Path of the Extra Chapter 375: Leo Karumi [9]

School had finally ended for the day. The final bell rang, bringing a surge of relief across the classroom—sighs escaping, some cheers rising, chairs dragging as the teacher departed. Pupils began to leave, some going solo toward home, others grouping with pals.

Leo rose from his seat with a soft exhale.

"See you next week," he uttered.

"See ya."

Leo eyed Gil. His nearby desk mate remained motionless—slumped across his table like a device drained to its last sliver of battery, too indolent to rise.

Leo departed silently and headed to the music room. No club members were scheduled there today; he had reserved it solely for himself.

The club's repeated pleas for him to join had almost pushed him to the brink, yet ultimately... Leo prevailed. He secured the space. He claimed his solitude. All without committing to their average group.

Arriving at the entrance, he entered and nearly shut the door when he halted abruptly.

"Kaya?" he queried. "Where are you headed?"

Kaya served as his private instructor—and the school's music educator, at least on paper. She accepted the position for a single purpose: to tutor Leo more effectively. She adjusted her timetable, her routine, her limited hours around molding him into the finest pianist imaginable.

However, the very woman meant to rehearse with him post-classes was already gathering her things, jacket draped on, keys clutched.

Surprise didn't cross her features at his arrival.

Instead, she appeared... remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Leo," she expressed, sorrow lacing her tone.

"My foolish brother fractured his leg. I have to fetch his children from school and head to the hospital together. I doubt I'll manage to instruct you this week."

"Ah. Understood." Leo's tone remained even.

"It's fine. I'll handle it alone."

Kaya's face grew taut, remorse etching deeper.

"I truly apologize."

Leo revealed no annoyance—offered her nothing—but she inclined her head as if awaiting reprimand.

"Just leave," Leo stated plainly at last.

"Yes... farewell. Rehearse diligently, and—please avoid wrecking anything this round." Her glance shifted to the piano. "It's antique. I placed it here as a precaution, but even so..."

"Got it. Got it. Just head out, okay?"

"...Farewell."

"Bye."

Kaya brushed by him, sealed the door, and her steps echoed away along the hall.

Leo breathed out sharply and massaged his face.

"No more delays."

He traversed the space, took a seat at the piano, and positioned himself before it.

What Leo always observed first—each time he positioned himself—was the keys. Smooth as ivory beneath his fingertips, chilled and subtly yielding. Every key possessed its slight flex, its minimal point before surrendering and the hammer striking. Such a basic setup it nearly offended: depress, impact, resonate.

He appreciated that aspect.

Leo placed his hands without striking a chord—just laid them there, as though the warmth from his palms might infuse the piano and soften its... detachment. The space stood vacant and hushed in that unique post-school manner: atmosphere that seemed exhausted, specks of dust drifting idly in the beams, the structure's far-off pipes emitting faint, intermittent groans.

In the distance, a door latched softly.

The entire outside world might vanish, and the piano would remain unmoved.

Leo drew in breath. Then he struck one note.

A pure, ordinary tone. Not boisterous. Not hesitant. Sufficient to gauge the room's reply. The sound pierced the air, expanded into a subtle ring of harmonics, then faded and dissolved as if gently withdrawn.

A second note.

Followed by another.

He skipped straight to the composition. Ritual preceded it, as routine as cleansing hands before handling delicacy. Initial languid scales, then brief arpeggio sequences—his digits rousing sequentially, from pinky to thumb, thumb to pinky—like asserting dominance over his form. The movements felt routine, nearly drowsy. His thoughts might drift if permitted.

He quickened the pace, as his hands favored velocity. Swift motion left scant space for sensation. Less opportunity for that sickening realization of being an individual isolated in a chamber, attempting to extract significance from timber and strings.

Before long, he advanced to a tougher segment.

When Leo at last approached the work, he barely consulted the score. The sheets existed for obligation, for reassuring grown-ups with their presence. Leo required none—for rehearsal or recital. The layout was ingrained: peaks in the lines, constrictions, concealed ferocity within graceful passages.

