cloud marred the sky. It was a brilliantly clear day.
If you have ever known the kind of weather that banishes drowsiness the moment you open a window — the kind that makes you want to be somewhere, anywhere, outdoors — then today was precisely that sort of day.
"The weather truly is fine, isn't it, Pai?"
Pai nodded with great enthusiasm.
Luke leaned against the balcony railing, breathing in the scent of the wind and admiring the height of the building under that brilliant sky. It was a thoroughly leisurely moment.
The research institute, however, was enjoying no such leisure. Quite the opposite — it was busier than it had ever been, thanks to the mountain of research material Luke had, entirely without meaning to, dumped upon it.
Some of the staff had already left on field assignments to foreign nations that had once undergone demonic corruption, hunting for evidence to support Luke's hypotheses. Those who remained were scrambling to re-verify Shaeh's Miracle Equation. Neither task looked likely to finish anytime soon.
As a result, Luke could not even set foot in the institute. With nothing else to do, he simply stood on the balcony and focused on the sensation of the wind threading through his hair.
Having reached the Second Circle, he could summon a breeze like this whenever he pleased — yet the fragrance of wind delivered by nature itself still offered a sensation entirely its own.
Come to think of it, even this feeling had once been unfamiliar. Barely two months and a little more had passed, and already… They did say beastkin adapted better than any other race. Perhaps that was why.
"Lu, if you stand in the wind dressed that thinly, you'll catch a cold."
Yerna spoke with concern as she pinned her hair.
"No need to worry. The weather is fine, and it isn't particularly cold."
Yerna looked past Luke's small frame at the impossibly blue sky and nodded.
"You're right. The weather really is gorgeous. Days like this make you want to go somewhere fun."
But of course, on the nicest days you always had to go to work. Yerna let out a long sigh.
The researchers currently buried in the institute were no doubt feeling exactly the same way — though Luke, blissfully unaware of their plight, asked with pure innocence:
"Am I allowed to go to the forest starting today?"
"You could, but it'd be better to wait until tomorrow. There's still cleanup left to do."
It really had been exhausting, Yerna muttered, exhaling another deep sigh as she looked up at the sky again.
"I hope the weather stays this nice through next week."
Luke looked up as well and answered,
"Well, I expect it will."
He said it almost as if to reassure her. Even Luke had no gift for predicting the weather a week out — but somehow, he felt it would be so.
Watching Yerna turn her head this way and that before the mirror, checking that her pins were secure, Luke suddenly recalled that she always wore those two particular ones.
"Yerna, you wear those pins every day. Do they mean something?"
The metal pins seemed to carry a faint trace of mana — as if some enchantment had been worked into them. Likely a mana alloy of some kind.
"Ah, these."
Yerna smiled a little, as though the question had caught her off guard.
"My mother gave them to me. Do they not suit me?"
"Not at all. They suit you well. I was merely curious why you wear them every single day."
"Then I'm glad. They're very precious to me, so I put them on every day."
A deeply cherished gift from a parent. Sensing something delicate in the air, Luke chose his next words with great care.
"Surely not… Has something happened to your mother…?"
Yerna's eyes widened slightly, then she hurried on with a look of sudden realization.
"She's still alive! These are just — I received them a long time ago, so I keep them carefully. They're not keepsakes or anything like that!"
Well, on paper her past self was dead, so it was best not to see her family too often — but once or twice a year she still managed to meet them in secret, Yerna rambled. Luke sorted through the tangle of words in his head, then sighed with relief.
"Is that so… Then that is truly fortunate."
Nearly ruined a perfectly good day, he thought.
"I'm heading out, Lu! Make sure you call if you go anywhere!"
"Understood, Yerna."
Once Yerna left for work, Luke headed for the shower to prepare for an outing of his own. There was no reason to stay cooped up indoors, and the weather practically demanded he go out. Lingering inside felt like a waste.
Hmm. What if I went out and played the cello?
He hadn't been able to practice at home lately, and Pai's discontent had been growing obvious. Every so often the spirit would drift near the upright cello and direct mournful string-instrument tones at Luke.
"Pai, shall we go out and play the cello today?"
—Luke…?
"Yes, truly. I'll wash up and get ready, so wait for me."
—…!
Leaving behind a spirit that trilled a joyful brass fanfare — bara-ram! — Luke turned on the shower.
Cello on his back, Luke wandered until he found a somewhat open plaza, claimed a suitable spot, and settled into a chair.
He had no intention of returning to school for a while. The bizarre attention born from that music club room incident still clung to him, and he had no desire to be swarmed by excessive interest that would keep him from doing what he wanted.
