Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Coach, I Want To Make Music!

“Tell me! Why!”

Fujiwara Yuki repeated herself, her slender eyebrows raised in fury, her voice growing louder, even laced with a trace of anger.

Shimizu Sakuya was pressured by her, instinctively leaning backward.

Crash! Her body knocked over several bottles and jars, but no one cared.

Her waist arched back, and she barely managed to brace herself on the dressing table with her elbows, preventing Fujiwara Yuki from forcing her down onto the surface.

Why didn’t she dare to acknowledge her? Because there was no need to.

Was this memory really that important to Fujiwara Yuki? Or was she simply addicted to the beauty of it, unable to extricate herself?

Dopamine is addictive. For someone like her, who has fallen into an environment of extreme emotional deprivation and inner fear and pain, once she experiences the sensation of happiness, she won’t let go.

Because deep in her heart, she’s always been suffocating under the oppressive weight of something called “father,” and the heavy burden of the surname “Fujiwara.”

She needed an outlet. She needed more sweetness.

Shimizu Sakuya could have just nodded and admitted it, said — Yes, I’m the one in your memory who brought you joy.

Then she would have accepted all her pain, transferring it onto herself.

But what about everyone else? What about her own perfect ending? And the wish she had been pursuing so desperately all along?

With Fujiwara Yuki’s overwhelming desire for control, could she accept her getting close to others?

The answer was obvious.

So she didn’t want to admit it — and couldn’t.

Thus, Shimizu Sakuya widened her eyes, feigning panic and confusion, and said:

“Master, what are you talking about? What do you mean — why not admit it? When? Where?”

“Enough!” Fujiwara Yuki slammed both hands heavily on the table, causing it to shake, her words firing like a machine gun:

“Your twin tails, the book you read during night study, the coffee you bought me — all of these, when thought through carefully, are full of flaws.

And your motive. You kept saying you weren’t getting close to me just for success and fame.

You clung to me relentlessly, forcing me to join the light music club, even lowering yourself to be my maid — what exactly was your reason for getting close to me?

Or was it that you remembered something, but didn’t dare to tell me? Or…”

At this point, her eyes suddenly dimmed, her lashes drooping like dragonflies hovering low in summer. Her voice sank,

“Or is it… that you don’t dare admit it because you’re afraid of me?”

A skilled actor, under careful design, can perfectly imitate another person’s habits.

In multiple worldlines, Shimizu Sakuya had honed her acting to perfection.

But in moments of relaxation, there would always be times when personal habits unique to herself were exposed.

Fujiwara Yuki was naturally sharp and astute — more cunning than her peers — which allowed her to catch details others overlooked.

The way Shimizu Sakuya tied her twin tails always added a twist to raise the crown of her head, the book she picked the first night of night study happened to be one of Yuki’s favorites, and even the drink she bought at the dojo was the exact coffee Yuki liked.

So many details gave her away. How could Fujiwara Yuki not recognize Shimizu Sakuya?

And the most suspicious part — Sakuya’s motive.

Fujiwara Yuki believed that every human action had a reason tied to self-interest.

At first, she assumed Sakuya was just a petty flatterer. But Sakuya outright said — “My goal isn’t to climb the ladder.”

If she didn’t want connections, then why approach her at all? No matter how she tried, Yuki couldn’t make sense of that logic.

But once all the clues were connected, every doubt in every event was resolved.

She — really might be the girl from her memories. And maybe she had already awakened those memories.

Unexpectedly, Shimizu Sakuya just gently pushed against her shoulder to right her bent body, then said seriously:

“Afraid? Not really. About what you said — the twin tails, the books, the coffee — I don’t understand why those are flaws.

But as for my reason for approaching you, I didn’t tell you directly because I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”

Shimizu Sakuya closed her eyes and took a breath, as if making an incredibly difficult decision. “It really was for music that I wanted you to join the light music club.”

Fujiwara Yuki heard her ridiculous excuse and couldn’t help but scoff twice, “I thought it would be some flawless excuse — turns out it’s this clumsy?”

“You think it’s laughable too, right? That’s why I didn’t dare say it. Even if I did, it would’ve just sounded like I was trying to curry favor.”

To Fujiwara Yuki, Sakuya’s lame excuse sounded so well-reasoned.

“I don’t see any passion for music in you.”

“Passion is shown by what you do, not by what you say,” Sakuya retorted.

Wanting to see how far she could spin this tale, Fujiwara Yuki took two steps back, crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow, and looked down at her, asking, “And then?”

Her eyes scanned every inch of Sakuya’s face, watching for even the slightest tell.

Sakuya’s expression didn’t waver as she continued to explain, “Aren’t you curious? I invited all three of you to join the light music club.

And I knew that both you and Ayase Aoi could play instruments — even though we had never met before.

That’s because two years ago, at a competition in the Tokyo Symphony Hall, I saw you and Ayase Aoi perform a duet of ‘Serenade.’ That performance left a deep impression on me. That’s why I wanted to invite both of you to join the light music club, not just you alone.”

She emphasized the words of both of you, putting extra stress on them.

Fujiwara Yuki sneered, “Terrible excuse.”

“But sometimes the truth really is just that simple, isn’t it? I’m not a complicated person — you should know that.” Sakuya spread her right hand, adopting a whatever, I’m done explaining attitude.

Everything about her behavior seemed normal.

It actually made Fujiwara Yuki begin to truly doubt — maybe it was just the angle in the bathroom that made her mistake Sakuya for someone else.

First of all, her language didn’t slip. She didn’t step into any of the traps Yuki had set.

If she had answered something like “twisting ponytails like that is normal,” Yuki would have immediately concluded she was the girl from her memories — just too afraid to admit it.

Secondly, although her reason was far-fetched, sometimes the world does have a few idiots who do completely unexpected things.

Didn’t she have someone like Saori around her?

Most importantly, that memory was made up only of moments shared between her and the girl.

Ayase Aoi wasn’t part of it…

Her answer sounded absurd, yet didn’t contain any fatal contradictions.

Fujiwara Yuki furrowed her brows.

Fine. There’s still time. The cracks will show eventually.

Thinking this, she announced flatly.

“Forget it. Let’s drop this for now.”

Seeing Yuki back down, Shimizu Sakuya’s heart pounded wildly, still reeling from the close call.

Her back and leg muscles were sore from the intense tension.

So scary. She almost slipped up.

Sakuya finally let out a breath of relief.

From the moment she left Fujiwara Yuki’s room, she had been strategizing, racking her brain, scouring the internet for research — she hadn’t rested all night.