The Grand Library was frigid, its usual vibrancy gone.
The shelves, once bursting with knowledge, stood barren. Even the daylight lamps were dark—only a single sunbeam from the fourth-floor window illuminated Shirone.
In that light, he turned the final page.
Then, softly, he closed the book.
Turning a page was easy.
But traversing hundreds to reach the end? That took sothing not everyone had.
Eight hundred and fifty volus of history.
Shirone had read them all.
’It’s over. This is the spine of my knowledge.’
Warmth blossod in his chest—a rising light.
Though born a hunter’s son, he could now discuss the world with anyone.
’One year, six months.’
His initial sluggish pace had accelerated, shaving off half a year.
He could return ho anyti now. His family would be safe.
’It feels like a dream.’
mories flickered through his mind like passing visions.
"Hey, Shirone! You finished, right? Why’re you still here?"
Rian swung the door open, coughing as dust billowed.
Shirone simply smiled.
"What’s that look for? Good news?"
"Rian. Show your family’s estate."
"Huh? What?"
Rian’s eyes bulged.
Shirone—who never left room for error—wanted to enter the main house?
Then Rian noticed the lone book beside him.
"You... finished?"
"Yeah. Nothing left to read. At least, not in this library."
Nothing left to read.
Rian, who usually avoided reading, sohow understood just how magnificent this mont was.
’Really?’
It seed like the very symbol of intellect, and even the sunlight streaming through the window appeared to celebrate this instant.
"Wahahaha! You really did it, you bastard! You’re sothing else, I swear!"
Rian cheered as if it were his own achievent.
Of course, his congratulatory thod was as rough as expected from a swordsman, and Shirone, clutched in his arms, felt his head spinning.
"Aaaah! I’m dizzy!"
Even after breaking free, Shirone staggered in circles on the floor, and Rian watched him intently.
’He’s incredible.’
Now, he felt like he truly understood Shirone.
Because he knew who Shirone was, things like his origins or status no longer mattered.
And he was grateful.
’Honestly, I might’ve been disappointed. If he had treated just as the heir of a noble house...’
Rian agreed without hesitation.
"Alright! If you wanna co to my place, you’re welco anyti! Besides, my family’s not ho right now anyway!"
It wasn’t a big deal, but it’d be much more comfortable for Shirone this way.
When they arrived at the mansion, Shirone was overwheld by the sheer scale of the building up close.
’It’s huge.’
He could now understand why ancient civilizations built grand structures to honor the gods.
"C’mon, c’mon! Get in."
But Rian, who lived here every day, was too lazy to even open the door properly and just shoved his way in shoulder-first.
Shirone asked nervously,
"Rian, what if we get caught?"
"What’s there to worry about? The library relocation’s already done, so we’re not bound by any contract. Plus, my family won’t be back until evening. C’mon, get in!"
They climbed the hall staircase to the second floor, where a long corridor led to countless rooms.
As they walked to the very end, Shirone caught glimpses of the family’s rooms.
True to their noble heritage, there were no extravagant decorations, but one room stood out with its pink-dominated interior.
Instead of swords and shields, a piano and unfamiliar instrunts were ticulously displayed.
’The eldest daughter’s room. She’s a musician, right?’
With so many rooms to choose from, Rian stubbornly insisted on the one at the very end.
Shirone sensed a fragnt of the isolation Rian must have felt within his own family.
"Here. This is my room."
Fitting for a passionate swordsman, wooden training swords were piled up, and the bookshelf was filled with swordsmanship manuals.
But there were no academic texts—just myth-based novels.
’I did want to see this place at least once.’
Because he considered Rian a friend.
They say a room reflects its owner’s personality, and this was no exception.
’He really has no interest in decorating.’
For Rian, who spent most of his ti covered in dust at the training grounds, this room seed to serve no purpose beyond sleeping.
With nothing else to do, the two chatted idly until boredom led them to a card ga.
They started with equal stacks of chips.
But the match ended in just 30 minutes.
Rian lost spectacularly.
As Shirone gathered the chips, he asked,
"Another round?"
"No! Damn it. Gambling’s all luck anyway, and I must be cursed."
Shirone sorted the chips and remarked,
"You have a habit of moving your hand outward when an ace cos in. And your betting tempo changes depending on whether you have a pair or not—probably calculating odds versus folding. Once I noticed those two things, winning was easy."
Rian stared blankly, as if he’d been scamd.
"How the hell do you even figure that out?"
"Observation often works best when you’re not fixated. If you obsess over small details, you’ll miss the bigger picture. Stop trying to analyze your opponent—just absorb them as a whole. Then sothing will stand out."
Rian rested his chin on his hand.
"So... don’t fixate on what you want? Huh. Maybe that applies to finding your Schema too."
"Probably. I referenced sothing similar when understanding Spirit Zone."
"Hmm. ’Don’t fixate.’"
Rian repeated Shirone’s words.
His mind tingled—he felt close to grasping sothing, but the core eluded him.
"Ugh."
Unused to prolonged thinking, his body grew sluggish, and drowsiness crashed over him.
"Ah, whatever."