Some might call it an inflated sense of self-importance — but when you had lived through the same situation enough times across both a past life and a present one, a little caution was simply the mark of an intelligent person.
He had seen people perform here before, so his own playing ought to be fine. He wouldn't be blocking anyone's path, either.
If I do well enough, I might even find a way to earn money in this body.
And he rather wanted to repay Yerna somehow.
Luke drew out the cello, angled it against his body, and surveyed his surroundings. Passersby glanced at him with mild curiosity and simply continued on their way.
He took a deep breath and drew the bow across the strings.
A low, resonant hum rose — a sound almost like a human voice vibrating through vocal cords.
The piece was simple and light. Nothing that would grate on anyone's ears; plain, but unmistakably the sound of a cello. It had no particular character to speak of.
A few people gathered to steal glances as they passed, but Luke knew full well they were looking because a ten-year-old beastkin girl playing cello at this hour was an oddity — not because the music itself had captured them.
Without a spirit, that simple melody had little to hold anyone's interest. Luke understood this perfectly. He might not know music, but analysis was his specialty.
Pai was delighted simply that Luke was playing at all. But people were not spirits. People loved sequences of tones they could understand — harmonically beautiful arrangements of sound.
There was nothing wrong with the harmony of what Luke played. It was simply too static. Not the kind of music that made you stop in your tracks and listen.
Even so — not a single person among so many had stopped. Was this not a matter of pride?
Well, everyone does look busy. Can't be helped, I suppose.
Come to think of it, the people of this era all seemed busy with something. Even in this peaceful world, they lived rather fiercely.
Perhaps it was precisely because their world was so peaceful that they filled their ordinary days with such busy, earnest living. Viewed that way, a busy life didn't seem entirely bad.
With that thought, Luke continued to play, little by little.
Gradually, gradually, his cello seemed to grow richer, spreading its presence outward. Not passionate — but bright and gentle. The notes would rumble low, then suddenly soar like a bird, gliding lightly through the air as if in flight.
It was a performance that seemed to capture a small bird's journey: rising into a blue sky, descending to peck at seed on the ground, then climbing skyward once more.
Fortunately, that music managed to halt a few pairs of feet.
Knowing that several people were watching lifted his spirits for no particular reason. He had never disliked the feeling of being expected of. He had always carried the confidence that he could meet those expectations — and that held true even in the entirely new field of performance.
All he had to do was show them what he could do.
The playing continued, and before long a few coins found their way into the cello case. Words of encouragement — "Hang in there," "That was lovely" — were not unpleasant either. Above all, at least no one was cursing at him.
Taking a brief rest, he focused on the chirping of birds wheeling overhead, and a thought struck him suddenly.
Is it the weather? Or am I simply in high spirits? The birdsong almost sounds like singing.
Wait. Singing?
In that instant, something like realization brushed across Luke's mind.
Sound was vibration. The trembling of a stringed instrument and the vibration of vocal cords were not, in essence, different things. An instrument was nothing special, and a voice was nothing special. Were the vocal cords not simply another kind of instrument?
Luke met the eyes of a Pai brimming with anticipation and murmured,
"Yes. That was it."
—…?
Come to think of it, the bards of old had never merely played. Why had they been called poets?
Yes. They had sung.
Luke found himself recalling The Great Plains of Serengal and the Twelve Knights. Of course, he had no intention of performing that piece as it was. Earning money with someone else's song? That would be theft, wouldn't it?
Then he would take it as reference and compose something new. He had never sung before — but somehow, he had a feeling it would work out.
Late in the day, footsteps sounded beyond the door. From the weight and rhythm alone, Luke recognized them as Yerna's at once. He went to the entrance to greet her.
"Yerna, welcome home."
"I'm back, Luke. Did something happen today? You look really happy."
"Ah, yes. Have a look at this."
Luke threw open the cello case with a smile.
"Good heavens, what is all this?"
"The money I earned in the plaza over the course of today. I performed."
"You…? How much is this even…?"
Luke answered with a slightly awkward smile.
"Precisely two million, three hundred forty thousand, two hundred gil. I suspect it's because I look so young… Everyone put in a little extra. I did tell them I am not a child, and yet…"
Being treated like a child — praised as admirable for performing despite his age — had been rather trying. He had also been called cute far too many times. He had thought he was making an effort to look more mature.
"At any rate, I wanted to give this to you, Yerna."
"To me?"
"Would you put it toward the mana bill? I have always felt guilty about that."
Yerna was speechless.
How on earth had he earned two million three hundred forty thousand gil in a single day? He said he had performed, but it was a weekday — there couldn't have been that many people around. And even so, to give this much to a ten-year-old…
Truly, the world's patrons were a mystery.