The air inside the Towa Hall recital theater in Nerima felt thick, smelling faintly of old velvet, floor polish, and nervous energy. The hall was full, the soft stage lights hitting the gleaming black surface of the grand piano in the center.
Haruya Sumeragi stood beside the piano, dressed in a sharp black suit. The applause for the previous performer died down, and he took a slow, deep breath.
He turned toward the sea of dim faces and executed a smooth, practiced bow.
He held the position for a moment, letting the silence settle, then stood straight again.
His heart, usually so steady whether he was facing a hot oven or a complex mathematical problem, was thumping a nervous rhythm against his ribs.
This was it.
His first recital.
He walked over and sat down on the piano bench. The wood felt cold beneath his legs, and the keys, pristine white and black, waited patiently beneath his fingers.
It was only a few weeks ago that his teacher, Hiroko Seto, had first presented him with his formal piano training.
For Haruya, however, he didn't just learn the music; he adapted to it.
His mind, often cluttered with algorithms for fermentation or the precise weight of ingredients, devoured musical theory and technique with unnerving speed.
It was his Adaptability, working in overdrive.
He wasn't just talented; he could simply become the thing he was studying.
After just a few weeks, Hiroko decided he had mastered enough repertoire to enter the Towa Hall Summer Recital, a mid-high level competition known for attracting serious young musicians.
Haruya shifted on the bench, his eyes scanning the crowd.
In the second row, he easily spotted his support system. There was his teacher, Hiroko Seto, sitting with her daughter, Koharu Seto. Hiroko wore a proud, focused smile, while Koharu bounced a little in her seat, holding up a small, handmade sign with glitter that read "Go Haruya nii-chan!"
Beside them were his parents, Akari and Kenjiro.
Akari looked elegant and excited, squeezing her husband's hand.
Kenjiro, ever the calm anchor, just offered his son a barely perceptible nod.
And next to them, the most important face.
Menma.
She wasn't smiling or cheering loudly like Koharu.
She was sitting perfectly still, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Her beautiful white hair seemed to capture the faint stage light, making her look like a tiny, serious goddess of support.
Her gaze was intense, focused purely on him.
It wasn't the look of a casual spectator; it was the intense, focused attention she gave to a delicate, dying plant she was trying to save.
She was pouring all her gentle energy into him, willing him to succeed.
Seeing her there calmed the chaotic thrum of his heart.
He couldn't let her down.
The Master of Ceremonies stepped up to the podium, adjusting the microphone.
"And now, taking the stage for the final piece in this section, we have Haruya Sumeragi," the MC announced. "He will be performing the third movement, Allegro, from Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13, known to many as the 'Pathétique'."
As the name, Haruya, echoed through the hall, something shifted in the back row.
"Ryouko… Isn't that..." A man's voice, hushed and surprised, cut through the quiet seats.
"I think so too, dear..." The woman beside him replied, her pale indigo eyes widening slightly as she focused on the young boy at the piano.
On stage, Haruya didn't notice the exchange.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in, then out. He opened them, settled his hands over the keys, and the world narrowed down to the music.
C minor. Serious. Driven.
His fingers dropped, striking the first, forceful chords.
The Rondo movement began immediately with a relentless, driving energy. It was fast, technically demanding, and utterly commanding.
As the notes exploded from the instrument, the music ceased to be sound alone. For the audience, the air filled with an intense, regal vision.
They saw Haruya as a young, stern King, seated on a massive stone throne carved from granite.
He wasn't simply ruling; he was commanding a great nation through a period of intense pressure and change.
Every note of the piece was an official decree, a military march, a declaration of intent.
The fast, spiraling arpeggios weren't just scales; they were the King's calculating mind, effortlessly assessing threats and opportunities. The powerful, repeated chords were the relentless, unwavering pulse of his commitment to his people, to his realm, and to his future.
It was a music of pure, controlled, inevitable victory.
Haruya's unique style, driven by his Adaptability, meant his performance was technically flawless, his timing impeccable.
He wasn't just playing the notes; he was executing a perfect musical blueprint.
His Adaptability allowed him to channel the composer's intent with an almost sterile, yet incredibly powerful, accuracy.
He drove the piece forward, the relentless rhythm of the Allegro movement building to a fever pitch, then pulling back to a moment of pensive calm, only to surge forward once more. He poured the same focus he used to perfect a complex bread recipe into every single key press.
The final flourish arrived, a cascade of notes that resolved the tension with one powerful, decisive chord.
The music stopped.
For a full, heavy second, the hall was completely silent.
The audience was stunned, still held captive by the visualization of the youthful King's triumphant command.
Then, a sudden, explosive wave of noise.
It wasn't polite applause.
It was a roar.
The clapping was loud and immediate, accompanied by shouts and whistles, a rare and thrilling reaction in the typically reserved world of classical music recitals.
Haruya's face, pale from concentration, broke into a grin.
He stood up and bowed again, the wave of exhilaration washing over him.
This feeling of connection, of pouring all his controlled effort out and receiving pure, unbridled emotion in return, was intoxicating.
In the second row, the reactions were just as powerful:
Hiroko Seto laughed.
A joyful, unrestrained laughter erupted as she clapped furiously, tears welling up in her eyes. 'That's my student,' her expression seemed to say. 'He's a monster!'
Koharu was screaming, her little sign waving wildly. "Haruya nii-chan! You were so cool!"
Akari and Kenjiro were beaming, their applause thunderous.
Akari was misty-eyed, radiating pride, while Kenjiro just shook his head, a wry, delighted smile on his face.
"He really can do anything," he laughed.
