Path of the Extra

The day was finally over. The last bell signaled the end of school, and a wave of relief rolled through the classroom—sighs, a few cheers, chairs scraping back as soon as the teacher left. Students started filing out, either heading home alone or clustering around their friends.

Leo pushed himself up from his desk with a quiet sigh.

“See you next week,” he said.

“See ya.”

Leo glanced at Gil. His desk neighbor still hadn’t moved—collapsed over his desk like a phone stuck at one percent, too lazy to bother standing.

Leo left without another word and made his way to the music room. Today, none of the music club members were supposed to be inside; the room was booked just for him.

The amount of times the club had begged him to join had nearly driven him insane, but in the end… Leo had won. He got the room. He got his silence. All without joining their mediocre club.

He reached the door, stepped inside, and was about to close it when he froze.

“Kaya?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

Kaya was his personal tutor—and also the school’s music teacher, though only technically. She’d taken the job here for one reason: so she could teach Leo more efficiently. She’d bent her schedule, her life, her remaining time around shaping him into the best pianist she could possibly make him.

And yet the same woman who was supposed to practice with him after school was already packing her bag, coat on, keys in hand.

She didn’t look surprised to see him.

She just looked… apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” she said with regret in her voice.

“My idiot brother broke his leg. I need to pick up his kids from school and go to the hospital with them. I probably won’t have time to teach you this week.”

“Ah. I see.” Leo’s voice stayed flat.

“It’s alright. I can manage on my own.”

Kaya’s expression tightened, guilt sinking deeper into her face.

“I really am sorry.”

Leo didn’t show irritation—didn’t give her anything—but she still bowed her head like she deserved punishment.

“Just go,” Leo said simply in the end.

“Yes… goodbye. Practice well, and—please don’t destroy anything this time.” Her eyes flicked toward the piano. “That one’s old. I brought it here just in case, but still…”

“I know. I know. Just go, alright?”

“…Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Kaya slipped past him, pulled the door shut, and her footsteps faded down the corridor.

Leo exhaled hard and rubbed his face.

“Let’s not waste more time.”

He crossed the room, sat down at the piano, and settled in front of it.

The first thing Leo always noticed—every time he sat down—was the keys. Ivory-slick under the pads of his fingers, cool and faintly resistant. Each one had its own infinitesimal give, its own tiny threshold before it yielded and the hammer leapt. A mechanism so simple it bordered on insulting: press, strike, sound.

He liked that.

Leo set his hands down without playing—just rested them there, as if the heat in his palms could seep into the piano and make it less… indifferent. The room was empty and quiet in the particular way school rooms became after hours: air that felt spent, dust motes hanging lazily in the light, the building’s distant plumbing letting out small, periodic sighs.

Somewhere far away, a door clicked shut.

The rest of the world could have been erased and the piano would not have cared.

’Alright…’

Leo inhaled. Then he played a single note.

Tink—!

A clean, unremarkable pitch. Not loud. Not timid. Just enough to hear how the room answered. The note hit the air, bloomed into a faint halo of overtones, then thinned and vanished as if it had been politely removed.

Another note.

Then another.

Tink—tink—!

He didn’t begin with the piece. There was a ritual to it, as banal as washing your hands before touching something fragile. A few slow scales first, then a short run of arpeggios—his fingers waking up in order, five to one, one to five—like he was reminding his body who was in charge. The motion was familiar, almost soporific. His mind could have wandered if he let it.

He raised the tempo, because his hands preferred speed. There was less room to feel anything when his fingers moved quickly. Less room for that nauseating awareness that he was a person sitting alone in a room, trying to force meaning out of wood and wire.

Soon, he shifted to something more exacting.

Tink—!

When Leo finally turned to the piece, he didn’t look at the paper for long. The sheet music was there because it was required, because adults relaxed when they saw it. Leo didn’t need it—not for practice, not for performance. The geography was already etched into him: where the line rose, where it tightened, where it tried to hide a small violence inside a pretty phrase.

Tink—tink—tink—!

The music arrived the way weather arrived: gradual, then suddenly undeniable. It gathered, accretive, a slow insistence that made the air feel heavier. The piano’s voice was layered: bright on top, darker underneath, and around it all a faint halo of overtones that made the sound feel wider than the instrument had any right to produce.

The first phrases were clean. The melody moved with controlled elegance, and even the softness had a spine to it.

It almost made it seem like the wood was listening.

And then the piece shifted—quietly, like someone’s expression changing mid-sentence.

The harmony slipped sideways into something tenebrous. The melody stopped being pretty and started being… much darker.

Leo’s breathing changed. Just enough that he noticed—and felt irritated.

THUNK—!

’…Not good enough.’

This part was never good enough.

