Masquerading Virtuoso【Tokyo Ghoul Fan-Fiction】

ix. Concerto

【This chapter is another odd-ball. It's tough getting back into the groove of writing, but now that I'm officially out of high school, I have more time to focus on my works! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter (even through it's unusualness), mainly because the awkward phases are slowly dying down.】

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'*'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

"She isn't a foul being; she isn't a pure being; nor is she a tolerant being. She is a just being."

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She was four years old when she had been formally introduced to the piano. She had remembered that pearly, ebony Baldwin as if it were a god. Back then, though, she had been but a mere, astonished spectator of its majesty. Tsuki and her parents had been invited to an orchestral performance. It had been a daunting piece by the infamous composer, Rachmaninov: Piano Concerto, Number Two.

Not anticipating much to come from the shimmering, gauky creation, she had lain back in her cushioned seat and sighed out of boredom. Her large, round chocolate eyes drifting between each person patiently awaiting all perfomers to take their rightful place upon the stage.

The young girl leaned over against her mother's bare arm and yawned; she wasn't tired, just perturbed by the fact that her parents wouldn't leave her at home with a babysitter---a ghoul one, of course. Her mother glanced quizzically down at her daughter, then shook her head with a slight smile.

"You won't be sad you came, Tsu-chan; I promise," she assured her, patting the girl's plump, rosy cheek.

Groaning, she groggily fixed herself upright and stared down at the center stage---there lay the unattended behemoth. She had seen many like it in magazines her father had left dotting their home, but thought lowly of it due to her precarious nature and constant mental exposure to them.

Tsuki propped her chin on the heel of her palm and blew away a stray brown lock from her face, just as a fellow clad in a wrinkle-free, black tailcoat and bow tie with a pair of polished onyx loafers strode eloquently across the stage and bowed respectively to the audience.

They returned his gesture with an applause, confusing Tsuki.

He then whisked up the thin flaps of his finely made coat and set himself down on the leather cushioned stool, causing all performers present to do the same, save for the twelve violinists encompassing the piano-player.

Her interest had only mildly been piqued by the gussied-up man, his caramel hair short and well-kept, and hazel eyes fixated on the obsidian-colored wooden veil that obscured the monochrome keys beneath. He delicately lifted it, revealing them. There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes as he traced his calloused fingers across the keys, as if he were petting a kitten.

Tsuki arched her thin, straight eyebrow and sat upright, nudging her bottom closer to the edge of her seat.

The man suddenly grinned at the glossy instrument, a look of sheer glee illuminating his youthful features.

An aged, well-experienced conductor stepped out from behind the massive curtains and halted next to the grand piano, a silver, teardrop-hilted baton in his right hand. He peered over his shoulder and nodded subtly to the pianist, signifying they were prepared to begin.