(Airi Tsukishima's POV)
April 13th. Wednesday evening. Music Room 2.
The last note lingered.
Then silence.
Airi Tsukishima leaned against the old windowsill, arms crossed, as she watched Alex lower his hands from the keys.
"You hesitated," she said.
"I messed up," he replied quietly, not meeting her gaze.
"No. You anticipated pain."
She pushed off the wall and walked toward the piano. "That's different."
He looked up — slightly surprised, slightly guarded.
She didn't blame him.
When she first stepped into this school, Airi expected apathy. A sleepy campus in a quiet district. Stiff students and stiffer administrators. Her goal was simple: teach, perform on weekends, go home. No chaos. No entanglements.
But then she heard someone playing in the old music building.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't polished.
But it was raw.
Honest.
And behind every chord was something barely caged — brilliance sharpened by trauma.
Alex Aizawa wasn't just talented.
He was terrifyingly gifted.
And terrified of it.
"Do you hate music?" she asked him suddenly.
He paused. "…No."
"But you're afraid of it."
His smile was small. "I'm good at being afraid of things."
Airi didn't smile back.
Instead, she studied the tension in his fingers. How he flexed them after each phrase, like they ached from memory.
She'd seen that before — in conservatory, in prodigies burned out before they turned sixteen. But never like this.
His scars weren't just on his hands.
They were in the silence between his notes.
"You play like someone who was forced to love music," she said. "And punished for not loving it perfectly."
Alex didn't respond.
That silence told her everything.
> Someone broke him.
And he rebuilt himself with glass.
She stepped back.
"I'll be advising the piano club this semester. We meet Fridays."
He didn't answer.
"I'm not asking you to join," she added. "But I'd like you to come."
Still no answer.
She walked to the door.
Paused.
Then, without turning back, she said, "Music isn't a cage. Not unless you let it be."
And she left.
---
That night, as Airi sat alone in her apartment, tuning her violin in silence, she thought of Alex's hands.
Not the scars.
Not the mistakes.
But the restraint.
> He plays like someone trying not to be seen.
And Airi — despite her better judgment — wanted to see him again.
Not as a student.
Not even as a pianist.
Just as a boy hiding behind music, waiting for someone to listen.
---
End of Chapter 4.5 – Airi's POV