Leo didn’t understand it. He did everything perfectly here—every note clean, every transition placed exactly where it belonged—and yet when he compared it to the live performances he’d seen, or Kaya’s playing, or even recordings he’d pulled up late at night… something was missing.

No. That wasn’t right.

He was on their level. He was sure of that.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

There was something they had—something he didn’t—and he needed it. Needed it until the piece stopped feeling like garbage and became perfect.

THUNK—!

His fingers pressed too hard. The keys answered with a heavier, uglier sound, like he was trying to crush the music into submission. He grimaced, ignored the mistake, and forced himself onward.

Leo gritted his teeth and kept going, trying to keep those annoying emotions from leaking into his hands.

He made the notes beautiful. Anyone who walked in would have believed it—would have held their breath and not dared make a sound.

It… it was overwhelming. The beauty of Leo’s music was neither silent, calm, nor pretty.

It would crawl over you like a snake. It would disrupt your senses.

THUNK—! THUNK—!

’Again—! Still not good enough..!’

Out of anger, he hit too hard again.

He didn’t want “beautiful.” “Beautiful” was what other people called his playing. To Leo, it was ugly.

Ugly because it wasn’t perfect.

’More. More… I need more.’

Whatever that even meant.

The music climbed toward its crest, but it wasn’t a heroic swell. The chords tightened; the melody sharpened—ruthless in the way it pushed forward.

THUNK—! THUNK—!

’Dammit! Why does it sound so shit?’

THUNK—! THUNK—! THUNK—!

Again, his fingers slammed too hard, driven by frustration.

Again, he kept going.

THUNK—!

…Then—

THUNK—!

…Again—

THUNK—!

His jaw clenched until it hurt.

THUNK—!

Blood began seeping from his red lips onto the keys.

“FUCK!”

THUNK—! THUNK—! THUNK—! THUNK—! THUNK—! THUNK—!

Horrible noise splintered through the room.

Leo jerked his hands back, then slammed his fists down again—sending another burst of chaos bouncing off the walls.

With his chest rising and his eyes burning, Leo finally stopped.

He cursed under his breath—over and over.

“Just what the hell is it… that I’m doing wrong…!?”

*****

After an hour and thirty minutes of grinding through the same endless cycle of torment, Leo finally quit—with one last slam of his hands against the keys.

The piano barely had a mark on it. Leo’s fingers were the ones that paid the price, throbbing and red, the pain pulsing so hard it almost felt like his heartbeat had moved into his hands.

“Haaah… I’m so shit…”

He stood up with a cold expression and didn’t move for a moment, letting the room sit in silence while his gaze drifted.

His eyes landed on a metal bottle.

He walked over, picked it up, and felt the weight. There was still water inside—about half-full.

Someone must have forgotten it here.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes and murmured,

“Why am I not good enough…? I feel like literal trash…”

It was never good. Never enough.

“HAH!”

Suddenly, Leo hurled the bottle at the piano with brutal speed.

It struck the keys with a sharp, metallic crack. This time the instrument didn’t get away untouched—several keys shattered instantly, splitting and snapping as the bottle collided with them. The metal scraped across the surface, leaving a nasty streak, then bounced hard onto the floor and clattered away in ugly, broken echoes until it finally rolled to a stop.

Leo stared at the damage he’d made with a single throw. His lips curved upward, something bright and pleased flickering across his face.

“That’s better.”

With that, he turned and headed out of the room.

Kaya wasn’t here this week to deal with the fallout, but Leo could always play dumb. They had absolutely no proof it was him. Even if he’d been the last person to enter “officially,” it could’ve happened at any time. And as he stepped into the hallway and saw how empty it was, he knew no one would be able to prove anything.

No one would even think to blame him. They’d never expect Leo to destroy a piano when he was the one who supposedly “loved” playing. And the pianos always got replaced anyway—thanks to Instructor Kaya, who somehow seemed to have an infinite supply of them.

There was even a name for whoever kept destroying them whenever Kaya couldn’t cover it up in time: the piano killer.

Of course, no one would ever know it was Leo.

Scratching at his hair, Leo reminded himself he still had to swing by his classroom before leaving.

He started walking in that direction, wondering if the girl was still waiting for him.

He’d taken his time on purpose today—not just to practice, but because he’d hoped she would get tired and leave.

Either way, he had to pass by the classroom if he wanted to reach the main exit.

When he arrived, the door was closed—but right in front of it, a student sat on the ground, leaning against the door with her knees hugged to her chest, half-asleep.

Leo looked down at her, cold and unimpressed.

’Should I just leave?’

But if he did, he’d only have to deal with her again next week. And… she’d actually stayed here this long.

“Seriously… doesn’t she take a hint?”

