Shizuka Satomi was backstage, somewhere. Wait, she was in West Berlin? Yes! This was in the Philharmonie. She smelled fresh rosin harmonizing with the gathering scents of cigarettes and perfumes. Outside, she heard the rustle and chatter of her audience—eagerly waiting for her to appear.

For now, at long last, she could finally meet them onstage. She cradled her violin in her arms. And, in her hand—

Wait—what was in her hand?

And what was she was hearing now?

This was not the music that she was intending to play. This was not how it was supposed to be at all! Yes, the place, the time, was hers.

But this was a music intruding from somewhere else.

And yet, the sound felt neither malicious nor threatening. More than anything, it seemed frightened, almost familiar—trying to reach her, pleading with her to please turn around, please don’t do this. Please believe me.

“Please, Miss Satomi, there has to be a better way!”

The music stopped.

Katrina saw her teacher’s expression.

“I’m sorry!” she said at once.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” her teacher said absently. “Nothing to be sorry about at all.”

“When you’re trans, you’re always looking and listening,” Katrina explained later. “It’s following, but it’s more than that. You need to see what might be coming, hear the next danger ahead.”

Shizuka nodded. So it wasn’t merely follow—it was follow and predict. Perhaps even follow and perceive.

This was an entirely different level of skill.

Furthermore, this girl had actually tried to challenge her? To save her?

Which of her previous students would have dared? Which of them would have tried?

Shizuka had believed that this student might be special. If only Shizuka could connect with her. If only she could grow.

But now? This was no longer if. It was what.

What could she achieve? What could she accomplish?

Shizuka assessed her new student’s capabilities. Her gifts were not just musical, but physical. For example, Katrina’s hands were magnificent. Her right hand was sure and supple upon the bow. And her left?

“See this?” Shizuka stretched her pinky from E flat to A. “I’ve always had trouble with this interval.”

Katrina noticed her own fingers easily spread to cover the fingerboard.

“I had to train my hand for almost a year to reach that interval. But you play it with no problem.”

“So my hands are big,” Katrina muttered.

“Yes! And they’ll do amazing things for you, especially as you shift up and down between positions.”

Shizuka expected Katrina to smile, but instead, Katrina looked at the floor.

“Please stop…”

“But your hands,” Shizuka said again. “They are so powerful and strong.”

“Stop saying that!”

Katrina blanched. She had just raised her voice at her teacher.

But more than offended, Shizuka was shocked. To be born with hands like that—how could that not be a compliment?