Not far from Tokyo, there lies a small valley.
According to local regulations in Sakurajima, residents must pay a "garbage disposal fee" based on the amount of waste they throw away. This fee varies depending on the type of trash, with the most expensive being the disposal of broken appliances and furniture. To avoid this cost, people secretly transport their damaged or unwanted furniture and electronics to the outskirts of the city for disposal. Because of its remote location, this tiny valley had become a massive dumping ground.
Hara Kei, who had recently arrived in Tokyo, overslept and woke to a landscape lush with greenery. After disembarking at this station—one that felt like the edge of civilization—he noticed a faint gray patch amidst the deep green mountains in the distance.
This was Hara Kei's first encounter with his "secret base."
What drew him to this place wasn't just the calm, almost apocalyptic quiet; it was also that he could find many "treasures" here, opportunities to put his skills to work.
About a month ago, atop a hill of discarded refrigerators and car shells of various brands, between cabinets, broken beds, and cupboards, he had discovered the remains of a grand piano.
In Old High German, the word for piano is flügel, meaning "bird's wings." But this great black bird had clearly lost any chance of flying again. Its black lid hung open limply, exposing strings tangled like blood vessels. Yellowing keys, white among the white, were scattered everywhere like discarded bones.
Even the most experienced piano technician would have looked at it and said, "It's hopeless. Throw it away. Goodbye."
But Hara Kei had confidence that he could bring it back to life.
Because he had a system—proof that he was the protagonist, and a guide to what kind of world he now inhabited—
Saint Eden Academy.
This was the latest creation from a certain "I"-named company he had known in his previous life. It was said to be the crystallization of thirty years of technology, featuring an extremely open character-creation system and countless intricate details. Beyond customizing personalities, players could even write scripts for characters. In essence, the system felt like loading an extra miniature MD into the game. Thanks to the work of countless experts, Saint Eden Academy had become a "phantom academy" teeming with countless anime-style characters—a perfect MD integration, which Hara Kei had experienced in his past life.
Returning to the system panel in Hara Kei's possession: although it had undergone some magical modifications, its most basic operating rule remained simple and unshakable:
If you put in the effort, you will reap the rewards.
Though this phrase had almost become cliché, for Hara Kei—the protagonist—it was an undeniable truth.
Thus, upon discovering the remnants of the giant bird, he treated it like treasure, tirelessly working on its revival. And the very moment he began this task, the skill [Piano] quietly appeared on his panel.
The sensation of repairing the piano was extraordinary. The instant he touched it, knowledge flowed into his mind as if it had always belonged there. Not just repair techniques, but piano-playing skills, music theory, and something ethereal that could only be called musical intuition.
Alarm clocks jingling, wind whistling, birds chirping, cars honking, the crisp bells marking the start and end of classes—all these sounds were annotated by his musical sense, converted into clear, pleasant notes in his mind.
Music gradually filled his previously dull, repetitive life, turning it soft and poetic. This strong positive feedback loop became an obsession. By the time he completed this miraculous restoration, his [Piano] skill had reached Level 3.
The system evaluated skill levels across five tiers: Lv0, Lv1, Lv2, Lv3, and LvMAX.
Lv0 = "basic understanding," roughly able to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Lv1 = "proficient," comparable to professional grades 7–10.
Lv2 = "one in a thousand." Experts at this level could make a living from their skill and likely live comfortably without financial worry.
Lv3 = "Master." According to the system, this is someone capable of creating their own school of thought, leaving a mark in history.
LvMAX = currently unknown to Hara Kei, as he had yet to max out any skill.
The higher the level, the harder experience was to gain.
At first, every time he touched the piano, invisible [+1] [+1] points would appear over his head. Now, he would have to work for a while before a single [+1] reluctantly appeared—like a newlywed couple who, after initial passion, slowly grew accustomed to one another's habits and quirks.
Still, even slowly, the progress bar advanced. One day it would fill completely, and Hara Kei would finally reap the rewards of a month's labor.
Using local materials and specialized parts ordered online, the once-wingless black bird now stood proudly in the quiet valley. Its freshly lacquered lid gleamed black as if wet, spreading like wings. It was poised, waiting only for its master to breathe life into it.
Hara Kei did not hesitate—he had been anticipating this moment.
Sitting quietly before the piano, his slender hands caressed the slightly yellowed keys. Moments later, crystal-clear notes leapt out like winter rain, filling the valley.
The beautiful melody spread, and the valley's "audience" responded:
A refrigerator on the ground vibrated with the bass, emitting deep, cello-like tones.
A bicycle handle buried in rubble rang its rusty bell in high notes, crisp like a triangle.
A gentle breeze brushed the treetops, producing soft, recorder-like melodies.
Perhaps it was coincidence, or the resonance of the piano's components with its base, or simply the magic of Level 3 piano skill. Either way, the valley seemed to transform into a well-trained phantom orchestra, harmonizing perfectly with the music.
When the song ended, Hara Kei received an unexpected response.
Crisp applause echoed from the woods outside the valley. Following the sound, he spotted a woman with long, stunning black hair, dressed in a sharply tailored suit. The outfit, impeccable for the office, was ill-suited for the outdoors—aside from a few leaves, minor scratches adorned it. Yet the woman clearly didn't mind. Her eyes sparkled as she clapped nonstop.
Hara Kei recognized her—not only as one of his "wives" in his previous life but also as his Japanese language teacher and homeroom teacher.
"Shizuka Hiratsuka," Hara Kei said calmly. "As a Japanese teacher, you might not fully understand, but according to Sakurajima law, stalking is unquestionably a crime."
"Don't make it sound so harsh. I think there's another way to phrase it—how about calling it a teacher's sense of responsibility?"