Menma's clapping was less about volume and more about endurance. Her face was flushed, her serious gaze replaced by a look of sheer, breathless awe.
In the back row, the Miyazono couple exchanged another look.
Haruya left the stage, walking off with a slight, almost dizzy feeling of accomplishment. He had done it.
The final awards ceremony took place thirty minutes later.
The anticipation had been completely drained by Haruya's performance; everyone knew what was coming.
The MC returned to the microphone, reading through the honorable mentions and third and second place winners quickly.
"And finally," the MC announced, his voice booming with forced excitement, "The First Place Gold Medal goes to... Haruya Sumeragi!"
The entire audience burst into applause again, many people standing up this time.
Haruya walked back up onto the stage, accepting his official certificate, the large bouquet of roses, and the heavy, shining gold medal.
He posed quickly with the organizers for a formal photo, still slightly stunned by the weight of the medal around his neck.
Once the photographs were done, he hurried down the side steps toward his family.
Hiroko was the first to grab him, giving him a tight, proud hug. "Haruya! I knew you could do it! This is your first, but it certainly won't be your last, award. You truly are a genius."
Koharu rushed forward next, throwing her arms around his waist. "Haruya nii-chan! You were the best! I knew you were the king of the stage!"
Then came his parents.
Akari wrapped him up in a warm, fragrant hug. "I'm so proud of you, dear. You deserve this."
Kenjiro stood back, a wide smile on his face, before reaching out and affectionately ruffling his son's carefully combed hair, messing it up perfectly. "Well done, Haruya. You certainly made an impression."
"Dad," Haruya grumbled.
Before Haruya could smooth his hair down, a small, sudden weight launched into him.
Menma didn't wait for her turn.
She sprang forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and leaning her head against his chest.
Her voice was muffled but full of the fierce emotion he had seen in her eyes moments earlier.
"Congratulations, Haru! You were so amazing!"
The adults laughed, finding the sudden, unrestrained embrace between the two children utterly charming.
Haruya instinctively held Menma tight, the lingering anxiety of the competition completely replaced by a warm, solid feeling of security.
"Thank you, Menma."
It was in this happy, chaotic family moment that an unexpected voice cut through the noise.
"Excuse me... is that you, Akari?"
Everyone turned to the source.
They saw two people walking toward them: a man with dark brown hair and a broken pencil mustache, and a woman with light brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, whose pale indigo eyes were currently fixed on Akari.
Akari's face lit up with surprised recognition. "Ryouko, is that you? It's been a while!" She turned to the man beside the woman. "Then you must be... Yoshimi!"
Yoshiyuki Miyazono, also known as Yoshimi by friends and colleagues, and Ryouko Miyazono laughed warmly upon being recognized.
"It really is you... How time flies. It's been several years, hasn't it?" Akari beamed, stepping forward to hug Ryouko.
Ryouko nodded, returning the hug. "Almost seven years to be exact."
While the three adults caught up, exchanging polite greetings and questions about work and family, Haruya leaned in to whisper to his father.
"Dad, who are they?"
Kenjiro lowered his voice, still smiling. "They're your mom's old friends. Her fellow pastry chefs." He eyed his son with a knowing smile. "You even have a connection of your own with them."
Haruya looked at him with confusion and pointed at himself. "Me?"
Just then, the topic of conversation and the attention of the three adults shifted toward Haruya.
"Haruya, it's good to see you again. You're all grown up now. Congratulations on the win, I'm quite surprised to see you here," Ryouko said, stepping closer to him. Her smile was warm and genuine.
Haruya felt a slight flush and rubbed the back of his head, grinning. "Thank you... Miss Ryouko."
"Oh, you can just refer to me as Auntie Ryouko," she insisted kindly. She tugged her husband closer. "And this is my husband, you can just call him Uncle Yoshiyuki."
Haruya nodded and greeted them with the new, familiar titles. Akari smiled and patted his head, clearly pleased.
She then turned back to the couple. "By the way, how is Kaori? I'm sure she's grown up to be just as beautiful as you, Ryouko."
Ryouko covered her mouth and laughed, waving her hand modestly. "She's doing quite well. In fact, ever since she and Haruya met long ago, she started playing the violin. So far, she's been practicing hard and has been participating in recitals recently."
She suddenly clapped her hand as if realizing something important. She turned back to Haruya, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"That reminds me! Haruya, do you still perhaps remember our daughter, Kaori?"
Hearing that name, something seemed to flash in Haruya's eyes.
A split-second memory, fast and gone, like a bright light behind his eyelids.
"Kaori?"
...
A/N: Well, it has been decided. My Dress-Up Darling will be the first side story I write. I'll be rewatching it for a while, writing up drafts, and then announcing it here as soon as I get enough. The MC for ALL of the solo series I will be writing will be the original ones. No OC MCs.
I'm pretty surprised to see that there's no proper Dress-Up Darling fanfic here tbh. I'm quite excited to do the first proper one here, which doesn't include a crossover, so I'll do my best. This will be my second step in aiming to be the King of Slice of Life in Webnovel.
It will not be as slow-paced as this, btw. Still thinking about the initial plot, though. And then when I do eventually finish that one, I was thinking of practicing my skills on writing fighting scenes, so I might write more on these rarely seen fanfics here with a mix of slice of life in them too: Dandadan, Kaiju No. 8, or Chainsaw Man (I love Reze).
Don't wanna get too ahead of myself, but that is my initial plan outline.
Despite my complaints, I won't be dropping this. Might just have some days where I upload slower, in case I am late in making drafts.
Thank you all for your support.