I Really Don’t Want a Girlfriend Anymore

(A piano melody I've never heard before.)

(Though I haven't studied music and generally lack musical appreciation.)

But precisely because of that, Utaha could, from a listener's perspective, express her most immediate impression—

This song was beautiful, and the player performed exceptionally well.

Ten fingers glided over a cascade of notes, making the piano keys dance ceaselessly. The notes sank from the air into the deep ocean of consciousness, soothing the heat of weary travelers exhausted from their journey.

(If I had to describe it, it's like lying on a grand bed in a European castle, with a court musician playing for me, plagued by insomnia. The piano's sound is melodious, wrapped in the melody, gradually calming my mind, slowly drifting into a dream.)

"Professional…" Utaha couldn't help but mutter.

Each segment of the melody shifted, yet all connected without the slightest discord, as if the song was inherently perfect. Though the player wore a mask, it was clear they were young, mismatched with the intricate, varied piece.

Stepping to the edge of the crowd, after observing for a while as per her professional habit, Utaha concluded that this person was a professional pianist and closed her eyes to listen intently.

*♪~♪~♪~♪~♪~*

The piano's sound flowed melodiously into her ears.

The more she listened, the more beautiful it felt. The restlessness and anxiety furrowing her brows gradually eased, becoming comfortable and calm.

Even if just for this moment, Utaha forgot her writer's block, stopped thinking about how to change, how to align with readers' preferences, and instead emptied herself, lying quietly on a bed woven from the melody.

Straightening her body, shedding her clothes, discarding all that was unnecessary, in the most comfortable and gentle position, for once, allowing herself to truly relax.

"…"

The corner of her lips curved into a smile. Utaha crossed her arms, her head occasionally nodding lightly, letting her soft black hair fall across her cheeks.

If she didn't know she was outdoors, in the underground tunnel of JR Shibuya Station, she might… no, she definitely would've been "hypnotized" by this song and fallen asleep instantly!

Lately, due to her novel's issues, she'd been anxious for days, barely sleeping well. Her emotions had grown more volatile, and even her skin had worsened due to hormonal imbalances.

She wished this song could last longer, even until nightfall…

Thinking this, the final note slowly faded, followed by silence.

Before the applause could erupt, Utaha reflexively opened her eyes, looking at the boy in front of the piano.

He glanced left and right, noticing the crowd around him. He seemed to raise his brows in slight surprise, then grabbed his bag, bowed his head humbly, and quietly slipped through a gap in the crowd.

(Wait, he's running away?)

Utaha blinked in surprise, glancing sideways.

Indeed, though the station was bustling, people who usually wouldn't stop were willing to pause for a captivating performance—and there were quite a few.

The piano's sound was like a large hand, drawing travelers in and keeping them rooted, endlessly enthralled.

This was a "perfect" performance. Even with no one at the piano, its sound lingered in the listeners' minds, leaving them stunned and dazed, hard to shake off for a long time.

So, the boy could quietly escape into the crowd before anyone reacted.

But Utaha was different.

Though she also enjoyed the piano's sound, what she cared about now was the boy who fled after playing.

A faint spark of inspiration rose from her heart, urging her to catch it, to understand his story.

Of course, this wasn't some clichéd "love at first sight" drama. Utaha just wanted material.

Because the idea to turn around Love Metronome lay with him—her writer's intuition told her so:

(A young boy with master-level piano skills, a song never heard before, a striking yet humble demeanor… There's got to be an extraordinary story behind him!)

Once this idea surfaced, Utaha immediately imagined several plotlines and additional settings. Her pupils narrowed slightly, her white teeth biting her pink lips, itching to pull out her laptop and jot down all her ideas.

The creative urge, suppressed by her writing block, surged with her hurried breaths, boiling, blazing, and truly ignited.

Standing here now wasn't Kasumigaoka Utaha, an ordinary high school beauty, but the rookie author, Kasumi Utako!

