"...glug glug."
Using the 500 jenny in change from his admission ticket, Kisho bought juice and takoyaki. With both hands occupied, he squatted contentedly in a corner of the play area. After finishing the last sip of juice and biting down the final octopus ball, he stood up in satisfaction and threw the trash in his hands into the trash can.
After eating, it was time to get back to his real business.
He looked toward the pianist sitting beside that grand piano. This time, however, the man was not playing the piece Kisho had heard the first time, but other piano music instead.
Kisho frowned.
Could it be that things were not as he had thought, and that the method for selecting "special visitors" lay elsewhere?
As he thought this, the hand in his pocket once again felt movement coming from The Fantasizing Musician.
This time, Kisho had deliberately bought an opaque cloth bag. Using it as a cover, he flipped the book open and discovered a new movement behind Sonata of Darkness—still containing many missing measures.
"Could it be..."
Kisho walked to the stall where he had just bought the takoyaki and asked the vendor,
"Excuse me, what time is it now?"
The vendor was sweating profusely from how busy he was and replied perfunctorily,
"Past two-thirty, I guess—ah, how would I have time to check?"
A customer standing in line kindly answered his question,
"It's 2:47 p.m."
"Thank you."
Kisho thanked them and sat down to the side again.
When he had just come back to buy the takoyaki, that pianist had not started playing yet. The performance only began after Kisho had eaten for a while—but based on his feeling, that piece was often longer than five minutes.
First, make a hypothesis: the pianist plays at every exact ten-minute mark.
Kisho quietly squatted in place, silently counting the seconds. When he reached around one hundred forty seconds, the pianist began playing again—this time, one of the four pieces he had already heard.
It seemed his guess was correct. The time the visitor told him did not include seconds; adding the seconds he had counted, the current time should be around 2:50 p.m.
Kisho took out the book and compared it to the score—when the final note fell, another missing measure on the last page of the sheet music was filled in.
A look of understanding appeared in Kisho's eyes. He more or less understood now.
The six pianists in the six rest areas would each play a segment of the score at the six exact ten-minute marks of every hour. Suppose the pianists in each area are represented by A, B, C, D, E, and F, and assume there are six total movements, labeled 1 through 6.
Assuming the pianist in Area A is the starting point, then at exactly forty minutes past the hour, he would play Movement No. 4—and the segment he plays would itself contain one missing measure.
If this reasoning was correct, then at a single pianist's location, one could hear all six movements, and each movement would include one measure that might be missing elsewhere.
In other words, to collect all parts of a single movement, one would have to visit all six locations; to collect all six complete movements, one would need to listen to piano music in each rest area for a full hour.
"Isn't this kind of test a bit too difficult? Other people aren't like me—they can't just transcribe a piano piece straight into sheet music from hearing it, let alone pick out the missing parts." Kisho complained weakly. But complaining was one thing; the task still had to be done. He could only obediently sit in place, propping his chin as he listened to the piano, then miserably run to the next location, sit down, prop his chin, and listen again.
...
However, something that would drive any perfectionist mad happened—by the time Kisho reached the yellow-green rest area, it was already past 5 p.m. He was informed by the staff that the rest area staff had already gotten off work for the day. If he wanted to continue playing, he could come back tomorrow.
Kisho: "..."
Seeing a child alone, the staff member asked an extra question,
"Kid, where are your parents?"
"Ah..." Kisho wiped away a cold sweat without drawing attention. "I came by myself."
"If you plan to stay overnight, you'll need to hurry—the manor hotel during the visiting period is usually fully booked by six in the evening," the staff member said. "And the sun is about to set. There are no buses at night, and it's not safe to go back to town."
Kisho had never even considered booking a hotel. He hesitated, but still remembered to thank the staff member.
"I understand. Thank you."
"What's wrong?" a voice came from nearby.
Kisho looked up and discovered it was the man he had met that morning.
When the staff member saw him, a look of surprise appeared in his eyes, and he bowed.
"Mr. Wood."
The staff member explained,
"This child is visiting alone. I was worried he hadn't prepared properly, so I reminded him to book a room as soon as possible, or to head back to town early while there are still buses."
Kisho heard the man's name: "Wood." Coincidentally—or perhaps not—the manual he had read yesterday listed the owner of Whale Manor as having the same surname: "Arlens Wood."
Could it really be such a coincidence?
Even if it were, would the owner of a manor personally step forward just because he saw a child visiting alone and apparently in trouble?
"Little one, have you reserved a hotel room?" Arlens Wood asked Kisho with a gentle smile.
Now on guard, Kisho shook his head.
"No, but it's fine. I'll take the bus back later."
"Haha, that works too," Arlens Wood said with a laugh. "But if you plan to come again tomorrow, you might as well rest here tonight and save yourself the travel time."
Kisho was silent for a moment.
