Eclipsed: Echoes of a Forgotten Melody

Chapter Twelve: The Unseen Threat

The following morning broke with an eerie stillness. Kyoto, usually humming with the quiet bustle of early risers, felt strangely off to Ishikawa. He stood at the window of his apartment, gazing out into the familiar cityscape, but something was wrong. The stillness wasn't natural; it was heavy, oppressive. The air seemed to thrum with an invisible tension, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Mai had already left for the day, and though Ishikawa felt her absence like a dull ache, he was grateful she wasn't here to witness his growing unease. Last night had been a delicate moment, a fleeting connection that soothed both their weary hearts, but this morning brought a new sense of foreboding. His hands itched with the need to return to the piano, to chase the echoes of Seito's haunting melody, but something inside him urged caution.

He shook off the feeling, telling himself it was just nerves. He had an afternoon class in music theory, something that normally would have excited him, but today it felt like an afterthought. His mind was occupied with questions, and no matter how much he tried to focus, his thoughts drifted back to Seito. The piano. The unfinished melody that lingered like a ghost in his mind.

As he stepped out onto the street, the weight in the air intensified. People moved around him, but everything felt muted, like the world had been wrapped in a thick fog. He checked his phone—nothing out of the ordinary. Mai had sent him a text, lighthearted and teasing, but even her words seemed distant, like they came from another time, another life. He forced himself to respond with a joke, but the words felt hollow.

The walk to the university was uneventful, yet the feeling of being watched never left him. Ishikawa couldn't shake the sensation that something was following him, lurking just out of sight, waiting for him to make a wrong move. He quickened his pace, glancing over his shoulder more than once, but nothing was there. The streets were quiet, almost too quiet, and the usual noise of students milling about was oddly subdued.

As he approached the music building, the sense of dread grew stronger. The towering structure loomed over him, its modern lines and glass windows reflecting the bright sky, yet it felt dark, as though the building itself was alive with secrets. Ishikawa hesitated at the entrance, his hand hovering over the door handle. He could leave. He could turn back, go home, pretend everything was normal. But something deep inside him urged him forward, pulling him closer to the inevitable.

Inside, the hallways were emptier than usual. Ishikawa's footsteps echoed unnervingly loud as he made his way to the practice rooms. He tried to focus on the music, on the rhythm of his movements, but the growing tension made it hard to concentrate. He felt like he was walking into a trap, though he couldn't explain why.

When he reached the practice room where the grand piano sat, the door was slightly ajar. Ishikawa's heart pounded in his chest. He hadn't expected anyone to be here—he had chosen this time precisely because the building was usually quiet in the afternoon. But as he pushed the door open, the sight that greeted him was enough to freeze the breath in his lungs.

Seiichi was sitting at the piano.

Ishikawa blinked, certain for a moment that he was seeing things. Seiichi had never shown any interest in music, had never once mentioned playing an instrument. Yet there he was, hunched over the piano, his fingers resting on the keys as though they had always belonged there. The sight was wrong, disturbing in a way that Ishikawa couldn't quite put into words. It was like watching a puppet move without strings.

"Seiichi?" Ishikawa's voice was shaky, unsure. The figure at the piano didn't move, didn't acknowledge him. The only sound was the soft, discordant notes that Seiichi's fingers occasionally pressed out, like a half-remembered song struggling to come to life.