Chapter 9
(The Ceramic Piano)
That day at lunch break…
Aimi and her friends returned to the gymnasium, eager to see once more the mysterious piano they had played yesterday.
“Oh—someone’s already here…”
The moment they stepped inside, the furious pounding of piano keys crashed down on them like a storm.
“Ami, something’s wrong! The gym is shaking!”
“No—it’s an earthquake!” Reiko and Masami screamed.
The three of them instinctively clung together for support.
But what they were witnessing was no ordinary tremor. It was like a volcanic eruption, blazing crimson fire bursting skyward. From a conical peak, pillars of flame roared upward, molten lava spilling down the slopes.
In the fiery glare, men in black cloaks raised silver goblets, drinking and reveling in dark merriment.
Before they realized it, Aimi and the others found themselves inside that infernal banquet.
Aimi felt at once—it was The Night on Bald Mountain, the witches’ sabbath where demons gathered.
She stood up alone and shouted:
“Sensei—!”
In an instant, the vision vanished. Silence fell, and the familiar gymnasium returned.
“That must have been the teacher from yesterday…” Aimi murmured, half to herself.
Sure enough, the one at the piano was the young teacher from the day before.
When he noticed them, he beckoned them over.
“I’ve been waiting. I knew you’d come.”
“Sensei, the sound was incredible! How far does this piano’s sound carry? I’ve never heard a piano explode like that before!”
Aimi was overwhelmed by the performance.
“Wasn’t that Night on Bald Mountain? I thought the demons were going to eat us alive!” Reiko said, as if recalling a vision, looking to the others for agreement.
The teacher chuckled. “That’s quite the impression. But I’m glad it reached you that way. It was an arrangement of Mussorgsky’s symphonic poem Night on Bald Mountain for piano. I was thinking of performing it in the summer concert.”
“Sensei, that was so powerful! Even an orchestra might not manage that kind of force.”
Aimi watched him with respect, though a little disheartened, convinced she could never match him.
“But yesterday, your performance under the moonlight felt like being in a forest of cherry blossoms in full bloom. That’s why I wanted to hear you play again. I waited.”
“I—I could never play like you, Sensei…”
For the first time in her life, Aimi felt she had met a pianist she could never surpass.
“Strong, forceful sounds are easy to fake. Anyone with power can do that. But the kind of gentle sound that truly touches the heart—that’s talent. Even I can’t play the way you do.”
“That’s not true. Your piano touched my heart, Sensei,” Aimi said honestly.
The teacher—Mr. Ogasawara—gestured for them to join him on stage.
This time, instead of taking the stairs, the girls clambered straight up.
Giving Aimi the pianist’s seat, Ogasawara said, “Would you play that sonata from yesterday again?”
“Of course!”
She calmed herself, then set her fingers gently on the keys.
But almost immediately, he interrupted:
“Sorry, sorry—the sound of my performance earlier must have influenced you.”
Indeed, Aimi herself felt uneasy—the tone wasn’t the same as yesterday.
Reiko and Masami, however, couldn’t tell what was wrong.
“This piano isn’t like ordinary ones,” Ogasawara explained. “Actually, it’s a ceramic piano I designed and developed myself.”
“Ceramics…?”
Aimi knew the word well, but she never imagined this piano was made of it.
“Recently, a neighboring company perfected ceramic annealing. Instead of being brittle and fragile, they created ceramics with resilience. So—”
“Which means… it’s closer to metal now,” Reiko said, peering into the piano with fascination.
“Not as soft as metal yet. But when struck, it made a wonderful sound. Since my family’s company makes instruments, we decided to try building a piano with it. It wasn’t easy. So the frame, strings, and moving parts are ceramic, while the outer case is a regular piano. Eventually, we plan to make it all ceramic.”
“Sensei, that’s amazing! It’s easier to play than my piano at home,” Aimi said, brushing the keys lightly.
“That’s only because you’re skilled enough not to be overwhelmed by its nature. But if your mind wavers or your body stiffens, this piano won’t sing. And if I set it up to be forgiving, it loses resonance compared to a normal piano. So as a product, it’s no good.”
He explained the peculiarities of the ceramic piano in detail.
“Sensei, can I try too?” Reiko asked eagerly.
“Of course. Go on.”
