Hyacinth Flores stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusting his appearance. His long black hair cascaded down his back before he gathered it into a neat ponytail. He secured it tightly, ensuring not a strand was out of place. Reaching over to his bedside table, he picked up a delicate headband adorned with a small purple hyacinth—a flower he had always associated with his creativity and resilience. He slid it into place, admiring how it complemented his features.
For a moment, he smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement about his new beginning. But then, his expression faltered. A familiar pang settled in his chest as his thoughts drifted to his father. The man who had once been a presence in his life had left, unable to accept his son for who he was. The hurt had dulled over time, but moments like these, standing before a mirror, preparing himself for a new chapter, always seemed to bring it back. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and forced a smile. Today was about new beginnings, not old wounds.
"Are you sure you have everything, anak?" his mother asked, her voice filled with warmth and concern as she adjusted the collar of his uniform.
Hyacinth nodded, signing, Yes, Mom. I've checked everything twice.
His mother sighed, cupping his face gently. "I'm so proud of you. Remember, don't let anyone make you feel small. You are talented, kind, and strong. Your father may not see it, but I do. And I know you will shine."
Hyacinth felt his throat tighten but nodded firmly. I'll do my best, he signed before pulling her into a hug.
"That's my boy. Now go, before you're late!" she teased, ushering him toward the door with an encouraging smile.
The morning commute was a familiar routine, but today, each stop felt like a countdown to something unknown. Hyacinth navigated the busy streets, hopping onto a jeepney, the vehicle packed with students and workers alike. The city bustled around him, voices blending into an indistinct hum as he stared out the window. The ride was bumpy, the air warm, but he found comfort in the movement. When the jeepney finally rolled to a stop near Shimakaze Academy, he stepped off, exhaling softly. This was it.
Shimakaze Academy loomed ahead, a prestigious institution with a sprawling campus that buzzed with life. As Hyacinth followed his assigned student representative, he took in the scenery—the towering buildings, the students lost in chatter, the scent of freshly cooked meals drifting from the cafeteria. The representative gestured toward the entrance of the dining hall, mentioning the student favorites. Among them, the affordable 50-peso rice meals were a staple, an unspoken comfort for those balancing studies and expenses. They passed by the library next, where the hushed atmosphere contrasted the liveliness outside. Rows of shelves stretched endlessly, a sanctuary for diligent students buried in their books. The student representative mentioned Ericka, a dedicated researcher often seen here, working tirelessly toward her defense.
As if summoned by the mention, Ericka appeared, her arms full of books. She paused when she saw Hyacinth and smiled. "Hey, you're the new transfer student, right? Hyacinth?"
Hyacinth nodded, offering a small smile.
"I'm Ericka. If you ever need a study buddy, you'll probably find me here. Welcome to Shimakaze Academy!" She gave him a friendly wave before heading toward one of the tables.
Continuing through the campus, they reached the oval—a vast, open space alive with students sprinting around the track, kicking soccer balls, and perfecting cheer routines. The air was thick with determination and the echo of encouragement from teammates. Beyond the sports grounds, they entered the main building, where the elevators carried them to the upper floors. The 12th floor housed the basketball and volleyball courts, the rhythmic sound of dribbling balls and sneakers squeaking against polished floors filling the air. Below, the 11th floor featured a gym and a swimming pool, a retreat for those seeking both discipline and relaxation in their physical training.
At last, they reached the 10th floor, where the grand auditorium stood in silent grandeur. The representative's phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her attention away. After a quick glance at the screen, she sighed and turned to Hyacinth with an apologetic smile. "I have to help out the student council for a bit. You can wait here, or explore a little on your own. The auditorium is just ahead, so you can check it out if you'd like."
Hyacinth nodded in understanding. As she hurried off, he turned toward the entrance of the auditorium, curiosity drawing him forward. The moment he stepped inside, a soft, melodic tune reached his ears. It was a piano, the notes flowing effortlessly, painting emotions that words could never express. Drawn to the sound, he made his way toward the stage, careful not to make a sound.
There, seated at the grand piano, was a young man dressed in black, his fingers moving fluidly over the keys. His dark black hair was slightly tousled, his sharp features composed, lost in the music. His pale skin contrasted against the deep hues of the stage lights, his expression unreadable. At first, Hyacinth was mesmerized, caught in the beauty of the performance. But as he listened closer, a strange realization settled in—there was something missing. The melody was flawless, each note precise, but it was empty, devoid of the warmth and passion it was supposed to carry. It was as if the pianist was merely going through the motions, playing out of obligation rather than feeling.
The piece reached its final notes, fading into silence. The pianist exhaled, letting his hands rest on the keys before finally noticing Hyacinth. Dark eyes locked onto him, sharp and unreadable.
Hyacinth hesitated before writing on his whiteboard. Your music is amazing.
The pianist glanced at the words but didn't respond immediately. His fingers hovered over the keys, debating something unseen. Then, after a brief silence, he muttered, "It's just practice."
Hyacinth hesitated, then wrote again. It sounded... cold.
A flicker of irritation crossed the pianist's face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he turned fully toward Hyacinth. "Cold?" he echoed, his voice edged with annoyance.
Hyacinth nodded, undeterred. He had expected to be moved by the performance, yet all he felt was distance. The pianist stared at him for a moment before scoffing lightly. "You don't even talk, and now you're critiquing my playing?"
Hyacinth simply lifted his whiteboard in response, his expression calm.
The pianist clicked his tongue, standing abruptly as he gathered his things. His grip on his bag tightened for a split second before he turned away. "Welcome to Shimakaze Academy," he said flatly before walking past Hyacinth without another word.
Hyacinth remained where he was, the lingering notes still echoing in his mind. He glanced at the piano once more before turning to leave the auditorium.