The composition emerged like shifting climate: building steadily, then abruptly compelling. It amassed, layer by layer, a persistent pressure thickening the atmosphere. The piano's timbre layered richly: luminous above, shadowed below, encircled by subtle harmonics broadening the resonance beyond the tool's capacity.

Opening lines rang clear. The tune flowed with restrained grace, its gentleness backed by resolve.

It nearly suggested the wood attended.

Then the work altered—subtly, akin to a facial shift during speech.

Harmony veered into obscurity. The tune ceased mere attractiveness and delved... far gloomier.

Leo's respiration altered. Slightly enough to register—and provoke annoyance.

This section never satisfied.

Leo couldn't grasp it. He executed flawlessly—each tone precise, each shift aligned perfectly—yet against live shows he'd witnessed, or Kaya's renditions, or even late-night clips... an element lacked.

No. That missed the mark.

He matched their caliber. He

Yet it fell short.

They possessed something absent in him—and he craved it. Craved it so the work shed its inadequacy and achieved flawlessness.

His digits bore down excessively. Keys retaliated with denser, harsher tones, as if he sought to dominate the melody. He winced, overlooked the error, and propelled ahead.

Leo clenched his jaw and persisted, striving to bar pesky feelings from tainting his touch.

He rendered the tones exquisite. Any intruder would accept it—breath held, silence observed.

It... it overpowered. Leo's melody held no quiet poise or mere charm.

It slithered across you like a serpent. It unsettled your perceptions.

From fury, he struck forcefully once more.

He rejected "beautiful." Others labeled his performance that way. To Leo, it repulsed.

Repulsive for lacking perfection.

Regardless of its definition.

The melody ascended to climax, but lacked triumphant surge. Chords constricted; the line honed—merciless in its advance.

Once more, his fingers pounded too fiercely, fueled by ire.

Once more, he continued.

...Then—

...Again—

His teeth ground until ache set in.

Crimson liquid trickled from his bitten lips onto the keys.

"FUCK!"

Discord shattered the air.

Leo yanked his hands away, then pounded fists anew—unleashing fresh turmoil rebounding from surfaces.

Chest heaving, eyes aflame, Leo halted at last.

He muttered oaths repeatedly—under breath.

"Just what the damn is it... that I'm messing up...!?"

*****

Following ninety minutes of relentless loops of agony, Leo ceased—with a final crash of palms on keys.

The piano showed scant scars. Leo's hands bore the brunt, aching and inflamed, the throb so intense it seemed his pulse relocated there.

"Haaah... I'm utter crap..."

He rose with a frosty look and paused briefly, allowing quiet to settle as his stare wandered.

His focus settled on a metallic flask.

He approached, grasped it, and noted its heft. Liquid remained—roughly halfway.

Evidently left behind by another.

With yet another breath, he shut his eyes and whispered,

"Why can't I measure up...? I feel like absolute garbage..."

It never sufficed. Never met the mark.

"HAH!"

Abruptly, Leo flung the flask at the piano with savage force.

It collided with keys in a crisp, ringing snap. Now the device suffered—a few keys fractured right away, cracking and breaking under impact. The container grazed the top, etching a ugly gash, then rebounded sharply to the ground and rattled in discordant rolls until halting.

Leo regarded the havoc from his toss. His mouth twisted up, a spark of satisfaction gleaming briefly.

"Much improved."

Saying that, he pivoted and exited the area.

Kaya's absence this week spared her the mess, but Leo could feign ignorance. No evidence linked him. Though last to enter "officially," damage could occur anytime. Glancing at the deserted corridor upon leaving, he knew proof eluded them.

No one would suspect him. They wouldn't imagine Leo wrecking a piano, given his supposed "passion" for it. Instruments got swapped regardless—courtesy of Instructor Kaya, who mysteriously maintained endless replacements.

Even a moniker existed for the culprit who ruined them when Kaya couldn't conceal fast enough: the piano slayer.

Naturally, Leo's involvement stayed secret.

Raking fingers through his locks, Leo recalled needing to detour to his class before departing.

He proceeded that way, pondering if the girl lingered.

He'd lingered deliberately today—not solely for rehearsal, but hoping she'd weary and depart.