Aimi gave up her seat. Reiko tried a light Mozart piece, but the notes sounded scattered and jumbled.
“Ugh, Sensei, I can’t do it! It resonates too much—the touch outruns my fingers!” she complained, returning the seat.
“No, Reiko. The chords weren’t formed properly. The muddy echoes interfered.”
Listening to Reiko, Aimi realized anew the difficulty of the ceramic piano.
“But I played the same as always…”
“That’s why. You can’t treat it like a normal piano.”
Her face turned unusually stern.
“That’s right,” Ogasawara agreed. “Compared to a normal piano, its sound is three or four times louder, with quicker attack, longer sustain, and lighter keys. Dynamics follow finger pressure directly in shorter strokes. It’s practically the ideal piano. But unifying all 88 keys musically—that seems beyond human capacity.”
He sighed, as though lamenting a flawed child.
“But if one could, this piano would breathe like a human voice, or like a recorder or horn—responding perfectly to the performer’s heart. Wonderful!”
Aimi closed her eyes, sitting once again at the piano.
After a moment of silence, she placed her fingers softly on the keys.
Then she began—her playing tender, like caresses.
It wasn’t her forcing sound, but her surrendering to the instrument, thinking only of the sonata’s soul.
“Ah… beautiful. I’ve never heard the sonata like this before. Perhaps this piano truly is complete after all,” Ogasawara whispered.
“What do you mean, Sensei?” Reiko asked curiously.
“The truth is—this is the only ceramic piano in the world. The challenge was to see if it could equal or surpass traditional pianos. It did, in most respects. But I thought it could never produce soft, delicate tones because of the material. Now I see it was the performer who was lacking. Her playing proved it possible. That’s why I waited for you today—just to confirm it.”
“No, Sensei. I could never produce the sharp power you have.”
She still felt his thunderous performance resonating inside her.
“That’s probably a matter of physique. As you grow, you’ll surpass me in tone.”
“Really?”
She wasn’t convinced such a simple thing could matter.
“But I like your performance as it is. And since this piano can sound three or four times louder than normal, it balances your smaller frame. It makes your playing more than enough.”
“So that’s why it feels like I play better on this piano…”
“I couldn’t play it well at all…” Reiko muttered, sulking.
“It’s okay. With practice, you’ll learn the knack of the ceramic piano,” he encouraged kindly.
“That might take forever…” she sighed.
“But Sensei,” Masami interjected, “if it’s that difficult, won’t it fail as a product?”
“You’re right. I won’t stop here. I’ll aim for a piano anyone can play.”
He listened earnestly to her concern.
“By the way—you’re first-years, right? Why don’t you join the orchestra club? I’m the advisor.”
Perhaps that had been his real goal all along, the girls thought.
“Too bad. Ami and I are already joining track and field. They said we should build our bodies first,” Reiko declined, speaking for Aimi too.
“I see. A pity. But even so, let’s play together sometimes.”
“Really? Please let me! I’ve never played with an orchestra before,” Aimi exclaimed, jumping with joy.
“Excellent. Let’s definitely do it. So—you’re Ami and Reiko, right?”
They realized with surprise that they had grown close before even introducing themselves.
“I’m Hagio Reiko. This is Koga Aimi, and our class rep, Nakayama Masami,” Reiko introduced.
“And I am Kiyoshi Ogasawara, head of the music department.”
“Eh!? The famous Kiyoshi Ogasawara—Sensei!” Masami cried out.
Aimi and Reiko had never heard the name.
“Masami, who is he?” Reiko whispered.
“He’s a world-renowned pianist. He’s recorded several CDs. I even went to his recital at Plaza Hall!”
“Thank you,” he said modestly.
“No wonder you’re unbelievably good!”
Reiko and Aimi finally understood the mystery of yesterday.
“By the way, Aimi, I’ll give you the keys to this piano. And the gymnasium. That way, you can play anytime.”
“Eh—really? Is that okay?”
“Of course. I have spares. Besides, this piano suits you better than me. Come and play again—the piano will be glad.”
“Yes, I will!”
Just then, the afternoon chime rang.
“Sorry, Masami. No time for composition today. Next time.”
“It’s fine! I got to meet the real Kiyoshi Ogasawara. I’m so glad I came,” Masami said happily.
And from that day, Masami became their friend.
