After the performance.
We were invited by Milkia to her private waiting room after the show. Sharp gazes from the surrounding audience pierced us from all directions.

It seemed they still harbored resentment over what I had said at the end of the performance. Their glares were filled with malice. Only Birana, alert to the hostility, cautiously glanced around, keeping guard.

"─You’ve arrived."

Soon after, we reached the waiting room, where we had the opportunity to meet Milkia, who had just finished her performance. Still dressed in her stage outfit, her skin was glistening with sweat, suggesting this meeting wouldn’t last long.

Indeed, Milkia quickly got to the point.

"You're with the evil organization, correct?"
"Yes, that’s right."
"I didn’t think there was a woman among you..."

Milkia gave Birana a curious look. Although all the members of the evil organization wore combat suits that covered their bodies and faces, the suits weren’t thick enough to completely obscure gender.

I let out an awkward laugh and clarified our identity.

"Actually, we’re not the ones who neutralized you back then. We got the tickets from someone else."
"Ah... I see. That's disappointing. So, what do you two do?"
"We’re executives of the organization."
"Executives... What? Ex-executives?"

Milkia swallowed hard. The term "executive of an evil organization" typically conjured images of S-rank villains like Galm, who could crush heroes and buildings alike.

Other executives were at least A-rank threats, so facing such a villain in person would naturally fill her with immense fear.

"A-aren’t you worried about showing your faces like this...?"
"It’s fine. If you visit the evil organization’s website, you’ll find all the executives listed there."
"...What?"

Though I was simply stating the facts, Milkia visibly relaxed, exhaling a long sigh of relief.

Now much calmer, she cautiously glanced at me and asked,

"Well then, Executive, thank you for coming to see the performance."
"I enjoyed it. It was a good show."
"It was nothing special, though."

Milkia gave a bitter smile, even as she boldly looked up at me after offering that assessment.

But my opinion didn’t change.

"Yes, it was a good performance, but it wasn’t special."
"...Could you elaborate?"
"You probably already know why I said it wasn’t special."

Milkia Pocatou’s performance was breathtaking, a masterpiece that could move the hearts of anyone. There were few in her age group who could evoke such emotion through music, and even if the age range were expanded, she’d still be considered a genius among the best.

According to the concert pamphlet, she was a prodigy from the famous Pocatou family, known for producing celebrated musicians through generations. Her natural talent, passed down through her family, along with the education of her lineage, would no doubt make her a world-class virtuoso.

However.

"Try doing more of what you want. Freely."
"...What I want? I’m not talented enough."
"Not just trying once and giving up. I said to do it freely."

Watching Milkia immediately argue back, I let out a hollow laugh. That’s the problem with geniuses. They’ve experienced so few failures that even one setback makes them shrink in fear as if they’ve been burned.

No matter how brilliant they are, it’s impossible to succeed in everything. But to give up everything just because of one failure?

"The world is vast, and you’re still young, Milkia."

Really, it’s such a waste.
Young people giving up on their dreams just because they think they lack talent.

"Milkia? Have you finished changing?"
"...Yes, Mother."
"Good. Let’s go home then."

Left alone in the waiting room, Milkia climbed into her mother's car, leaving the performance hall behind.

As she blankly stared at the receding scenery, her mother, who was driving, cautiously spoke.

"You did well today. Don’t let the strange words of that audience member bother you. You’re special."
"...I’m not bothered."
"Of course. You’re the prodigy of the Pocatou family, after all."

Milkia half-listened to her mother's words, retreating into her own thoughts. She replayed in her mind the words she had heard from the evil organization’s executive during the performance.

"Nothing special... huh."

Those words pierced her to the bone.
Nothing special.
It was something she resonated with deeply.

"Of course. I’m the successor of the Pocatou family."

A long time ago, the family was founded by an artist with demonic talent.
Successors of that family had always become maestros who dominated their era. A family of masters who produced a maestro every generation, the kind of title others could only dream of achieving in a lifetime.

But, apart from that first extraordinary ancestor, no one else in the family ever reached such historical greatness.

And the same was true for Milkia.

"Genius talent, the support of a family with a long history, efforts that pushed me to the brink..."

All of these combined didn’t result in the birth of new history. It was merely a continuation of the legacy created by the ancestor.

Nothing was new. No matter how much she was praised as one of the world’s greatest geniuses, destined to be a maestro.

Her future was all too predictable.

"Just another rehash of my ancestors’ achievements."

She hated that predetermined future. That’s why she had left the family and decided to become a hero. She wanted to be a pioneer of a new era. She wanted to carve out her own future with her own hands.

