The Bow Leaves the Strings
Luke finally let the bow fall from the cello's strings.
The performance was over.
Applause and cheers that had been held back during the playing now burst forth like a dam giving way.
Luke answered their enthusiasm with natural, courteous bows, dipping his head again and again.
"I thank you all for listening to today's performance. Regrettably, this is where we must end for today."
It had been only a little over twenty minutes of street performance, yet Luke had reached his target amount with ease.
The cello case held a respectable pile of money once more. It was not the same level of patronage as the first day, but it was still more than enough.
Perhaps because he had said he would not accept excessive donations?
That earlier sum had been strange to begin with.
This, surely, was a normal amount.
He had not played nearly so long that day, after all.
He carefully packed the cello into its case while offering half-hearted replies to Pai, who still seemed only half-awake and was grumbling discontentedly.
"Why finish already!"
Because there is no time.
Humming a little tune under his breath as he finished packing, Luke found several of the usual generous patrons approaching him.
These were the same people who had previously put in so much money that it had left him slightly flustered.
"Another fine performance today. A shame it was shorter."
"Haha, it could not be helped. I have found myself with rather a lot to do of late."
"Is that so? Well, if you're busy, there's nothing for it…"
"In any case, I am grateful you came to listen. All the more so for treating even this sort of begging with such kindness."
"…"
Luke hoisted the cello onto his back and bowed once more. The large case tipped forward under its own weight before settling again, a sight that somehow looked thoroughly endearing.
When the patrons waved goodbye, Luke waved back in kind and began to leave.
"That tail's come in nicely since last time. Looks like you've been eating well."
"That's a real relief."
While the patrons were still chatting contentedly, exchanging constructive opinions on how today's performance had gone, a man approached them with a question.
"You all seem to come listen to that child often. Earlier I saw you waiting even before the playing started."
"Heh. Was it not worth the wait?"
The man nodded in agreement.
"Well… it was, I'll give you that."
A performance that could lift and drop emotions at will—how could something like that come from the hands of a ten-year-old? His own eyes had gone round listening to it.
"We, you see, were already supporting that child from the very first day she began playing here."
"Is that so?"
He offered a polite murmur of interest. The speaker nodded with a faint smile, then almost at once a shadow crossed his face and he sighed.
"But lately I've been worried something bad might have happened to her."
"Now that you mention it, her expression didn't look especially bright today either."
Curiosity stirred, and the man asked,
"What exactly do you mean by that? Has something unfortunate happened to the child?"
One of the patrons closed his eyes briefly, shook his head, and clicked his tongue.
"Tsk tsk. There can't be many children as pitiful as that one."
"What sort of circumstances are we talking about?"
"…A poor child who can't even afford to attend school properly, who doesn't eat properly, and who has no parents—living under a guardian's care."
The man immediately recalled the things Luke himself had said at that first street performance.
Ah, this is not my own instrument. I borrowed it from the school. But owing to certain circumstances, I am not attending with any great regularity at present.
Well, I do try to go often enough for the school meals and the library, at least…
What will I do with the donations? Hmm. For now I should like to give them all to my guardian. Raising me must have been quite the hardship. Hm? Why a guardian rather than parents? Haha, well, because it is a guardian, of course. My parents have already passed on.
Hearing the story, the man looked at them with an expression of pure shock.
"Good heavens… that child has been living with such circumstances…"
He had never dreamed the situation could be so difficult.
The extraordinary family history of a child who played so beautifully was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.
Come to think of it, even in that performance there had been nothing beyond the cello borrowed from school. No magical device to amplify the sound so it might carry farther, no folding chair to sit on—not even sheet music or a stand to hold it. Purely with a single cello, the girl had produced that magnetic pull by her own ability alone.
"…"
He was left speechless; only now did he truly understand what that meant.
He had forgotten how to speak.
The silence was broken once more by the patrons' conversation.
"And yet she grew up so brightly despite that environment."
"Did you see today? She was actually wearing a school uniform."
"Seems she's been attending properly of late. All thanks to our support, wouldn't you say?"
"I truly hope so."
Have you ever had that experience?
The sort where some memory has sunk so deep into your mind that it rises unbidden in every situation, no matter the time or place.
To give a more concrete example: the ceiling begins to look like a chessboard and you find yourself running imaginary simulations in your head, or billiards comes to mind so vividly that you see several balls racing across the ceiling and hear, as a phantom sound, the pleasant click of those ivory spheres colliding.
That was precisely Luke's state now.
