Under Nagano

Part 7

The plane touched down in Paris with a gentle thud, the wheels skimming the runway as if reluctant to break the barrier between sky and earth. Nikko gazed out the window, his breath catching at the sight of the sprawling city below. Paris, a place he had only ever imagined in fleeting daydreams, was now right before him, shimmering under the early morning sun.

As he disembarked, a mix of anticipation and anxiety churned in his chest. The reality of being here, so far from everything he knew, was both exhilarating and terrifying. But there was no turning back now.

The air outside the airport was cool, carrying with it the unfamiliar scents of a city steeped in history. Nikko tightened his grip on his small suitcase, his heart pounding with each step he took. A car was waiting for him and the driver could speak and translate Japanese, just as promised, ready to whisk him away to his hotel and, eventually, to the concert that had drawn him here.

As the car navigated the narrow streets, Nikko couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Paris. The architecture, the bustling cafes, the effortless elegance of the people—it was all so different from the quiet, comforting familiarity of Nagano. And yet, in this foreignness, there was a strange sense of possibility, as if the city itself was offering him a chance at something new, something he had long given up on.

For the first time in a long while, hope fluttered in Nikko's chest. This was a new chapter, a new place where anything could happen. And maybe, just maybe, Paris would give him the answers he had been searching for.

Nikko stepped out of the sleek black car that had brought him from the airport to the Grand Hotel Dauphine. The driver, a polite man in his mid-forties, handed him his luggage and offered a warm welcome to Paris. Nikko, still feeling the fatigue of travel mixed with a surge of excitement, thanked him and entered the grand hotel. The lobby was elegant, with marble floors and chandeliers casting a soft, golden glow. A courteous bellhop guided him to his room, where he unpacked his belongings with a sense of purpose. He carefully placed the vinyl, now a cherished possession, on the nightstand beside his bed.

After settling in, Nikko felt a restlessness within him. The city of Paris, with its romantic allure and vibrant energy, was calling to him. He decided to explore the streets, hoping the cool night air would clear his mind. As he stepped out of the hotel, he was greeted by the sight of bustling streets, a beacon in the Parisian night.

Nikko wandered aimlessly, his feet leading him through the narrow, cobblestone streets. The city was alive, yet it felt tranquil, with soft conversations in French drifting from cafés and the distant hum of traffic. He found himself drawn to the architecture, each building telling its own story through the intricate designs and wrought iron balconies. He continued to walk until he turned a corner and stumbled upon a grand building that took his breath away.

The Toulon Opera House stood before him, its majestic façade illuminated by warm lights. Nikko was captivated by its beauty—the way the intricate details of the columns and arches seemed to come to life under the night sky. As he stood there, gazing in awe, something caught his eye.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a figure—someone dressed in flowing, red garments that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. The attire had a traditional flair, possibly Chinese, but the fleeting nature of the encounter left Nikko unsure. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the person's long, silver hair and a flash of red from an earring that looked all too familiar...

A lump formed in Nikko's throat, and tears welled up in his eyes as a wave of emotion crashed over him.

"I know it can't be him but..."

The thought was too overwhelming, too surreal. Driven by instinct, Nikko found himself running, desperate to catch another glimpse of the figure. He rounded the corner of the opera house, his breath quickening with hope and fear, but the person was already gone. The street was empty, leaving him with nothing but the pounding of his heart and the echo of his footsteps.