Young girls learn their rules

All the way back to their classroom, Benjiro and Hiromi continued their bickering. Debating whether new or old music sounded better, its impact and other pointless details. It had gone on so long that they didn't notice the people watching them. Pausing to catch a quick breath, they looked around and noticed that people were staring at their argument. They both turned a light shade of pink before returning to their seats.

After classes had ended and Benjiro was on his way to the auditorium, he pulled out his phone, "Proletariat, what does that mean." He began typing it in. Looking at the definition "Did she just call me a peasant?" he exclaimed.

Going to his usual perch backstage and waiting for his extras to come through, he was steamed enough as he took notes of people's skin tones, and facial features that he almost missed that people were actually looking at him. The people in the chair were actually making eye contact, and not looking bored or uncomfortable like they usually were. He hadn't shown up at play practice for a day or two, not wanting to deal with a bunch of his brothers' wide-eyed fanboys.

'Don't they know how dangerous the people Kenshiro works with are?', he wondered, 'It's not something they should aspire to.'

Despite his silent protests, even though people didn't say anything, he could tell that more than a few people sitting down in front of him just wanted to hear about the urban legend. However, Benjiro tried to make it as clear as he could that he wasn't here to be interviewed about his brother. He just sat in his chair, listening to his music loud enough that he couldn't hear anything this time, and only let people stay long enough to take a few quick notes.

Kyoshiro popped in to see how he was doing, but was Fujibayashi quickly swooped in and grabbed the young man to recite lines. After the last person left he just leaned on his arm and rubbing his eyes.

'Maybe I should ask the Prez to have them lay off?' he considered.

Looking over, he could see Saito carefully observing his players, 'No, he's busy. Besides-', a bodiless voice chimed in.

'Inei!' Benjiro inwardly exclaimed, 'Will you stop interrupting my thoughts like that.'

'Sorry, I just thought I should offer some friendly advice.'

'Well, that would be appreciated', Benjiro admitted, 'I honestly didn't think anyone this far away from the city would hear about Bro.'

'That's the thing about kids your age', Inei explained, ' They romanticize all kinds of things they don't fully understand. Girls like badboys without realizing that those guys come with a lot of baggage and guys like to picture themselves as knights without realizing that true chivalry isn't something innately found in everyone.'

'You do know that's not the same thing' Benjiro snarked

'You know what I mean. They idolize people like Ken because they're attracted to that attitude of fearlessness and not caring what others think.'

'That's just foolish', Benjiro criticized.

'Like you don't hold Hiromi in high esteem', Inei countered, 'Between you thinking she's cute and being attracted to that serious and smart vibe she gives off, you're smitten.'

Benjiro stuck out his lower lip, 'That's different', he thought petulantly, ' Besides, after the goon squad arrived, I've had any illusions of getting near her broken, burned and the ashes scattered into the wind. Although...'

'Although what?' Inei asked

'I know people are often surprised by how hard metal can touch on difficult things, but I've never seen someone react to a song like that before.'

Benjiro leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

'She looked like she was about to burst into tears. "Unforgiven" isn't even the heaviest song I know and yet, Hiromi still looked as though someone told her that her dog died.'

'It could be that she felt the words connect with her', Inei suggested.

'Oh, come on, Inei' Benjiro protested, 'A rich girl reacting to a song about being unable to live your own life because your parents insist on running your life for you. The only way that could be any more cliché was if her parents were a bunch of dismissive a**holes that only gave her attention when it was necessary.'

While Benjiro was back at the auditorium, Hiromi was being chauffeured back home. She took pride in the fact that she was important enough that unlike most students, forced to walk, she was instead driven. However, unlike most days she wasn't feeling proud or even motivated for school assignments. Looking into the rearview mirror, her driver was surprised to see Hiromi was pink in the face and biting her knuckle.

'She never does that unless she's upset', he observed, 'Something quite terrible must have happened today.'

"Young Mistress", he lightly called, 'Is there something bothering you?"

Hiromi left a small imprint on her finger from the pressure and sighed through her nose.

"I suppose you could say that."

"Would you like it if I lend you an ear for the duration of your ride?" he offered

"Well, today" she began, "There was this boy that snuck up on me while I was practicing my piano piece for my Father's upcoming charity drive, and he had the audacity to say that my music didn't have any feeling in it."

The drivers sunglass covered face was on the road, so Hiromi didn't see his eyebrows raise, 'Surprising, first time I've heard she's responded to criticism in such a way.'

The rest of the car ride, Hiromi remained silent, chewing her knuckle again. Arriving home, at the family estate, she was greeted by the usual staff members. One offered to take her bag and she obliged. She went to a private room, where there stood a woman with a tight face.

"Four minutes late Ms. Domon", She chastised, "Time is precious in situations such as this."

she sat down at another grand piano her parents had bought, seemingly for her. Unlike the one at school, this one was a deep rich brown, and the keys had a slight yellow shade of real ivory. Sitting down, she began practicing the Moonlight Sonata once more. However, unlike before, every time she made a mistake, the only thing she could hear were that boys words, over and over.

"Ms. Domon, please", the instructor said exasperatedly, "You've already been through this measure and should have no issues with it at this point. If you're having so much trouble here, how will you master the third movement?"

Hiromi shook her head and focused with much willpower. At the instructor's signal, she began once more, each note ringing clearly. The instructor's gravelly voice would occasionally note that her posture wasn't straight or if her tempo was off. An hour and a half later, the woman clapped her hands, "Alright, that will be enough for today. Your progress, although slow, is showing."

Hiromi clenched her hand in satisfaction.

"However, don't think you're anywhere near ready.", she informed, "You have much farther to go if you want to play the classics correctly."

The woman left the room, leaving Hiromi to stare at the keys.

Smashing a hand on the ivories, "What does he know about trying to perfect something?" she grumbled.

Hiromi sat with a slumped back, plinking at the keys, a perpetual storm cloud gathered within her mind. Peculiarly, at least to her, the melody of what that boy had played was still drifting in her memory. She didn't understand why, but that melody and the surprisingly gentle singing that accompanied it, made her chest tighten. Curious about why, she tentatively touched the keys, creating that singular deep note.

Her slender hands began to dance around the keys. Playing things purely in minor key was a novel experience to her. The music felt... heavy, but at the same time left an odd sense of familiarity. Hiromi had never heard this song before, and failed to understand why. Keeping her voice silent, she tried to recall the words that boy had sung. There was another mystery she couldn't understand. The last time she had spoken with that boy, he seemed like every other scared rabbit in the school.

'I know I have fans", she thought, 'as well as people that curse me, but I've never seen someone argue so directly before. He seemed as quiet and timid as a mouse, but the minute I say that I don't like the music he plays, he becomes so defensive. Maybe that can be a way to shake him up for the competition.'

"Hiromi!" a male voice shouted

Cutting the music immediately short and whipping around, there stood her father. Without saying a word, he extended an arm and another staff member ran to take his briefcase from his hands. Keeping his face impassive, he approached her with his arms clasped behind his back.

"I've been trying to get your attention for fifteen seconds. Did you not hear the door opening or me clearing my throat?"

Lowering her head, "I'm sorry, Father", she apologized, "I grew distracted as I was practicing."

"Nevermind that", he dismissed with a wave of his hand, "The chef informed me that dinner would be done on my arrival, so come."