Tsukane Akabori looked over his assortment of cardboard boxes with a smile on his face. Clothes, check. Computer, check. Viola, check.
There was only one hurdle left to deal with. "Are you sure you want to study music?"
He groaned, wishing his scarf would just expand and swallow him whole. "Don't you think it's a bit late to keep asking that?" He'd gotten a full scholarship for Kusoka University's music program. He'd sent back his acceptance, registered for classes, picked out a room in the dorms... and today was moving day. The time to back out had passed long ago.
"But there's no money in it," His mother huffed. "Not every musician makes it big. Some of them just end up addicted to drugs and dying in gutters."
Yes, he'd seen the same documentaries as she did. But that was a rockstar thing. Since when did any of that apply to violists?
Worse than the ridiculousness of it all was the fact that he knew she believed everything she was saying. She genuinely thought that him playing the viola professionally was going to lead to his death at age twenty-five of a drug overdose. Some days, it seemed like she thought everything would lead to that.
If anything, the only thing currently pushing him towards drugs was her constant doomsaying. "Look, Dad said it was fine, didn't he?" Sort of. Kind of. Maybe.
"To an extent." At least now, any worries she talked about would remain firmly within the grounds of reality. It didn't make dealing with them any easier. "But that's why you shouldn't study music."
"Because he didn't rip up my acceptance letter before I could see it?" He knew that wasn't the reason. He just tried to ignore the actual reason, because if all went well it would never be a consideration.
But his mother had never been so kind. "Because if you fail, you will no longer be our son." She said it so simply, like there was no other way things could be.
She said it with the surety that he'd fail, and that this was the last time she'd ever speak to him, at least as a mother. When she got pessimistic about something, there was no way to talk her out of it. Even once everything turned out okay, she'd still insist it was only because of luck.
It was annoying at the best of times. Trains functioned perfectly fine without crashing almost every day. Attending rock concerts didn't instantly consign someone to a life of addiction, let alone classical ones. The psychotic breakdowns and mental shutdowns had never made it anywhere near Okina. Her having a panic attack about those things just worried everyone around her.
But this was something real. These were consequences Tsukane could acknowledge as a big deal.
The only way a musician would ever be accepted in the Akabori family was if he became rich and famous. He was told that even making the attempt was insolence, that believing in himself was the ultimate act of disrespect for his ancestors.
He believed it, but that was also why he was doing it in the first place. His ancestors just didn't like it when people believed differently to them. So if they didn't believe in him, it was evil in their minds for anyone else to do so.
Especially the person they would never believe in.
His father hadn't even been bothered to see him off. Just said "I enjoyed having you as my son," at dinner the night before, like that changing was inevitable.
Maybe it was.
But Tsukane didn't like to think about that.
The first thing he had to do, once he'd settled into the university, was help his roommate unpack. Because he'd asked, and it was the polite thing to do, and it would be nice to live with someone who didn't think he was worthless from day one.
This idea worked out until they reached the stairwell, at which point a very ugly fact reared its head.
Tsukane's arm strength left a lot to be desired. "Kota, hold it steadier, or I'll-" The box slipped from his hands. It tumbled down the stairs, crashing as it hit the bottom. "...That, I guess. What did you put in these boxes, anyway? They weigh more than my computer does!" With how Kazamu dressed himself, they might also have been more expensive.
He sniffed haughtily. "I'm not sure how much it matters to you, Akabori." Definitely a rich kid, if he was this used to looking down on everyone.
"It'll be set up in our room, I'm pretty sure that means it matters to me." What if there wasn't enough space? What if it attracted thieves who thought a viola alone wasn't a good enough prize?
...And now he just sounded like his mother. That was probably a sign he was worrying too much.
"And in that case, you'll see it once it's opened. Assuming you haven't broken it with your clumsiness..." Still, they both picked up the box again, and this time made it up the stairwell without dropping it again.
So operation 'make a good impression' had been a resounding failure. What else was new?
Still, whatever the circumstances of his arrival, Tsukane's tale in regards to Kusoka truly began at a speech given by Negai Arimura.
"I hope that my efforts will not be wasted in bringing all of your dreams to life." For the first time, it felt like the person saying it truly believed it could happen.
"Do you hear that, Kota?" He whispered. "She believes in us!"
"She probably just says this every year." He was probably right. There didn't have to be anything special about this.
But it felt special to him. Those words ingrained themselves in his thoughts, until there was no way he could escape them.
Arimura-san believed in him. She was the only person who did, but still, there was someone who believed in him. Someone who thought his big dreams could become a reality.
...Since when was having both an enjoyable career and a loving family a big dream?
...It didn't matter. Even if his parents didn't believe in him, Arimura-san did. He just had to trust that her vision for the future was one that would come true.
When the speech finally let out, Tsukane started to yawn. It... probably didn't mean anything. Just a result of staying up all night worrying about the future. It would be fine.
Everything would be just fine.
That thought made it easier to sleep at night.
And easier.
And easier.
Until he found himself in a dream that he had no desire to wake up from.