The Accompanist

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

WARNING:

The themes discussed in this story may be unpleasant for some viewers. There are no explicit scenes. HOWEVER. There are references to highly upsetting things that occur in Japanese society and the Yakuza culture. Read at your own discretion.

Music vocab in simple terms:

Tempo - how fast or slow the piece is

Dynamic - how loud or quiet the piece is

Score - a paper or booklet that has the musical notes written on it

Rosin - A block of varnish that you can rub against the bow to help it make sound when it moves across the strings (looks delicious, not edible)

Shift - a slide of the left hand slightly up/down the neck of the instrument (helps change the pitch)

Steinway - a brand of grand piano

. . .

The Accompanist

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"Onii-chan."

"Mmm...."

"Onii-chan!"

"Five more minutes..."

"ONII-CHAN!"

"Geh!" Boutarou rolled onto his back and covered his ears with his pillow. "My alarms haven't even gone off yet... Leave me alone, Hana..."

His little sister sighed and yanked the covers off of him, earning a surprised yelp. "You slept through all THREE of your alarms already. So get out of bed and get dressed! You don't want to make Sayaka mad again, do you?"

Bloodshot blue eyes popped open. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" He threw off his pink cotton night shirt and scrambled out of bed, fighting the discoordination in his limbs and the stinging in his eyes.

"Geez! Wait until I'm out of the room to get undressed!"

"Hurry up and get out of my room then!" He was already tugging off his pants and grabbing at his uniform, slipping one foot through the leg hole only to realize they were backwards. "Dang it, work, stupid brain!"

He buttoned the second button of his white collared shirt and skidded into the bathroom. No time to brush his teeth today. But his hair needed some work.

"Boutarou! You're going to be late!"

"Coming mom!"

Spiking up his messy dyed blonde hair, he yanked on his tie and rushed down the wooden stairs of his western-style home in Nagano, long bangs slapping him in the face with each descending step.

When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his father's favorite breakfast was laid out before them. American style toast with jelly, tamagoyaki, ham, and coffee. But his father was nowhere in sight. Perhaps it was a hint that his cruddy old man was actually showing up to one of his performances. Wouldn't that be something.

Clapping his hands together, Boutarou said a quick thanks before shoveling a few bites of tamagoyaki into his mouth.

Today was the one day he couldn't afford to be late. He was finally graduating high school. And if he was late for practice, Sayaka would be livid.

He was the one who begged her to drag out their first run-through until the morning of the performance. They didn't need it anyways. But after all these years, she still didn't trust him.

When his plate was almost cleared, his mother offered him a gentle smile. "Good luck today. I know you'll do great."

"Ha. Not like I have a choice," he responded, swallowing down his remaining mouthful. "I'm heading out. Thanks for breakfast." He popped the toast into his mouth, grabbed his things, and dashed out the door.