A contract to take a beating in exchange for money. Hwani went rigid with tension, thinking she really was going through every strange thing imaginable. In the back of her mind, she thought she was getting swept up in the mood and doing something absurd, but Ezio was moving things along so quickly that stopping was out of the question.

　　“…and so Miss Hwani shall cooperate in Ezio’s compositional work. Let us limit the blows to the buttocks. The marks will not show through clothing, and it should be the least painful place.”

　　To think this counted as composition work. But Ezio laid out a compromise so rapidly that Hwani nodded without a moment to think it through.

　　“Yes.”

　　A moment later, feeling she was being too readily led, she offered her own opinion.

　　“Um, it can’t interfere with my performances. You can’t hit me too hard.”

　　“Then we shall insert a clause limiting it to the point of causing no injury. In return, you will have to cooperate faithfully as well.”

　　Ezio’s pen raced across the page and finished the sentence. He wrote out an identical copy, added his signature, and held the pen out to Hwani.

　　“Now, sign your consent.”

　　She said nothing.

　　Hwani hesitated for a moment, then squeezed her eyes shut and signed. In that instant, Ezio’s eyes flashed, and he rolled the contract up in his hand.

　　“Excellent. With this, we are colleagues in the same boat until the piece is complete. Let us begin work at once.”

　　Right now? While Hwani was stammering in confusion, Ezio pulled her by the arm, his eyes gleaming with an inscrutable obsession.

　　In the blink of an eye, she was bent forward at the waist, her hands bracing on the desk piled high with sheet music. Just as she herself was startled by a motion that was not of her own will, Ezio spoke.

　　“Keep it out like that. Don’t hold back the sound.”

　　In that instant, Hwani’s mind burned red. W-wait. Wait a second. The more I think about it, this is kind of a weird contract. Hitting someone for the sake of music, listening to their screams, and paying them for it—the more I think about it…

　　“Here I go!”

　　Whack!

　　Without warning, the man’s hand came down on her backside. She felt a sharp pain, instinctively straightened her back, and cried out.

　　“Ah!”

　　“Louder!”

　　Slap!

　　The man’s hand hit her bottom again. It hurt, but maybe because she’d expected another blow, the startled scream wouldn’t come out easily.

　　“Ugh, ahh…”

　　Hwani let out a low moan. Even though it was over her clothes, she couldn’t understand being spanked like a child being punished. And the one doing it was Ezio, whom she had always admired. The man she had watched from far away on the stage, her hands clasped in silent rapture.

　　“Besides, isn’t there a rumor that the composer only sees singers as instruments? Maybe you’re better off just staying a fan.”

　　The rumor her colleague had mentioned flickered through her mind.

　　Hwani had insisted it was a ridiculous smear, nothing more than an exaggeration of how hard the practice was to wring out technique. But the man before her now was tilting his head and rubbing his chin, as if something were still lacking.

　　He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and muttered.

　　“It was so good just now. How do I get an even better sound out of this…”

　　Hwani looked back at him, incredulous at his attitude, as if he were tuning an instrument. She clenched both hands into trembling fists to bear the pain.

　　But even she had to admit that her scream was no longer as sharp as when she was first struck. Perhaps she had already grown used to being struck through her clothes.

　　Ezio gazed down at Hwani for a while. Then, as if suddenly deciding something, he stepped closer.

　　A large hand rubbed her backside through her clothes, then slipped down.

　　“May I lift your skirt?”

　　A low, positively honeyed voice whispered in Hwani’s ear.

　　She started and caught her breath.

　　“My skirt… You’re not telling me to take it off, are you?”

　　“Well, it seems the clothes are getting in the way, so you’re not making a good sound. I’m only saying you’d sound better if I stimulated your bare skin directly.”

　　But even he seemed to think it was a bit much, and his face soon turned cold.

　　“If you can’t do it, let’s tear up the contract. I’ll pay you a little for your trouble, and somehow finish it on my own…”

　　“Ah, no! No! I’ll do it. I’ll take it off!”

　　The thought of losing all that money she’d just been promised left her at a loss as well, so Hwani scrambled to her feet. She had already been through enough strange things that rational judgment was all but impossible. She slipped her hands under her skirt and pulled down her underwear.

　　“Here…”

　　Then she obediently bent over the desk again and planted her hands on it. Only then did Ezio clench and unclench his fist, as if something pricked his conscience. But only for a moment. He steeled himself and yanked Hwani’s skirt up.

　　There was a silence.

　　The air felt a little cold on her bare skin. Unused to the sensation, Hwani stiffened all over.