He sighed, scratched his hair again, and nudged her leg lightly with his foot a few times.

That did it. She stirred, eyelids fluttering open, then rubbed her eyes as she blinked around in a daze. Her gaze dropped to Leo’s leg, then slowly traveled upward.

She stared at him, still hazy.

“Am I… dreaming?”

“Nah. I’m as real as it gets.”

At the sound of his voice, the fog in her eyes cleared—and then, all at once, her eyes widened.

“WHA—WHAT?!”

She jerked as if she was about to shoot up, but Leo lifted a hand and stopped her, palm hovering over her head.

“Careful. You were about to bump into the handle.”

He’d kept her from slamming her head into it, but instead of a thank-you, he got silence.

Leo blinked, then noticed how awkwardly she was frozen—legs half-bent, his hand resting over her head, and her face burning red, bright as a tomato.

He sighed and pulled his hand back.

“I… I, uh… I—”

Slowly, she managed to stand up properly this time, keeping a safe distance from the handle. She fidgeted with her fingers, her gaze darting everywhere except at him.

“I n-need to confess something…”

Leo looked at her neutrally and nodded. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Sure,” he said.

Then, before she could force herself into it, he spoke again.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors about me?”

“Huh?”

She finally looked at him, confusion flashing across her face.

“You must’ve heard what they say,” Leo continued. “You look like someone good and kind… so why would someone like you want to confess to me?”

’Every time, I wonder when they’ll realize how pointless this is.’

Her eyes were wide. The situation finally seemed to sink in for her.

’I don’t even know who they are. Seriously—why would they think I’d accept confessions when I don’t even know their names?’

Some of them did it for closure, sure. But those were the minority.

“I don’t think they’re… real.”

Leo’s attention snapped back to her. She’d finally gathered a little courage, fists clenched tight.

“Rumors don’t appear out of thin air, you know,” he said.

“They have their reasons.”

Basically, Leo was saying the rumors were true—that he really was what people painted him as.

His words seemed to crack her courage. Her gaze dropped, her legs trembling, but she still forced the words out.

“Even so… I feel like they’re wrong… and you’re not… being honest. I-I think you’re someone kind… You even woke me up instead of just leaving…”

’I was literally late…’

“One act of decency doesn’t make me a saint,” Leo said.

She looked back into his eyes like she’d already decided. Leo held back a chuckle.

’What a stubborn girl.’

“I… I want to ask you if… if you would go out with me!” she blurted out of nowhere.

“I’ve been watching you since the start of the year, and I’ve admired you from afar! I-I know I might not be worthy to stand by your side, but I promise I’ll do my best!”

Her eyes, so determined a second ago, squeezed shut tightly as she waited for his response.

“You already know my answer, don’t you?”

She flinched. The trembling eased a little as she lowered her head.

“Yeah…” she whispered, disappointed and quietly crushed.

“I… I know.”

“…”

“Still… I-I just had to try.”

’Is she crying?’

Leo exhaled.

“I can’t date you. I’m not interested in dating or love. I don’t even want to try.”

She looked up. Tears streamed down her face, but somehow she still managed a small, pretty smile.

“I see… Then thank you. Thank you for hearing me out and giving me an answer…”

“No problem,” Leo replied.

“I’ll be going, then.”

“I’ll stay here,” she said quickly.

“There’s a friend I need to wait for.”

There was no friend. Leo knew it, and she knew how weak that excuse was.

For some reason, as he looked at her slumped posture, he asked—before he even thought about it—

“What’s your name?”

’Why am I asking something so useless?’

She looked up, surprised. Maybe because Leo had bothered to ask at all. Or maybe because she’d never even said it.

“M-my name is Sia! I’m from class 1-C!”

’A first-year, huh…’

“I see.”

“Yes—Sia!” she said quickly, like she wanted to make it matter.

“Though my full name is Anastasia, but everyone calls me Sia! Please… call me that too!”

“Alright.”

’Anastasia… Why does that name feel familiar?’

Something about the name made his chest feel strangely warm.

’Anastasia, the stubborn girl… huh.’

“It was nice to meet you, Anastasia.”

“Y-yes! You too! But—”

Before she could finish, Leo suddenly placed a hand on top of her head.

“There’s a guy in his final year here with me called Nathan. He’s not as good-looking as me, but I’m sure he’d love to date a cute girl like you.”

He removed his hand almost immediately.

“Sorry. That was inappropriate. Anyway, I’m heading out now. Goodbye, Anastasia.”

She didn’t respond. Leo didn’t wait for her to. He walked past her and her blank, stunned expression.

After a few steps, he caught the quiet murmur behind him—soft, dazed, and barely audible.

“C-cute… He called me… cute…”