...But she failed. She didn’t have the talent. She was defeated by a mere grunt from a villain organization, someone who didn’t even possess proper superpowers.

So she gave up and returned to the family—but she was already starting to feel suffocated.

"Oh?"
"...?"

Milkia snapped back to reality at the sound of her mother's voice. Following her gaze, she saw the same evil organization executive who had told her she wasn’t special earlier, standing on the street, fiddling with an instrument.

An electric guitar, a modified version of the traditional acoustic guitar for stage performances.

So that evil executive could play music too? Milkia watched him with curious eyes.

"Does he think he can play too? After badmouthing others, I doubt his performance will be any good. Let’s just go."
"Wait a moment."

Milkia stopped her mother, who was about to drive away. As her mother looked at her questioningly, Milkia made an excuse.

"Like you said, I’m curious to see how someone who badmouthed me plays. Let’s listen for a bit."
"It will only pollute your ears."
"But I won’t be able to sleep peacefully tonight unless I hear it."
"...Fine, we have no urgent matters. Let’s listen for a bit."

With that, they pulled over to the side of the road, rolled down the windows, and waited for the man to start playing. After a moment, the man, who had been tuning the guitar, began his performance.

The sound was light and bouncy, like stones rolling down a hill. For some reason, it made her body sway back and forth, filled with an inexplicable sense of fun.

Her mother, clearly displeased with the sound, furrowed her brow and muttered,

"It’s just noisy. There’s no point in listening further."

With that, she closed the window and turned on the car’s radio. Soon, the vehicle was filled with clean and beautiful classical music...

But inside Milkia, her heart still felt like it was rolling along with the bouncing stones.

______________

Not long after leaving the concert hall,
we encountered a group of street performers. The street was filled with people who had a deep interest in the arts, so even a simple busking performance drew a large crowd.

Looking at the relaxed and smiling faces of the audience, I couldn't help but think that perhaps art truly thrives in such a leisurely atmosphere.

“─This is my original song. Please listen!”

The street performer, a man with 12 fingers on his hands, began playing his guitar. Given his unusual anatomy, I expected something extraordinary, but unfortunately, his performance wasn’t as special as the number of his fingers might suggest.

Having more fingers was certainly advantageous for playing, but it seemed he hadn’t practiced enough to fully utilize that advantage.

“Thank you!”

As the performer finished and bowed, I lightly clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Birana, standing next to me, tilted her head and whispered in my ear.

"…Didn’t you say you didn’t like it?"
"So what? It's not like we paid for this. Should I start booing him because he didn’t play well?"
"No, but still…."

As I prepared to leave, feeling as though Birana was looking at me like I’d just picked up a stray cat off the street, a middle-aged man suddenly approached and shouted at me.

“─I’ve had enough of this! What’s with you, being so nitpicky?”
"Excuse me?"
"I was at the concert earlier! You said there was nothing special, and now you’re saying this guy can’t play well either! Why don’t you try playing for once!?"

I understood why this man was so angry. He must have been at the concert earlier and, as a fan of Milkia, had been stewing ever since he heard my harsh critique.

I shot a brief glare at Birana, who had started this mess, before responding to the man.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have an instrument.”
"Is that so? So, if you had an instrument, you would play? Just wait a moment."

The middle-aged man muttered something under his breath as he approached the performer, who was now packing up his gear. After exchanging a few words and some money, the man beckoned me over.

“I borrowed it. Now play. You won’t break it, will you?”
"…You really went and got one."
"What? Are you scared now that you have to actually play? If so, go back and apologize to Miss Pocatou right now."

As if.
With a reluctant expression, I took the guitar. The weight of the instrument felt substantial in my hands.

Pluck, pluck. As I tuned the strings, I realized that this guitar had been carefully maintained. While the performer’s skill might have been lacking, he clearly treasured his instrument. Perhaps my earlier judgment about his lack of practice was wrong.

‘How long has it been…?’

It had been quite some time since I last held a guitar. I used to play it often as a hobby, but with all the studying I had to do, there was little time to indulge in such leisure.

Thankfully, my skills hadn’t rusted.
More accurately, my body still remembered the songs I’d learned back then.

“─Perfect.”

Piano was a matter of culture.
Guitar was a hobby.

Of course, hobbies are often more impressive than mere cultured pursuits.

"Mister. You wanted to know how well I can play?"
"Uh? Yeah."
"Listen carefully."

Once, the song of a queen that had swept across the Earth…
now echoed once again in this world.