Wherever he looked, Super Magic League rose before his eyes.
At first even Luke had thought it a strange and foolish pastime.
And little wonder—he had found it thoroughly unreasonable.
From what Luke had experienced, that "game" made everything identical between the two teams except for the combination of five characters called "heroes."
A miniature war in which one destroyed the enemy base, in which five immortal characters who revived almost at once after death and returned to the field fought under identical conditions, deciding victory solely by character matchups, equipment differences, and growth speed—using infinite resources.
Rules of the battlefield that could never have existed before.
Could such a war ever have existed in reality?
And so Luke had been captivated by that narrow, intricate fantasy.
The new rules and new tactics that unfolded in an environment reality could never provide, and the sensation of steering and fine-tuning that fantasy.
In his hands, in his head, in his ears, in his eyes—
It would not leave him.
It lingered like an echo.
"Luke, what's going on today?"
Shirud was a little flustered.
Ever since Luke had secured free attendance, he had never once waited for him like this.
Luke grinned.
"Shirud. Let us go to the PC bang."
"…What? You were waiting just so we could go to the PC bang together?"
"Of course."
"Come now, Shirud! Did I not tell you? Heading that way is to dance to the enemy's strategy."
"Uh…"
"Good. I have bound all four with my magic. Use the secret art at once!"
"Uh, uh…! Got them!"
"By my calculations, if we take the dragon now, barring any truly catastrophic turn, we can close the game within five minutes."
"…So that means take the dragon right now?"
"Ah, Shirud, you take the rear. I shall be more than enough for the dragon alone."
Shirud was left utterly dumbfounded.
Shirud and Luke left the PC bang only when the sky was already growing dark.
At the bus stop, waiting with Luke for the arriving bus, Shirud sat with a blank expression.
Today's Luke was a completely different person from the one of two weeks ago.
His understanding of the game… had risen to an absurd degree.
"Luke, just how much… how long have you been playing?"
"About two weeks or so."
So from the days he had stopped coming to school… that was what it meant.
Come to think of it, when they had entered earlier some part-timer had greeted Luke like an acquaintance. It had not simply been because Luke's appearance was memorable.
No wonder the fellow had even set a drink down at their seats.
"How many hours a day for those two weeks?"
"Mm. Yerna has been coming home late quite often of late, so roughly eight hours a day. Ah, and I have discovered that the PC bang food is rather decent. Not on the level of a proper restaurant, but perfectly edible."
Good heavens. That meant he had practically lived in the PC bang for two weeks.
But there was no way his parents—no, Luke's guardian unni—would have allowed that.
"Does that Yerna unni give you money to go to the PC bang?"
"I did not wish to hold out my hand for something so trivial, so I earned it myself."
"Yourself? How?"
Luke wordlessly pointed to the cello on his back and grinned.
"This turns out to be rather profitable. Shirud, would you care to learn as well?"
Shirud shook his head.
He already received plenty of allowance, and without the excuse of Luke inviting him to play, he scarcely had free time to spend at a PC bang anyway.
The matter of the Freuten family was proving a touch more troublesome than expected.
The threads simply would not come together.
Something was definitely there, yet…
Would she have to infiltrate in person after all?
No—even so, that was far too reckless. A misstep could affect Luke.
While she turned such thoughts over, Yerna opened the front door and stepped inside.
A motion-sensing spell that reacted to a person's presence activated, and the entryway light came on.
Thud.
Yerna removed her shoes and set them neatly aside.
Yet today there was no Luke waiting to greet her as always—only the entry light—and she felt a small pang of disappointment.
The living-room lights were on, yet somehow the place still felt dim and lightless.
Well, it was late; it could not be helped.
"Lu… are you asleep…?"
Sure enough, Luke was sound asleep, face down on the living-room table as though he had been waiting for her.
"Aigoo, if you're going to sleep, sleep in your room…"
She had heard there was a great deal of preparation for the sports festival at school lately; perhaps that was why he was so exhausted.
Yes—at the very least she needed to finish this information gathering before the sports festival.
Yerna approached to carry Luke to bed, then suddenly noticed something.
"This is…"
It was a drawing of the Archmage character. Had Luke drawn Luke Irushi's appearance?
As expected, well drawn. I can tell at a glance.
Drawing well must come from good powers of observation and imagination.
Yerna smiled fondly at the picture, then checked the next one.
It was a drawing of a computer.
So Luke wants a computer, does he?
Well, having to watch the house alone all this time must have been terribly boring.
Buying a computer might not be such a bad idea after all.