Rian stretched lazily and flopped onto the bed.
"Nothing else to do—let’s nap. I ran a hundred laps this morning; I’m dead tired."
"Then sleep. I’ll read for a bit."
"Mm."
Rian was out the mont his head hit the pillow.
Amused by his carefree friend, Shirone chuckled softly and picked up a novel.
’The Bloody Duel with the Serpent Queen.’
After only reading dense history books, losing himself in an adventure made ti fly.
anwhile, Rian’s engagent with the book was different—key lines were underlined:
-The Serpent Queen’s weakness is her head.
"Haha."
Nothing eventful had happened, but just being in his friend’s house for the first ti was joy enough.
An hour passed.
With Rian still asleep, Shirone closed the book and tidied up.
’He said his family would return by evening.’
Once the sun set, the mansion would grow lively—best to leave before then.
As he walked down the hall, the sound of piano music drifted from one room.
To soone raised in the mountains, a composer’s inspired notes struck harder than thunder.
’Beautiful.’
Drawn by the lody, Shirone stopped outside the room of Rian’s sister.
’That must be Reina.’
A woman with blue waves of hair cascading like ocean currents played the piano.
It was nothing short of divine.
Though not the youngest, becoming a court musician at nineteen was no small feat—high praise was justified.
The harmonies built, raced, and intertwined with variations—Shirone’s mind moved like a marionette pulled by the lody, following Reina’s fingertips.
Only when the music ended did he snap back to reality.
Perhaps the awe lasted too long—Reina noticed him and waved with a smile.
"Hello? How was my piano sonata?"
How was it?
Though he’d read about music, hearing it live surpassed all imagination.
"Uh, well..."
Unable to critique, Shirone hesitated until Reina tapped the piano bench.
"You can co closer. But I don’t recognize you—new servant?"
"Yes. I handle library cataloging. I’ve been here over a year."
"Aha! So you’re the one. I’ve heard about you. You must be brilliant—cataloging isn’t just anyone’s job."
Perhaps because she was an artist, she lacked arrogance, her tone considerate.
Awkwardly stepping inside, Shirone hesitated before pointing to sheet music.
"This is... musical notation?"
"Yep. Schliemann’s Piano Sonata, 3rd Movent—’In the Darkness.’ Ever played?"
"No, never."
"Really? Then sit here. I’ll teach you. It’s not too hard."
Years of life-or-death focus under the na Ozent left Shirone tense.
Especially since Rian had called his sister a "wicked witch."
"Relax. I permitted this—no one will scold you."
Sowhat reassured, Shirone sat at the piano, curiosity burning.
"Here, start with Do, Re, Mi..."
After learning the basics, Shirone pressed the first chord, mindful of fingering.
Boooom.
The sound rippled through his heart.
As tension lted, he connected to the next chord.
Reina’s eyebrows rose.
"Wow, you’re fast. Never seen sheet music, yet your sight-reading’s amazing."
Sight-reading—playing unfamiliar music on first glance—relied more on reflexes than emotion. Speed of thought was key.
Though flattered, Shirone couldn’t bring himself to smile at her directly.
Staring at the keys, an idea struck him.
"Sorry, but..."
"Hm?"
"Could you play it again?"
Even in this brief encounter, Reina recognized Shirone’s unique trait.
’He’s proactive.’
Most servants would’ve just humored their employer to pass ti.
Reina agreed readily.
"Sure."
The idea that artists obsess over talent? A lie spread by fakes.
"This ti, I’ll play it properly."
What artists truly love is passion.
Reina perford an encore of In the Darkness.
To Shirone’s untrained ears, it was incomparable to the first attempt—astounding.
’Schema.’
Her nervous system, finely attuned to her body, was multiples more sensitive than an average person’s.
Reina looked satisfied.
Shirone, however, wore a grave expression, deep in thought.
"Can I try again?"
"Huh? Oh, sure."
"It might sound bad, but please bear with ."
"Hehe, of course. Everyone starts sowhere."
Shirone’s hands hovered gently over the keys.
Just as Reina thought his posture was decent—he began.
At first, Reina listened with a strained smile.
But midway, her expression shifted.
’What... is this kid doing?’
Every note was wrong. A complete ss. Yet—
It was eerily accurate.
Not music in the traditional sense, but as if he’d absorbed Reina’s essence.
’He’s not playing for an audience.’
This was deeper—an attempt to understand the concept of performance itself.
’Just a little more.’
Shirone focused.
Absorbing the entire score, analyzing it ntally, commanding ten fingers at once.
Amid countless wrong notes, the essence grew clearer.
’Closer. I need to get closer.’
His concentration spiked—the Spirit Zone opened.
’Almost there.’
Reina gulped.
Amidst grating dissonance, pleasant harmonies flickered sporadically.
At the climactic dudududu!, when his playing briefly matched the score, chills ran down her spine.
Shirone entered the final cadence.
’Here!’
Raising both hands, he struck a fifth like lightning—then crushed the tonic with full force—
Oooooooom.
The harmonies that began four minutes prior dissolved into seven fading notes, leaving endless resonance.
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