　　Stray thoughts were about to explode in her head. What is this? What am I doing right now? I’m exposing my backside in front of the composer I adored so much. Needless to say, in this position her most private parts would be visible too.

　　It’s because of the money. I’m doing this for Mother’s medicine. Desperately convincing herself, Hwani said awkwardly,

　　“This is the first time I’ve ever taken my clothes off in front of a man.”

　　Come to think of it, that was true. She had admired the boy next door as a child, and gone on a few dates with a boy back in elementary school, but she had never gone far enough with anyone to take her clothes off, had she? Ashamed to be exposing her virgin body like this, Hwani looked only at the desk.

　　Then a dry male voice came from behind her.

　　“This is also the first time I’ve lifted a woman’s skirt.”

　　Whack!

　　“Eek!”

　　The instant the words left his mouth, Ezio brought his hand down on her backside. Hwani’s body jerked as she screamed. It hurt so badly she twisted at the waist.

　　It was nothing like being struck over her clothes. A man’s palm coming down on white skin. His hands had been trained on the piano since childhood, so they were even harder and more painful. Before the rising heat and the searing sting could even fade, Ezio’s hand flew up again.

　　“Good. Again!”

　　Slap!

　　Whack!

　　“Ah, haah, nngh, ah, aaahn!”

　　Ezio’s hand struck Hwani’s backside again and again. Perhaps it was because the pain cutting sharply into her skin and the heat that came with it were stimulating something. She felt that the sound, which had at first clearly been a scream, was turning strangely heated.

　　Why was that? Before it could even strike her as strange, another smack landed on her backside. She finally couldn’t withstand the impact and collapsed onto the desk.

　　She pressed herself flat against the desk, panting and moaning, her backside feeling like it was on fire. It must have gone bright red.

　　“Ah, haah, ah…”

　　She glanced at Ezio out of the corner of her eye. Had swinging his arm so suddenly been hard on him as well? He had been kneading his hand for some time, panting oddly as he stared intently at Hwani’s plump backside.

　　There was a silence.

　　Then, all at once, he shuddered as if something had suddenly occurred to him and lunged at the desk. He pulled out a blank sheet of staff paper and began furiously scribbling notes.

　　“Yes, this is it. If I express what just happened as a melody… add harmony on the tonic, piano (softly) here, and then forte (loudly) around this point!”

　　In that moment, a peculiar feeling came over Hwani as she looked at the man. How frantically absorbed he was in the score. His eyes had an obsessive, mad gleam, and the corner of his mouth was twisted into a grin, as if realizing his own genius. He was so handsome that even that look was beautiful, and yet there was something eerie about him as well.

　　This was Ezio da Ponte.

　　The continent’s greatest musical genius, said to have been blessed by an angel or to have made a pact with the devil…

　　He had been writing notes rapidly. At last, as if he had reached a stopping point, he set down his pen and clapped his hands once. Only then, as if he had become conscious of her existence, did he look at her.

　　“Oh, dear. I left you there, didn’t I?”

　　Hwani had already picked up her underwear. She looked at Ezio, tasting a strange feeling she could not explain.

　　“Is this… enough?”

　　“For now. I cannot keep you too long, so let us leave it here for today. That last voice was especially good,” Ezio said, staring at the score as if going over it again.

　　Watching him, Hwani flushed with embarrassment and got down from the desk by herself. She pulled her underwear back on, lowered her skirt, and straightened her appearance, but her backside still burned where the man had struck her.

　　There was a silence.

　　Ezio was still muttering something, looking only at the score. Whether Hwani tidied herself up or not didn’t seem to register in his eyes. As if nothing but the music that would be born from his hands could captivate his soul.

　　She stepped back, feeling awkward, then said goodbye to the man.

　　“I’ll be going, then.”

　　“Ah, ah. Yes. Go ahead.”

　　Then, as if it had only just occurred to him, he scrawled a number on whatever scrap of paper was at hand.

　　“Show this to my pupil on your way out. He’ll see that you’re paid for today.”

　　“…Yes.”

　　“Come back next time.”

　　In that instant, Hwani wondered if she’d heard right.

　　She took the scrap of paper and asked again.

　　“Next time…?”

　　“The piece isn’t finished yet, is it? You’ll have to keep cooperating until then.”

　　Only then did Ezio set the score down with a tap. He looked at Hwani with heat in his ash-gray eyes, as if they burned with a kind of ambition.

　　“I look forward to working with you. Yes, next time let’s prepare a little more properly.”