Regardless, the classroom lay en route to the primary gate.

Upon reaching it, the entrance stood shut—but directly before, a pupil crouched on the floor, back to the panel, arms around knees, dozing lightly.

Leo gazed down coldly, underwhelmed.

’

Yet ignoring her meant facing her anew next week. And... she'd endured this duration.

"Seriously... does she ignore signals?"

He exhaled, tousled his hair once more, and prodded her limb gently with his shoe several times.

That roused her. She shifted, lashes lifting, then scrubbed her eyes while peering groggily. Her sight fell to Leo's foot, then ascended gradually.

She fixed on him, mind still clouded.

"Am I... in a dream?"

"Nope. I'm genuinely here."

His voice dispersed the haze—and instantly, her eyes bulged.

"WHA—WHAT?!"

She bolted as if leaping, but Leo raised a palm to halt, holding it above her crown.

"Easy. You'd have struck the knob."

He'd averted her head's collision, yet received no gratitude—only quiet.

Leo blinked, spotting her rigid pose—knees partially folded, his palm atop her hair, cheeks aflame like ripe fruit.

He breathed out and withdrew.

"I... I, um... I—"

At length, she straightened correctly, maintaining clearance from the latch. She twisted her hands, eyes fleeing his.

"I n-need to admit something..."

Leo regarded her impassively and inclined his head. She avoided his stare.

"Sure," he responded.

Then, prior to her plunging in, he added,

"Haven't you caught the whispers about me?"

"Huh?"

She met his eyes at last, bewilderment evident.

"You've surely heard the tales," Leo pressed. "You seem decent and caring... so why seek a confession with me?"

Her gaze widened. Reality dawned on her.

Some pursued closure, admittedly. But few.

"I don't believe they're... true."

Leo's focus returned sharply. She'd mustered resolve, hands balled.

"Whispers don't spawn from nothing," he noted.

"They stem from causes."

In essence, Leo affirmed the tales' validity—that he embodied the described figure.

His statement eroded her boldness. Eyes downcast, limbs quaking, yet she uttered,

"Even then... I sense they're mistaken... and you're not... truthful. I-I believe you're kind... You woke me rather than departing..."

"A single kind deed doesn't saint me," Leo countered.

She met his look as if resolved. Leo suppressed laughter.

"I... I wish to ask if... if you'd date me!" she burst suddenly.

"I've observed you since term's beginning, admired from distance! I-I realize I may not deserve your side, but I'll strive fully!"

Her once-firm eyes clamped shut as she anticipated reply.

"You know my response already, right?"

She recoiled. Shakes lessened as she bowed her head.

"Yeah..." she murmured, dejected and softly broken.

"I... I know."

"..."

"Still... I-I needed to attempt."

Leo released breath.

"I can't court you. Dating or romance holds no appeal. I refuse to pursue."

She lifted gaze. Tears trailed cheeks, yet she formed a faint, lovely grin.

"Understood... Then thanks. Thanks for listening and replying..."

"No issue," Leo answered.

"I'll depart now."

"I'll remain," she hastened.

"A companion awaits me."

No companion existed. Leo recognized it; she knew the fib's frailty.

For unclear reasons, viewing her wilted stance, he inquired—unthinkingly—

"What's your name?"

She glanced up, startled. Perhaps from Leo's interest. Or her omission.

"M-my name's Sia! From 1-C!"

"Got it."

"Yes—Sia!" she urged, as if to imprint it.

"Though fully Anastasia, but all call me Sia! Please... use that!"

"Fine."

The name oddly warmed his core.

"Pleasure meeting you, Anastasia."

"Y-yes! Likewise! But—"

Before concluding, Leo set a hand on her head.

"A senior named Nathan shares my year. Less handsome than me, but he'd adore dating a sweet girl like you."

He lifted it swiftly.

"Apologies. That crossed lines. Anyway, leaving now. Goodbye, Anastasia."

She stayed mute. Leo didn't linger. He passed her and her vacant, shocked face.

Steps later, he overheard the faint mutter trailing—gentle, bewildered, scarcely heard.

"C-cute... He said I was... cute..."