"Hehehehehe…"

Her lips curved, and she couldn't suppress a small laugh.

Her eyes sparkled with intense desire, her flushed face resembling a crazed woman in heat.

But this meant she'd entered writing mode, with ideas and inspiration flowing freely. Given a pen and paper or a computer, she could produce her best work at top speed.

"But… not yet."

Utaha took a deep breath, pressing her hot, trembling hands, trying to calm herself.

She quietly stepped back from the crowd, her long legs in black stockings moving toward the ticket gate, her pace quickening.

At that moment, delayed applause broke out behind her, along with questions about where the pianist had gone… But none of that mattered to her. Utaha cared about only one thing now:

"'Nutrition' isn't enough… I need more, much more…"

Muttering, her glowing red eyes locked onto the back of the boy casually passing through the ticket gate not far away.

—The nourishment for her creation was with him.

As long as she could learn as much as possible about his story, blending reality with her imagination, she might create a character and plot that would stun readers and editors!

Though she'd never done this before, for Utaha, if it could improve her work, sacrificing a bit of courtesy and dignity was no big deal.

She was a writer, one who devoted her soul to her craft.

"The key to Love Metronome Volume 2, I won't let you escape."

Saying this, Utaha flashed a delighted smile, her fair hand brushing back her jet-black hair, following the boy from a safe distance.

Though confident in her appearance, Utaha believed he was a master who preferred humility and didn't want to be bothered by fanatic fans.

If so, let's start with stalking… er, observing!

◆━⊰✧⊱━◆

His hands left the keyboard, and Yuu opened his eyes, his fingertips still trembling slightly.

Condensing and modifying the hour-long Goldberg Variations into a twenty-minute version meant he'd played the piano here for twenty minutes—

A bit tiring. If he kept going, he might not sustain the perfect-level skill's effect.

This was likely the only flaw of a perfect-level skill. It didn't enhance his physical hardware; if he couldn't keep up with the skill's demands, it wouldn't activate or would stop abruptly.

Thinking this, he shifted his gaze from the piano, his body trembling slightly.

Shock.

Yuu knew a few people had watched him play, but he hadn't expected this many.

The dense crowd formed a circle around the piano, all seemingly immersed in enjoyment, the atmosphere quiet and strange.

(Tch, tch, tch, this is the power of perfect-level?)

It felt like a concert, easily drawing people in, making them forget the passage of time.

After confirming the effect, Yuu planned to escape immediately.

He wore a mask, so he wasn't worried about videos of his performance going viral online—there were plenty of talented people on the internet, and he wasn't unique.

But getting swarmed on-site was different—

On a small scale, he'd be teased; on a large scale, it would delay his return home and dinner with Sora.

So, before the crowd snapped out of the perfect performance, Yuu quickly slipped through them, passed the ticket gate, and only after stepping onto the platform did he pull off his mask and sigh in relief.

"Huuu… Don't be so flashy next time."

This celebrity-level treatment was best left to those who loved attention—he wasn't interested.

Rotating his stiff, numb wrists and fingers, Yuu looked up at the train schedule. As he glanced away, a black-haired girl behind him caught his eye.

She wore a fresh yet not overly revealing summer outfit, elegantly showcasing her striking, vibrant curves. Below, her perfectly proportioned long legs were wrapped in black stockings, faintly shimmering under the afternoon sun.

Her fair fingertips held the opening page of a light novel, making her seem more like a knowledgeable literary girl than a model.

With just a glance, Yuu politely averted his eyes, but the encounter left a deep impression, and he felt oddly moved:

(Compared to white stockings, Sora would actually suit black ones better…)

As for the black-haired girl's face, Yuu didn't look above her neck, so he didn't know and didn't care.

*SWISH!*

The silhouette of a train carriage flashed before his eyes, carrying the city's evening breeze.

Yuu boarded the train, the twilight sky draped in purple, stretching endlessly.

Almost home.