"...I don't have money to book a room."
The truth. Stingy Chrollo had only given him 5,000 jenny for expenses. The ticket was 4,500 jenny; juice 188 jenny; takoyaki 288 jenny; opaque cloth bag 22 jenny—original price 25 jenny.
At this moment, Kisho was truly upright and penniless, with nothing but the wind in his sleeves.
Arlens Wood was taken aback as well. He seemed to realize something, and there was a trace of confusion in the way he looked at Kisho, though he adjusted almost instantly.
"It's fine." Arlens Wood then turned to the staff member. "You can go back to work."
After the staff member left, he looked at Kisho again, raised one finger lightly, and smiled.
"If you can see what's in my hand, I'll arrange a room for you for free."
Kisho: "..."
So that was it! This was the reason he had drawn attention.
Using "Gyo" was enough to see "Ten," and besides, when he had arrived here today, he had not intended to hide his Nen at all.
He had already been discovered as someone who could use Nen, and denying that he couldn't see anything would be pointless. Moreover... to enter deeper into the manor, he would eventually expose the fact that he could use Nen anyway.
There was nothing left to hesitate about.
Kisho focused his Nen into his eyes, then spoke two syllables.
"Do, mi."
On Arlens Wood's finger, a five-line staff with notes and key signatures took shape, formed from Nen.
"It seems you know a bit about music as well," Arlens Wood said with a smile.
"It's nothing—just the basics," Kisho replied with a smile of his own.
"Hahaha, interesting child." Arlens Wood withdrew his Nen and said to Kisho, "Come with me."
...
He led Kisho back to the main road, where a sedan was parked. A man dressed like a butler opened the car door for them.
After getting into the car, Kisho—curious about vehicles in this world—looked around, only to find that there was nothing particularly different. Just like in some countries in his previous world, the driver's seat was on the right. He then withdrew his gaze.
The car stopped in front of a resplendent building. Around it stretched a flower belt of Sunward Stardrops. In front of the main entrance stood a massive musical fountain, with many children and tourists playing around it, as well as many people performing with various instruments in front of the building.
"If you're interested, there's a piano in the room. You can also call the service desk and have other instruments delivered," Arlens Wood said to the dazzled Kisho after getting out of the car.
"Okay, thank you," Kisho said.
Arlens Wood brought Kisho to the hotel front desk, said something to the staff, then turned back to him.
"May I see your ID?"
"Mm..." Kisho took out his temporary ID and handed it over.
After passing it to the counter, Arlens Wood said to Kisho,
"It's all arranged. Noah Barton, I hope you enjoy your stay."
Before Kisho could say anything, the man gave him a meaningful look and smiled.
"I hope to see you again inside the manor."
Kisho: "..."
After watching the man leave, the staff member came out from behind the desk and handed the card and temporary ID to Kisho with both hands.
"Mr. Barton, we wish you a pleasant stay. For any needs, please call the front desk—we will serve you wholeheartedly~"
Kisho took the card, feeling uncomfortable with the overly enthusiastic service.
"Th-thank you..."
...
Holding the card, he went to a room on the top floor of the hotel. After opening the door, the enormous room—no, it could even be called a suite—completely exceeded Kisho's imagination. Its luxury rivaled that of a presidential suite. There was even a private cinema, music room, and gym on the second floor, and a private open-air pool on the rooftop.
So this is how nobles live?! Kisho admitted he was jealous.
After washing up and lying on the large bed, Kisho opened the notepad by the bedside. Inside were many phone numbers, including even unspeakable "special" services.
"Tch."
Kisho raised an eyebrow, tossed the notebook aside, then called for the dinner included in the room fee. In less than ten minutes, a waiter pushed in a cart full of exquisite food—there was even an ice cream boat he had never seen in either of his two lifetimes.
After eating and drinking his fill, it was still time to work.
Kisho spread out his book and carefully reviewed each movement—just as he had thought, there were six movements in total.
"Based on the kind of feedback the book gives me, 'something terrible will happen if the piece is heard or played.'"
Kisho frowned in thought.
"The definition of 'heard' is far too broad. Could there be more precise prerequisites? For example, the performer uses Nen while playing; or the listener uses 'Gyo' and hears something beyond sound in the movement; or perhaps only when the piece is played and heard completely and without mistakes, or listened to continuously for a certain length of time, does it take effect?"
"The third option seems the most likely. Because all the pianists' parts have omissions—so far, there hasn't been a single complete measure. But I'll have to wait until I hear everything tomorrow to be sure."
"And if this score really has the power to bring disaster, then it must be extremely valuable—or dangerous. That's probably why only incomplete parts were released."
"Whatever. I'll know the result tomorrow anyway. I'll train for a bit and then sleep... I'm exhausted today."
Kisho closed the book and collapsed back onto the bed.