There were quite a few picture frames ill.u.s.trated on the jacket sleeve of the alb.u.m.

The three most prominent frames were t.i.tled , and —but all three of them were empty. An additional frame in the bottom left, however, encased the t.i.tle of the alb.u.m.

.

I removed my headphones with a sigh, then placed the CD back into its case before stacking it atop a mountain of different CDs.

I wanted to yell in frustration. Why are there so many renditions of the same song?

"Allow me to explain. Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky, one of the many musicians who strove to express Russia's musical nationality, was someone that always abandoned his compositions halfway through. Just look at his operas as an example—nearly all of them are incomplete works. However, his ideas of music were innovative and colorful. And many people are attracted to his works precisely because they 'are not perfect.' His masterpiece, , managed to stir the imagination of countless past and present musicians, which is why so many different variations of the piece exist!"

"...... Tetsurou, why did you barge into my room without my permission?"

"I was just wondering...... if I don't speak like a music critic once in a while, will all that knowledge disappear someday?"

"Whatever, get out."

"Feel free to depend on me if you're fretting about music, yeah? Because I don't help with any of the housework at all."

"If you're aware of that, at least wash our clothes!"

"I don't know the difference between washing powder and wheat flour—are you really fine with that?"

I threw my pillow at Tetsurou to chase him away, then faced the desk and began inspecting the songs on the CDs, one at a time.

The piano rendition composed by Rimsky-Korsakov; the famous orchestral version by Ravel; Henry Wood's version that dated back much earlier; and Tomita Isao's synthesized rendition. These were just a few of the many different interpretations of .

In the end, I returned to the rendition I had been listening to earlier—the live performance by Emerson, Lake & Palmer. G.o.d knows how many times I've listened to this already.

The first to speak was Mafuyu. It happened during our club activities earlier that day. Mafuyu picked a score out from a huge stack of sheets and opened it.

"One of the main themes of is . If we insert that theme in-between our songs, we can create a complete medley."

"Pro...... What does that pro-whatever song sound like?" Chiaki lifted her head and asked Mafuyu. Mafuyu grabbed her guitar silently and played a sample of the main theme in B♭ major.

"Ah, I've heard that before."

"Comrade Ebisawa hasn't released , right?" asked Kagurazaka-senpai. She was obviously referring to the piano version. Mafuyu nodded her head slightly after a brief moment of silence.

"I'm looking forward to it then. I absolutely must hear Comrade Ebisawa's rendition of Mussorgsky, even if it's performed with a different instrument. Well then, young man, thanks for this—"

"Eh?"

"I'll leave the composing to you."

"Why?"

"I can't believe you're asking me why."

Senpai inched towards me and lifted my chin with her finger. Her black eyes appeared before me and looked like the starless skies of the night. I couldn't move any part of my body, much less my face.

"You're my other half, my dearest Paul. Is there a need for any other reason?"

"Eh...... U-Uh......."

I lifted my head—Chiaki's expression was like the autumn sky. She had finally put on a smile, but behind it, was a touch of loneliness.